《道德真经章句训颂(张嗣成)》

The Commentary and Verses on the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue is an annotation of the Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue compiled by Zhang Sicheng during the Yuan dynasty. The work is divided into two volumes, upper and lower. It is included in the Chinese Daoist Canon, based on the edition in the Yujue category of the Dongshen section of the Zhengtong Daoist Canon.

The “Preface” is the introductory section of this work.

The Dao of the Most High Lord Lao (Taishang Laojun), the supreme deity revered in Daoism, is vast and profound, and his De (Virtue/Power) is abundant and generous. He keeps to simplicity yet bestows benefits far and wide; he conceals great efficacy in what seems useless and contains the power to accomplish all things within Wuwei (non-action). He transcends what came before the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the primordial state before Heaven and Earth took shape, yet “ancient” cannot describe him. He moves through the world after the Three Realms of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity have formed, yet “present” cannot confine him.

Heaven receives its loftiness from the Dao, and Earth its breadth and depth. The sun and moon follow it as they shine in turn; the four seasons follow it as they alternate; mountains and rivers follow it as they flow or stand still. All things, whether great or small, high or low, flying or hidden, moving or growing, each receive a part of the Dao and take shape. Among all things, human beings are the most spiritually endowed. Nothing can go beyond the Dao’s scope or escape its generation and fulfillment. I would like to investigate the source of the Dao, but can find no reason that can explain it, so I can only provisionally call it “Dao.”

Without sages, this Dao could not be made clear; without the scriptures, it could not be recorded. The Dao is difficult to hear, but through the scriptures it can be heard; it is difficult to see, but through the scriptures it can be seen. If, in reciting this Jing (scripture), one grasps the first stirrings of Wuwei, one can cultivate oneself, govern one’s family, bring peace to the people, and ultimately bring peace to all under Heaven. Yet these are only its more superficial layers.

The Nanhua Jing (the Zhuangzi) says, “Even the dust and dregs of the Dao are enough to shape sage rulers like Yao and Shun.” Is this not so? As for the roots of nature and life, the mutual inclusion and interpenetration of nature and life, wondrous being and true emptiness, and subtle words and clear exposition: some of these meanings are perilous and precipitous, like isolated peaks and sheer cliffs; others are plain and unadorned, like unseasoned dark liquor and meat broth. The Dao is clear and encompassing, like flowers reflected in a mirror; it is deep and unfathomable, like the moon in water. These things can only be understood in silence, not grasped through words alone; they can only be met through the mind and spirit, not sought in outward signs. Without unusual insight, and without meeting Lord Lao amid the vastness and indistinctness, it is difficult to comprehend even one ten-thousandth of the Dao.

My ancestor, the True Lord of Orthodox Unity (Zhengyi Zhenjun), Zhang Daoling, twice received a divine escort and descended to western Shu. There he personally transmitted the highest Dao and expounded the meaning beyond the five thousand words of the Dao De Jing, holding nothing back. Our family has preserved this lineage for generations, for more than a thousand years. I, Zhang Sicheng, have received this teaching as a later descendant. I have repeatedly and respectfully received instruction, followed the teachings of the scriptures of the Most High Lord Lao, and made them a central means of praying for blessings and longevity.

Therefore, whenever I open the altar during the Three Origins festivals—the Upper, Middle, and Lower Origins—to transmit Fulu (talismans and registers), offer prayers, and make invocations, I always explain this Jing. I want the disciples at the altar and those who come seeking the Dao to understand its principles according to their own capacities, each taking what they need, like fish drinking water. But teaching everyone personally across the vast distances of the four quarters would take more time than there is. A disciple of Lord Lao who does not understand Lord Lao’s Dao is like someone who eats his fill every day without knowing the grains, or holds a lamp all night without knowing fire. This is not merely a failure toward oneself; does it not also deeply betray the sacred dynasty’s purpose in honoring the teaching of the scriptures?

