《道德真经注疏(原题顾欢)》Vol. 1

If the Dao can be spoken of, it is not the eternal, unchanging Dao.

“Speakable Dao” refers to principles that can be explained or named in words, such as the way of governance and teaching. The “constant Dao” is the Way that endures naturally: cultivating the spirit through Wuwei (non-action), governing the people by leaving matters undisturbed, restraining one’s brilliance, keeping one’s actions hidden, and making no deliberate show of oneself. The true constant Dao cannot be discerned through words or fully grasped by thought. Only by going beyond words and images can one experience its profound, subtle, still, and unchanging nature. Therefore, whatever can be spoken of and made clear is not the eternal constant Dao.

If a name can be given in words, it is not an eternal, unchanging name. “Nameable” here refers to a reputation that sets someone above ordinary people, such as wealth, rank, or honor.

The commentators hold that whatever can be spoken in words or marked by a name is not the constant, unchanging Dao. The “constant name” is like an infant who has not yet spoken, an egg whose parts have not yet separated, a luminous pearl hidden inside an oyster, or fine jade buried in stone: inwardly bright and clear, yet outwardly appearing plain and unaware.

The subcommentary explains that “name” also refers to instruction and teaching. The earlier phrase, “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao,” emphasizes the principle; “The name that can be named is not the constant name” continues by explaining teaching. The true principle transcends language and images, and the highest teaching transcends sounds and words. Thus the constant Dao cannot be fully expressed in speech, and constant teaching cannot be fully conveyed by fixed names. Principle and teaching can be said neither to be entirely the same nor to have no relation to one another.

The Great Dao is profound and mysterious, beyond measure. It is neither simply being nor simply nonbeing; it is neither annihilation nor permanence. Teaching takes different forms, with some approaches emphasizing and others moderating, some proceeding gradually and others leading to sudden awakening. The Jing therefore invokes “constant” to loosen attachment to what “can be spoken.” At the ultimate point, nothing is absolutely to be accepted, and nothing is absolutely to be rejected. The Jade Capital Scripture says: “There is neither what may be accepted nor what may not be accepted; thought reaches the realm of the subtle and elusive.”

“Nameless” refers to the Dao. The Dao has no form, so it cannot be defined by a name. “Beginning” means the root: the Dao breathes forth primordial Qi from emptiness and brings forth transformation, becoming the root of Heaven and Earth. Wang Bi’s commentary says that although the Dao has no name, it breathes forth primordial Qi and brings about change; arising from emptiness, it becomes the beginning of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. The subcommentary likewise says that the Dao of ultimate emptiness molds and transforms the myriad things; Heaven and Earth, Yin-Yang, the sun and moon, and the stars all come from it. Therefore, the Jing uses “nameless” to designate the root of the myriad things; “nameless” is itself only a way of explaining this root.

“Named” is the mother of the myriad things.

The commentary interprets “the named” as Heaven and Earth. They have form and position, as well as distinctions such as Yin-Yang and softness and hardness, and can therefore be spoken of and named. “Mother of the myriad things” also refers to Heaven and Earth: they contain primordial Qi, bring forth the myriad things, and enable them to grow and mature, just as a mother raises her children.

The subcommentary explains further that “mother” is a designation with a name and discernible traces. The Dao of Chongxuan—the fundamental principle in Daoism that transcends distinctions between two opposing extremes—originally has no name. Only when various traces appear from the root do names arise. Thus, the sage uses “the named” to explain “the nameless.” Calling Heaven and Earth “the mother of the myriad things” expresses how they bring forth all things, lovingly nurture living beings, and guide them back to the root.

Gu Huan says that “the nameless” refers to the constant Dao, the Dao that remains unchanged. Since the constant Dao has no concrete form, it is called “the nameless.” “The named” refers to Yin-Yang, whose distinctions make it possible to give them names. “Beginning” means that it has no prior beginning and, as the root, cannot be traced back to anything earlier. “Mother” means that it brings things to completion, and its principle can be explained: Yin and Yang contain Qi, transform and bring forth the myriad things, and enable them to grow and mature, like a mother raising her children.

“Constantly without desire, one observes its subtlety”: the commentators say that “subtlety” means the essential point, the most refined aspect. If people can remain without desire, they can observe the essential point of the Great Dao. The “essential point” refers to “the One”: change and transformation unfold from the One, which also makes right and wrong clear. The Jiejie explains this as holding fast to emptiness. The subcommentary says that “subtlety” means what is refined, “observe” means to illuminate, and “its” refers to oneself. If people can remain without desire and without action, attaining emptiness and stillness, they can examine the subtle Dao within themselves at close range and perceive the refinements of ultimate principle from afar.

“Constantly having desire, one observes its intensity.”

“Constant desire” refers to people who are continually pulled along by their desires. Such people can see only where worldly things ultimately lead, but find it difficult to perceive the subtle principles within them. The Imperial Commentary says that at birth, people are naturally pure and still; after coming into contact with external things, they develop desires. If they can remain constantly pure and still, dispel distracting thoughts, settle their minds, and turn inward to contemplate their nature, they can illuminate the subtle source. The subcommentary likewise says that if people let greed and passion pull them along, they see only the existence of the myriad things in the world, without understanding that “being” also contains an aspect of emptiness and stillness. They therefore cannot discern the subtle and wondrous principle, seeing only the destination of life and death. The preceding passage compares “namelessness” with “having a name”; this one explains the difference between having desire and being without desire. Zhang’s commentary holds that those who understand the Dao are not troubled by feelings of preference and rejection. Empty and free of desire, with minds and spirits clear, they can grasp the subtlety of the Dao.

These two states, “having desire” and “being without desire,” both arise within the human heart, yet they have different names. Those without desire can endure; those with desire injure themselves. The subcommentary says that the object of contemplation is originally one, but the mind that contemplates it differs. Because people observe it in different ways, they give different names to “the subtle” and “the outcome” (the direction or destination toward which things tend).

Both can be called “mysterious”: profound and subtle, beyond words.

“Darkness” conveys depth and reach, a way of penetrating without becoming fixed or obstructed. People with desires and people without desires both ultimately come from the same Great Dao, though it appears under different names. Tracing these different names back to the same Great Dao reveals its depth and subtlety. Since one clings neither to “being” nor to “nonbeing,” and rests in neither extreme, this is called “Darkness.”

“Darkness within darkness” means going further, beyond attachment to “Darkness” itself. People with desires are prone to clinging to “being,” while those without desires may cling to “nonbeing.” “Darkness” is introduced first to dissolve these two attachments. But people might then become attached to “Darkness,” so “within darkness” is added to dispel that attachment as well. In this way, one clings neither to attachment nor to “nonattachment,” letting go layer by layer. This is why it is called “Darkness within darkness.”

The commentary also says that although all people receive Qi (vital energy) from Heaven and Earth, the Qi they receive differs in purity and turbidity, fullness and thinness. Those who receive clear, harmonious Qi become wise and worthy; they have fewer desires and can discern subtle principles. Those who receive turbid, dense Qi are more ordinary and prone to greed, seeing only the surface signs of things.

This subtle principle is the gateway to the myriad mysteries.

The commentator holds that when people can grasp the layers implied by “within Heaven there is yet another Heaven,” and understand that the Qi they receive at birth may be abundant or scant, they should set aside desires and preserve balance within the heart. This is the gateway to the Dao. “Gateway” means a method of cultivation. The “mysterious One within the Center” mentioned earlier serves to dispel the bias of clinging to either extreme. Once that bias is gone, one must also stop clinging to the “One within the Center” as a remedy for it. Then both remedy and illness disappear, and one reaches a subtle, mysterious state that probes the principles of things and their innate nature. This is both the gateway through which sages understand the principles of the Dao and the method that leads to the myriad mysteries.

When people in the world all recognize beauty as beauty,

ugliness arises.

Here, the commentator explains “beauty” as deliberately promoting oneself and displaying one’s strengths; “evil” refers to the danger and ruin that follow. The subcommentary further explains that “the world” means the people of the human realm.

The commentator says, “‘Danger and ruin’ refers to what brings peril and downfall.” The explanatory gloss states that “all under Heaven” broadly refers to the whole world. The Jing of the Upper Origin says that every place where people dwell, beneath the heavens and above the earth, is called “the world.”

Most beings in the world cling to worldly things and make arbitrary distinctions between beauty and ugliness. Whatever does not suit their wishes, they despise; whatever does, they cherish. Yet they do not understand that all things both appear to exist and are empty in their nature. Since beauty and ugliness have no fixed nature, why despise or cherish either? The Zhuangzi says that Maoqiang and Liji are beauties in human eyes, yet fish dive into the depths when they see them, and birds fly high into the sky. What is called beautiful is simply what each takes to be beautiful. We can see, then, that when people cling to the belief that something is beautiful, that very attachment becomes a form of unwholesomeness.

Master Gu says that all beings are captivated by the beauty before their eyes and by the sensory objects of the five desires, such as sights and sounds. If they keep yearning for these pleasing things, they will inevitably bring calamity upon themselves. This is what is meant by “evil.”

“Everyone knows to regard goodness as good,”

The commentator says this is because goodness can bring fame and status.

“Thus, what is not good arises alongside it.”

Fame is something people compete for. Those with shallow understanding, far removed from the truth, are not only captivated by sights and sounds but also crave reputation. To gain a name, they harm themselves; to benefit themselves, they harm others, unaware that what is called a good name is inherently illusory. The Zhuangzi says, “Do good without drawing near to the pursuit of fame”; it also says that what people prize is often nothing more than a good name. From this we can see that clinging to reputation and being convinced that one is doing good are unreasonable. One should let go of attachment to good and evil and remain in the middle way; only then can one attain Wuwei (non-action).

Luo, the commentator, says: Once people have a physical form, they cherish themselves and pursue fame. What they prize is nothing more than a good name. Such “goodness” is not true goodness and still brings all kinds of distress. Even if one gains the reputation one hoped for, what benefit does it bring?

Being and nonbeing give rise to each other.

The commentary says: Only upon seeing “being” does the notion of “nonbeing” arise. The subcommentary explains: The names “being” and “nonbeing” depend on each other for their meaning. Investigate the nature of things, and you will find that their underlying substance is empty. To understand that being and nonbeing give rise to each other is enough to show that nothing in the myriad things has a fixed, enduring reality. Wang says: To be immersed in desire is to have a mind; stillness and emptiness are to be without mind.

Difficult and easy take shape in relation to each other.

The commentary says: Only upon seeing “difficult” does the notion of “easy” arise. The subcommentary explains: When one observes with a mind that is empty and still, there is neither ease nor difficulty. A discriminating, attached mind, however, insists that some things are difficult and others easy. This shows that difficulty and ease take shape in relation to each other. Wang says: Restraining one’s nature is difficult, while following one’s desires is easy. To restrain desire and choose what is difficult is good; to abandon difficulty and choose ease invites misfortune. The consequences of misfortune that go against reason then become apparent; hence it is said that difficult and easy take shape in relation to each other.

