《道德真经注(王弼)》

If the Dao can be explained in words, it is not the eternal, unchanging Dao. If a name can be fixed, it is not an eternal, unchanging name. Any Dao or name that can be spoken or named is established in relation to particular things and forms; it is not constant.

“The nameless” is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; “the named” is the mother of the myriad things. All things begin in “nonbeing,” so before forms and names appear, “nonbeing” is their starting point. Once things take form and receive names, the Dao makes them grow, nourishes them, and brings them to maturity, becoming the mother of the myriad things. The Dao creates and completes all things without form or name, yet there is no fixed way to explain how it works in such profound ways.

By remaining free of desire, with an empty and still mind, one can observe the subtle state of things as they first come into being. “Subtle” means fine to the utmost degree. Things gradually take shape from what is fine, and they first arise from “nonbeing.” Thus, by remaining free of desire and inwardly still, one can observe the subtle beginnings of their generation.

By remaining with desire, one can also observe where the development of things leads. “Endpoint” means their conclusion or final destination. For “being” to function, it must rely on “nonbeing”; desire, too, must take the Dao as its root in order to come to fruition. Thus, by observing from a state of desire, one can see the eventual conclusion of the myriad things.

Although “beginning” and “mother” have different names, both arise from the Mysterious. The Mysterious refers to a profound, still state without form or name; it is the source of both the beginning and the mother. Because it cannot be known or named, no definite name can describe it. Calling it “the Mysterious” still fails to express it fully; hence the phrase “the Mysterious upon the Mysterious.” The wonders of all things arise from it, so it is “the gateway to all wonders.”

Everyone under Heaven knows beauty as beauty; once the idea of beauty is established, ugliness appears alongside it. Everyone knows goodness as goodness; then what is not good appears alongside it. For this reason, being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficult and easy complete each other; long and short compare with each other; high and low depend on each other; musical notes and other sounds answer one another; and what comes before is followed by what comes after.

Beauty is what people’s hearts delight in; ugliness is what they detest. Beauty and ugliness are like joy and anger; good and not good are like right and wrong. Joy and anger share a common root, and right and wrong arise from the same act of distinction. Neither side, then, can be considered alone. These six relationships all illustrate how things in nature depend on one another and cannot be viewed in isolation.

Thus, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action). Following nature as it is is enough; deliberate intervention only spoils things. The sage teaches without relying on words. All things grow and develop on their own: the sage does not interfere with them, nor does he reject them. He brings all things to life without claiming them as his own; he acts without relying on his own achievements.

The sage’s wisdom is already complete; deliberate action would make it false. Affairs succeed by following the course of all things, and their effects become evident through those things themselves, so the sage takes no credit. Precisely because he takes no credit, his achievements do not disappear.

If credit for an achievement goes only to oneself, that achievement cannot endure.

Chapter Three

If the capable are not exalted, the people will not compete for fame. If rare and precious goods are not prized, the people will not steal. If things that stir up greed are not displayed, people’s hearts will not be disturbed.

Here, “worthy” means capable; “exalt” means to praise and commend; and “prize” means to value and elevate. It is enough to employ capable people—why exalt them as well? It is enough to use goods as needed—why raise their value? If capable people are exalted, their reputations become prominent and their honors exceed their actual responsibilities; people will keep comparing their abilities and competing to outdo one another. When precious goods are valued beyond what is needed, they attract those who covet them. People then compete to pursue them, even climbing walls, breaking into homes, and forcing open chests to steal, risking their lives in the process. Therefore, if things that stir up desire are not displayed, people’s hearts will not be disturbed.

Therefore, when the Sage governs the people, he empties their minds and fills their bellies; weakens their ambitions to compete for fame and profit, and strengthens their bones and bodies.

When minds are full of schemes and clever calculations, bellies are left empty. The Sage makes people’s minds less scheming and ensures their lives are secure. Bones are not driven by schemes, but ambitions can readily breed trouble and disorder.

The people should be kept in a state of simplicity, with little cleverness and no greed, so they can preserve their original nature. Those who believe themselves clever and skilled at scheming should be made not to dare act recklessly. Here, “the knowing” refers to people who understand how to seek gain and take action.

Follow the Dao of Wuwei (non-action), and nothing will be left unguided.

Chapter Four

The Dao (the foundation on which all things come into being and operate) is empty and formless, yet its effects seem inexhaustible. It is profound and subtle, as though it were the source of all things. It blunts its sharpness, untangles confusion, softens its radiance, and mingles with the dust of the world. Deep and unfathomable, it nevertheless seems always to exist. I do not know where the Dao comes from; it seems to have existed even before the Lord of Heaven.

Measured by the wealth of a single household, one cannot preserve the whole family; measured by the power of a single state, one cannot bring the whole state to fulfillment. Even if one forces oneself to use all one’s strength to lift a heavy object, that effort cannot be sustained.

Though people know how to govern the myriad things, if they do not follow the Dao of Heaven and Earth in governing them, they cannot fully nurture the myriad things. Though Earth has a physical form, if it does not model itself on Heaven, it cannot remain stable. Though Heaven manifests subtle forms, if it does not model itself on the Dao, it cannot preserve its vital essence.

The Dao is empty and formless, yet it acts without cease, and its action is never exhausted. If a vessel is filled too full, reaching the limit of its capacity, it will overflow. The Dao, therefore, is empty yet useful; it never becomes full, and in this its boundlessness reaches its utmost. However vast physical forms may be, they cannot burden the Dao’s essence; however numerous affairs may be, they cannot fill the Dao’s capacity. If the myriad things leave the Dao and seek another ruler, where could that ruler be? The Dao is deep and hidden, seeming to be the source of the myriad things—is this not so?

The Dao blunts sharp edges without being damaged; untangles confusion without growing weary; harmonizes its light without being stained, and mingles with the dust of the world without changing its true nature. It is deep and still, seeming to exist yet difficult to grasp—is this not so? Earth holds fast to its own form, and its virtue cannot extend beyond bearing the myriad things. Heaven encompasses its own forms, and its virtue cannot extend beyond covering the myriad things. Neither Heaven nor Earth can compare with the Dao. The Dao seems to have existed before the Heavenly Emperor—is this not so? Here, “Emperor” refers to the Heavenly Emperor.

Chapter Five

Heaven and Earth are impartial: they treat the myriad things as straw dogs used in ritual—offerings that are discarded once the rite is over.

Heaven and Earth follow their natural course without contrived action or deliberate arrangement. All things can then regulate themselves and find their proper place. This is why Heaven and Earth are said to be “not benevolent.” This does not mean that they are cruel; it means they do not show partial favor through humanlike benevolence. The benevolent often create things, carry out instruction, grant favors, and take deliberate action. Such conduct causes things to lose their original state and makes it difficult for each to live out its full nature, so they cannot fully serve their purpose.

The earth does not grow grass for the sake of wild animals, yet wild animals naturally eat grass. It does not produce dogs for the sake of people, yet people naturally eat dogs. Heaven and Earth make no deliberate arrangements for things; each adapts on its own and fulfills its use, so nothing goes unsatisfied. If intelligence and skill are built entirely on personal intentions, they are not enough to let all things follow their natural course.

The sage does not deliberately bestow favors, and regards the people as straw dogs used in sacrifice.

The sage’s De accords with Heaven and Earth. Like them, the sage neither favors nor neglects the people out of personal feeling, but lets them follow their natural course.

Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows or a wind instrument’s pipe? It is empty within, yet never exhausted; once set in motion, its breath flows out without end.

“Bellows” means a device for blowing air, and “pipe” means the air pipe of a musical instrument. The bellows and pipe are empty inside, without feelings or deliberate action. They may seem hollow, yet they are never exhausted; when put into motion, they are not depleted. The space between Heaven and Earth is boundless. It lets all things follow their natural course and, like the bellows and pipe, can never be exhausted.

The more one speaks, the more easily one reaches an impasse. Better to hold fast to inward emptiness and stillness.

The more deliberately one acts, the more easily one loses what is natural. Once each thing gives rise to its own fixation, matters become tangled by a confusion of words. Following nature means never reaching exhaustion. Yet if one does not know how to help, refuses to speak, and makes no effort to bring things into order, matters likewise come to an impasse. By remaining empty within, like the bellows and pipe, one can continue without end. Set aside personal intentions and let all things follow their natural course, and nothing will be beyond the possibility of being brought into order. If the bellows and pipe had intentions of their own about the sounds they should make, they could not meet the needs of the musician.

Chapter Six

The Valley Spirit, symbolizing the Dao as empty, still, and ceaselessly generative, does not die. This is called the Mysterious Female, the deep maternal source capable of giving birth to all things. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth and all things. It stretches on without end, seeming almost to exist and almost not to exist; in its operation, it is never exhausted.

The Spirit of the Valley refers to the function of emptiness and formlessness within a valley, which can nonetheless give life and nourishment to all things. It has neither form nor shadow, conflicts with nothing among the myriad things, and goes against nothing. It rests in a low place without wavering, maintains stillness and clarity without being depleted. The valley takes shape because of it, yet its form cannot be seen. This is existence at its most fundamental. It dwells in a low place and cannot be named by any concrete name, so it is called the source of Heaven and Earth. It continues without end, seeming almost to exist; when it works, it shows no sign of strain.

The “gate” refers to the gate of the Mysterious Female, the deep and hidden maternal source that gives life and nourishment to all things. The myriad things are born from it, and its root is one with the utmost reach of the Dao, so it is called the source of Heaven and Earth. If we say it exists, its form cannot be seen; if we say it does not exist, the myriad things are born from it. Thus it continues without end, seeming almost to exist. Nothing cannot be brought to completion through it, yet its work brings no exhaustion. Hence the phrase, “use it, and it is never exhausted.”

Chapter Seven

Heaven is enduring, and Earth is enduring. Heaven and Earth can endure because they do not live solely for themselves. If they cared only for themselves, they would compete with the myriad things. Because they do not center themselves, the myriad things instead turn toward them. Thus Heaven and Earth can endure.

Therefore, the sage puts himself behind others and is able to take the lead; he sets himself aside and is able to preserve himself. Is this not because he has no selfishness? For this very reason, he brings his own life to fulfillment.

To be without selfishness is not to deliberately seek advantage for oneself. The sage can therefore take the lead among others and preserve himself, and so it is said that he brings his own life to fulfillment.

Chapter Eight

The highest goodness is like water. Water is good at nourishing the myriad things without competing with them; it settles in the low places that people all dislike. People dislike low places.

For this reason, water comes closest to the Dao. The Dao does not favor or cling to anything in particular, so water is said to be merely close to the Dao.

In dwelling, be like water and content with low places. Keep the heart deep and still. In relating to others, be generous and kind; in speaking, keep faith. In governing, be orderly; in your work, make full use of your abilities; in action, seize the right moment. As long as you do not contend, you will not invite blame.

This means that everyone should act in accordance with the way of governing.

Chapter Nine

Holding something in your hands while still wanting to fill it to the brim is not as good as stopping at the right point.

Keeping one’s rank and reputation is, in itself, a way of holding on to one’s De. Once De has been secured, to keep accumulating more is bound to lead to ruin and danger. So it is better to know when to stop; indeed, it would be better to have no De or merit at all.

Strike something again and again to make it pointed, then grind it sharp, and its edge will eventually wear away. It cannot stay sharp for long.

No one can hold on to a hall filled with gold and jade for long.

It is better to know when to stop.

To occupy an exalted position and grow proud and self-satisfied only brings trouble upon oneself.

None of these things can last.

When your work is done, step back. This accords with the natural order.

The seasons turn in their cycles; once things have come to completion, they move on elsewhere.

Chapter Ten

Can you dwell at ease in body and mind, embrace your original nature, and keep your spirit from scattering?

“Bear” means to dwell at ease. “Body and soul” refers to the body and mind in which a person ordinarily resides. “The One” refers to a person’s original nature. The question is whether one can dwell at ease in body and mind, embrace a tranquil spirit, and never depart from one’s original nature. If so, all things will naturally submit. Once one’s work is done, one should also yield and step back.

Chapter Ten

Can you dwell at ease in body and mind, embrace your original nature, and keep your spirit from scattering?

“Bear” means to dwell at ease. “Body and soul” refers to the body and mind in which a person ordinarily resides. “The One” refers to a person’s original nature. The question is whether one can dwell at ease in body and mind, embrace a tranquil spirit, and never depart from one’s original nature. If so, all things will naturally submit.

Can you focus your Qi (vital energy) and soften your body and mind until they are like those of an infant?

“To focus” means to let nature run its course; “attain” means to reach the utmost. The question is whether one can let natural Qi flow and bring body and mind to a state of utmost softness, becoming free of desire like an infant. If so, all things can be preserved, and one can retain one’s innate nature.

Can you cleanse your heart of stray thoughts, so that your far-reaching vision is without blemish?

“The Mysterious” refers to the utmost depth and subtlety of things. The question is whether one can dispel false thoughts and artifice, bringing the heart to a far-reaching vision undisturbed by external things. If the spirit is without blemish, in the end it can unite with the Mysterious.

In caring for the people and governing the state, can you do without clever schemes?