For this reason, I have ventured beyond my abilities to explain the meaning of the Jing and set it out in chapters and sentences. I do not dare claim that I have grasped Lord Lao’s original intent. I only hope that disciples of our tradition, and those who honor De and love the Great Dao, will read it and reflect carefully; perhaps they may come to understand something. If so, the Golden Elixir need not be sought elsewhere: the highest Dao is already within oneself. The completion of merit and practice, and an indestructible Dharma Body, are also within the reach of cultivation. The saying, “If someone understands my explanation a thousand years from now, it will be as though we met morning and evening,” expresses just this. How could those who share this aspiration fail to strive?

In the summer, in the fifth month of the Xia calendar, in the year Renxu of the Zhizhi era, I, Zhang Sicheng, the Taixuanzi and thirty-ninth Celestial Master of the Han succession, respectfully bow and offer this preface.

If one can grasp the principles of the True Scripture of the Dao and its De, it is as though one encounters them morning and evening. How could those of us who share the same aspirations and follow the same path fail to study it diligently?

In the summer, in the fifth month of the Xia calendar, in the year Renxu of the Zhizhi era, I, Zhang Sicheng, the Taixuanzi and thirty-ninth Celestial Master of the Han succession, respectfully bow and offer this preface.

Explanations, Annotations, and Verses on the True Scripture of the Dao and its De, Volume One

Explained and versified by Zhang Sicheng, the Taixuanzi and thirty-ninth Celestial Master of the Han succession

Chapter One: The Dao That Can Be Spoken

If the Dao can be explained in words, it is not the constant Dao. If a name can be defined with precision, it is not the constant name. “Nonbeing” names the beginning of Heaven and Earth; “being” names the source of the myriad things. By observing from a state free of desire, one can apprehend the Dao’s subtlety. By observing from a state of desire, one can see the boundaries of things as they appear. These two arise from the same source, though they have different names; both may be called profound and mysterious. Profound upon profound, they are the gateway to all subtle transformations.

The Dao has no fixed form, and can only be given a name as a makeshift. Even when it seems clear, it can never truly be spoken in full. Nonbeing and being generate and transform one another; only by probing principle and Qi (vital energy) can one investigate the underlying truth. Ah! If a person has not yet grasped what is neither nonbeing nor being, how can they understand the constant Dao or the constant name? Let all things respond and come to life of their own accord, until at last this formless and unseen Dao takes shape.

What is the Dao (the Way)? It is principle and Qi (vital energy). Principle appears as nonbeing, while Qi takes the form of being. When principle is present, the Dao has a name; when Qi becomes manifest, the Dao has form. Principle remains in a state of nonbeing and is wondrous; thus, naturally, it is the nature of all things. Qi remains manifest in a state of being, yet is empty and numinous; thus, naturally, it is the life of all things. Nothing in Heaven, Earth, or the myriad things can depart from this pattern.

This is like a road: setting out from here, one must pass through here. So wherever there is principle, there must be Qi, and wherever there is Qi, there must be form. That which takes form is Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things: the Dao that can be described in words and named. But how can we explain in words or name why principle is principle and Qi is Qi? Principle and Qi are neither simply nonbeing nor simply being. Their being and nonbeing cannot be altered; this is what is meant by the constant Dao and the constant name.

To speak of the beginning of Heaven and Earth is to speak from the standpoint of principle; to speak of the mother of the myriad things is to speak from the standpoint of Qi. Always remain free of desire, and you will be still and unmoving, able to observe principle before it manifests. Always remain in a state of desire, and you will respond to things and become attuned to them, able to observe Qi as it manifests. “Emerging from the same source,” “different in name,” “mysterious again,” and “the many wonders” all describe the mutual dependence of principle and Qi, expressed through the relationship between being and nonbeing. Terms such as “wondrous,” “boundary,” and “gate” point learners toward the path of advancing their practice. If we investigate this deeply, how could any of the myriad things, in all their profusion and growth, be separate from principle, Qi, nature, and life?