Long and short appear in relation to each other.

The commentary says: Only upon seeing “short” does the notion of “long” arise. The subcommentary explains: Measure the long by the long, and there is no such thing as “long”; compare the short with the short, and there is no such thing as “short.” Thus long and short appear only through comparison. Wang says: If you consider yourself long, other things will seem short. Others, too, will consider themselves right and others wrong.

High and low lean against and reveal each other.

The commentary says: Only upon seeing “high” does the notion of “low” arise. The subcommentary explains: “Lean” means to exist or appear. Wang says: If you consider yourself high, other things will seem low. Others, too, will consider themselves high and others low.

High and low exist in relation to each other. Compared with an inch, a foot seems high; compared with ten feet, a foot seems low. What once appeared high may later appear low. This shows that high and low have no fixed, unchanging essence: they arise in relation to one another and can transform into each other, so both are empty.

Sounds respond to one another, and only then do harmonious tones emerge. The musical pitches, such as gong and shang, and instruments made of silk and bamboo combine to create harmony. Examined in themselves, none has an independent, unchanging substance. The same is true of all things: they arise through the convergence of conditions and are illusory and impermanent.

Before and after follow one another. Only by looking back from the present can we speak of “the present”; only by comparing the past with the present do we call the past “the past.” If the present does not exist independently, how can the past be established? If the past has no fixed self-nature, how can the present be established? Since neither past nor present is fixed and unchanging, where can there be an absolute before and after? Thus, before and after are established in relation to the three times—past, present, and future—but have no independent, unchanging substance. Wang Bi says that beginnings and endings are linked and cannot be separated: when good deeds accumulate first, blessings follow; when evil deeds accumulate first, calamities follow.

Therefore, when governing affairs, the sage acts through Wuwei (non-action: refraining from reckless action and forceful interference).

The sage governs the world through the Dao (the Way). The Dao spoken of here refers to the natural order of things. A sage is someone who has realized the Great Dao and is aligned with what is real. One may also say that “sage” means to set things right: a sage can set both himself and others right. With compassion, the sage helps all beings and governs people driven by desire through the subtle method of Wuwei (non-action).

In governing the world, the sage may act outwardly while keeping inwardly still and clear. Though engaged in worldly affairs, he does not abandon Wuwei. Here, Wuwei does not mean doing nothing; it means not forcing things through self-serving desires. Thus, action can arise within Wuwei, and action need not compromise Wuwei. Whether in the courts and marketplaces or in the mountains and forests, whether acting or sitting quietly, there is no fundamental difference. This is what it means to “attend to affairs through non-action.”

The sage guides through his own conduct and teaches without relying on words. Having realized the source of the Great Dao, he goes beyond the limits of language and form. Even in stillness, he can teach in response to circumstances. Truth and adaptability do not conflict, and speaking need not disturb inner quiet. The sage sits upright in silence, yet his teaching can spread throughout the world. Thus, “teaching without words” does not mean keeping silent and saying nothing. The Zhuangzi says: if words can express what is sufficient, one may speak all day and still speak of the Dao; if words cannot fully express it, then even speaking all day amounts to no more than talking about things.

The myriad things arise and act on their own, and the sage neither rejects nor hinders them. “The myriad things” here means all beings, while “arise” means to come forth in response to what they encounter. The sage has no partiality within. When the myriad things evoke a response, he responds accordingly, like a mirror reflecting what appears before it or an empty valley answering a sound. He responds only when moved to do so and does not act ahead of the myriad things. As the Zhuangzi says, the sage always responds in accord with things and does not take the lead in initiating them.

The sage nurtures the myriad things without claiming them as his own. He acts without relying on his own accomplishments.

The Dao gives life to and nourishes the myriad things, yet does not claim them as its own. It acts, yet does not expect the myriad things to repay it. Here, “Dao” refers to the root that brings forth all things and moves without ceasing; “Primordial Qi” is the original vital energy that the ancients believed formed all things.

“Rely on” means to depend upon or draw support from. The sage’s heart is empty and still. The sage helps the myriad things in keeping with the moment, treats self and others alike, and does not cling to distinctions between self and things. Even after accomplishing great deeds, the sage does not rely on that achievement or claim the credit.

When the work is done, the sage does not claim its merit. The sage bears the myriad things and achieves great accomplishments, yet passes the credit on to them and does not claim personal De.

Precisely because the sage does not claim credit, merit and De do not depart; blessings and De remain with the sage. The commentary also says that if one clings to and pursues the six statements above, all kinds of changes and conflicts will arise. The sage can bring Heaven and Earth to completion and nourish the myriad things, yet, after accomplishing great deeds, gives the credit to them. In this way, merit and De endure.

“Not elevating the worthy” means not promoting those whom the world calls worthy and capable. Here, “worthy” refers to people skilled in eloquent speech and ornate expression, yet estranged from the Dao and neglecting what is fundamental in favor of what is secondary. “Not elevating” means not granting them high rank and generous rewards. Once people deliberately exalt the reputation of the worthy, others begin to pursue fame, and contention follows; this keeps the people from competing with one another.

The commentary says: Not competing for fame and status is a way of returning to the natural state.

The explanatory note says: This does not mean that a ruler should fail to respect the worthy and capable. It means that people should be humble and yielding, think of others before themselves, and not exalt themselves while looking down on others. The reason for “not competing” is this: if everyone exalts themselves and looks down on others, they will compete with one another and vie to show off. If everyone is humble, steps back, and puts others forward, disputes and resentment will naturally subside.

Do not prize goods that are hard to obtain,

The commentary says: The ruler wears no precious treasures; gold is left in the mountains, and pearls and jade are cast into the depths.

and the people will not become thieves.

The commentary says: When those above teach the people through quietude and Wuwei (non-action), those below will not compete.

Do not prize goods that are hard to obtain,

The commentary says: The ruler wears no precious treasures; gold is left in the mountains, and pearls and jade are cast into the depths.

and the people will not become thieves.

The commentary says: When those above teach the people through quietude and Wuwei (non-action), those below will not seek distinction through possessions.

The Jie Jie says: This means that malign Qi (vital energy) will not approach, and thieves will not enter. In cultivation, practicing “holding firm”—a health-preserving gesture in which the hands are clasped tightly to gather and contain Jing (essence)—can drive malign Qi away.

The explanatory note says: Goods that are hard to obtain include treasures such as the luminous pearls of Zhao and the jade disks of Chu. If everyone under Heaven prizes treasures, thieves will arise from this. If people everywhere regard treasures as unimportant, greed and theft will not occur. That is why it says, “the people will not become thieves.”

Do not display things that might stir up desire,

The commentary says: Reject the music of Zheng and keep away from flatterers. The Jie Jie says: This refers to Wuwei.

and the people’s minds will not be confused.

The commentary says: This means not becoming immersed in deviant lust. The Jie Jie says: One should remain focused at all times.

The explanatory note says: “Things that might stir up desire” refers to worldly sights and sounds, as well as things people are likely to covet and become attached to. When government offices do not display such temptations…

This does not mean that people should simply withdraw from the world. The sage understands that all things in the world are illusory, like fleeting shadows, and that nothing is truly worth coveting. Consider the relationship between the senses and external things: they do not accord with one another, so there is no object to covet. Since there is nothing external to covet, the eyes and ears may look and listen freely, while the heart remains calm and empty. In this way, speech does not become confused.

The Scripture of the Western Ascension (Xisheng Jing) says, “It is like an image in a mirror: you can see it, but you cannot grasp it.” It also says, “You wish to see, but there is nothing to see; you wish to hear, but there is nothing to hear.” The earlier discussion of not contending and not stealing explains these points separately. Here, the teaching that external things are not to be regarded as objects of desire gives the principle as a whole. In this way, one can dispel the three forms of karma of body, speech, and mind—that is, actions, words, and thoughts—as well as attachment to all things. This especially reveals the sage’s state of being open toward things and benefiting living beings.

Therefore, in governing, the sage—

Commentary: This passage concerns both governing the state and governing oneself. The Sectional Explanation (Jie Jie) says it refers to cultivating and regulating oneself.

Makes the heart empty and still, and the body within full—

Commentary: Eliminate preferences and desires, and put an end to agitation. Keep the Great Dao in mind, maintain focused attention, and settle the five spirits within the body. The Imperial Commentary (Yu Zhu) says that “emptying the heart” means keeping it undisturbed by things one covets. The Sectional Explanation says that an empty heart has no false thoughts; making the belly full means regulating the breath and nourishing Jing (essence). The Commentary of Master Guo (Guo Zhu) says that when harmful thoughts have been removed, good conduct arises naturally. Keeping the Great Dao in mind and maintaining focused attention brings inner honesty and calmness; this is what “making the belly full” means. The subcommentary explains that when there is nothing outside to covet and no desire within, neither the heart nor the external world remains an object of attachment. One thereby reaches the state of “having a heart that is as if there were no heart.” Even so, inwardly there is still clear and alert awareness: the heart is empty and still, yet responds appropriately to the world. Thus De (Virtue/Power) fills one within, and this is what “making the belly full” means.

Makes the will gentle—

Commentary: Be mild and humble in one’s manner, without putting oneself in a position of dominance. The Imperial Commentary says that when the heart is empty and still, the will naturally becomes gentle. The subcommentary says that the sage harbors genuine wisdom within and is adept at engaging with others outwardly. Living among ordinary people without isolating oneself, the sage appears gentle and yielding.

Makes the will gentle—

Commentary: Be mild and humble in one’s manner, without putting oneself in a position of dominance. The Imperial Commentary says that when the heart is empty and still, the will naturally becomes gentle. The subcommentary says that the sage harbors genuine wisdom within and is adept at engaging with others outwardly. Living among ordinary people without isolating oneself, the sage is therefore gentle and yielding, and does not contend to be first or to take the highest position.

Strengthen the sinews and bones.

Commentary: Cherish Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), and the bones will become full and firm. The Imperial Commentary holds that when Jing and Qi are abundant in the abdomen, the bones naturally grow strong. Gu Huan says that the bones are nourished by Jing and Qi; when these are scattered and lost, the bones weaken. Preserve Jing and cherish primordial Qi, and the bones will naturally grow strong. Chuang Hua says that although sages appear outwardly calm and humble, their hearts remain tranquil and detached. This means that in action they do not damage their inner stillness, and in responding to affairs they do not depart from their true nature. Hence the words, “Strengthen the sinews and bones.”

Always keep the people’s minds from clinging to discriminating knowledge and from nurturing desires for gain.

Commentary: This means returning to simplicity and preserving natural sincerity. The Imperial Commentary explains that one should cast aside cleverness aimed at outdoing others and put an end to desires for gain. The subcommentary says that “knowledge” refers to the mind that discriminates and judges, while “desire” refers to thoughts of craving. Sages benefit the people through a mind that is empty and still, helping them let go of distorted discrimination and worldly cravings.