Relying on manipulative methods to achieve success and using calculation to conceal one’s intentions are forms of cleverness. When inward vision is clear and without blemish, it is like setting aside sagely knowledge. Governing the state without cleverness means abandoning artifice. Can you govern without relying on schemes? If so, the people will not be led astray, and the state can be governed.

When the gates of the world open and close, can you remain soft, still, and humble?

“The Gate of Heaven” refers to the gates of the world. Here, it means acting without cleverness. If one can do without cleverness, the people will not be led astray, and the state can be governed.

The “Gate of Heaven” is the portal through which all things in the world move and change. “Opening and closing” refers to shifts in political governance, from order to disorder and from disorder back to order. In the face of these changes, can a ruler be as yielding as a female, avoid striving to take the lead, and refrain from acting rashly? If so, all things will naturally draw near and each will find its place.

Though clear-minded and able to see in every direction, can one still refrain from imposing clever schemes through unwarranted interference? If so, all things will change in accordance with their own nature. The saying “the Dao is always Wuwei (non-action)” means that if rulers can hold to the Dao of Wuwei, all things will grow and change of themselves.

To let all things grow is to avoid blocking the source of their growth; to nurture them is to avoid suppressing their nature. To bring things to life and nourish them without claiming ownership, to act without relying on one’s achievements, and to help things grow without ruling over them—this is called “Mysterious De” (profound and subtle virtue).

If the source of all things is not blocked, they grow of themselves, so what achievement is there to claim? If their nature is not suppressed, they can fulfill themselves, so what action is there to rely on? All things grow and flourish naturally; I do not direct their fulfillment. Though possessing De, one does not set oneself up as master. If this De is not profound and subtle, what is it? “Mysterious De” means truly possessing De without claiming mastery; it emerges from depths both hidden and wondrous.

Chapter Eleven

Thirty spokes converge at a single wheel hub. It is the empty space in the hub that allows the wheel to serve its purpose.

The hub can connect thirty spokes precisely because it is hollow. It can receive the axle and thereby bring the many spokes together.

Clay is kneaded and shaped into a vessel; it is the empty space inside that allows the vessel to hold things. Doors and windows are cut to make a house; it is the open space within that makes the house fit for people to live in. Thus, solid forms provide convenience, while empty spaces make practical use possible.

Wood, clay, and walls form the wheel, vessel, and house, yet all three can serve their purpose because of the empty space within them. What is called “nonbeing” is precisely what enables “being” to function.

A vessel is made from clay, but it is because its center is empty that it can serve as a vessel. Doors and windows are cut into a house, but it is because the inside is empty that the house can serve its purpose. Thus, what is concretely “there” brings convenience, while the empty “not there” makes things useful.

Wood, clay, and walls form things such as vessels and houses, but these serve their purpose through the empty spaces within them. This means that the usefulness of concrete things depends entirely on the “not there” to make them work.

Chapter Twelve

The five colors dazzle the eyes, the five sounds dull the ears, and the five flavors distort the palate. Racing on horseback and hunting for pleasure make the mind and spirit run wild.

“Distortion” means error or abnormality. When the palate loses its normal sense of taste, it is said to be distorted. The ears, eyes, mouth, and mind should each follow their own nature. When they go against their nature and the patterns of life, harming their natural character instead, the result is dazzled eyes, deaf ears, a distorted palate, and a mind and spirit thrown into turmoil.

Rare and precious goods lead people’s conduct away from the right path.

Rare goods block the right path before people, and so obstruct their conduct.

Therefore, the sage cares for the self and does not pursue sensory pleasures. The sage lets go of the latter and chooses the former.

To care for the self is to use external things to nourish oneself. To pursue sensory pleasures is to let oneself be driven by external things. For this reason, the sage does not allow sensory desires to lead the way.

Chapter Thirteen

Favor and disgrace are like being startled; honor and great misfortune are bound up with the self.

Why are favor and disgrace said to be like being startled? To receive favor is already to occupy a lowly position. One is startled when favored, and startled again when favor is withdrawn. This is why favor and disgrace are both said to be like being startled.

Favor inevitably comes with disgrace, and honor inevitably comes with anxiety. Favor, disgrace, honor, and anxiety all cause alarm. If one can regard them as ordinary and remain untroubled whether favor is gained or lost, they will not be allowed to disturb the world.

What does it mean to say that honor and great misfortune are bound up with the self?

Great misfortune refers to things such as honor and favor. Excessive pursuit of pleasure leads people toward death, and so it is called great misfortune. People become absorbed in honor and favor; looking back, they see that their troubles are all tied to the self. This is why it is said that “great misfortune is bound up with the self.”

The reason I have great misfortune is that I have this body.

This means that great misfortune comes from possessing a self.

When I cease to cling to the self,

I can return to nature.

The body is the greatest calamity in life. That is why it is said, “Great calamity seems to be the body.”

The reason I suffer great calamity is that I have a body; calamity comes from having a body. If I had no body, I would return to the natural state. What calamity could there be then?

Only someone who regards all under Heaven as precious as their own body can be entrusted with all under Heaven. They would not exchange their own body for anything else; that is why this is called “precious.” Only such a person can be entrusted with all under Heaven.

Only someone who cherishes all under Heaven as they cherish their own body can be given charge of it. Nothing can harm their body; that is why this is called “cherishing.” Only such a person can be entrusted with all under Heaven. They do not let favor or disgrace, honor or distress damage or alter their integrity; only then can they be given charge of all under Heaven.

Chapter Fourteen

To look at it and not see it is called “yi”; to listen for it and not hear it is called “xi”; to reach for it and not touch it is called “wei.” These three cannot be pursued to their limits, so they merge into one.

It has no shape or image, no sound or resonance, and so it passes everywhere and reaches everywhere. People cannot know it directly; they can only use what they perceive with their ears, eyes, and bodies to describe what cannot be perceived. It cannot be pursued to its limits, so it can only be said to merge into one.

It is not bright above, nor dark below. It continues without end, yet is difficult to name, and ultimately returns to what has no shape or substance. This is “the shape of what has no shape, the image of what has no object.”

If we say it does not exist, all things are nevertheless born from it. If we say it exists, its form cannot be seen. That is why it is called “the shape of what has no shape, the image of what has no object.”

This is called “vague and elusive,” difficult to define as any particular form.

Go forward to meet it, and you will not see its beginning; follow behind it, and you will not see its end. Grasp the Dao from ancient times and use it to guide everything that exists in the present.

The “existence” spoken of here refers to things that exist in concrete form.

To know the beginning of antiquity is to have grasped the guiding principle of the Dao.

The “Dao” (the Way), which has no form or name, is the root of all things. Though ancient and modern times differ, eras change and customs shift, governing all things cannot be separated from it. Thus, one can grasp the Dao of antiquity to govern things in the present. Though the ancient world is distant, the Dao has always been present; even living today, one can therefore know the source of antiquity.

Chapter Fifteen

In ancient times, those who were skilled at following the Dao were subtle and mysterious, penetrating the depths of what is hidden. Their depth was impossible to fathom. Since they were so hard to fathom, I can only try to describe what they were like: cautious, as if crossing a river on foot in winter.

When crossing a river in winter, a person hesitates, seeming both to want to cross and not to want to cross. Those nearby cannot tell what is in his heart.

Alert, as if wary of the neighboring states on every side.

Even when the neighboring states on all sides join forces to attack, the person in the center still does not know where to turn. So it is with people of High De (profound Virtue): their signs are hard to see, and the direction of their inner Virtue is hard to discern.

Dignified, like someone respectfully performing a bow; open and relaxed, like ice about to melt; plain and solid, like uncarved wood; broad, like a valley; and murky, like muddy water.

These comparisons all describe people of High De. Their outward appearance is hard to express in words, and they cannot be given a definite name.

Who can still muddy water and let it slowly clear? Who can set what is settled in motion and let it gradually come to life?

When the mind is dark and yet can bring order to all things, it becomes clear. When muddy things are stilled, they gradually grow clear; when settled things are set in motion, they gradually grow and flourish. This is the way of nature. “Who can” means that doing this is not easy; “gradually” means that it calls for care and caution.

Those who hold fast to this Dao do not seek fullness.

What is full will overflow.

Precisely because they do not seek fullness, they can contain all things as if covering them, allowing all things to keep coming into being. Here, “cover” means to shelter and contain.

Chapter Sixteen

Bring inner stillness and emptiness to the utmost, and firmly maintain tranquility.

This means making the mind as empty and still as possible, and firmly holding to true tranquility.

All things grow and move together;

from this, I observe how they return to their source.

With a mind that is empty and still, observe how all things cycle and change. All things arise from emptiness, and movement emerges from stillness. So although all things move together, in the end they return to emptiness and stillness. This is the deepest and most fundamental law governing their course.

All things flourish in profusion, yet each returns to its own root—that is, to its original state.

Returning to the root is called stillness. It is a return to life’s nature, called “returning to life.” To return to life is to return to the constant nature, called “the Constant.”

Knowing the Constant is called clarity. Not knowing the Constant leads to reckless action and brings danger.

The Constant itself is impartial and has no fixed form to display; it has no specific qualities such as brightness or darkness, warmth or coolness. To know the Constant is therefore called clarity. Only by returning to the Constant can one understand and embrace all things. Lose this understanding, and one falls into deviation, causing things to lose their proper measure. Thus, not knowing the Constant and acting recklessly brings danger.

Knowing the Constant enables one to embrace all things. Embracing all things enables one to be just; being just enables one to be all-encompassing, like a king. Being all-encompassing enables one to accord with Heaven; according with Heaven enables one to be in harmony with the Dao. By exhausting emptiness and attaining the Dao’s constancy, one can endure for a long time.

In this way, one can live out one’s life without encountering danger.

What is truly formless and desireless cannot be harmed by water or fire, nor destroyed by metal or stone. Apply this principle to the mind and spirit: tigers, leopards, and rhinoceroses have no chance to use their teeth and horns, and weapons have no chance to use their blades. What danger could there be?

Chapter Seventeen

The best ruler is one whom the people know exists.

“Supreme” refers to the best ruler. Though he occupies a high position, he governs through Wuwei (non-action), following things as they are without interfering arbitrarily. He guides the people through teaching without words, setting an example through his conduct rather than issuing verbal commands. The myriad things grow naturally, and he does not regard himself as their creator. Thus, the people only know that he is there.

The next best ruler is one whom the people draw near to and praise.

This is because the ruler cannot govern through Wuwei or guide the people through teaching without words. He therefore establishes good works and bestows favors, leading the people to draw near to and praise him.

The next ruler is one whom the people fear.

This is because he can no longer govern the people through favors and benevolence. Instead, he relies on authority and power to make them obey.

The worst ruler is one whom the people scorn.

This is because he does not set the people in order according to the right way, but instead governs the state through cunning and clever schemes. The people then evade him and do not obey his commands; that is why it is said they scorn him.

When a ruler lacks trustworthiness, the people do not trust him.

This describes how a ruler treats the people. When the body loses its nature, illness arises; when one assists the myriad things without authenticity, defects and fissures appear. When a ruler lacks trustworthiness, the people do not trust him—this is only natural. A ruler who is himself in a state of insufficiency cannot make up for it through cunning and clever schemes.

The ruler is composed and sparing with words.

When one assists the myriad things without authenticity, defects and fissures appear; when trustworthiness is lacking, the people do not trust the ruler. These are all natural consequences. A ruler who is himself in a state of insufficiency cannot make up for it through cleverness.

When the work is done and the achievement complete, the people all say, “We did it ourselves.”

What is called “natural” has beginnings and signs that are hard to see, and an intent that is hard to discern. Nothing can alter this principle. Words must inevitably receive a response; hence it is said that the ruler is composed and cherishes his words. He governs through Wuwei and guides the people through teaching without words, without using artificial forms to force the shaping of the myriad things. Thus the work is done and the achievement complete, yet the people do not know how it all came about.

Only after the great Dao declines do people place special emphasis on benevolence and righteousness. When they lose the way of Wuwei (non-action)—acting in accord with nature rather than forcing things—they turn instead to clever schemes, setting up standards of goodness and urging all things to follow them.

When wisdom and cunning arise, great hypocrisy follows. People use techniques and keen observation to distinguish the deceitful from the sincere, seeking to see the outward signs of things. Knowing they may be exposed, people then try to evade detection. The more conspicuous wisdom becomes, the more easily hypocrisy takes root.

Only when family members are at odds do filial devotion and parental affection stand out; only when a state falls into disorder do loyal ministers appear.

The greater the praise bestowed on a particular virtue, the more likely it is that a great evil opposed to it has emerged. This is what is meant by beauty and ugliness arising from the same circumstances. The Six Relations are father and son, elder and younger brothers, and husband and wife. If families were already harmonious and states already peaceful, people would pay no special attention to filial children, loving parents, or loyal ministers. Fish in rivers and lakes forget one another and have no need to help each other. Only when the water dries up and the fish are stranded together, moistening one another with spittle, does the virtue of mutual aid become visible.