Chapter Two: All Under Heaven Knows

All under Heaven knows beauty as beauty; once the idea of beauty is established, ugliness appears alongside it. All under Heaven knows goodness as goodness; then badness appears alongside it. Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficult and easy complement each other; long and short are compared and distinguished from each other; high and low depend on each other to establish their positions; sounds answer one another...

Everyone in the world knows what beauty is. Once the idea of beauty takes shape, its opposite, ugliness, appears along with it. Everyone knows what goodness is, and its opposite, lack of goodness, appears along with it. Thus being and nonbeing depend on each other for their existence; difficult and easy take shape in relation to each other; long and short become apparent through comparison; high and low reveal their difference by leaning against each other; tone and sound harmonize with each other; and front and back follow one another.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without relying on words. When the myriad things arise, the sage does not interfere. The sage gives life to them and nurtures them, yet does not claim them as possessions; acts, yet does not rely on personal ability; accomplishes great deeds, yet takes no credit. Because the sage takes no credit, the accomplishments do not leave.

Small differences have always harmed what is alike as a whole; without distinctions set against one another, everything returns to emptiness. In spring, all things reveal their impulse to grow. Why ask who wielded the power of creation? Ah, having said this, there is nothing more to say. What name should I give it? When we sometimes speak of the peace and order of the realms under Yao and Shun, it is no more than a scene from a dream.

Chapter Three: Do Not Exalt the Worthy

Do not exalt the reputation of the worthy, and the people will not contend with one another. Do not prize rare goods, and the people will not turn to theft. Do not display things that stir desire, and people’s hearts will not be troubled. Therefore, when the sage governs the world, the sage keeps the people’s minds clear and their bellies full, weakens their ambition to compete and prevail, and strengthens their bodies and bones. The sage constantly ensures that the people have few cunning thoughts and desires, and that those who consider themselves clever do not dare act recklessly. When Wuwei is practiced, nothing in the world is left ungoverned.

How does the sage govern? Simply by not letting turmoil arise in people’s hearts. Everyone lives in accordance with their own nature; why should I cling to my own ideas? Ah, when hungry, eat; when sleepy, sleep. In the world, there is nothing that needs doing.

Chapter Four: The Dao Is Empty

The Dao (the Way), the fundamental pattern underlying all things, is empty and formless, yet in use it seems never to be exhausted. How profound—it seems to be the source of all things. It draws in its sharp edges, untangles confusion, harmonizes its radiance, and mingles with the dust of the world. How deep and unfathomable—and yet it seems to be truly present. I do not know whose descendant it is; I know only that it seems to have existed before the Lord of Heaven.

The Dao is empty and unobstructed; all formed things return to it and find shelter there. When things come, it does not contend with them; when they pass, the heart becomes clear and cool. Wherever one may be, one cannot escape the moonlight. The world is vast and boundless. In a moment of ease, I recognized my true self: I am the Void Sovereign, a title in Daoism for the supreme divinity. Ah, how laughable that for so many years I pursued shadows. Only now have I forgotten both the image in the water and the mirror.

Heaven and Earth have no special favor. They regard all things as straw figures used in sacrifice and then put away. The sage, too, has no special favor, regarding the people as such figures. Is the space between Heaven and Earth not like a bellows? Empty inside, yet never exhausted; the more it is worked, the more air it produces. Too much talk only brings things to an end more quickly. Better to keep to inner stillness.

All things have their times for being taken up and set aside. Straw figures are put to use during a sacrifice and put away when it is over. Their use or dismissal simply follows the circumstances; it does not arise from anyone’s likes or dislikes. Why should I bring my own preferences into it? It is like breathing in and out, as nature and breath meet of themselves. The subtle principle lies precisely in openness: breaths meet and respond—how wondrous! There is no need to labor over words, splitting them into fine distinctions. I need only experience what is real within myself. Ah! To accompany one another without clinging to one another—this is benevolence brought to its highest expression, so one does not keep benevolence in mind. When no one clings to benevolence, they can forget one another. Wherever one goes, transformation arises naturally. Of all the countless words, which is not merely a means of expression?