Make those who think themselves clever dare not act rashly.

Commentary: They consider matters deeply and do not speak hastily.

Conduct affairs through Wuwei (non-action),

Commentary: Do not contrive or force things; let action follow the natural order and reason inherent in them.

Then nothing will remain ungoverned.

Commentary: When virtue and instruction are sincere and generous, the people can live in peace. The subcommentary explains: The earlier passage speaks of abandoning desire and reaching desirelessness, but there is a concern that those without desires may become attached to emptiness and stillness. The words “dare not act” dissolve that attachment. There is also concern that they may become attached to doing nothing at all, so the text continues by speaking of “not daring to act.” Here, “govern” means to set things right and bring them into order. Practitioners first let go of desire, then let go of attachment to desirelessness, setting aside both extremes so they may realize the Great Dao. They no longer cling to the distinction between self and things, or to either external circumstances or the inner mind. Through such governance, things and principles naturally fall into proper order.

The Dao’s substance is empty and unfathomable. In its use,

Commentary: “Chong” means emptiness and harmony. The Dao conceals itself and seeks no renown; its workings take place unseen. Another interpretation holds that the Dao functions through emptiness and harmony, which is why it is called “Chong.” The Shijie says that “Chong” means “One”: the unity of the Dao is always present within the body and moves through it. However one uses the Dao, it seems never to become full.

The Dao seems empty, yet it can be put to use. Some commentators explain that “surging” refers to being centered, balanced, and at peace: the Dao works through this harmony. “Surging” can also be understood as the “One” continually moving within the body.

The Dao seems never to be used up. Here, “perhaps” carries the sense of “always.” The Dao is always modest and never self-satisfied. The commentaries explain further: sages teach people in many ways, but the most essential is to abide by the middle way. Yet if one clings to “the middle” and treats it as a fixed standard, one falls into another kind of rigidity. Thus “never full” also means letting go of attachment to the middle.

The Dao is deep and mysterious, as though it were the source of all things. The commentaries say that an abyss is, in its original sense, deep, still water. Still water can reflect people; likewise, a sage’s wisdom can illuminate all things. All things turn to the sage for guidance, so he seems to be their root. “Seems” means that, although he is the root to which all things turn, there is no fixed, unchanging master.

“To blunt its sharpness” means to restrain one’s edge. Here, “sharpness” refers to eagerness to advance. If someone is single-mindedly pursuing fame and success, they should curb this impulse and follow the Dao’s example of not calling attention to itself.

“To resolve its anger” means to dispel anger.

“Resentment” means bitterness and anger. When anger arises, one should remember that the Dao upholds Wuwei (non-action), and use this understanding to loosen the knots of resentment in the heart. The Jiejie says this means not being stirred by distress or anger.

The Shu says: Those whose cultivation is deep and whose attainment is complete can perfect themselves and also guide others. What follows explains how to benefit others: seeing that the realms of external things are illusory enables those who seek the Dao to put an end to greed and contention.

“Resolving resentment” means easing anger and loosening the knots of bitterness. Anger and joy arise from distinguishing between favorable and adverse circumstances; this distinction, in turn, arises from the deluded mind. The sage understands that neither favorable nor adverse circumstances has any fixed, inherent reality, and knows that the deluded mind itself is not real. Thus the sage guides people back to what is real, unties the knots in their hearts, and frees them from the troubles of anger and delusion.

Harmonize with its light

The commentary says: Even with exceptional insight and discernment, one should temper one’s sharpness, as if blending with the dim. One should not flaunt one’s brilliance or disturb others. The Jiejie says that the sage follows the Dao and keeps the light of the spirit calm and inwardly restrained.

The Shu says: “Light” refers to the illumination of wisdom. The sage’s wisdom shines brightly, like the sun and moon illuminating all things, yet the sage conceals its sharpness and lives in harmony with the understanding of ordinary people. Sagely virtue operates unseen and is not displayed outwardly; that is why the text later says, “Bright, yet not dazzling.”

Share in its dust

The commentary says: One should live among people in the dusty world and not consider oneself different from them.

The Shu says: “Dust” refers to the six sense objects, such as sights and sounds. Like worldly dust, they can soil what is pure; external sights and sounds may also obstruct pure cultivation. The sage enters the world, conceals their traces, and adapts to the lives of ordinary people. The sage both tempers the light of wisdom and blends into the dusty world. Outwardly, the sage appears just like everyone else, seeing and hearing as ordinary people do. Yet while dwelling amid defilement, the sage remains unstained—this is what distinguishes the sage from ordinary people.

Can you concentrate your breath and bring it to a gentle state, like an infant’s? This refers to focusing the spirit and regulating the breath so it does not become scattered, allowing the body to grow supple. Like an infant, free of distracting thoughts and undisturbed by external affairs, the spirit will not be depleted. It can also be understood as embracing the original Qi without allowing it to be diminished.

By being like an infant, with no worries in the heart and no entanglement in political affairs, one’s spirit will not be dissipated. “Embracing and guiding the original Qi” means preserving and circulating the original Qi without exhausting oneself. When the Great Dao is in motion, people, too, should be as simple and unspoiled as infants. To be like an infant is to make no distinctions; by concentrating one’s vital energy, one can attain a state of harmony and gentleness.

The “Qi” spoken of here refers both to the Qi of the Dao and to a person’s breath. “Concentrating essence” means focusing the vital energy, while “attaining gentleness” means becoming mild and yielding. The scripture teaches that when people devote themselves to nourishing Qi and remain gentle, they can quiet the mind that makes distinctions, avoid being disturbed by external things, and bring body and mind to stillness. This is what it means to “be like an infant.”

“Cleansing the mysterious mirror” means purifying the mind until it is clear and clean. The “mysterious mirror” refers to the mind’s ability to observe and discern all things from the depths of the mysterious.

“Can you be free of flaws?” asks whether one can be without faults and failings. The commentary holds that this refers especially to avoiding indulgence in improper desires. The subcommentary explains further that one must wash away stray thoughts and emotions from body and mind and quiet the spirit in emptiness in order to perceive subtle principles, becoming clear within and without and free of faults. In this state, one does not cling to action or to what is gained, nor to life or to death.

“Loving the people and governing the state”: the commentary says that in cultivating oneself, cherishing the original Qi preserves the spirit; in governing the state, caring for the people brings stability. Can one govern through Wuwei (non-action), without acting presumptuously?

“Cultivating the self” means caring for oneself by focusing on regulating the breath and gathering Jing and Qi, while keeping the ears from hearing sounds in the outside world. “Governing the state” means administering the country by widely extending kindness and benefits, without letting the people notice that they have received them. The commentary says that the earlier passage discussed cultivating the Dao for one’s own benefit, while this passage turns to how to treat others. The first principle in dealing with others is to govern the state and care for its people. “Caring for the people” means nurturing them with compassion; “governing the state” means putting policies into practice and educating the people. Good governance should esteem simplicity and use Wuwei (non-action) to guide the people, rooting out deceit and wrongdoing and reducing distinctions and calculations. In this way, the people can return to a way of life marked by peace, contentment, simplicity, and naturalness, while governance can once again aspire to the ancient simplicity of tying knots to keep records. This is the meaning of the passage that follows: “To govern the state with cleverness is to make it a menace; to govern the state without cleverness is to give it De (Virtue/Power).”

“Bright and clear in every direction” means that the Dao shines like the sun and moon, reaching in all directions, throughout the world, and even beyond the eight directions. Yet the Dao cannot be seen or heard, while it is plainly present throughout the ten directions, radiant and brilliant.

“Who can know without knowing?” means: who can truly know the Dao that fills the world? The Jie Jie says that “in every direction” means understanding the eight directions. By closing the heart and dispelling thoughts, one can keep the spirit alive; if one can practice in this way, one can reach the Dao of antiquity. The commentary explains that “bright” means able to illuminate, and “clear” means pure and simple. “Four” refers to the four directions, and “reach” means to pass through without obstruction. The sage’s mind is empty and clear, able to penetrate profound principles; wisdom illuminates everything, and every circumstance encountered is understood. The four directions are cited as an example of the Dao reaching all eight directions. In responding to things, one still maintains stillness, and so always follows what is natural and acts through Wuwei. Cai’s interpretation, however, is that “in every direction” refers to understanding four aspects: the body, nature and life, and possessions; “without knowing” means making no distinctions in the heart.

In “the Gate of Heaven opens and closes,” the “Gate of Heaven” refers to the Ziwei Palace at the North Pole, while “opens and closes” refers to the five phases of change from beginning to end.

“Heaven’s Gate” refers to the Purple Tenuity Palace, where the North Star is located. “Opening and closing” means the endings and beginnings that occur as the Five Virtues wax and wane and replace one another. The ancients believed that the emperors associated with the Five Virtues took turns ruling, each having its time to rise and withdraw. For example, when the Azure Emperor governs in spring, his gate opens while the gates of the other emperors close; the same holds for the other seasons. Amid these changes, the sage remains steadfast in softness and stillness, unmoved by the changing times.

In the context of self-cultivation, “Heaven’s Gate” refers to the nostrils. “Opening” means exhaling, and “closing” means inhaling. Those who practice cultivation for health regulate the breath as it flows in and out, so quietly that others cannot hear it. By remaining in softness and stillness, they can experience the Dao of Wuwei (non-action).

“Can you be as soft and still as a female?”

In self-cultivation, one should be quiet and gentle like a female. In governing the country and responding to change, one should also act with composure and avoid rushing to issue commands.

The commentary says that the Heshang Gong edition reads “Heaven and Earth.” The opening and closing of Heaven and Earth refer to the formation and destruction of cycles of calamity and fortune. Dwelling alongside Heaven and Earth, the sage is unharmed by the Three Calamities. Even as the world undergoes changes of flourishing and decline, the sage keeps the mind empty and still. Thus the Zhuangzi says: even a flood that reaches the sky cannot drown him; even a great drought that melts metal and stone and scorches earthen hills cannot make him hot.

The Dao gives birth to and nurtures the myriad things, enabling them to grow.

The Dao gives birth to the myriad things but does not claim them as its own. Guo Xiang explains that when Yin-Yang Qi mingles and transforms, the myriad things come into being. The Dao manifests the grace of giving birth and nurturing, yet conceals its workings in the formless. Though the myriad things become manifest, the Dao does not claim credit for its work; hence the saying, “It does not possess.” The commentary continues: the sage benefits from the Dao…

The Dao gives birth to and nurtures all things, yet does not claim them as its own. Guo Xiang says that when the Qi of Yin and Yang mingles and changes, the myriad things arise from it. The Dao reveals the benevolence of giving life to and nurturing all things, yet conceals its workings. It acts, but does not claim the credit for its actions; this is why it is said not to possess them.