Chapter Nineteen

Cast aside the reverence for sage wisdom, and the people will benefit more. Stop holding up benevolence and righteousness as ideals, and the people will return to their natural filial devotion and affection. Stop pursuing cunning and private gain, and thieves will no longer appear. These three statements, by themselves, do not go far enough, so it must also be explained what people should turn toward: preserve simplicity and reduce selfishness and desire.

Sage wisdom is an outstanding form of ability; benevolence and righteousness are moral goodness; cunning and profit-seeking mean using schemes to gain advantage. Laozi says directly that these should be “cast aside,” but the statement is incomplete. Unless he explains what people should turn toward, his intention is unclear. Wang Bi therefore explains that the three statements do not fully express the meaning on their own; people must also be given somewhere to turn—that is, toward simplicity, less selfishness, and fewer desires.

Chapter Twenty

Put an end to the pursuit of fame, profit, and learning, and you will be free of worry. “Wei” is a respectful response; “a” is an offhand reply. How far apart are they? How far apart, too, are the good and evil people speak of? What people fear cannot simply be left without fear.

Those who pursue learning increase their knowledge day by day; those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) diminish their desires and deliberate actions day by day. Learning means adding to what one knows and sharpening one’s abilities. If you desire nothing and are content with what you have, what more is there to add? If, without deliberately seeking knowledge, you can still act just as the moment requires, why strive to improve?

The luan bird and the sparrow each have their companions; the turtledove and the pigeon each have their mates. People in cold regions naturally know to wear furs for warmth, and that is enough. Adding anything more may instead bring trouble. How is lengthening a wild duck’s legs any different from shortening a crane’s? How is seeking praise out of fear of blame any different from acting out of fear of punishment? How far apart, in the end, are conformity and defiance, beauty and ugliness? What the people fear, I too fear; yet I would not presume to use these things to pursue anything.

“How vast and boundless it is!” Here, he laments how far he stands from the ways of the world.

Everyone is merry and excited, as if attending a lavish sacrificial feast or climbing a terrace in spring to admire the scenery. People are captivated by fame and ambition, dazzled by honor and profit, and vie to climb higher; that is why they seem so joyful.

“Only I am calm and still, showing no signs of stirring, like an infant not yet grown and unable to laugh. I am cautious and plain, as if I had nowhere to return. Everyone seems to have a surplus; only I seem to have lost something.”

Everyone carries concerns and ambitions in their hearts, with thoughts filling their minds; that is why they are said to “have a surplus.” I alone am open and untroubled, doing nothing and desiring nothing, as if I had lost something.

“My mind is truly like that of a fool!” The utterly foolish make no distinctions and have no preferences. Their feelings are hard to discern, and I am just like this—muddled and without discernment.

Without a mind that distinguishes and analyzes, one cannot be considered clever and perceptive.

Ordinary people seem radiant because they show off their brilliance.

I, by contrast, seem dim and unclear. Ordinary people are sharp and discerning, skilled at making distinctions; I remain muddled and unclear.

I am as detached as the sea, my inner depths hard to fathom. I drift like the wind, with nowhere to settle and nothing to bind me.

Everyone else is busy doing things and eager to display their abilities. I alone seem slow and unrefined, as though I know nothing of worldly affairs. I have nothing I wish to do; I am dull and subdued, as if I understand nothing. That is why I call myself “stubborn and lowly.”

I differ from everyone else because I cherish the “Mother who feeds”—a metaphor for the root that nourishes life. People often abandon life’s root and instead prize its branches and outward adornments. So I alone wish to be different from everyone else.

The manifestation of “great De” (great Virtue) follows the Dao completely. “Great” here carries the sense of emptiness: only by keeping the heart-mind empty and free from self-satisfaction can one act in accordance with the Dao.

The Dao can only be described as elusive and difficult to comprehend. It has no fixed form and is not constrained by form. In its vagueness, there are images; in its obscurity, there are actual things. The myriad things begin in formlessness and take shape through the action of the formless, yet people do not know why they are as they are. Thus the Dao seems both present and absent, while containing images and actual things.

It is deep and obscure, yet contains subtle Qi. “Deep and obscure” describes what is so far-reaching and dim that it is difficult to see. Although the myriad things arise from it, its active presence can be known from the existence of those things. Hence it is said to contain vital essence. This essence is real and trustworthy, and the nature of the myriad things is established through it; therefore, it is said to contain evidence that can be verified.

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never disappeared. The reality of the Dao is so ultimate that it cannot be called by any specific name; “nameless” thus becomes its name. Since antiquity, all things have arisen from it. We can therefore use it to observe the beginnings of the myriad things. “The many beginnings” refers to the origins of all things.

How do I know what the beginnings of the myriad things were like? By means of the Dao described above: from it, I know that all things began in formlessness and namelessness.

By not deliberately drawing attention to yourself, you preserve your clear insight. By knowing how to yield and step back, you can remain whole; by not insisting that you are right, your own correctness becomes clear; by not boasting of your achievements, they gain recognition; by not acting superior, your virtue endures. Taking little can bring gain, while grasping at too much can lead to confusion.

The way of nature is like a tree: the more abundant its branches and leaves, the farther they are from the root. The more it returns to simplicity, the closer it comes to its source. The more you chase after, the farther you stray from your true nature, and so you become confused. Hold fast to what is simple, and you can reach the root; in this way, you gain.

Therefore, the sage holds to “the One” and makes it the standard for all under Heaven to follow. “The One” means simplicity brought to its utmost; a “standard” is a model to follow.

By not drawing attention to himself, he sees clearly; by not insisting that he is right, his reputation becomes known; by not boasting, his achievements are accomplished; by not acting superior, his virtue endures. Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him. The ancients said, “Yield, and you will remain whole.” Could this be empty talk? Indeed, by yielding and stepping back, one ultimately remains whole.

Chapter 23

Few words accord with nature.

A sound that cannot be heard is called “the rarefied.” As the passage below says, the words spoken by the Dao are plain and flavorless: look for them, and they cannot be seen; listen for them, and they cannot be heard. Since they are flavorless and difficult to hear, such words are the highest expression of what accords with nature.

A gale cannot last through the morning; a downpour cannot last through the day. Who brings these winds and rains about? Heaven and Earth. Even the fierce changes brought forth by Heaven and Earth cannot endure. How much less can the actions of human beings?

This means that forceful, hurried undertakings cannot last.

Therefore, those who act in accordance with the Dao are united with the Dao. Here, “act” refers to people’s conduct and deeds. The Dao has no form and makes no deliberate effort, yet it brings things to completion and nourishes the myriad things. Those who act in accordance with the Dao therefore make Wuwei (non-action) their guiding principle and teach without words. Their influence continues without interruption, as if present yet difficult to perceive. Through this, the myriad things each attain their true nature and become one with the Dao; hence it is said that they are “united with the Dao.”

Those who possess De (Virtue/Power) are united with De.

“Gain” means acquiring something. By reducing desire, one can instead gain something; hence it is called “gain.” When one’s conduct accords with the principle of gain, one becomes one with gain. This is why it is said, “one is in accord with gain.”

All things continue without end, seeming to exist yet remaining hard to grasp. In this way, they preserve their original nature and become one with the Dao (the Way), which is why it is said, “one is in accord with the Dao.”

Those who accord with De (Virtue/Power) become one with De.

“Gain” means acquiring something. By reducing desire, one can instead gain something; hence it is called “gain.” When one’s conduct accords with the principle of gain, one becomes one with gain. This is why it is said, “one is in accord with gain.”

Those who accord with loss become one with loss.

“Loss” comes from being burdened by too many entanglements. The more entanglements one has, the easier it is to lose something; hence it is called “loss.” When one’s conduct fits the pattern of loss, one becomes one with loss. This is why it is said, “one is in accord with loss.”

Those who accord with the Dao are gladly received by the Dao. Those who accord with De are gladly received by De. Those who accord with loss find that loss follows them.

This means that people tend toward things in keeping with their own conduct, and the things they tend toward respond to them in turn.

When those below lack loyalty and trustworthiness, those in higher positions will distrust them.

Chapter 24

Those who stand on tiptoe cannot stand firm. When things press single-mindedly forward in pursuit of progress, they lose their stability. This is why it is said, “Those who stand on tiptoe do not stand firm.”

Those who take long strides cannot walk far. Those who show off cannot see clearly. Those who think themselves right cannot make themselves known. Those who boast of themselves achieve no merit. Those who are arrogant do not win trust. When loyalty and trustworthiness are insufficient to earn others’ confidence, suspicion follows.

Those who stand on tiptoe cannot stand firm. When things press single-mindedly forward in pursuit of progress, they lose their stability. This is why it is said, “Those who stand on tiptoe do not stand firm.”

Those who take long strides cannot walk far. Those who show off cannot see clearly. Those who think themselves right cannot make themselves known. Those who boast of themselves achieve no merit. Those who are arrogant cannot endure. From the standpoint of the Dao, these practices are as unnecessary as leftover food or extra flesh on the body.

This is an assessment of such conduct from the standpoint of the Dao: it is like taking steps beyond where one needs to go, or like the remains of an abundant meal. Something may have been good to begin with, but once carried too far it becomes repellent. One may have achieved merit, but once one boasts of it, that merit is like excess flesh growing on the body.

People often detest such practices, so those who have the Dao do not engage in them.

Chapter 25

There is a whole and undivided existence that was already present before Heaven and Earth took shape.

It is whole and undivided, impossible to know or grasp. All things come into being through it, which is why it is called “formed from the undivided.” People do not know where it came from, so it is said to have existed before Heaven and Earth.

It is silent and vast, existing alone and unchanged.

“Silent and still” means that the Dao (the Way) is quiet and formless. Nothing can be compared with it, so it is called “independent.” It cycles and transforms, running through the beginning and end of all things without departing from the constant Way; hence it is called “unchanging.”

“Moving everywhere without exhaustion, it can be the mother of all under Heaven” means that the Dao moves everywhere and reaches all places without being depleted. It can generate and bring all things to completion, so it may be called the source of all things under Heaven.

“I do not know its name” means that names are used to define the shapes and boundaries of things. The Dao is a seamless whole with no fixed form, so no name can define it. That is why it is said that we do not know what to call it.

“I give it the designation ‘Dao’” means that names define things, while a designation gives something a term by which it can be spoken of. The Dao takes for its model what has no form or substance, yet nothing is not born from it. Within the seamless whole of the Dao, “Dao” is the designation that expresses it best.

“I reluctantly call it ‘Great’” means that “Dao” is simply the name best suited to speaking of it. If we seek the fundamental reality to which this designation points, we can only reluctantly call it “Great.” But once “Great” becomes a fixed name, it imposes limits. Limits give rise to distinctions, and the Dao, which is absolutely boundless, is no longer captured. So it can only be called “Great” reluctantly.

“Great means moving onward”: here, “moving onward” means functioning and moving. The Dao does not cling to any fixed form; it moves everywhere and reaches all places. Hence it is said to “move onward.”

“Moving onward means far; far means returning” means that the Dao moves without ceasing and reaches without limit, so it is called “far.” It also does not remain confined to any one direction, but always preserves its independence; hence it is called “returning,” meaning a return to the root.

“Therefore the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is also great” means that the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king can all be called “great.” Among the myriad things produced by Heaven and Earth, human beings are the most honored. The king is the ruler of human beings. Although he does not claim greatness for himself alone, he too belongs among the great, and so is placed alongside the Dao, Heaven, and Earth.

“There are four great things within the realm” means that between Heaven and Earth there are four things that are great.

The “Four Greats” are the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king. Anything that has a title or a name cannot be absolutely ultimate. To speak of the Dao means that it is the principle by which all things are guided; because it provides such guidance, it is called the Dao. Thus, “Dao” is merely a name for what is great. The greatness without name or title is greater still. This nameless, unnameable state cannot be spoken of directly, so we provisionally call it the “boundless realm.” The Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king are all contained within this nameless realm. That is why it is said: within the realm are four greats.

The king is one of the Four Greats, occupying the position of ruler among human beings.

Human beings take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model; and the Dao takes what is natural as its model—that is, what happens of itself, without being opposed by external force.

“To take as one’s model” means to follow a principle. Human beings can live in peace only by not opposing the patterns of Earth; this is taking Earth as their model. Earth can support all things only by not opposing the patterns of Heaven; this is taking Heaven as its model. Heaven can cover all things only by not opposing the Dao; this is taking the Dao as its model. The Dao can preserve its own nature only by not opposing what is natural; this is taking the natural as its model. When things are in a square setting, they appear square; when they are in a round setting, they appear round. They do not go against what is natural. Here, “the natural” is a name for the nameless, unnameable state that has reached its ultimate limit.

Cleverness is inferior to knowing nothing; physical form and spirit are inferior to the subtle image; the subtle image is inferior to formlessness; and formal rules are inferior to having no rules. Thus, all things depend on one another in layers and take one another as their models. The Dao accords with what is natural, so Heaven moves in accordance with the Dao. Heaven takes the Dao as its model, so Earth follows Heaven. Earth takes Heaven as its model, so human beings follow Earth. Therefore, whoever can encompass these four is their ruler.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Heaviness is the root of lightness; stillness is the master of agitation.