Chapter Six: The Valley Spirit Never Dies

The Valley Spirit, symbolizing the wondrous principle that is empty yet able to nourish and bring forth all things, never perishes. This is called the Mysterious Female, the deep and hidden source of generation. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth. It seems to exist and not exist, continues without end, and in its workings is never exhausted.

The transformations of principle, Qi (vital energy), and form are wondrous and difficult to fathom; from nothingness to actuality, each gives rise to the other. Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things are originally one body, their wondrous workings without limit—this is my own numinous nature. Ah!

The Valley Spirit never perishes. This is called the Mysterious Female. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth. It seems to exist and not exist, continues without end, and in its workings is never exhausted.

The transformations of principle, Qi, and form are wondrous and difficult to fathom; from nothingness to actuality, each gives rise to the other. Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things are originally one body, their wondrous workings without limit—this is my own numinous nature. Ah! Here is where life comes into being, and the path that leads back to the source. The cultivator, supple as a female bird, can become a wooden rooster—a metaphor for a quiet, unmoving state that is inwardly composed and true to one’s nature. Why, then, should the earthen cauldron, an image of the vessel used to cultivate the Neidan (internal alchemy), need to be sealed with effort?

“Valley” refers to emptiness, and emptiness is itself the wondrous principle of the Dao (the Way). The Mysterious Female contains the principle of ceaseless generation; it is the source from which Qi (the vital energy that constitutes and moves all things) comes. It is called a “gate” because it implies opening and closing, and contains both Yin and Yang. Only with Yin and Yang can Heaven and Earth arise, and the myriad things take shape. Before things take form, their root lies in emptiness; therefore, its workings can be endless.

Chapter Seven: Heaven Is Long and Earth Endures

Heaven and Earth can endure because they do not exist for their own sake; for that very reason, they last. Thus the sage puts himself last, yet comes to the fore among others. He sets himself aside, yet preserves himself. Is this not because he has no selfish desires? That is how he achieves himself.

How can Heaven and Earth escape the limits of beginning and ending, and independently sustain the transformation of Original Qi, the fundamental force through which they generate the myriad things? Everyone who understands the principles of nature and life can enjoy longevity. Do not suppose that immortals are contrary to the way of utmost impartiality. Ah! To understand one’s nature and nurture the spirit, to understand Heaven’s Mandate and follow the breath, and to act without selfishness—this is the ultimate principle.

Chapter Eight: The Highest Good Is Like Water

The highest good is like water. Water nourishes all things without contending with them. It settles in low places that people dislike, and so is closest to the Dao (the Way). In choosing where to live, seek a suitable place; in the heart, be as calm and spacious as a deep pool; in dealing with others, cherish benevolence; in speech, be honest and trustworthy; in governing, bring order; in one’s work, make the most of one’s strengths; in action, seize the right moment. Because it does not contend, it is without fault.

The soft and yielding can overcome what is most hard and strong; the wondrous workings of nature are inexhaustible. A deep green pool reflects what is as it truly is; one need not wait for the vast ocean to see its depth. Ah! In the ocean, the realm becomes clearer and more tranquil, as though it could contain all things. The myriad things under Heaven are nourished by the same rain and dew. A drop of true fluid in the Flower Pool—the Daoist name for the body’s fluids or a realm of cultivation—is always sweet.

Chapter Nine: Holding and Filling

To hold a vessel until it is full is not as good as stopping at the right point. Sharpen a blade too keenly, and it will not stay sharp for long. No one can guard a hall filled with gold and jade forever. Arrogance in wealth and status only brings disaster upon oneself. When one’s achievements are complete and one’s name established, one should withdraw. This is the natural way.