The commentary says that the sage follows the Dao, fulfills himself, and extends the benefits of De to others. In this way, he can transform and nurture all things and care for living beings. A later passage says, “The Dao gives them life; De nurtures them; things give them form.” That is, the Dao enables all things to come into being, De nurtures them, and each thing takes shape in its own way. Though the Dao brings all things into being and nurtures the life of Heaven and Earth, its essential nature remains empty, still, and free of action. It does not regard living beings as waiting for it to transform and teach them.

The Dao acts, but does not rely on its actions or expect repayment. The commentary explains that because the Dao does not regard living beings as objects awaiting rescue or instruction, it does not treat the benefits it bestows on all things as its own merit, even though it acts and brings them benefit.

The Dao enables all things to grow and flourish, yet does not rule or control them, nor seize them for use as implements. Here, “rule” means to govern or dominate. The commentary says that the sage nurtures living beings and in practice takes on the role of a teacher, yet forgets his merit and does not cling to the self; this is why he is called “not ruling.” Gu Huan says that the Dao enables all things to grow without ruling them; though the sage governs all things, he does not harm them. The sage helps all things develop and in practice serves as their teacher and guide, yet forgets his merit and lets go of the self; this is why he is called “not ruling.”

This is called “Mysterious De.” “Mysterious” means profound and subtle; “De” refers to the highest De. The commentaries hold that Dao and De are so deep and hidden that they are hard to perceive, and that this is meant to guide the human heart to become like the Dao. Zhang and the commentary both praise the sage who forgets his merit: he accords with the natural workings of creation and thus possesses profound, sublime De. He acts without relying on himself, which also accords with the Way of Heaven.

Thirty spokes converge at a single hub.

In ancient times, a wheel had thirty spokes, symbolizing the thirty days of a month. The spokes were all joined to the hub, the round wooden piece at the center of the wheel. An empty hole was left through the middle of the hub, allowing the wheel to turn. The moon moves ceaselessly across the sky, while a wheel rolls without stopping over the earth, so the ancients used the wheel to symbolize the moon.

Many different teachings can ultimately be traced back to a single principle, and one fundamental principle can encompass many teachings. Governing a state is similar: people should follow a shared framework, using what is yielding and weak to support what is strong and flourishing. The commentaries use the wheel hub to illustrate this: one hollow hub brings together many spokes.

The Kaogong ji (“Records of the Examination of Crafts”) in the Rites of Zhou says that thirty spokes symbolize thirty days, which together make a month. The inside of the hub is empty, allowing the wheel to carry loads. A wheel, too, is simply a name for something formed by the coming together of various conditions; when it is taken apart and examined closely, the whole has no fixed, unchanging substance. All things are like this.

The useful function of what is “being” arises precisely because it contains “nonbeing.” The space inside the hub allows the wheel to turn; the empty space inside a carriage allows people to sit in it.

A “tian-tan” is a vessel made by mixing and shaping clay. The useful function of what is “being” also depends on the empty space inside the vessel, which allows it to hold food and drink.

Doors and windows are cut out to make a house. Their openings allow people to enter and leave, and to look outside; the spacious interior allows people to live there. This shows that a house serves its purpose through the empty space within it.

A commentary says that open doors and windows make it easy for people to come and go. In the same way, when the body’s root openings—the apertures that connect it to the outside world—are open and unobstructed, they can function without hindrance. The principles behind a vehicle, a vessel, and a house are similar, though each differs from the others: a vehicle is in motion, a house remains still, and a vessel may be either moving or still. That is why these three examples are explained separately.

The form of things can bring convenience: a vessel holds contents, a house gives people a place to live, and the body contains Shen and Qi (spirit and vital energy). People therefore cherish them and worry that vessels may break, houses may fall into ruin, or the body may perish. A commentary adds that “having” here can also refer to cultivating the Dao.

Yet what often makes things useful is the empty space within them.

“Emptiness” means that an open space can hold things. Empty and without form, it can nevertheless govern things that have form. The Dao is the same: empty and without form. The section commentary explains that this means the sage holds fast to the One—the root of the Dao—and follows nature without deliberately forcing action.

The subcommentary explains that what is present depends on what is absent to function, while what is absent depends on what is present to show its effects. The two rely on each other; that is why carts, vessels, and houses can serve their purposes. The sage, too, must use emptiness to guide what has form, allowing presence and absence to support each other without clinging to either side. Only then can the sage fulfill his role.

Gu Huan says: “‘Benefit’ means advantage. A cart hub has an axle; a vessel can hold food; a house can shelter people; and the body has Shen (spirit), which sustains life. All of these bring benefit to things, which is why the text says, ‘What is present provides the benefit.’ Yet Shen can benefit the body because, although it exists, it cannot be seen; ultimately, it returns to formlessness. Shen sustains life, while emptiness is what allows Shen to function. This shows that the Dao cannot simply be described as either ‘present’ or ‘absent’: the formless enables things to function, while what has form enables things to receive benefit. Benefit takes shape in what is present, while function is made possible by emptiness. Here, ‘absence’ means pure emptiness, and ‘presence’ means Shen. Scholars of the world have failed to understand this and have all interpreted the Dao of Lao Jun as complete inaction. If the Dao were entirely empty, what benefit could it bring to the myriad things? The point here is that the Dao brings benefit by enabling things with form to function; ‘absence’ can function because emptiness can hold things.”

End of juan one of the Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Scripture of the Way and Virtue.

Editorial notes:

1. The original text of this sentence is missing; it has been supplied from the standard edition.

2. The original has “shen” written with the character meaning “sash.” This has been corrected to “shen” on the basis of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang’s commentary on the True Scripture of the Way and Virtue in the Daoist Canon.

Juan two of the Commentary and Subcommentary on the True Scripture of the Way and Virtue, composed by Gu Huan, a scholar from Wu Commandery.

The five colors make people’s eyes dazzle and go blind, …

Indulging in sexual desire can deplete Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) and harm the eyes, leaving a person unable to see the colorless colors. “Blindness of the eyes” here does not mean literal blindness. It means that a person sees only the colors of the world and cannot see the radiance revealed by the divine; as a result, they cannot apprehend deeper truths. The commentary explains that the “five colors” are blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black. If a person cannot look inward and perceive the source, but instead pursues outward appearances without pause, then even seeing every kind of color does not amount to true understanding. If one cannot see that appearances are empty by nature, how is that different from being blind?

Being absorbed in the five tones can make the ears unable to hear the soundless sound. “Deafness of the ears” here, too, does not mean literal deafness. It means that a person hears only sounds such as bells, drums, strings, and pipes, but cannot hear the voice of the divine. The five tones are gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu. When the mind and spirit become immersed in music and the ears are held captive by worldly sounds, one cannot turn inward to listen for subtle, hidden sounds; hence the term “deaf.” The Zhuangzi says that deafness and blindness do not exist only in the body: a person’s wisdom, too, may be deaf or blind. Other commentators likewise say that hearing only the clamoring sounds around one, without understanding that the nature of sound is empty and illusory, is no different from being deaf.

Indulgence in the five flavors throws the sense of taste out of balance and leads people away from the Dao. The “five flavors” are sweet, bitter, pungent, sour, and salty. Those who crave fine wine and strong-smelling meat have no time to experience the Great Dao or discuss its mysteries. This is why the text speaks of “the mouth being spoiled”: taste becomes disordered and the tongue loses restraint.

Obsessive horseback riding and hunting can drive the mind and spirit into frenzy. One commentator explains that people naturally prefer stillness; when the mind and spirit scatter in the pursuit of things, they lose their calm. Another interpretation refers to the death of a person: friends and relatives escort the body to burial, overcome by grief and bewilderment. Those close to the deceased grieve beyond measure, while even those more distant feel sorrow. A third interpretation takes “riding hard and hunting in the fields” as a metaphor for chasing worldly affairs and becoming absorbed in striving. When the mind contends with external things day after day and rushes after circumstances, pausing for quiet reflection feels like falling ill with madness. Hunters who lust after game and give free rein to their desires are like madmen; so too are those absorbed in external things, whose desires chase after circumstances with the urgency of a galloping horse and the confusion of a hunt.

Precious and rare goods can corrupt a person’s conduct. “Hard-to-obtain goods” include treasures such as the jade disc of Zhao, the pearl of Sui, and gold, silver, and precious stones. Craving these things without knowing when to stop harms the self and invites disgrace. Attachment to beautiful and rare objects can also entangle people in life and death and obstruct the cultivation of the Dao.

Therefore, the sage gives priority to nurturing body and mind rather than pursuing sensory pleasures. “For the belly” means guarding the five innate qualities, restraining the six emotions, harmonizing one’s will and Qi, and nourishing the spirit. “Not for the eyes” means not allowing the eyes to roam carelessly, since indiscriminate looking causes one’s vital essence and Qi to dissipate outward.

Do not let your eyes wander, because reckless looking causes Jing and Qi to dissipate outward. The commentary says this follows from the preceding passage and uses the Sage’s injunctions to explain the difference between the inner and outer: the belly refers to what is within, and the eyes to what is without. The Sage embraces Dao and De, making De abundant within; this is why the text says “belly.” In inward contemplation, one does not cling to colors; in listening inwardly, one does not cling to sounds. All the senses are empty, clear, and pure, untouched by external phenomena, so the eyes do not lead one astray.

Thus, abandon reckless outward looking and choose to nourish the spirit within. The commentary further explains that one should leave behind the confusion brought by the ears and eyes and take up the true wisdom that is full within.

Receiving favor or suffering disgrace is like being startled.

The notes say that the body is startled when it receives favor, and startled when it suffers disgrace. The imperial commentary says that clinging to favor and disgrace makes one tremble, while depending on them makes one grieve; when a person has not truly understood favor and disgrace, either one will fill them with alarm. The commentary explains that “favor” means honor and affection, while “disgrace” means punishment, execution, and shame. “Like” means “as if,” and “startled” means afraid. When people receive favor, they feel at ease and glad; when they suffer disgrace, they become anxious and unsettled. Favor brings joyful surprise to the heart, while disgrace brings terror. Though joy and fear are different, both startle the mind and spirit; hence the saying, “Receiving favor or suffering disgrace is like being startled.” Yet neither joy nor fear is one’s true nature. Those who understand the Dao regard adversity and success as the alternation of cold and heat, and honor and disgrace as circumstances that happen to arrive. If even life and death cannot disturb their minds, what distinctions of rank, honor, or disgrace could startle them?

Regard great misfortune as you regard the body.

The notes say that “regard as precious” means to fear, and “as” means “to arrive”: one fears that great misfortune will befall them, and so becomes alarmed. The commentary says that “regard as precious” also refers to titles and rank, as well as to a person’s belief in their own importance. Taking these too seriously can likewise make one afraid.

The commentary explains that “to value” means to fear and hold in high regard, while “as though” means that something is coming. “Great troubles” refers to distress, old age, illness, and the like. People are alarmed because they fear these calamities will befall them.