Light things cannot bear heavy burdens, and small things cannot stabilize great ones. What moves enables things to move; what is still can restrain what moves. Thus, heaviness must be the foundation of lightness, and stillness must be the master of agitation.

Therefore, the Sage travels all day without leaving the baggage wagons that carry supplies. Because heaviness is the foundation, the Sage does not leave the wagons behind.

Even when surrounded by splendid sights, the Sage remains at ease and detached, keeping them from occupying the mind.

As the ruler of a state with ten thousand chariots, how can one treat the world lightly? Lightness causes one to lose the foundation; agitation causes one to lose mastery.

Because steadiness is its foundation, it can endure without being abandoned. Even in a splendid palace or temple, one can dwell in peace, detached and at ease, without taking such things to heart.

As ruler of a great state, why treat the realm and oneself lightly? To act lightly is to lose one’s foundation; to act hastily is to lose one’s position as ruler. Lightness cannot bring things to rest. Losing the foundation endangers oneself, and losing the Way of rulership means losing one’s position.

Chapter 27

Those skilled at walking leave no tracks or footprints. They act in accord with nature, without deliberate contrivance or forcing a beginning, so that after all things have passed, no trace remains.

Those skilled at speaking have no flaws or errors in their words. They follow the nature of things and make no deliberate distinctions or analyses, so there is nothing to criticize.

Those skilled at calculating use no counting rods or other implements—the tools of calculation in ancient times. They rely on the quantities inherent in things and make no use of external calculating tools.

Those skilled at closing use no bolt, yet the door cannot be opened. Those skilled at tying use no rope, yet the knot cannot be undone. They follow the natural state of things and neither set anything up nor impose anything deliberately. Thus, without bolts or ropes, they can make a door impossible to open and a knot impossible to undo. These five examples all show that one should avoid deliberate contrivance and action, follow the nature of things, and refrain from using artificial forms to control them.

Therefore, the sage is always skilled at helping people and abandons no one. The sage does not establish fixed standards or labels to constrain the myriad things, nor deliberately prescribe a direction, rank people, and discard those who do not meet the standard. The sage assists the myriad things in following their natural course and does not force a beginning. Hence it is said that no one is abandoned.

When the worthy are not exalted, people will not compete for fame. When rare goods are not prized, people will not steal. When objects that stir desire are not displayed, people’s hearts will not be thrown into confusion. If the people are kept free of greed and delusion, no one will be abandoned.

The sage is always skilled at helping the myriad things, so nothing is abandoned. This is called following the enlightened Dao by carrying on its natural course. The good person is the teacher of the person who is not good, because the good person guides the other toward goodness; therefore, the good person is called a teacher.

The person who is not good is a resource for the good person. “Resource” means something one can rely on or make use of. The good person uses goodness to bring the not-good into balance and thereby set aside what is not good. Thus, the person who is not good is also someone through whom the good person can practice goodness.

If one neither respects one’s teacher nor values the resources from which one can learn, then, even if one considers oneself clever, one will fall into great confusion.

To know what is strong and forceful, yet remain gentle and yielding, is to be willing to dwell low like the streams of the world. Dwelling low like a stream, one’s enduring De will never depart, and one ultimately returns to the pure simplicity of an infant.

The “male” stands for what takes the lead and is strong; the “female” stands for what follows and is yielding. To know how to take the lead in the world, yet be willing to stay behind, is why the sage places himself last and thereby comes before others. A stream does not deliberately summon the myriad things, yet they naturally gather to it. An infant uses no scheming, yet accords with natural wisdom.

To know what is bright and manifest, yet remain with what is dark and hidden, is to become a model for the world.

“Model” means a standard or pattern.

As a model for the world, one’s enduring De will never go astray, and one ultimately returns to a state without bounds, inexhaustible.

“Deviation” means error. “The boundless” refers to what has no limits and cannot be exhausted. An infant uses no scheming, yet accords with natural wisdom.

To know what is glorious, yet remain with what is humble, is to be willing to dwell low like the valleys of the world. Dwelling low like a valley, one’s enduring De will become abundant, and one ultimately returns to a state of simple, original authenticity.

These three teachings all speak of the cyclical return of things: only by staying behind and dwelling low can De be made whole in one’s position. The next chapter says, “Returning is the movement of the Dao,” meaning that return is how the Dao operates. One does not claim merit as one’s own, but always remains rooted in what is fundamental.

When the state of simple, original authenticity disperses, it gives rise to all kinds of implements. The sage applies this principle, enabling people to serve as different officials and leaders.

“Uncarved simplicity” means the true, simple nature. When this simple nature disperses, it gives rise to various actions and distinct categories, just as implements each have their own shape. The sage follows these distinctions and therefore establishes officials at different levels. He takes good conduct as a guide and bad conduct as a warning, transforming customs so that people return to their unified source.

Thus, the greatest form of governance does not divide the myriad things.

“Great making” means taking the hearts of all under Heaven as one’s own, and thus not dividing or arbitrarily cutting things apart.

To seek to possess the world and govern it by force, I believe, will ultimately prove impossible. The world is a numinous vessel and cannot be forcibly controlled.

“Numinous vessel” refers to the world as wondrous and unfathomable, beyond forceful control.

To possess the world and govern it, I think, is difficult to accomplish. The world is a wondrous thing, an integrated whole that cannot be arbitrarily controlled. Those who force their will upon it will ruin things; those who insist on holding it will lose it.

All things take their natural state as their true nature. We can only follow along, not force them into shape; we can guide and open a path for them, but we cannot insist on controlling them. Each thing has its own enduring nature: if we try to alter it by human design, we are bound to fail. Things are always changing, coming and going; if we insist on holding on to them, we are bound to lose them.

Thus, some things move ahead and others follow; some breathe out softly and others blow forcefully; some are strong and others weak; some meet with setbacks and others are destroyed. Therefore, the sage sets aside extremes, extravagance, and excess.

These examples show that things undergo reversals between good and ill fortune, and should not be manipulated or judged by force. The sage understands the principles of nature and allows the nature of all things to unfold smoothly. Thus, the sage follows along without acting presumptuously and adapts without imposing by force. By removing what leads people astray and clouds their understanding, the sage keeps the mind free of disorder, and all things can naturally preserve their own nature.

Chapter Thirty

Those who assist a ruler through the Dao do not use military force to dominate the world. If even those who assist a ruler through the Dao cannot use force to dominate the world, how much less should a ruler who personally follows the Dao do so? Acting through military force tends to bring consequences in its wake.

Those who launch wars are often single-mindedly intent on establishing achievements and stirring up trouble. Those who have the Dao seek instead to return to Wuwei (non-action). Thus, military force easily brings a backlash.

Where armies have been stationed, brambles grow thick; after a great war, famine is sure to follow. Armies are instruments of harm and cannot truly solve problems; instead, they inevitably cause injury. They inflict harm on the people and ruin their fields, which is why brambles grow there.

Those skilled in warfare seek only to achieve their purpose and relieve danger. They do not dare use military force to dominate the world.

When they achieve results, they do not boast; when they achieve results, they do not flaunt them; when they achieve results, they do not grow arrogant.

I do not take the glorification of warfare as my guiding principle. I use force only when there is truly no other choice. What is there to be proud of or boast about?

Even when the task has been accomplished, it was done only because there was no other choice. Once it is done, do not use the outcome to make a show of strength.

This means that although warfare may be used to achieve a result quickly and relieve danger, at times it is truly unavoidable. Force should be used only to quell disorder; do not treat victory as a pretext for showing off one’s strength.

When things grow powerful and strong, they move toward decline. This is called being contrary to the Dao (the Way); whatever is contrary to the Dao soon perishes.

The “strong” referred to here means a sudden rise in military power. It is a metaphor for relying on force to assert strength and seeking to dominate the world. A gale cannot last all morning, and a torrential downpour cannot last all day. Thus, a sudden rise through violence cannot truly quell disorder in the end. If one then treats victory as a pretext for showing off strength, one will fall into decline.

When things grow powerful and strong, they move toward decline. This is called being contrary to the Dao; whatever is contrary to the Dao soon perishes.

The “strong” referred to here means a sudden rise in military power, a metaphor for using force to claim supremacy over the world. A gale cannot last all morning, and a torrential downpour cannot last all day. Therefore, rising through violence is ultimately contrary to the Dao, and will soon come to an end.

Chapter Thirty-One

Even the finest weapons are instruments of ill omen. All things abhor them, so a person of the Dao does not make them part of daily life or use. In ordinary times, the noble person honors the left; in military affairs, the right is honored.

Weapons are instruments of ill omen, not things a noble person likes to use. They should be used only when there is no other choice, and then with a calm, detached frame of mind. Victory in battle is not something to praise. To take pride in victory is to delight in killing. Those who delight in killing cannot fulfill their ambitions in the world.

In auspicious ceremonies, the left is honored; in funerary rites, the right is honored. In the army, the deputy commander stands on the left and the commander on the right. This means that war should be treated according to the rites of mourning. When many people have been killed, one should grieve and mourn them; even a victory should be marked with funerary rites.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Dao is forever without a fixed name. Nothing in the world can command it as a subordinate. If lords and kings could hold fast to the Dao, all things would naturally come to them.

The Dao has no fixed form and is bound by nothing. No name can ever fully encompass it; namelessness is its constant state. Hence the saying, “The Dao is constantly nameless.” The Uncarved Block is the natural state before anything has been shaped. It takes Wuwei (non-action) as its foundation and, like the Dao, has no fixed name. Therefore, the best way to attain the Dao is to preserve simplicity and one’s original nature. The clever can serve as officials, the brave can be sent to battle, the skillful can take charge of affairs, and the strong can bear heavy responsibilities. But those who preserve simplicity and their original nature are not governed by such distinctions or uses. They are close to formlessness and Wuwei, and so nothing can command them. Preserve simplicity and return to Wuwei: do not let external things burden your nature or desires damage your spirit. Then external things will naturally fall into accord, and the Dao will come of itself.

When the Yin-Yang Qi of Heaven and Earth joins, sweet dew falls of its own accord. The people need no commands to become naturally harmonious.

This means that when Heaven and Earth join, sweet dew falls without being sought. If I preserve my nature and follow Wuwei, the people, too, will settle into harmony without needing commands.

When institutions are first established, names and ranks arise along with them. Once names and ranks exist, one must know when to stop. Knowing when to stop is what prevents disputes from taking hold.

The phrase “when institutions are first established” refers to the point when a simple society begins to divide and officials emerge. Appointing officials requires ranks to distinguish the high from the low, so various designations appear as soon as institutions are established. As society develops further, people begin to compete over even the smallest advantages. Thus, once names arise, disputes may follow. If one continues using names to classify all things, the foundations of good governance will be lost. One must therefore know when to stop in order to avoid danger.

The Dao moves through the world as streams and valleys flow into rivers and seas.

Streams and valleys flow toward rivers and seas without being summoned. Even without being called or pursued, they gather there naturally. A ruler who follows the Dao should likewise bring the people into harmony without relying on commands, and accomplish things naturally without pursuing them. This is why the process is compared to streams and valleys flowing into rivers and seas.

Chapter 33

To understand others is cleverness; to understand oneself is true wisdom.

Understanding others shows cleverness and talent; understanding oneself goes beyond such cleverness.

To defeat others shows strength; to defeat oneself is true power.

To overcome others is merely a matter of strength. It is better to overcome oneself, for nothing outside oneself can damage one’s own strength. Using wisdom to deal with others is not as good as using it to understand oneself; using strength to deal with others is not as good as using it to restrain oneself. When wisdom is used to observe oneself, nothing outside can elude one’s understanding. When strength is used to make demands on oneself, nothing outside can change one’s actions.

Those who know contentment are rich.

Those who know how to be content lack nothing in their hearts, and so they may be called rich.

Those who persevere and press onward have firm resolve.

Diligent effort makes it possible to fulfill one’s resolve. That is why those who press onward are said to have determination.

Those who do not leave the place where they belong can endure.

Examine yourself with clear insight, measure your strength before acting, and do not leave the place suited to you: then you can endure.

Though the body dies, the spirit and what is transmitted through the Dao do not perish. This is true longevity.

Even if the body dies, one can preserve life by holding to the Dao as the Way of life and never abandoning it. The body may perish, yet the Dao remains. How much less, then, would the Dao be interrupted while the body is still alive?

Chapter 34

The Great Dao flows everywhere, vast and all-pervading. It moves to the left and to the right.

This means that the Dao flows broadly and is applicable everywhere. Whether above or below, to the left or right, turning and moving back and forth, it is effective wherever it goes; there is nowhere it cannot reach.

All things depend on the Dao for their life, yet the Dao does not refuse them. When things are accomplished, the Dao does not claim the credit. The Dao nourishes all things but does not rule over them. It is always free of desire, so it may be called small. All things return to it, yet it does not rule over them, so it may also be called great.

All things are born from the Dao, yet they do not know where they came from. Thus, all things under Heaven rest in what they have received, without needing to pursue it deliberately. The Dao seems to act without exerting itself, and so may be called small.

All things return to the Dao and are born from it, yet the Dao does not force them by its power or let them know why they return to it. This is no small thing, and so the Dao may also be called great.

Because the Dao never claims to be great, it is able to accomplish its greatness.

Accomplish greatness through what is subtle; address difficulties by beginning with what is easy.

Chapter 35

Those who hold fast to the image of the Great Dao will draw all under Heaven to come and return to them.

The “Great Image”—the formless image symbolizing the Dao—seems small, and so can contain what is vast. Precisely because it never regards itself as vast, it can achieve true greatness.

To accomplish great things, begin with what is small; to deal with difficulties, begin with what is easy.

Chapter 35

Hold fast to the “Great Image,” and all under Heaven will turn toward you.

The “Great Image” is the foundation of all things between Heaven and Earth. It is neither cold nor hot nor cool, and thus can encompass and govern all things without harming any of them. If a ruler can hold fast to it, all under Heaven will turn toward them.

When people turn toward you without being harmed, this is stability, peace, and greatness.

The Dao has no form or awareness. It shows no favoritism and does not display itself. Thus all things can turn toward it without obstruction or harm.

Music and fine food can make travelers stop along the way. But when the Dao is spoken of, it seems bland and tasteless. Look at it, and it is not enough to please the eyes; listen to it, and it is not enough to delight the ears. Yet its use is inexhaustible.

This explains the Dao’s depth and vastness. When people hear about the Dao, they often find it less moving than music and fine food that suit the moment. Music and fine food can make travelers pause; the Dao, when spoken of, seems bland and tasteless. It is not enough to please the eyes or delight the ears, but if one truly understands and applies it, its effects are inexhaustible.

Chapter 36

If you would contract something, you must first let it expand; if you would weaken it, you must first let it grow strong; if you would cast it aside, you must first let it arise; if you would take something from it, you must first give to it. This is called “subtle insight”—discernment that emerges from what is slight.

To remove the overbearing and quell disorder, follow these four methods: move with the nature of things and let them bring about their own downfall, rather than using severe punishments to eradicate them by force. This is why it is called “subtle insight.” First let things expand fully, then allow them to keep expanding; in the end, people themselves will bring them back to restraint. If something has not yet expanded enough, but one keeps trying to make it expand, one only puts oneself in greater danger.

The soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot leave the depths; a state’s sharp instruments—its power and means of coercion—must not be casually displayed to people.

The most beneficial way for a state to govern is to follow the nature of things and avoid deliberate methods of control. When governance does not make itself conspicuous, all things find their proper place. This is the truly beneficial way to govern a state. To display the means of governance openly is to rely on punishment. Punishment may preserve a state for a time, but it should not be paraded before the people.

If punishment is treated as a tool of statecraft and openly displayed, the foundations of governance will be lost. When a fish leaves deep water, it is sure to be caught. Treating punishment as the sharpest instrument for governing the state and displaying it openly will likewise lead inevitably to a loss of control.

Chapter 37

The Dao always follows its own nature and makes no deliberate effort, yet nothing is left undone. All things are governed and brought to fulfillment through the working of the Dao.

If the lords and rulers can hold to the Dao, all things will transform of themselves. When desires and artificial striving arise in the course of this transformation, I will use the nameless uncarved simplicity—the plain state without imposed names or adornment—to settle them, without imposing my will on all things.

If nameless uncarved simplicity is maintained, all things will tend toward desirelessness. When there is no desire to contend and stillness is taken as the standard, the world will settle of itself.

Commentary on the Dao De Jing, Volume Two

Commentary on the Dao De Jing, Volume Three

Commentary by Wang Bi of Shanyang

Chapter 38

Truly profound virtue, or highest De (Virtue), does not make a show of itself and is therefore naturally virtuous. Those of shallow virtue, or lesser De, constantly strive to preserve their reputation for virtue and so lack genuine virtue. Highest De follows its nature without deliberate effort or any specific aim. Lesser De, though active, acts to achieve a particular end. The highest form of benevolence acts without deliberately seeking anything in return; the next form of righteousness also acts, but with a clear intention. The highest form of ritual acts as well, and when others do not respond, rolls up its sleeves and forcefully makes them comply.

Thus, only when the Dao (the Way) is lost do people speak of De; when De is lost, they speak of benevolence; when benevolence is lost, they speak of righteousness; and when righteousness is lost, they speak of ritual. Ritual signals that loyalty and trust have grown faint, and it marks the beginning of disorder. Those who believe they have grasped the truth in advance and use their knowledge to instruct others, too, roll up their sleeves and force others to accept it. When the Dao is lost, De appears; when De is lost, benevolence appears; when benevolence is lost, righteousness appears; and when righteousness is lost, ritual appears. Ritual is a sign that loyalty and trust have grown faint, and it is the beginning of disorder. So-called foresight is merely the Dao’s superficial adornment, and the beginning of folly. Therefore, the great person establishes themselves in what is substantial and does not dwell in what is shallow. They value what is real and do not chase after what is showy; they let go of the latter and choose the former.

“De” means “to attain”: one continually gains without losing, bringing benefit to others without causing harm. This is why it is called De. How can one attain De? By following the Dao. How can one fully embody De? By taking Wuwei (non-action) as the basis for putting it into practice. When Wuwei is put into practice, all things can be sustained. Thus, the void contains no particular thing, yet nothing fails to pass through it; by contrast, constant deliberate action cannot even prevent life from being harmed.

Though vast, Heaven and Earth take emptiness and Wuwei as their foundation. Though exalted, sage kings make stillness and emptiness their guiding principles. So it is said: return to the root and observe, and you will see the innermost nature of Heaven and Earth; quiet your mind at the winter solstice, and you will grasp the highest standard of the former kings. The winter solstice is a pivotal moment in the annual transformation of Yin and Yang, and the ancients often used it to observe the patterns of Heaven and Earth’s movement.

When sages cast aside their private desires and do not place themselves first, all under Heaven look up to them, and people from near and far turn toward them. If they attend only to themselves and cling to their own views, they can scarcely preserve even their own bodies; their muscles and bones, too, cannot remain in harmony.

Those of highest De follow only the Dao. They do not deliberately advertise their De, cling to action, or act according to their own intentions. Thus they possess De, yet nothing remains undone. They gain without striving to obtain and accomplish things without deliberate action. Though they have De, they do not acquire a reputation for “having De.”

Those of lower De, by contrast, deliberately seek and accomplish things, setting standards of goodness by which to govern all things. Thus they acquire a reputation for “De.” But deliberate striving inevitably entails loss, and deliberate action always risks failure. Once a reputation for goodness arises, its opposite, badness, arises as well. Lower De therefore involves action guided by clear aims and intentions.

Here, “without deliberate action” means not singling out something and acting upon it by design. Anything that cannot remain in Wuwei, but must be done intentionally, belongs to the level of lower De; the norms of benevolence, righteousness, and ritual propriety are examples. To clarify the difference between higher and lower De, the author first presents the lower levels for comparison. The form of lower De closest to Wuwei is superior benevolence: it strives to extend love widely, but still acts deliberately.

The root lies in Wuwei, and the source of all things lies in the nameless. Abandoning the root and leaving the source to pursue only the branches may bring great achievements, yet still leave something unfinished; however beautiful a reputation may be, it readily breeds pretence. When people cannot achieve things through Wuwei, and cannot govern all under Heaven without raising armies and stirring up commotion, some then strive to extend kindness widely, love everyone, and avoid partiality. This is superior benevolence: it involves action, but not action driven by explicit self-interest.

When love cannot extend to everyone, some step forward to uphold fairness, distinguish right from wrong, punish injustice, support the upright, assist one side, and attack the other. In this way, personal intentions become entangled in the handling of affairs. This is superior righteousness: it involves action guided by intention.

When uprightness is not firm enough, some begin to attend to outward appearance and refinement, perfect ritual conduct, and show respect to one another. They prize ritual, scrutinizing whether exchanges conform to its rules. Unable to treat one another with genuine sincerity, they readily fall into resentment and anger. This is superior ritual propriety: it involves action, and when others do not respond, one rolls up one’s sleeves and forces them to comply.

At the highest level, perhaps there is only the Dao. What is there to revere in the levels below it? Even deep virtue, great achievements, and abundant possessions amount only to each thing attaining its corresponding De; they cannot ensure that all things find their proper place. Heaven cannot sustain everything on its own, nor can Earth cover everything on its own, nor can people provide for all things on their own. Though they act through Wuwei, they still cannot be separated from Wuwei as their foundation. Without Wuwei as their foundation, they lose their true vastness. This is what is meant by De arising only after the Dao has been lost.

To act through Wuwei is to take the source of De as one’s foundation. Then one’s own effort is not exhausted, while all things are brought into order. Below this level, that foundation has been lost: unable to remain in Wuwei, people prize the widespread bestowal of kindness; unable to bestow kindness widely, they prize fairness and uprightness; unable to uphold uprightness, they prize ritual refinements. This is what is meant by benevolence being discussed only after De is lost, righteousness only after benevolence is lost, and ritual propriety only after righteousness is lost.

Ritual propriety arose because loyalty and trust had grown shallow, and the way of open, easy understanding had faded. People then turned to demanding perfection in outward appearances, while secretly competing to control one another. Benevolence and righteousness arise from within; even when deliberately practised, they may become insincere. How much less can mere attention to outward adornment endure? Ritual propriety, then, is a sign that loyalty and trust have thinned, and the beginning of disorder.

“Foreknowledge” refers to people who get ahead of others by claiming insight in advance.

This is the kind of practice called “inferior De”: exhausting one’s intelligence to anticipate things ahead of time, and using strategy and ability to manage every affair. Even striving hard for virtue can make one’s cleverness grow ever more subtle; even as one’s reputation improves, one may lose more and more of one’s honesty and integrity. Busyness only makes matters more confused, while diligent governance makes the situation more corrupt. Even the fullest use of a sage’s wisdom can bring greater harm to the people. Let go of the self and allow the myriad things to move naturally, and one can rest in Wuwei (non-action) and peace. Keep to simplicity and one’s original nature without clinging to written rules and institutions. To pursue only what can be gained at once and abandon what one holds at the root is to see only the Dao’s outward splendor and mistake foolishness for wisdom.

If one can grasp the source of the myriad things’ functions, they will grow naturally, without needing to be urged or forced. All affairs can likewise settle into their proper place without painstaking management. To put the Dao to use is not to rely on outward forms; to govern the myriad things is not to rely on names. In this way, benevolence and righteousness can become evident, and reverence can shine forth.

When the Great Dao bears the myriad things, and the Dao without a name brings them to rest, they no longer contend with one another for superiority, nor do their intentions seek anything. Each follows its own nature, and each action springs from sincerity. Thus benevolence becomes profound, conduct accords with righteousness, and reverence remains pure. But if one abandons the Great Dao as the root and instead relies on forms that have already come into being, deploying cleverness and talent, benevolence becomes a deliberate display, righteousness becomes competition, and ritual becomes a struggle for advantage.

Thus profound benevolence is not achieved by deliberately practicing benevolence; upright conduct in accord with righteousness does not arise from deliberately pursuing righteousness; and pure reverence is not realized by deliberately pursuing ritual. When the Dao bears the myriad things and the root governs them, benevolence, righteousness, and ritual can all shine forth without any desire to prevail. By putting the Dao without a name to use, distinctions of status become truly secure; by following the Dao without form, concrete forms can truly take shape.

Only by keeping to the root can one preserve all that grows from it; only by honoring the root can one bring its branches and leaves into motion. Then both forms and distinctions of status can each find their proper place, and disorder will not arise. Perfect beauty can match Heaven without becoming mere outward display. Therefore, one must not depart from the root or lose sight of the source. Benevolence and righteousness are results born from the root; they cannot be treated as the root itself. Forms and implements are made by artisans; they cannot be treated as the artisans themselves.

Abandon the root and rely only on what grows from it; turn from the source and pursue outward results, and distinctions of status will split apart, while things will be confined by their forms. Even when development reaches its height, it must leave something incomplete; even when beauty reaches its utmost, it will conceal trouble. If achievements depend entirely on deliberate action, how could one remain securely within them for long?

Those of old who attained the One:

“Of old” means the beginning. The One is the beginning of number and the root to which all things attain. Each thing comes into being through the One, which therefore becomes its master. All things take form only by attaining the One. Once formed, if they remain fixed in the state they have reached, they lose their root. Thus all things move toward division, decline, withering, extinction, and collapse.

Heaven attains the One and so becomes clear; Earth attains the One and so becomes settled; the spirits attain the One and so become efficacious; the valleys attain the One and so become full; the myriad things attain the One and so grow; the lords and kings attain the One and so become the rightful rulers of all under Heaven.

Each of them relies on the One to attain clarity, stability, efficacy, growth, and rightful order.

If Heaven cannot remain clear, it may well split apart. Heaven attains clarity through the One; it does not become clear by deliberately seeking clarity. Hold fast to the One, and clarity will not be lost. Deliberately putting clarity to use, by contrast, may well lead to collapse. Thus the One is the root that brings all things to completion and must not be cast aside. All things should not act solely through their own capacities, for this may cause them to lose their root.