This can also be understood through the phrase “to prize one’s own body.” Ordinary people know only to cherish and value their bodies, but do not understand that all kinds of great troubles fall upon this very body. They busy themselves seeking nourishment, yet in the end the body still grows old and decays. Thus, to value the body excessively is to value great troubles; to loathe great troubles is to loathe the body. Both have the body as their root. Cai’s commentary likewise says that clinging to “my body” makes one worry over the body’s toil, hunger, and cold; attachment to life and keeping one’s own person in mind are the source of distress. The Scripture of the Western Ascension says that the body is the root of affliction: sensations such as pain, itching, cold, and warmth arise because one holds this body in mind.

What are “favor” and “disgrace”? “Favor” means being held in esteem and receiving honors; “disgrace” means shame falling upon oneself. The passage poses a question here to make its point.

“Favor is lowly” means that both favor and disgrace occupy a low position. When one receives affection and honor, one should be as cautious as if alarmed: occupying a high position, one should feel as though near danger, neither becoming arrogant because of status nor extravagant because of wealth.

When one loses favor and falls into disgrace, one should likewise remain alert as if alarmed, fearing that calamity may descend again.

“Being favored or disgraced is like being startled” means that whether one receives favor or suffers disgrace, it is like being frightened. Commentators explain that favor brings delight and surprise, while losing favor brings fear and alarm. Both emotions arise from being favored, so neither is worth taking seriously.

“Why regard great misfortune as precious as one’s own body?” asks why great misfortune is treated as though it mattered as much as oneself. The answer is: “I have great misfortune because I have this body.” Having a body brings worry and weariness, hunger and cold; desires can also invite calamity. If one clings to the body and takes it to be “I,” one will suffer anxiety and distress on its behalf. In this way, cherishing oneself is no different from treating great misfortune as precious. The Scripture of the Western Ascension (Xisheng Jing) likewise says that the body is the root of affliction. Bound by the body, people feel pain and itching, cold and warmth—and this is precisely great misfortune.

If one can stop clinging to oneself, what calamity is there left to fear?

When those who cultivate the Dao let go of their attachment to bodily form, they can follow nature, attain the Dao and act in accord with it. They can lighten their bodies and rise into the clouds, come and go freely, unite with the Dao, and reach its wondrous depths. What cause for worry could remain? The Imperial Commentary says: If one understands that all things under Heaven arise through the transformation of natural Qi and do not belong to oneself, what cause for worry could remain? The Sectional Explanation says: To forget the body and nurture the spirit is called “having no body.” The Explanatory Commentary says: Here, “no” means sitting in stillness, forgetting oneself, and releasing attachment to bodily form, so that although the body remains, one no longer clings to it as something real. It does not mean that one must destroy the body to be called “without.”

Thus, one who prizes himself above all under Heaven can only dwell there for a time; one who cherishes himself and values all under Heaven may be entrusted with it. The Commentary says: If a ruler values only himself and scorns the people, then, though he seeks to rule all under Heaven, he can hold his position only briefly and cannot endure. The Explanatory Commentary says: Someone who fails to understand that the human body is merely a temporary gathering of form, yet presumes to be superior and is always trying to rise above others, can only reside in the world for a time and cannot govern all under Heaven for long.

The Commentary says: When a ruler cherishes himself, it is not merely for his own sake; he seeks to serve as a parent to the people. Only by governing all under Heaven through this virtue can he remain entrusted to the people for a long time and avoid bringing calamity upon himself. The Explanatory Commentary says: “Dwell” means to reside temporarily; “entrust” means to place in someone’s care for the long term. One who values himself without acting rashly and preserves himself through humility and gentleness can take on the responsibility of governing all under Heaven. Therefore, the Scripture of De says that one should love oneself, but not regard oneself as noble.

What the eyes cannot see is called “Yi.”

“Yi” means that there is no color: the Dao has no visible hue, and the eyes cannot see it. The commentaries say that “yi” conveys equality. The Dao is subtle and difficult to fathom; it cannot be sought by using the eyes to distinguish the five colors. Where there is color, there are differences in shade. The Dao, being colorless, is without distinction.

“Xi” means that there is no sound: the Dao has no audible resonance, and the ears cannot hear it. The commentaries explain that “xi” means rare or faint. The Dao’s underlying nature does not belong to the musical notes of gong, shang, and the other pitches, and cannot be heard with the ears.

“Wei” means that there is no form: the Dao has no image that can be touched or grasped, so it cannot be reached by touch. The commentaries say that “bo” means to touch, and “wei” means subtle. The Dao has no concrete substance or form and so cannot be touched; yet it can bring forth the myriad things from within the formless. Hence it is called “wei.”

Another commentary holds that “xi, yi, and wei” refer to Jing, Shen, and Qi: Jing is lucid wisdom, Shen is an unfathomable capacity for action, and Qi is the basis from which forms appear. Together, the three form one. The sage cannot see Jing, hear Shen, or touch Qi, so they are said to have no color, sound, or form. This does not mean that they are utterly nonexistent; if they were entirely extinguished, they would be nothingness. The point is that although the Dao has no color, it can appear in color; although it has no sound, it can appear in sound; and although it has no form, it can generate forms. Thus it is called “yi, xi, and wei,” or the “Three-in-One.”

These three cannot be fully explained through words or exhaustive inquiry.

The “three” refers to the three descriptions “Yi,” “Xi,” and “Wei.” They are said to be “beyond questioning” because the Dao has no color, sound, or form. It cannot be expressed in words or transmitted through writing; it can only be experienced through a still mind and sought through spiritual insight. It cannot be attained by forcing questions or explanations.

Thus, the three blend together and return to unity. “Blend” means “unite.” The commentaries also say that when the Dao manifests, it may be described as three; when it returns to its original nature, the three unite as one. The three and the one are no different, so words cannot fully encompass them. Another interpretation calls the “true body” and the “responsive body”—the Dao’s own substance and its manifest forms—together the “three vehicles.” Related explanations appear in the Opening the Topic scroll.

Above, the Dao does not seem especially bright; below, it does not seem dark. This means that the Dao is everywhere, with no limit above or below. The commentaries say that the profound and subtle Dao belongs neither to ignorance nor to wisdom. It does not become brighter by ascending above the Three Pure Ones (Sanqing), the highest heavens in Daoism, nor darker by descending below the Nine Depths, the deepest reaches of the underworld. This means that the Dao is neither increased nor diminished by where it is found.

The Dao extends and flows without end, beyond naming. It is not any one color, and cannot be distinguished as blue-green, yellow, red, white, or black. It is not any one sound, and cannot be heard through the five tones—Gong, Shang, Jue, Zhi, and Yu. Nor is it any one form, to be measured by length, shortness, size, or smallness. Another explanation, called “Sectional Unfolding,” says that the Dao enters the skin, bones, and joints; thus it extends without end and cannot be named.

In the end, it returns once more to a state without form or substance.

“Things” are existences with form and substance. In the end, all things should return to their formless, substanceless source.

“Unceasing” has two interpretations. One takes it to mean straight and true like an ink line: the sage can set himself straight and help others do the same. This principle cannot be summed up in any fixed name. The other takes it to describe ceaseless movement: the Dao sets Heaven and Earth in motion and brings forth and nurtures the myriad things, yet cannot be seen with the eyes or heard with the ears, and so is difficult to name. “Returning” means going back to the source; “no thing” refers to the profound and subtle reality. When the Dao manifests in response to the moment, it seems that it can be seen and heard. When it returns to the source, however, it has neither name nor image. Hence the phrase “returning to no thing.”

This is called “the shape of the shapeless”: it has no shape of its own, yet it enables the myriad things to take on their own forms.

This is called “the image of the substanceless”: it has no form or substance of its own, yet it gives rise to the images of the myriad things. The “subtle source” is deep and hidden, beyond perception, and is therefore called “formless.” It has no concrete traces, yet gives rise to and nurtures the myriad things; hence it is called “the shape of the formless” and “the image of no thing.”

This is called “the indistinct and elusive.” It is dim and blurred, seeming both to exist and not to exist, and cannot be portrayed. Some commentaries say it is the form of the formless, the shape of the shapeless: it cannot be said to exist, nor can it be said not to exist, and so it is difficult to name and is called “the indistinct and elusive.” The “subtle source” is not an actual thing, yet the workings through which it manifests are not wholly absent. It is neither existence nor nonexistence, seeming to be absent yet present, and present yet absent. Its state therefore cannot be fixed, and it is called “the indistinct and elusive.”

Look for it as it approaches, and you cannot see its beginning; it has no discernible form.

The Dao (the Way) has neither beginning nor end; it cannot be awaited in advance or pursued. When people set aside their desires, the mind can return to itself. The Dao seems to have form and appearance, yet it is not a physical thing: if we say it exists, we cannot see its shape; if we say it does not exist, all things nevertheless come into being by following it. The Dao arrives without warning and vanishes in an instant, so that even if we face it, we cannot see its head. When it departs, it leaves no trace and blends into the boundless, so that even if we follow it, we cannot see its tail. The Dao did not begin in ancient times, nor does it come to an end today.

The sage holds to the Dao that has existed since antiquity and uses it to guide all things and affairs in the present. Though past and present differ, the Dao remains ever present. Only those who hold to the Dao can respond properly to all things. The sage governs an active world through the Wuwei (non-action) of the Dao, quieting the turmoil of worldly life and returning it to simplicity.

To know the root of the distant past and the origin of all things between Heaven and Earth is to grasp the guiding principles of the Dao. Here, “ancient beginnings” refers to the nameless Dao. To understand that the Dao has neither beginning nor end and is not bound by past or present, and to use this understanding in responding to one’s own age, is to grasp the fundamental principles of the Dao.

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao…

Note: This explains the passage below. The virtue of those in ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao was so profound that it was hard to discern. They can therefore only be described, as best we can, through certain outward forms and conduct. The commentary says that the sage’s wisdom in cultivating the Dao is inherently formless, yet it can serve as a model for everyone. To guide others, one must explain it through concrete ways of practicing and learning.

They were cautious, as if crossing a river in winter.

In carrying out affairs, one is always cautious and solemn, hesitating in one’s heart, as though crossing a river on winter ice and fearing it will not bear one’s weight. The Xiang’er (the Daoist classic Commentary on the Laozi by Xiang’er) explains that “hesitant” describes uncertainty and hesitant conduct; one should act with constant reverence. Crossing a river in winter, meanwhile, conveys a heart filled with fear. Cultivators of the Dao hold the people around them in reverence and dare not do wrong, fearing their neighbors will notice. Thus, when following the methods of the Dao and observing its precepts, they appear humble and cautious. The subcommentary says that cultivators should face all kinds of worldly circumstances with apprehension, as if crossing a river on winter ice and fearing they might fall through. This illustrates purity of thought.