If Earth cannot remain settled, it may well quake; if the spirits cannot remain efficacious, they may well fade; if the valleys cannot remain full, they may well run dry; if the myriad things cannot remain vital, they may well perish; if the lords and kings cannot remain noble and exalted, they may well suffer defeat. Nobility takes lowliness as its root, and high position takes a lower position as its foundation. When lords and kings call themselves “orphaned,” “widowed,” or “unworthy” (humble terms meaning deficient in virtue), are they not taking lowliness as their root? Is this not so?

Thus, seeking excessive praise in the end brings no praise. Do not be like fine jade, gleaming and precious, nor like stone, hard and coarse.

Clarity cannot make itself clear on its own, nor can fullness make itself full on its own. Both depend on the root if their forms are to endure. Therefore, clarity is not worth esteeming by itself, and fullness should not be praised without restraint. What is truly precious is the root on which they depend, and the root has no outward appearance of nobility. Nobility takes lowliness as its root, and high position takes a lower position as its foundation. Thus, deliberately seeking praise in the end brings no praise. Fine jade gleams and catches the eye; stone is hard and conspicuous. Both display only their outward forms. Their roots have no appearance of nobility, so there is no need to seek such conspicuous outwardness.

Chapter 40

Reversal and return are the movements of the Dao (the Way).

The high takes the low as its foundation; the noble takes the humble as its root; being takes nonbeing as its function. These are principles in which opposites bring each other into being. If, in acting, one can recognize what is still lacking in things, then all things can flow freely. Hence the saying: “Reversal is the movement of the Dao.”

Weakness and softness are how the Dao functions.

Through weakness and softness, things can connect and come together; their effects are inexhaustible.

All things under Heaven arise from “being,” and “being” arises from “nonbeing.”

All things under Heaven come to life through “being.” At its beginning, “being” takes “nonbeing” as its root. To preserve “being,” one must return to “nonbeing.”

Chapter 41

Those of the highest aptitude hear of the Dao and diligently cultivate it; they have firm resolve.

Those of middling aptitude hear of the Dao and seem to remember it, yet seem to forget it. Those of the lowest aptitude hear of the Dao and burst out laughing. If it were not laughed at in this way, it would hardly deserve to be called the Dao. Ancient sayings include the following:

“Establish” means to set up or put in place.

The bright Dao seems dim, because it has light but does not dazzle.

The forward-moving Dao seems to retreat, because it places itself behind and so can move ahead; it sets itself aside and so can preserve itself.

The level Dao seems rugged. “Lèi” refers to a raised clod in the earth. The most level Dao follows the nature of all things and does not force them into uniform standards. Its evenness is not apparent, so it seems like a raised clod in the earth.

The highest De seems like an empty valley, because it does not consider itself virtuous and has no attachments in the heart.

The whitest thing seems stained. Knowing what is white while keeping to the dark and the plain leads to true whiteness.

The greatest De seems deficient. It does not congratulate itself; it is open and formless, and so cannot be filled.

Establishing De seems loose and casual. “Tou” carries the sense of matching or joining. Those who establish De follow the natural course of all things, setting no deliberate standards and forcing nothing into action. So they seem loose and inactive.

True simplicity seems altered. Those who are truly simple do not boast of their genuineness, so they may seem not to hold to any fixed appearance.

The greatest square has no corners: though square, it does not injure others with its corners.

The greatest vessel is completed only at the very end.

The great vessel, which can contain and bring all things to fulfillment, is not something people in the world can use to measure and distinguish things. For this reason, it must take a very long time to be completed.

The great sound, the greatest of sounds, seems faint, almost inaudible. What cannot be heard is called “rare.” Once a sound takes a definite form, distinctions arise; and with distinctions come different notes, such as gong and shang. Thus, what cannot encompass all sounds is not truly the great sound.

The great image, the greatest of images, has no definite shape. Once something has a shape, distinctions arise, bringing differences such as warmth, heat, and cold. Thus, what has a definite shape is not truly the great image.

The Dao is hidden and nameless. Only the Dao is skilled at giving to all things and bringing them to fulfillment. The fine qualities described above are all brought forth by the Dao: when the Dao appears as image, it is the great image, which has no definite shape; when it appears as sound, it is the great sound, which seems silent. All things take shape through the Dao, yet we cannot see the Dao molding them into fixed forms. This is why the Dao is hidden and has no name. The Dao’s giving does more than meet the momentary needs of all things. Once it has given, it enables their De to endure, which is why it is said to “give generously.” The Dao brings all things to fulfillment without deliberate shaping, as a craftsman would do, yet enables each thing to reach its own completion. This is why it is said to “bring skillfully to completion.”

Chapter 42

The Dao gives rise to One; One gives rise to Two; Two gives rise to Three; Three gives rise to the ten thousand things. The ten thousand things carry Yin and embrace Yang; the Qi of Yin and Yang blend together to form harmony. Everyone dislikes the humble titles “orphan,” “widower,” and “unworthy,” yet rulers use them for themselves. Thus, some things are diminished and thereby gain; others are increased and thereby lose.

Though the forms of the myriad things differ, in the end they all return to “One.” How can one attain “One”? Through “Nothing.” “One” arises from “Nothing,” so “One” can also be called “Nothing.” Once it has been called “One,” how can it remain unspoken? But as soon as we speak of “Being” and “One,” have we not already made them “Two”? With “One” and “Two,” “Three” arises in turn. The progression of numbers from “Nothing” to “Being” ends here; beyond this, we are no longer following the Dao’s underlying pattern.

Thus, as the myriad things grow, I know what governs them: though they take countless forms, they are all held together by the harmonizing Qi, the primordial energy that flows through them. The people each have their own inclinations, and the customs of each state differ, yet the lords and rulers are what bring them together. If “One” is the guiding principle, how can it be abandoned? The more one pursues, the farther one strays from the root; by reducing desire, one draws closer to it. Only by diminishing desire to its utmost can one reach the state of the root. If “One” can be extended into “Three,” how much farther must we be from the Dao if we did not begin with One at all? How could we possibly draw near to it? Can it really be false that reduction can bring increase?

I teach others as others teach them.

I do not force people to follow my teaching. Rather, in keeping with the natural order, I point out its most fundamental principle. Following it brings good fortune; going against it brings danger. So when people teach one another to go against the natural order, they bring danger upon themselves. This is just as I teach people not to go against it.

Those who act with force and arrogance do not meet a good end. I will make this the foundation of my teaching.

Those who act with force and arrogance are certain not to meet a good end. If people urge one another to act this way, the result will be the same. That is why I teach people not to act with force. If someone teaches others that those who act with force do not meet a good end, then those who disregard this teaching become living examples of its truth.

Chapter 43

The softest thing in the world can pass through what is hardest in the world.

Qi can enter anywhere; water can flow anywhere.

What has no form or substance can enter where there is no gap. From this I know that Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial.

Emptiness and softness are the root of all things.

Qi enters everywhere, and water flows out everywhere. Both can move through the meridians.

Qi, though formless and immaterial, can enter places with no gaps. From this I understand that Wuwei is beneficial.

What is empty and yielding can reach everywhere. The formless cannot be exhausted, and what is supremely soft cannot be broken. From this we can infer that Wuwei is beneficial.

Few things in the world can match the benefits of teaching without words and of Wuwei.

Chapter 44

Which is dearer: reputation or life?

Pursuing reputation single-mindedly and reaching too far will distance you from your life.

Which matters more: life or possessions?

Greed for possessions without knowing when to stop will harm your life.

Which brings greater distress: gain or loss?

If you gain many advantages but lose your life, which is the true distress?

Therefore, excessive attachment must exact a great price, and hoarding too much must bring heavy loss.

Excessive attachment prevents you from relating naturally to external things; hoarding too much makes you unwilling to let possessions circulate. When many covet what you have, others will attack and compete for it, and you will be burdened by your possessions. Thus you pay a great price and suffer heavy loss.

Knowing contentment keeps you from disgrace; knowing when to stop keeps you from danger. In this way, you can endure.

Chapter 45

What is most complete seems to have something missing, yet its use never fails.

It takes shape according to the circumstances of all things and does not settle into one form, so it seems to have something missing.

What is most full seems empty, yet its use is never exhausted.

It is abundant and full, yet adapts to all things in its use. It does not cherish or boast of itself, so it seems empty.

What is most upright seems bent.

It manifests uprightness according to the circumstances of all things and is not confined to one appearance, so it seems bent.

What is most skillful seems clumsy.

True skill follows nature to bring vessels to completion and does not deliberately create strange forms, so it seems clumsy.

The one most skilled in argument seems inarticulate.

True argument expresses things in keeping with their own nature and does not deliberately fashion words, so it seems inarticulate.

Activity can overcome cold; stillness can overcome heat. Purity and stillness are the right way for all under Heaven.

Only by reaching the utmost cold can one feel warmth; through stillness and Wuwei (non-action), the heat of summer can be dispelled. From this we may conclude that clarity and stillness are the right way for all under Heaven to follow. Stillness preserves the original true nature of all things, while agitation goes against their nature. Only through clarity and stillness, therefore, can one attain the effects described above.

Chapter 46

When the Dao prevails under Heaven, warhorses are put to pasture to plow and fertilize the fields.

When peace reigns under Heaven and order accords with the Dao, people know contentment and when to stop. They do not seek things outside themselves, but cultivate their inner selves. Thus warhorses can be put to pasture to plow and fertilize the fields.

When the Dao does not prevail under Heaven, warhorses breed in the open countryside.

People desire without limit and fail to cultivate themselves, seeking only to take from the world around them. So warhorses breed in the open countryside, and war follows.

No misfortune is greater than not knowing contentment; no fault is more serious than coveting more. Therefore, only those who know how to be content with what they already have can remain at peace for a long time.

Chapter 47

Without leaving one’s home, one can understand the world; without looking out through the window, one can know the Dao of Heaven—the patterns by which Heaven and Earth operate.

All things have their own roots and governing principles. Their paths may differ, yet ultimately they can return to one and the same place; thoughts may be many, yet the principles they reach are in accord. The Dao has constant patterns, and the principles of things share a common root. By grasping the Dao handed down from ancient times, one can understand the present. From where one stands now, one can also recognize the beginnings of all things. Thus, without leaving home or peering out the window, one can understand these principles.

The farther one travels, the less one knows.

The Dao returns all things to unity. If one abandons the root and searches everywhere among the confusing details of the world, one moves ever farther from the Dao. The Dao cannot be seen, heard, or touched. If one truly knows the Dao, there is no need to leave home to understand it. If one has not recognized the Dao, the farther one travels, the more bewildered one becomes.

Therefore, the sage understands how things work without traveling, and discerns the names and principles of things without seeing them with his own eyes,

because he has grasped the root of all things. Even without traveling, he can infer how things work; knowing the source of all things, he can discern the principles of right and wrong.

He does not act rashly, yet accomplishes things.

See clearly the nature of things, and it is enough to follow their original state. Thus, without deliberate action, all things can come to fulfillment of their own accord.

Chapter Forty-Eight

In the pursuit of knowledge, something is added day by day.

This means striving to improve one’s abilities and increase what one has learned.

In cultivating the Dao (the Way), something is reduced day by day.

This means striving to return to a state of stillness, emptiness, and Wuwei (non-action).

Reduce and reduce again, until one reaches the state of Wuwei. With Wuwei, nothing is left undone.

Deliberate action brings loss, so through Wuwei, all things can be accomplished.

In governing the world, one usually relies on not interfering recklessly,

and acts by following the way things naturally unfold.

If governing the world involves too many affairs and too much interference,

that means acting arbitrarily according to one’s own will.

This is not enough to govern the world well,

because it means losing the foundation for guiding the world.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Deliberate action brings loss, so through Wuwei, all things can be accomplished.

In governing the world, one usually relies on not interfering recklessly,

and acts by following the way things naturally unfold.

If governing the world involves too many affairs and too much interference,

that means acting arbitrarily according to one’s own will.

This is not enough to govern the world well,

because it means losing the foundation for guiding the world.

The sage has no fixed opinions, but takes the people’s hearts as their own.

They act by following the way things naturally unfold.

I treat the good with kindness; I also treat the ungood with kindness.

By responding to each person as they are, goodness is never lost.

This is the goodness of De (Virtue/Power).

No one is cast aside.

I trust those who are trustworthy; I also trust those who are untrustworthy. This is the trustworthiness of De. In governing the world, the sage is modest and restrained, never showing an edge. For the sake of the people, the sage brings their hearts back to simplicity. The people focus intently on using their eyes and ears,

each making full use of their intelligence and abilities.

The sage, however, keeps them all as innocent as children.

The sage brings them to a state of harmony without desire, like infants. Heaven and Earth establish the place of all things, and the sage enables each thing to fulfill its capacity. Whether people make plans or spirits and gods make plans, the people focus intently on using their eyes and ears,

each making full use of their intelligence and abilities.

The sage, however, keeps them all as innocent as children.

Let all things return to harmony, free of selfish desires, like infants. Heaven and Earth establish the positions of above and below, while the sage enables all things to fulfill their capacities. The plans of human beings and those of spirits and gods serve as references for one another, and the people take part as well, joining in the completion of affairs. Those who are capable are appointed; those with the means obtain what they need. Those with great ability take on great responsibilities, while those of high standing receive fitting positions. All things have their roots, and every matter has its governing principle.

Then a ruler need not fear being deceived, even when wearing a ceremonial crown whose hanging beads obscure his sight. Nor need he worry that others will neglect him when yellow silk wadding hangs beside his ears to block out sound. Why should he exhaust himself, relying on his own cleverness to scrutinize the thoughts of the people? If a ruler uses shrewdness to examine all things, all things will compete to use shrewdness in dealing with him. If he examines all things with suspicion, they will compete to answer him with suspicion. The thoughts of people throughout the realm are naturally diverse, but if they dare not show their differences, no one will be willing to speak honestly. The harm this causes is immense; nothing is worse than wielding one’s cleverness at every turn.

If a ruler tries to outdo others in strategy, people will argue with him. If he matches himself against others in strength, people will fight him. If he is no wiser than others yet takes up a position of contention, he will be trapped in difficulty; if he is no stronger than others yet takes up a position of struggle, he will face danger. No one can prevent others from using their strategy and strength against him. Thus the ruler, one person, pits himself against the multitude, while the multitude number in the thousands and unite to contend with him.

If a ruler multiplies rules and regulations, increases punishments, blocks the people’s means of livelihood, and intrudes upon their private lives, all things will lose their natural character, and the people will lose their ability to govern themselves. Birds will startle and scatter in the sky; fish will panic in the water. Therefore, when the sage governs the realm, he does not cling in his heart to fixed opinions, but lets the people preserve a simple, natural state of mind. He favors neither one side nor the other. He does not deliberately scrutinize the people, so what would they need to hide from him? He does not deliberately make demands, so what would the people need to answer? With neither concealment nor compliance, people can all show what they truly think.

When people do not act recklessly, they set aside what they are capable of doing and turn instead to what they cannot do; they set aside their strengths and turn instead to their weaknesses. When this is so, those who speak say only what they know, and those who act do only what they can. The people each make full use of their eyes and ears; the sage need only let them remain natural and simple, like infants.

A person’s life is a journey from birth to death. At birth, one enters the realm of life; when the journey reaches its end, one enters the realm of death.

Among people, roughly three in ten belong to the kind who live long and well, three in ten are prone to an early death, and another three in ten are alive but bring themselves into danger through improper conduct. Why is this? Because they prize life too highly and crave enjoyment excessively, thereby endangering themselves.

I have heard that those skilled at preserving life do not encounter rhinoceroses or tigers when walking on land, and are not harmed by weapons when entering battle. The rhinoceros has nowhere to use its horn, the tiger nowhere to strike with its claws, and weapons nowhere to land their blades. Why is this? Because such people do not put themselves in mortal danger.

“Three in ten” means that roughly three out of every ten people fall into each of these groups. About three in ten follow the way of nurturing life and preserve it to the fullest; about three in ten head toward death and push themselves into desperate straits. Others could have continued living, but because they cling too fiercely to life and crave enjoyment, they instead enter a place where there is no way to survive. Those skilled at preserving life do not make the craving to stay alive the foundation of their lives, and so they do not fall into mortal danger.

No instrument harms people more than weapons; no wild beasts are more dangerous than rhinoceroses and tigers. Yet weapons cannot bring their blades to bear, and rhinoceroses and tigers have no chance to wound with horn or claw. This shows that such people do not let desire entangle them. How, then, could they fall into mortal danger?

The yuanchan, small animals that live in water, find the depths not deep enough and dig burrows there. Eagles and sparrowhawks find the mountains not high enough and build their nests higher still. Bows and arrows cannot reach them, and bird-catching nets can scarcely touch them. They seem to be in places beyond harm, with no desires to entangle them; yet in the end, they fall into desperate straits because they crave the bait. Is this not because they crave survival and enjoyment too fiercely?

Therefore, if beings do not turn away from their nature in pursuit of external things, nor let desire alter their true nature, they will not be harmed even when they enter battle, and will be unlikely to suffer injury while walking on land. There is good reason to regard the infant as worthy of emulation and cherishing.

All things arise from the Dao, are nurtured by De, take shape through particular things, and reach completion through their own conditions and circumstances.

Things first come into being, then are nurtured. After being nurtured, they take shape; only once they have a form are they complete. What gives rise to them? The Dao. What nurtures them? De. What gives them form? Particular things. What enables them to reach completion? Their own circumstances and conditions. Because all things follow what they depend on, each takes shape in its own way; because circumstances play their part, each reaches completion in its own way. Whatever comes into being and whatever achievement is completed has a source on which it depends, and that source ultimately comes from the Dao. Tracing things back to their roots, we arrive at the Dao. All things follow what each depends on, and so each has a different name.

That is why nothing in the world fails to honor the Dao and cherish De.

The Dao is the source from which all things arise; De is the power through which they are nurtured and brought to completion. All things come from the Dao and gain what they need through De. Without this source and nurture, they could not reach completion. Thus the Dao and De are naturally honored and cherished.

The Dao is honored and De cherished not because anyone commands or arranges it, but because this is simply how things are, naturally.

Some versions write “rank” instead of “command,” meaning to grant a noble title or confer a rank.

Thus the Dao brings all things into being, and De nurtures them. Together they cause all things to grow and multiply, mature and become full, and then nourish and protect them.

This means that the Dao and De bring each thing to fulfill its own nature and shelter all things without damaging what they are.

The Dao brings all things into being but does not claim them as its own. It acts, but does not rely on its accomplishments or take possession of its results.

To nurture all things and help them grow without ruling over them is called “Mysterious De”—a profound virtue that is difficult to perceive. Though all things receive its benefits, they do not know who governs them. Since this influence comes from a deep and formless source, it is called “Mysterious De.”

Chapter 52

All things under heaven share a common source, and this source may be called the mother of the world.

To be skilled at bringing all things into being and nurturing them without ruling over them is called “Mysterious De.” Though this De is present, its ruler cannot be seen; its influence comes from a deep and formless source, so it is called “Mysterious De.”

If one is skilled at bringing all things into being, one can also be skilled at nurturing and storing them up. Thus, since all things under heaven share a common source, this source may be called the mother of the world.

Once you have recognized the root, you must also recognize what grows from it. Once you have recognized what lies at the end, you must still hold fast to the root. Then, even at the end, you will be free from danger.

The “mother” means the root; the “child” means what lies at the end. Only by grasping the root can you understand what grows from it. Do not abandon the root and chase after what lies at the end.

Block the openings through which sensory desires arise, and close the gates through which desire enters.

“Exchange” (dui) is the source from which all affairs and desires arise; “gate” means the passage through which they enter.

Then you can go through life without wearing yourself out.

If you do not act recklessly, you can remain at ease for a long time; then you will not wear yourself out over the course of your life.

If you open the openings of desire and busy yourself managing every affair, you will be beyond help for your entire life.

You fail to investigate the roots of things and busy yourself only with what is at hand. So even if you spend your whole life rushing about, you will not be able to set things right.

To perceive what is subtle is called clarity; to hold fast to weakness is called strength.

The effects of good governance do not come from pursuing grand undertakings. Seeing only what is conspicuous and large does not count as clarity; seeing what is subtle does. Clinging to strength is not true strength; holding fast to weakness is.

Use clarity

to make the Great Dao manifest and dispel the people’s confusion.

Then return to inner clarity—

that is, do not scrutinize things excessively.

In this way, you will not bring misfortune upon yourself. This is called following the constant Dao.

This is the constant principle of the Dao.

Chapter 53

If I have even a little understanding and walk on the Great Dao, what I fear most is acting recklessly.

The meaning is this: if I understand even a little of the Dao and wish to put the Great Dao into practice throughout the world, I must be most wary of acting rashly.

The Great Dao is broad and level, yet the people delight in taking narrow paths.

The Great Dao is straight and open, yet people often go out of their way, avoiding it in favor of crooked paths. How much worse it is to impose regulations and act recklessly, blocking the Great Dao. That is why it says: the Great Dao is broad and level, yet the people delight in taking narrow paths.

The court and palaces are kept splendidly polished,

“Court” refers to the palaces; “polished” means clean and ornate.

while the fields lie fallow and the granaries stand empty.

The more splendidly the palaces are built, the more the fields lie fallow and the granaries stand empty. Focusing on one thing brings many harms.

Wearing fine clothes, carrying sharp swords, eating one’s fill, and having wealth to spare—this is called boasting of wealth stolen from others, and it is truly contrary to the Dao.

A thing acquired without a proper basis is wrongful. To acquire it by wrongful means is to steal. To boast of oneself without proper grounds is to usurp reputation and status. Thus, improper conduct is cited here to make the point that actions contrary to the Dao are forms of theft and self-aggrandizement.

Chapter 54

What is well established cannot be uprooted.

First strengthen the roots, then tend to the branches and leaves; then the foundation cannot be pulled up.

What is well guarded will not slip away.

Do not seek too much; hold only to what you are capable of maintaining, and you will not lose your hold.

Its descendants will pass it down through generations, offering sacrifices without end.

When descendants inherit this Dao and offer sacrifices according to the rites, the sacrifices will continue without interruption.

Cultivate the Dao in yourself, and your De will become genuine; cultivate it in your household, and your De will abound.

This means extending to others what one gains through self-cultivation. When you cultivate yourself, your virtue becomes real; when you put it into practice in your household, virtue accumulates there. Persist in cultivation without abandoning it, and its influence will gradually spread.

Cultivate the Dao in your village, and its De will grow; cultivate it in your state, and its De will flourish; put it into practice throughout the world, and its De will become universal.

Therefore, observe yourself through yourself, a household through a household, a village through a village, and a state through a state, for the principles are the same.

Then observe the world through the world.

Observe how the world works through the people’s own sentiments. The world’s fortunes and misfortunes, its compliance and resistance, follow patterns just as an individual’s circumstances do.

How do I know that the world is like this? By relying on the principles above.

The point is this: how do I understand the world? By observing myself, I can understand the world without seeking outside myself. This is what is meant by “without going out the door, one can understand the world.”

Chapter 55

A person of deep De is like a newborn baby. Venomous bees, scorpions, and snakes will not sting or bite it; fierce beasts will not pounce on it; birds of prey will not seize it.

Like an infant, he has no greed or desire and does no harm to the things around him, so poisonous insects and fierce beasts do not harm him either. A person of deep De (Virtue/Power) likewise does not disturb the myriad things, and so nothing can damage his complete nature.

His bones are weak and his tendons supple, yet he can grip things tightly.

Because his body is soft, an infant’s hands can hold firmly.

Though he does not yet know the union of male and female, his sexual organ naturally becomes erect.

“Arising” means growing and emerging. Nothing injures his body, so he can remain whole and grow. This says that a person of deep De is not harmed by external things and does not alter his true nature. Like an infant, he is soft and does not contend, so he is not diminished. This is how it is in every case.

This is a sign that Jing and Qi are full to the utmost.

He cries all day, yet his voice does not become hoarse.

Because his heart holds no contention or desire, he can make sounds all day without becoming hoarse.

This is a sign that body and mind are harmonized to the utmost. To understand harmony is to understand the constant Dao.

All things take harmony as their constant state. Thus, to understand harmony is to grasp what is constant.

To understand what is constant is to be called “illumined.”

Neither conspicuous nor obscured, neither warm nor cold: this is what is constant. The constant has no fixed form and cannot be seen directly. To discern it is to be called “illumined.”

Trying to increase life at all costs only brings disaster.

Life cannot be forcibly increased. Seeking too much gain instead causes life to be cut short.

Making the mind willfully direct the breath is called straining.

The mind should be empty, still, and Wuwei (non-action). Deliberately controlling the breath is straining.

When things reach their height, they move toward decline. This is called departing from the Dao; to depart from the Dao is to perish prematurely.

Chapter 56

Those who truly understand the Dao do not speak carelessly.

This is in accordance with nature.

Those who are fond of making pronouncements do not truly understand the Dao.

For they continually create trouble.

Close the openings of the senses, shut the gates of desire, and draw in your sharpness;

that is, keep what is within contained and guarded, and preserve simplicity.

Set aside distinctions between one thing and another;

this removes the root of contention.

Dim your radiance,

and do not make yourself seem different from others; then the myriad things will not incline toward competition.

Blend with the dust of the world,

and do not regard yourself as base or noble; then the myriad things will not cling to shame.

This is called “Mysterious Union,” joining with the profound Dao and dissolving distinctions. Thus, people cannot be especially close to him, nor can they be especially distant from him;

if they could be especially close to him, they could also be especially distant from him.

People cannot gain any special benefit from him, nor can they harm him;

Those who are drawn close because of what they can gain may also be pushed away for the very same gain. Those who are drawn close because of what they can gain may in turn be pushed away.

If no one can use you to profit, you will not invite harm on that account. If someone can use you to profit, you may thereby invite harm.

What cannot be exalted cannot be brought low. What can be exalted may also be brought low.

Therefore, the Dao is the most honored under Heaven. Nothing can rise above it.