In action, one seems afraid of being seen by the neighbors on all sides. The commentary says that every move, whether forward or backward, is constrained, like that of someone who has broken the law and fears the neighbors will find out. The subcommentary says that cultivators should also guard against the temptations of worldly dust, concealing themselves carefully like those who have done wrong and fear their neighbors will hear of it. This illustrates purity of speech. Wang Bi explains that “the neighbors on all sides” refers to birth, death, old age, and illness, and also to the four demons—obstacles that disrupt cultivation. Those who fail to observe the precepts and act unlawfully are constrained by these four demons. They should therefore be cautious and restrained, keeping quiet and to themselves as though afraid of being discovered.

One is solemn, like a guest. The commentary says that a guest in the presence of a host carries himself with dignity and does not act carelessly. The subcommentary explains that “solemn” describes a grave and dignified manner. The Book of Rites says, “Solemn, as if in thought,” meaning that a sage should gather in body and mind and not indulge himself. Like a guest before a host, one should not be rash or agitated. This illustrates purity of bodily conduct. Gu Huan explains that “solemn” means respectful and restrained: the sage conducts himself with care, practicing Wuwei (non-action) and remaining free of affairs. Like a guest before a host, he does not dare to act rashly or presumptuously; he remains calm and does not speak first.

The mind is relaxed and open, like ice and snow on the verge of melting.

As desires and passions in the heart gradually fade, one becomes calmer and clearer day by day. “Huan” means dispersing; “shi” means dissolving, like winter ice slowly melting when spring arrives. With long practice, wisdom grows, and confusion and defilement fade along with it. Outwardly, one may appear dignified and still, like a guest who does not act rashly, while inwardly remaining unattached to external things. Though reserved and composed in appearance, one is peaceful and at ease within, without hindrance.

One becomes as sincere and substantial as uncarved wood. “Dun” means plain and solid; “pu” means raw wood that has not been worked or divided into forms. One preserves the spirit’s original nature within and does not seek outward splendor. When the conduct of body, speech, and mind described earlier has all become quiet, and confusion and entanglements have been dispelled, De can become pure and peaceful: one leaves behind superficial display and returns to simplicity.

One’s heart and mind become as open as a valley. “Kuang” means broad; “gu” means empty. Since one does not claim virtue for oneself or pursue fame, one can accommodate all things. When worldly entanglements have been cleared away, the mind is empty, still, and bright, and the Dao’s breadth and inclusiveness are like those of a valley.

One becomes undifferentiated, like turbid water. “Hun” means keeping to one’s original nature without displaying one’s sharpness; “zhuo” means appearing unclear. In company with others, one does not exalt oneself. Even with a clear and pure heart, one can restrain one’s radiance and live in harmony with the world. One may seem turbid, yet preserve inner clarity. Here, “turbid” also refers to living amid the turmoil of active striving, appearing outwardly no different from the world.

Let the turbid water grow still, and it will slowly become clear. “Stillness” means ceasing to stir: when muddy water is no longer agitated, its impurities settle, and the water gradually clears. Though people live amid desires and worldly affairs, if they do not act rashly, their hearts too will gradually become clear.

The mind may dwell amid confusion and turmoil without becoming tainted, remaining quiet and clear throughout. It is like muddy water: if left undisturbed for a while, it gradually becomes clear. Practice is the same. As scattered thoughts settle and attachment to external things diminishes, the mind gradually regains its clarity and integrity.

A person of the Dao does not withdraw from worldly affairs. They live among others, take action, and benefit things, yet preserve stillness within. Outwardly, they blend with ordinary life; inwardly, they are not led by it. This shows that they can move freely between clarity and disturbance, and that even amid activity, their mind remains settled.

Only someone who can remain still over time can allow vitality to emerge gradually. The “movement” described here means responding to things and meeting external circumstances from a place of stillness; it does not mean agitation of the mind and spirit. Muddy water takes time to clear when left undisturbed. Likewise, a person must pass through each stage to move from instability and agitation to calm. Self-cultivation and teaching cannot be rushed. They require focused constancy and long-term accumulation before their effects gradually appear.

Those who hold to this Dao do not seek to be full.

Hold to the Way that lets all things grow gradually, without seeking excessive luxury or fullness that spills over. Here, “preserve” means to hold fast to the middle path, where movement and stillness are inseparable, without clinging to “the middle” and becoming self-satisfied. This means not even clinging to the middle.

Only those who are not self-satisfied can preserve simplicity and plainness, without pursuing novelty or distinction. “Worn” means to restrain one’s brilliance and keep one’s honor from showing; “newly accomplished” refers to outstanding achievements and flourishing renown. The commentaries say that the sage, who does not cling to “the middle,” can still, even amid the turmoil of a world of action, help living beings with a compassionate heart and accomplish deeds of virtue. Lu’s view is that this also explains the earlier idea of gradually attaining stillness: first harmonize with the world, then gradually hold to stillness; first settle oneself, then act gradually, thereby preserving life.

Bring the mind to the utmost emptiness and clarity. Here, “bring to” means to attain. Those who cultivate the Dao set aside desires, quiet the mind, and reach a state of empty clarity. The Dao is inherently empty and open, and De returns to purity. When the mind turns toward emptiness and stillness, it can reach the Dao’s utmost depth; when one’s actions hold fast to quietude, one can nurture profound De.

Firmly hold to purity and stillness: preserve inner clarity and act with steadfast depth. The commentaries say that “utmost emptiness” is the fruition of the Dao. To attain the subtle, mysterious realm of the profound, one must quiet the mind and hold to the path of unity.

All things grow together, and from this I observe how they return to their source.

From the root of the Dao, everything that beings do can ultimately return to its source. People should value their own roots. Living beings are always acting and choosing, chasing what lies before them. The Old Lord, observing with sage wisdom, saw that they eventually return to the mysterious source: though they appear to be active, their nature can remain still and unmoving. Through quiet contemplation, people can see things returning to their true nature. The substance of life is originally clear and peaceful. But once people take on a physical form and are stirred by the six senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—they give rise to speech, action, and all manner of deluded conduct, bringing calamity upon themselves. Those who have attained the Dao observe their nature and understand that people can change and return to their true nature.

All things flourish and grow, their branches and leaves spreading thickly.

In the end, all things return to their own roots. Plants wither, return to their roots, and then grow again. “Many” here describes the multitude of living beings. The reason they cannot be like sages, who act without being stirred by external things and use things without selfish intent, is that they are too busy rushing about and competing to stop. By returning to their roots, they can draw near to the sages’ clear understanding. This is also an exhortation to people.

Returning to the root means stillness. Stillness is a return to what is fundamental: being settled, yielding, humble, and in a lowly position, so that one can endure without decline. When people return to their source, their impulse to rush about and compete will naturally subside. Plants wither and return to their roots, entering stillness; people and all things, after undergoing change, return to their true nature and settle into peace.

This is called “returning to one’s destiny,” that is, returning to one’s original life. Here, “destiny” refers to one’s true nature and wisdom-life, the inner nature of life. By clearing away disturbances and bringing the heart-mind and spirit to stillness, one can return to one’s true nature and wisdom-life. This is the constant principle of the Dao.

By returning to one’s original nature and restoring the Mandate of Heaven, one can preserve the operation of the constant Dao. Here, “returning to the Mandate” means returning to life’s original state. According to the commentaries, when the mind and spirit grow still and clear, they are no longer shaken by the changes of life and death; this is why the state is called “constant.”

Recognizing the constant Dao is called “illumination.” The constant Dao is not easy to know. Only by grasping it, remaining in stillness and clarity, and returning to one’s original nature can one truly understand it.

If one does not recognize the constant Dao, but acts recklessly and uses cunning and deceit, one loses inner clarity and invites danger. The commentaries also explain that failing to cultivate one’s nature and return to De makes it easy to follow external circumstances into deluded thoughts and actions, leading oneself toward danger. Failing to remain still also means losing the natural state bestowed by the Mandate of Heaven.

Recognizing the constant Dao makes the heart broad and receptive. One who understands it can let go of desires and see that neither favorable nor adverse circumstances should be clung to; thus, one can accommodate all things.

To be receptive is to be impartial and free of self-interest.

When the heart embraces all things, one can act with fairness and impartiality; then no evil force can stand in one’s way. The imperial commentary says: One embraces all things and responds to them without bias, and so can act fairly and impartially. The subcommentary explains: “Fairness” means being just and upright. Because one can embrace all kinds of things, one is fair and impartial.

Being fair and impartial, one can become the ruler of all under Heaven. The imperial commentary says: When a person is fair and impartial, all things will turn to them. The subcommentary explains: This refers to being fair and impartial. The commentary also says that when one governs oneself by setting the heart-mind right, body and mind can be brought into harmony, Shen and Qi unified, and gathered within oneself.

The ruler then comes into accord with Heaven. The commentary says: When the ruler’s De accords with the spirits, they can communicate with Heaven. The subcommentary explains: Having become a sovereign of the Way who transforms all things, draws them to himself, and protects living beings, the ruler is like the vast sky.

Coming into accord with Heaven, one can then come into accord with the Dao. The commentary says: Since one’s De communicates with Heaven, it also accords with the Dao. The subcommentary explains: One protects all things equally, as Heaven does, and brings them forth and transforms them without cease, as the Great Dao does.

Coming into accord with the Dao, one can then endure. The commentary says: Only by coming into accord with the Dao can one endure. The subcommentary explains: One’s state is as vast as the Great Void, with neither coming nor going; the heart-mind accords with the highest Dao, with neither birth nor extinction. Because one conforms to this principle, it is called “enduring.”

Throughout one’s life, one will never be in danger.

The commentator says that someone who fully embodies these four virtues—impartial fairness, occupying the throne, understanding the principles of Heaven, and being in accord with the Dao—has a vast and profound moral nature. Such a person will suffer no calamity or fault, can endure as long as Heaven and Earth, and will remain free from danger. The subcommentary explains: “‘Perish’ means to be extinguished; ‘danger’ means peril.” Concealing one’s actions and showing no trace is called “withdrawing from the body”; responding to what calls forth a response and fitting the moment means likewise not falling into danger. Another interpretation is that a person’s actions may flourish and then perish, which is why the text says “the body perishes”; the substance of the Dao, by contrast, has neither birth nor extinction, which is why it says “there is no danger.”

Of the highest, people know only that he exists:

The commentator says that “the highest” refers to the ruler of ancient times who had no illustrious title. The people merely knew that such a ruler existed, but saw no trace of his governing his subjects; society was therefore simple and sincere. The Imperial Commentary likewise says that the highest was a ruler of ancient simplicity and integrity. His subjects knew he existed and revered him as they revered Heaven, yet saw no sign of deliberate instruction or imposed action. The people could not even put his benevolence into words.