Chapter 57

Govern the state through the right way; wage war through stratagem; govern the world through Wuwei and by leaving things undisturbed.

When the state is governed according to the Dao, it will be at peace. When it is governed only through orders and rules, deceit and opposition will arise. Only by maintaining Wuwei and leaving things undisturbed can the world be governed well. The previous chapter says that governing the world calls for constant Wuwei; once affairs of state become numerous, the world can no longer be governed. Thus, orders and rules alone are not enough to govern the state well, while military campaigns call for stratagem.

To govern the state according to the Dao is to grasp the root and quiet the troubles at the branches. To govern it through orders and rules alone is to impose punishments to suppress minor problems. If the root is not established, the branches are hard to govern. The people have no way to follow, and in the end, one is forced to resort to stratagem and arms.

How do I know this? I can see it in the following conditions: the more prohibitions there are under Heaven, the poorer the people become; the more tools the people have for pursuing private gain, the more confused the state becomes.

“Sharp tools” here means all kinds of instruments people can use to pursue private gain. When the people grow powerful, the state instead grows weak.

The more clever and skilled the people become, the more strange and ingenious things appear. As their cleverness and cunning grow, deception and pretence emerge; once these appear, crooked and harmful practices follow.

The more numerous and strict the laws and decrees, the more thieves and robbers there are.

The intent behind issuing proper orders is to quiet wrongdoing, yet the result is the use of deceitful tactics. The intent behind adding prohibitions is to make the poor feel ashamed, yet the people become poorer still. The intent behind adding sharp tools is to make the state strong, yet the state becomes more confused. These measures mostly abandon the root and attend only to the branches, which is why they lead to such results.

Therefore, the sage says: “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform of themselves. When I love stillness, the people become upright of themselves. When I do not stir up affairs, the people grow prosperous of themselves. When I have few desires, the people become simple and genuine of themselves.”

What those in higher positions pursue, the people will soon pursue as well. I pursue only “desirelessness”—not deliberately chasing private desires—and the people will likewise cease to crave and return to natural simplicity. These four practices all honor the root and eliminate the secondary.

The people will then become naturally upright. When I do not interfere recklessly, the people will prosper. When I have no greed, the people will become simple and sincere.

Chapter 58

When government orders are lenient and interference is limited, the people are simple and at peace.

Those skilled at governing do not make a show of rules, interfere in every matter, or deliberately establish all kinds of standards. They may seem lenient and inactive, yet in the end bring great order to the world. This is why it is said, “Its government is subdued.” The people have no cause to fight or compete; they are generous and harmonious. This is why it is said, “Its people are simple and sincere.”

When government orders are strict and exacting, the people suffer loss and compete with one another.

Laws and penalties are established, rewards and punishments clearly defined, and wrongdoing and deceit are investigated and suppressed. This is why it is said, “Its government is scrutinizing.” When things are divided and classified too finely, the people give rise to deceit and rivalry. This is why it is said, “Its people are dissatisfied.”

Misfortune—good fortune leans upon it. Good fortune—misfortune lies hidden within it. Who can know where change will end? There are no fixed, unchanging standards within it.

Who knows the highest achievement in good governance? It is to establish no deliberate standards and display no deliberate labels. Though it may seem lenient and inactive, it allows the world to be transformed naturally. This is the utmost in governing.

The Straight Way turns back and becomes the strange.

Governing a state through what is “straight” may lead to using strange methods to command an army. This is why it is said, “The straight turns back into the strange.”

Goodness, too, can turn back and become misfortune.

Deliberately establishing what is called goodness to harmonize all things may instead bring misfortune.

People have lost the Great Way for a long time.

People have long been confused and lost the Way. We cannot expect to correct them at once, nor should we judge them harshly by standards of supposedly good governance.

Therefore, the sage is upright, yet does not harm the myriad things.

The sage guides the myriad things through uprightness and leaves behind what is crooked, yet does not use standards of uprightness to divide or harm them. This is “the greatest square has no corners”—the truly square has no projecting edges.

The sage is incorruptible, yet not harsh.

“Calm and peaceful” means quiet and tranquil; “injury” means harm. Govern the people through quiet and tranquility, helping them cast off deluded thoughts and impurity, but do not harm the myriad things in the name of quietude.

“Upright, yet not unrestrained.”

Guide the myriad things through uprightness, helping them cast off what is crooked and deviant, but do not stir up conflict among them in the name of uprightness. This is what is meant by saying, “The upright Dao appears bent.”

“Bright, yet not dazzling.”

Use brightness to reveal the causes of people’s confusion, but do not use it to pry into or expose what others keep hidden. This is what is meant by saying, “The bright Dao appears dim.” These practices honor the root and quiet the branches. They do not attack, yet they allow things to return to their original state.

End of volume three of the Commentary on the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue.

Textual notes: In the first passage, “De is its mother” is likely a corruption of “then one obtains its mother.” In the second passage, the original text has “not” in “upright, not in one”; this has been changed to “below” on the basis of the Zhang edition. In the third passage, the words “its governance” were missing from the original in “its governance is meticulous”; they have been added on the basis of the Zhang edition.

Commentary on the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue, volume four

Commentary by Wang Bi of Shanyang

Chapter 59

In governing the people and serving Heaven, no method is better than frugality and restraint.

“None is better than” means “nothing surpasses.” Here, Wang Bi interprets “frugality” as the work of a farmer. A farmer tends a field by diligently removing unruly growth and bringing it into order. Preserve things in their natural state; do not rush to deal with neglect and decay, but remove their causes. Uphold Heaven’s mandate above and bring peace to the people below: no method is better than this.

Only frugality and restraint are called returning early to the constant Dao.

“Returning early” means returning to the normal state.

Returning early to the constant Dao is called accumulating De without cease.

Only by accumulating De without cease and without seeking haste can things return early to the constant Dao. Thus it is said: “Returning early” means accumulating De without cease.

When De is accumulated without cease, nothing cannot be overcome…

When profound De accumulates without cease, nothing cannot be overcome. When nothing cannot be overcome, no one can know the limits of its power.

The Dao is inexhaustible.

When no one can know the limits of its power, a state can be governed. If a state is governed through limited ability, it cannot truly be held for long.

One who understands the root of a state’s stability can make it endure. The root on which a state’s stability depends is called the “mother.” Keep accumulating profound De and seek only to strengthen the root; then attend to the branches and leaves, and good results will follow.

This is called “deep roots and a firm base”: the way to live long and endure.

Chapter 60

Governing a large state is like cooking a small fish.

It means not stirring it too often. Restless interference causes much harm; stillness preserves things in their original state. Thus, the larger the state, the more its ruler should remain still, so that the people’s support may be won far and wide.

When the world is governed through the Dao, spirits do not manifest to cause trouble.

A large state should be governed as one cooks a small fish; when the world is governed through the Dao, spirits likewise do not manifest to cause trouble.

It is not that spirits have lost their efficacy, but that their efficacy does not harm people.

Spirits do not disturb the natural state of the myriad things. When the myriad things each remain natural, spirits have no way to exert influence; when they have no way to exert influence, people no longer sense that spirits are manifesting.

It is not that spirits have lost their efficacy, but that their efficacy does not harm people.

Spirits do not disturb the natural state of the myriad things. When the myriad things each remain natural, spirits have no way to exert influence; when they have no way to exert influence, people no longer sense that spirits are manifesting.

The efficacy of spirits does not harm people, and the sage does not harm people either.

When the Dao is universally practiced, spirits do not harm people. When spirits do not harm people, people no longer sense that they are manifesting. When the Dao is universally practiced, the sage likewise does not harm people. When the sage does not harm people, people no longer regard the sage as anything special. In other words, people no longer sense either the manifestation of spirits or any difference in the sage. To govern the myriad things by relying on power and a web of laws is a sign of decline. If people no longer regard spirits and sages as anything special, this is the Dao at its fullest.

Neither spirits nor sages harm people. Thus, their De gathers together among the myriad things.

Spirits do not harm people, and sages do not harm people. Sages do not harm people, and spirits do not harm people. Thus, neither harms the other. Spirits and sages accord with the Dao, and their De converges and returns to the myriad things.

Chapter 61

A great state occupies a low position, like the downstream reaches of a river.

Rivers and seas occupy low-lying places, so all streams flow toward them. A great state occupies a high position, yet can place itself humbly below others, and the world will turn to it. Therefore, a great state should be like rivers and seas, situated downstream.

“The meeting place of all under Heaven” means the place where all things under Heaven gather and turn for refuge.

“The female of all under Heaven” means the source toward which all things under Heaven return. “Female” refers to the feminine. The feminine is still and does not actively seek; all things naturally turn to it. The feminine often overcomes the masculine through stillness, taking the lower position through stillness. Because it is still, it can remain below, and all things under Heaven gather to it. Therefore, a great state should be like rivers and seas, situated downstream.

When a great state treats a small state with humility, the small state will turn to it. When a small state treats a great state with humility, the great state will accept it. Thus, some states take the lower position in order to welcome others, while others take it in order to be welcomed. Only by practicing humility can each find its proper place.

A great state seeks no more than to care for a broad population; a small state seeks no more than to come under the protection of a great state. If both can fulfill their respective aims, then the great state should especially take the humble position. A small state’s humility can only preserve itself; a great state’s humility can bring the world to it. Therefore, if both can fulfill what they seek, the great state should be more humble.

Chapter 62

The Dao is the hidden refuge of all things. “Hidden refuge” suggests a deep, secluded place that offers shelter.

The Dao is a treasure to the good, and the ground on which they act; it is also the support by which those who are not good preserve themselves.

Fine words can win people’s attention, and noble conduct can earn their respect.

The Dao is the most important thing among all things; nothing can compare with it. Even precious jade and fine horses are no match for the Dao. Praising the Dao is like possessing a priceless treasure, worth more than all the rare goods in the world. This is why fine words can circulate like treasures. When one acts in accordance with the Dao, people even a thousand miles away respond. This is why noble conduct can earn respect.

Why cast aside those who are not good?

Even those who are not good should be allowed to uphold the Dao, so that they are not cast out.

That is why the Son of Heaven is established and the Three Dukes—the high officials who assist him—are appointed.

This is done to honor the virtue of acting in accordance with the Dao.

Even if someone carries a pair of precious jade disks and presents them before a chariot drawn by four horses, it is not as good as sitting quietly and offering the Dao to others.

The “Dao” mentioned here is the Dao spoken of earlier. Establishing the Son of Heaven and appointing the Three Dukes, honoring their status and their personhood, are all ways of promoting the Dao. Nothing in the world is more precious than the Dao. So even presenting jade disks and arriving in a four-horse chariot is not as good as sitting quietly and offering this teaching.

Why did the ancients value the Dao? Was it because those who sought it could obtain it, and those who had committed offenses could use it to be absolved? This is why the Dao is the most precious thing under Heaven.

Seek it, and it can be obtained; use it to be absolved of an offense, and absolution can be granted. There is nowhere the Dao cannot be put into practice. This is why all under Heaven value it.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Act through Wuwei (non-action), handle affairs without disturbing the people, and regard plainness as flavor.

Take Wuwei as the way to conduct oneself, silence as the means of teaching, and plainness as flavor: this is the highest form of governance.

Whether the matter is large or small, few or many, repay resentment with De.

Small grievances are not worth avenging; great grievances are things that everyone under Heaven wants to punish. Following what everyone under Heaven agrees upon is De.

Plan for difficulties while they are still easy to resolve; begin work while things are still small. The difficult undertakings under Heaven must begin with what is easy; the great undertakings under Heaven must begin with what is small. Therefore,

the sage never regards himself as undertaking great things, and so is able to accomplish them.

Difficult tasks should be approached where they are easy; great undertakings should begin with what is small. The difficult affairs of the world must begin when they are still easy, and its great undertakings must begin when they are still small. Thus, the sage never thinks of himself as doing something great, and for this reason he is able to accomplish great things.

Those who make promises lightly often find it hard to keep them. When they regard a task as too easy, they tend to encounter greater difficulties. Therefore, the sage often says that one should treat a task as though it still held difficulties. If even the sage, with all his ability, gives weight to what is subtle and easy, how much more should those without the sage’s ability avoid overlooking it? Thus one must remain cautious throughout. In this way, a task will not become difficult in the end.

Chapter 64

When a situation is stable, it is easy to keep hold of; when a matter has yet to show signs, it is easy to plan for.

This is because, while things are stable, one does not forget danger, and while holding on, one does not forget the possibility of loss. One plans while a matter has not yet taken shape or brought about consequences; for this reason, it is said to be easy.

What is fragile is easy to dissolve; what is subtle is easy to disperse.

Even after they have passed from “nonbeing” into “being,” they remain small and fragile, not yet enough to give rise to a great calamity or take shape as a great undertaking, and so they are easy to deal with. These four points all show that one must remain cautious even as matters approach their final stage. One must not fail to keep a firm hold simply because a problem has not yet appeared, nor delay dissolving it because it is still subtle. If a sign emerges and is not kept in check, it will develop into a real problem; if what is subtle is not dispersed in time, it will gradually grow. Therefore, one should consider in advance how matters will end.