The subcommentary, however, interprets “the highest” as the Supreme Lord of the Great Dao (Taishang Dadaojun), the mysterious Heavenly Teacher and a revered deity in Daoism. He dwells above Jade Capital, the celestial city of Daoist tradition, within the Golden Palace of Heaven. There he settles his spirit and stills his thoughts, making this his abiding place from which he responds to the affairs of the world. Those with keen faculties and clear understanding can grasp that the subtle substance of the Dao is still and Wuwei (non-action), beyond form and name. The Supreme Lord of the Great Dao manifests from this substance as an image in the world and thus receives an honorific title. Those who understand do not cling to appearances or form distinctions; they know only the name “Supreme,” and understand where that name comes from.

Next come those whom people love and praise:

This type of person’s virtue has become clearly visible, and his kindness can be spoken of. The people therefore draw near to him, cherish him, and praise his reputation. The Imperial Commentary says: As unadorned virtue gradually declines, the ruler practices benevolent governance and instruction. Seeing his kindness, the people draw near to him; seeing his great achievements, they praise him. The Explanatory Commentary says: People of middling capacity have limited insight. They cannot let go of words and written texts to grasp the principle directly, so they must cling to outward forms in their practice. They become absorbed in scriptural teachings and draw near to words and texts that, like tools for catching fish, guide them toward understanding. They interpret the principle through the wording and praise one another. Gu Huan considered this a description of the middle antiquity: people had drifted farther from the Dao, clinging to words and outward appearances. They therefore practiced by following appearances, became absorbed in scriptural teachings, drew near to written texts, formed understandings from their literal wording, and praised one another. When virtue can be seen, the people draw near to the ruler and trust him; when his achievements can be spoken of, they sing his praises along the roads.

The next kind is one who inspires fear.

The commentary says: He establishes penal laws to govern the people.

The next kind is one whom people slight and insult.

The commentary says: Too many prohibitions trouble the people and make it difficult for them to submit sincerely. They therefore deceive and slight the ruler. The Imperial Commentary says: As virtue declines further, the ruler enacts many harmful policies. The people cannot endure them, so he can only drive them with punishments. Resentful and deceiving one another, the people leave the ruler powerless to detect what is happening. The Explanatory Commentary says: “Insult” means deception. People of low capacity are dull by nature. They give free rein to their desires and pursue external things, sinking ever deeper. They fear only worldly punishments, not the underworld’s scrutiny and retribution, so they slight the teachings of the sages, revile them, and refuse to believe. As the Dao De Jing says, “When those of little understanding hear of the Dao, they laugh aloud.”

When the ruler lacks trustworthiness,

the people will not trust him.

The commentary says: When a ruler is untrustworthy toward the people, the people become crafty and deceitful.

When the ruler lacks trust in the people, they respond with distrust and may even deceive him. The Imperial Commentary says that people fear or slight the ruler because he has lost their trust, giving rise among the people to distrust. The Explanatory Commentary says this is because the people have shallow natures and insufficient faith. They therefore doubt and slander the teachings of the sages, committing the offense of mistrust.

The ruler still values worldly, empty words and thus does not believe the true teachings of the Great Dao. The longer he remains confused, the deeper his karmic obstacles become.

The work is completed and matters are brought to a successful conclusion—that is, peace reigns throughout the realm.

Yet the people think that it all happened of itself, unaware that the ruler’s De is profound. The Imperial Commentary says that accomplishments are achieved without claiming them as one’s own, and matters are completed without deliberate action. The people enjoy these results every day without knowing where they came from; they simply think things have always been this way. The Explanatory Commentary says that the work of nurturing the myriad things is fulfilled, and the task of caring for the people is completed. The highest De is put into practice in secret, without taking credit. The people receive its benefits in daily life without realizing it. They think they naturally have everything they need and do not know they are receiving the sage’s grace. Wang’s Commentary says that transformation takes place without words, and its effects unfold silently, allowing all things to be at ease. The people live in peace and contentment, using what they need each day without knowing where it comes from or recognizing who brought it about. They therefore think it is all natural.

Only after the Great Dao had fallen into decline did benevolence and righteousness appear.

When the Great Dao was flourishing, children naturally honored their parents, and people among neighbors were naturally loyal and trustworthy. No one needed to make a special point of teaching benevolence and righteousness. When the Dao declined and was no longer put into practice, disobedience and strife arose one after another, and only then did benevolence and righteousness become principles worthy of praise and instruction.

The Imperial Commentary says: When an honest, unadorned way of life dissipates and people’s simple nature is damaged, the Great Dao can no longer be put into practice. People then speak of benevolence and righteousness from morning till night, pursuing small, partial achievements. As honesty dissipates and simplicity falls short, embellishments and failings arise from deliberate human contrivance. The Subcommentary explains: This refers to the decline of the teachings of high antiquity. When the Great Dao flourished, the various virtues did not show themselves outwardly. When benevolence and righteousness arose, honesty and simplicity declined along with them. Thus the Zhuangzi says, “To divide the Dao and turn it into benevolence and righteousness was the sages’ mistake.” It also says that instead of supporting one another and moistening each other with spittle, it is better to forget one another naturally amid the rivers and lakes.

When wisdom comes to the fore, great hypocrisy arises.

The Commentary says: Rulers who prize cleverness look down on virtue and value eloquence; they disdain simplicity and esteem ornamentation. The common people then follow this prevailing custom, giving rise to widespread hypocrisy and deceit. The Imperial Commentary says: When cleverness is used to govern the world, laws and regulations are established. As these multiply, so too does wrongdoing, and great hypocrisy emerges. The Subcommentary explains that “wisdom” here means the wisdom of sages. When rulers govern the people through sage wisdom, their laws and regulations become ever more intricate. The people then devise all kinds of deceitful means to evade punishment, and even misuse sage wisdom as a tool for falsification. The way in which wisdom harms all things is discussed at length in the Zhuangzi. Wang Bi says: When the Great Dao flourished, people had no cunning schemes or excessive desires, and all things each retained their own virtue without displaying it outwardly. When the efficacy of the Dao declined, schemes and deceit arose. People flaunted their cleverness, bewildered the ignorant, and displayed their abilities to unsettle society. Simplicity dissipated, honesty departed, and treacherous intentions arose one after another. Thus it is called “great hypocrisy.”

Only when harmony among the six close relations—parents, siblings, spouses, and others—is lost do people make a special point of speaking about filial devotion and parental kindness.

When kinship ties grow weak, relatives cease to live in harmony. Only then do people who are filial to their parents and loving toward their children take one another in and care for them. The Imperial Commentary says: These are all the various biased labels that arise because people have lost the Great Dao. The Subcommentary explains: The “six relationships” refers to father and son, elder and younger brothers, and husband and wife. In an age of simplicity and harmony, partial affection is not singled out. Only after the six relationships fall into disorder do filial devotion and parental love stand out. Thus, when the Zhou dynasty’s virtuous rule declined, a shallow and contentious way of life arose, and people of outstanding filial conduct, such as Zeng Shen and Min Ziqian, came to be held up as examples.

When a state is dark and disordered, loyal ministers appear.

The commentary says: When orders cannot be carried out, ruler and ministers resent one another, and treacherous people struggle for power, loyal ministers emerge to correct and save the ruler. This passage means that when all under Heaven is at peace, people do not make a point of speaking about benevolence and righteousness. When everyone is free of desire, there is no need to proclaim incorruptibility; when everyone keeps to their own integrity, there is no need to praise chastity; and when everyone keeps faith, there is no need to single out loyalty for praise. In an age when the Great Dao prevails, benevolence and righteousness go unnoticed, and filial devotion and parental love are not conspicuous—just as the stars’ light cannot be seen when the sun shines brightest at noon. The Subcommentary explains: The ruler makes the whole world his home, so this refers to a state at the height of good governance, when loyalty does not stand out. In an age of disorder, steadfastness and moral integrity become visible. Thus Guan Longfeng became renowned because of Xia Jie, and Bi Gan was praised because of Shang Zhou.

Put an end to esteem for sage wisdom,

The commentary says: Stop the making and teaching associated with sages, return to the beginning, and hold fast to the root. The Five Emperors drew images, and Cangjie created writing, but these were less simple and unadorned than the Three Sovereigns’ practice of keeping records by tying knots.

Cast aside clever schemes,

The commentary says: Abandon cunning cleverness and return to Wuwei (non-action).

The people’s benefit will increase a hundredfold.

When agricultural affairs are properly managed, the public-minded heart naturally has no selfish desires.

The Imperial Commentary says: If we erase the traces left by the teachings of those who call themselves sages, instruction can take effect through Wuwei (non-action). If we abandon the deceitful methods by which ordinary people use cleverness and cunning, people will return to simplicity. When people’s hearts are simple, cunning and hypocrisy will not arise, and the struggle for strength and fame will not prevail. People will receive the harmonious Qi (vital energy) of nature, and the myriad things will not suffer the premature loss of their inherent nature. The benefits this brings can be said to be a hundredfold.

The Explanatory Commentary says: If we put an end to the reputation of those who style themselves “sages” and abandon clever distinctions between right and wrong, people will return to their original nature, bringing great benefit. “A hundredfold” simply gives an approximate measure. The Zhuangzi says that weak wine in Lu led to Handan being besieged; it also says that when sages appear, great robbers arise. Tian Chengzi used wisdom like that of a sage to seize power in Qi; this is another example of the same principle.

Put an end to benevolence that bestows favors and righteousness that exalts empty words,

and the people will regain filial devotion and loving care.

The Note says: In this way, the transformation brought about by De (Virtue/Power) will become simple and substantial.

The Imperial Commentary says: If we put an end to doctrines of benevolence such as “universal love,” and abandon doctrines of righteousness that condemn the use of wealth, people will recover genuine filial devotion and loving care.

The Explanatory Commentary says: If we put an end to biased doctrines of benevolence and abandon a righteousness confined to outward conduct, people will act in accordance with their nature rather than deliberately putting on an act. Filial devotion comes from the natural order; loving care arises spontaneously. Since people return to the simplicity of ancient ways, the text says that the people can recover their original nature. The Zhuangzi says that benevolence and righteousness were merely lodgings once used by former kings, like straw dogs laid out for a sacrifice and then discarded. It also says that if we abolish the deliberately displayed virtues of people like Zeng Shen and Shi Yu, everyone under Heaven will naturally become benevolent.

Put an end to cleverness and abandon private gain.

The Note says: Put an end to deceitful cunning so that hypocrisy does not disturb what is genuine; block the path of greed and close the door to schemes for private gain.

Then thieves and robbers will not appear.

Let people reveal their plain, authentic nature and remain simple, without pursuing outward embellishment. Reduce selfishness, restrain desire, and learn to be content. These three principles address the three kinds of conduct mentioned earlier that should be cut off and abandoned.

The three principles discussed earlier are profound and suited to the practice of people with superior capacities; they are not enough to guide everyone. So we must also explain practices people can follow: reveal what is authentic, remain simple, reduce selfishness, and lessen desire.

There is no anxiety.

“Ending learning” here means abandoning learning that is showy and pursued for its own sake. The commentaries say that removing such embellishment can lessen anxiety; others explain it as setting aside the study of the various scriptures and returning to unity and simplicity. When people put an end to contrived learning, they can recover their natural simplicity. When they free themselves from attachment to outward appearances, they can understand the principle of Wuwei (non-action), and anxiety and entanglement will fade away.

How much difference is there between a respectful “Yes” and a casual “Uh-huh”?

Both “Yes” and “Uh-huh” are replies; they differ only in their degree of respect. The commentaries say this passage criticizes people of the time for scorning simplicity and favoring refinement. “Yes” is a respectful assent, while “Uh-huh” is a more casual reply. The Book of Rites says that when a teacher calls, one should not answer “No.” In fact, the two replies are not very different. Yet people do not understand that what pleases or displeases has no fixed standard: they are glad to hear “Yes” and blame someone for saying “Uh-huh.”

How much difference is there between calling something good and calling it bad?

What accords with one’s own wishes is called good; what goes against them is called bad. The commentaries point out that people praise the good and condemn the bad, yet often reject those who speak honestly and draw close to the corrupt and flattering. If what accords or conflicts with our wishes has no fixed standard, how can good and bad be so absolute? “Yes” and “Uh-huh” come from the same mouth; good and bad both arise from the same heart. Those who can let go of their attachments know that these things have no fundamental difference. Those who cling to them, however, see them as far apart as the liver and gallbladder, or the states of Chu and Yue. Attachment thus becomes a source of anxiety and entanglement. This is why such learning that breeds attachment must be brought to an end.

What people fear,

they cannot help fearing.

Even those who lately delight in beauty may harm the worthy and wise. These are precisely the things practitioners fear: the cycle of birth and death, and the many desires of worldly life. If you sink into them, you will eventually be submerged. The passage above urged people to cut off harmful thoughts, explaining that neither beauty nor ugliness should be clung to. To keep people from fixating on these teachings and becoming attached to the world, this passage offers a deliberate warning.

Ordinary people’s minds are unsettled. They pursue crooked doctrines without end. “Vast” may also suggest something boundless and ancient: sentient beings have long remained attached and entangled, their feelings deep, as though they would never come to rest.

Everyone seems joyful and excited, indulging in sensual desire. It is as if hungry people were presented with a lavish feast of sacrificial offerings—ox, sheep, and pig—and still felt it was not enough. Or as if they had climbed a terrace on a spring day to gaze into the distance, delighted by the flourishing of life and the pleasant scenery. Sentient beings are captivated by sights and sounds just as they are drawn to fine food and springtime landscapes.

I alone remain quiet and detached, with no ripples stirring in my heart.

I alone am different from everyone else. My mind is always quiet and still, with no sign of desire just beginning to arise. Laozi says that although he lives in the world, his heart is not stirred by external circumstances, and so he has no thought of clinging to or chasing after outside things.

Like an infant who has not yet learned to smile. Here, “child” refers to smiling. The sage is not ruled by desires, but is simple and natural like an infant.

I seem bewildered, with nowhere to turn. Here, “vast” describes a spacious, unmoored bewilderment; “turn” means to go toward or take refuge in. The sage has no fixed attachments and acts in response to how things change, without deliberately choosing or rejecting. Like a traveler, he has no particular destination. Even amid worldly life, he is not tainted by it. His mind is quiet, his capacity broad, and he is unconstrained.

Everyone else seems to have something to spare, while Laozi appears to be lacking. Commentators explain that people use wealth and intelligence to pursue luxury and clever contrivances. The sage, by contrast, understands emptiness and does not cling to possessions, so it is as if he has given up what others have in excess.

I have the heart of a fool. Laozi does not change with worldly habits but remains steadfast and single-minded, appearing on the surface to be dull-witted.

How pure and single-minded! Here, “pure” means free of stray thoughts and distinctions. The sage’s heart is clear and unmixed, focused without distraction. He may therefore seem like someone who cannot make distinctions and appears dull-witted.

The minds of ordinary people are bright and skilled at making distinctions; I seem dim and unaware. This means that although the sage’s wisdom is far-reaching, the sage draws in its radiance and does not show its sharp edge, so appears almost dim.

Ordinary people are clever and impatient, hurrying to distinguish and judge; I am unhurried and composed, with no haste to divide right from wrong. The ordinary mind clings to things and rushes to judge. The sage understands that all things are changing and illusory, and so is often at ease and still.

I seem like a vast, boundless sea, whose farthest reaches cannot be seen. The sage’s heart is in fact clear, yet does not display its radiance. Even while among ordinary people, the sage remains collected and serene, without clinging to stillness, and so has no fixed place to dwell.

I seem adrift, with nowhere to settle. This means that the sage’s mind is not fettered by worldly doctrines, nor attached to any particular place or state.

Everyone is engaged in action; I seem slow and awkward, like an uncouth person.

Alone, I practice Wuwei (non-action). I seem dull and uncultured, as though I can do nothing.

The Imperial Commentary says, “‘Stubborn’ means having no mind that makes distinctions; ‘uncultured’ means shallow and inadequate. Inwardly, however, one understands things clearly and thoroughly, though outwardly one appears inadequate—hence ‘seems uncultured.’” The Explanatory Commentary says: “People are driven by desire and can never come to rest. Though each pursues different things, all are attached to something in their hearts. The sage knows deeply that the myriad things are illusory and makes no distinctions. Attached neither to right nor to wrong, the sage therefore seems like a dull and uncultured person.”

I alone am different from everyone else.

The Commentary says: “I alone am different from everyone else.” The Imperial Commentary says: “Other people have desires and feelings; my mind remains unstained by them.”

I alone cherish and draw sustenance from the Dao (the root of all things).

The Commentary says: “‘Feed on’ means to draw sustenance from, and ‘mother’ refers to the Dao; hence, I alone cherish and draw sustenance from the Dao.” The Explanatory Commentary says: “People observe things closely and make distinctions, and so become enamored of sights and sounds. I, by contrast, remain detached and forget them; thus I cherish and draw sustenance from the true Dao. This is how I differ from everyone else.”

End of Volume Two of the Commentary and Explanatory Commentary on the True Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue.

Volume Three

Written by Gu Huan, a recruited scholar of Wu Commandery.

Those who possess great De (Virtue/Power), in their appearance…

The Commentary says: “‘Great’ means large. Those who possess great De are all-embracing: they can contain what is impure and dwell in lowliness.”

They alone follow the Dao.

The Commentary says: “‘Alone’ means by oneself. Those who possess great De do not follow worldly conduct; they follow only the Dao.” The Explanatory Commentary says: “‘Great’ means large or profound; ‘appearance’ refers to outward form. Those of the greatest De may appear unable to accommodate others, yet they can bear what is impure and dwell in lowliness.”

They alone follow the Dao.

A person of great De (Virtue/Power)—one whose De is profound—does not follow worldly ways but follows the Dao (the Way) alone. “Great” means profound and vast; “appearance” may refer either to outward form or to the capacity to embrace all things. The outward expression of a person of great De is to act in accordance with the Dao. Whether active or still, speaking or silent, such a person remains in harmony with the Dao.

As the source of all things, the Dao appears indistinct and elusive. “Indistinct” does not mean that it is wholly nonexistent, nor that it is a definite, visible entity. Rather, it cannot simply be called either existent or nonexistent. The Dao and the myriad things depend on one another: the Dao does not depart from things, and things do not depart from the Dao. In its workings, the Dao manifests within all things; at their root, all things take the Dao as their foundation. Gu Huan held that the Dao cannot be fixedly described as either existent or nonexistent: if called existent, it has no visible form or sound; if called nonexistent, it nevertheless has an inner reality and signs by which it can be attested. Hence it is called indistinct and elusive.

Within this indistinctness, the images of the myriad things are already present. Though the Dao has no concrete form, it contains the patterns and images through which all things come into being. Some commentaries interpret “obscure” as formlessness and “indistinct” as manifestation, arguing that the images of the myriad things emerge precisely from the formless Dao.

Although the Dao is elusive and difficult to grasp, within it there is a subtle presence. It moves and transforms, relying on Qi to bring all things into being. “Within it there is something” refers to an existence so wondrous that it cannot be fathomed. It cannot simply be called either present or absent, yet there truly is something in it beyond measure. “Within it there is an image” refers to Qi: it has no concrete form or color in itself, yet it can appear as forms and colors. The Dao continually transforms and manifests. Thus, though it is not originally a concrete thing, it can become the myriad things; though it has no fixed image, it can manifest images.

“Within the deep darkness there is essence” means that the Dao is profound and hidden, without physical form, yet contains subtle Qi. Daoist commentaries explain that the Qi of spirit and clarity interact, Yin and Yang converge, and from this bodily form and spirit take shape. Another interpretation says that primordial Qi in the brain transforms into essence. Some commentators understand “deep darkness” as profound obscurity and “there is essence” as meaning that it contains spiritual intelligence: though the Dao is profound and elusive, it possesses a subtle, numinous intelligence whose perception has no bounds and whose wondrous workings are beyond measure.

“Its essence is supremely real” means that the Dao’s essential Qi is wondrous and real, not something contrived. The word “essence” is used here to stress that it is pure, without admixture, and truly substantial. Some commentators also hold that essence is the source of Qi, bodily form and color, and wondrous spiritual workings. Gu Huan explains it as the subtle, numinous reality of the Supreme Dao, genuine and without falsehood.

“Within it there is credibility” means that the Dao conceals its workings and does not make its name known, yet its true efficacy is contained within it. Another interpretation takes “credibility” to mean essence: when essence is not dissipated and blood is stored within, one can become a Perfected Person. Commentators also say that the Dao has no intentions of its own, yet responds in accordance with what it encounters, like the cycles of the four seasons, and never errs.

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never disappeared.

“From ancient times to the present, the Dao has always been present; it has never departed.” The Jie Jie says that “name” here refers to the Dao. Although the sages are no longer in the world, their names can endure and be passed down. The Commentary explains that eras differ as ancient and modern, but the Dao neither comes nor goes. Since the text says it “does not go,” that is enough to show that it “does not come” either; the original simply leaves out the latter phrase.

The Dao sustains all things and gives them the vitality to begin their growth. Here, fu means “to begin”: all things receive Qi from the Dao and come into being. The Commentary also says that yue means “to observe.” Although the Dao has neither come nor gone, it runs through both coming and going; thus it can perceive ancient and modern times and respond to the endings and beginnings of all things.

How do I know that the beginnings of all things are like this? Because all things before us receive the Dao’s essence and Qi and come into being. Nothing in human action or daily life can be apart from the Dao.

“Yield, and you will remain whole” means that by yielding to oneself and accommodating others, rather than insisting on having one’s own way, one can preserve oneself.