What is full will tip over; what is rigid and strong is easily broken. Few understand this in advance. Dynasties rise and fall according to their own pattern, like the turning of the seasons. The moon and a clear breeze are the true blessings to be enjoyed; only then does one understand the teaching left by Yao and Shun. Ah! Heaven warns people against excess and fullness; in conducting oneself, humility is precious. To bring the ways of Heaven and humanity into accord is to be worthy of the book received at the Bridge of Yi—a reference to Zhang Liang receiving a book from the Yellow Stone Elder, symbolizing the transmission of the principles of Heaven’s Way.

Chapter Ten: Carrying the Body and Soul

Can one hold the body and soul together, keeping the spirit unified so that they do not separate?

The hun and po souls must unite for a person to come into being. “Embracing the One” means holding fast to one’s original nature. “Attaining softness,” “mysterious contemplation,” Wuwei (non-action), “being without the feminine,” “being without knowledge,” “not possessing,” “not relying,” and “not ruling” all express the same principle: the Way of embracing the One rests on following nature.

The human body is a temporary union of four elements, sustained by an innately lucid nature. Follow nature to preserve yourself; keep the mind empty and still, without striving after things recklessly. Turn inward in contemplation: when the mind clings to nothing, all under Heaven naturally comes to peace. Examine movement and stillness at the hinge of change, where things come and go. While others are confused by their keen perceptions, I seem calm and unaware. I claim no credit and do not regard myself as a sage. Let both essence and function follow their own nature: this is the true Way of nature and life. Ah, true nature and life are right here: they cannot be pried into, nor can they be defied.

Chapter 11: Thirty Spokes

Thirty spokes converge at the wheel’s hub; it is the empty space in the hub that makes the wheel usable. Clay is kneaded into a vessel; it is the hollow within that makes the vessel able to hold things. Doors and windows are cut into a house; it is the open space inside that makes it fit for living in. Thus, tangible things provide convenience, while the intangible space within them is what makes them useful.

How vast is the blue sky, able to contain all things! A firm patch of earth, as long as it has a well, can yield a spring. Ah, do not imagine Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things as three immense entities: they all exist within emptiness. Where else could emptiness be placed? In truth, it extends no farther than what is already within us.

“Nonbeing” means emptiness. A wheel’s hollow lets it carry things; a vessel’s hollow lets it hold things; a house’s empty interior makes it fit to live in. Here, the principle is extended to the function of open space between Heaven and Earth. The claim that Heaven and Earth extend no farther than what is within us then draws the principle back to the human mind.

Chapter 12: The Five Colors

The five colors dazzle the eyes; the five tones dull the ears; the five flavors spoil the palate. Riding horses on the hunt makes the mind run wild; rare and precious objects lead people to act recklessly. Therefore, the sage nourishes what is within and does not chase external pleasures for the senses. So the sage lets go of outward temptations and chooses inner fulfillment.

Colors dazzle the eyes; the five tones dull the ears; the five flavors spoil the palate. Riding horses on the hunt makes the mind run wild; rare and precious objects lead people to act recklessly. Therefore, the sage nourishes what is within and does not chase external pleasures. So the sage lets go of outward temptations and chooses inner fulfillment.

The body, with its visible form, is already a burden to me—how much more so the senses of the eyes, ears, and mouth? Only by quieting the mind and nourishing the body can we understand what to let go of and what to choose. Ah, this is where everyone’s path of cultivation begins: restraining outward splendor, returning to simplicity, and applying oneself steadily. When will we be able to eat our fill and rest at ease, forgetting both inner and outer, and no longer distinguishing between self and other?

Chapter Thirteen: Favor and Disgrace

Receiving favor or suffering disgrace can both cause alarm. Regard great troubles as you regard your own person. What is meant by favor and disgrace? Favor is given from above, disgrace comes from below. When we receive favor, we are alarmed; when we lose it, we are also alarmed. This is what is meant by “favor and disgrace are alarming.” What is meant by regarding great troubles as you regard your own person? I have great troubles because I have this body. If I had no body, what troubles could I have? Thus, only those who value the world as they value themselves can be entrusted with the world; only those who cherish the world as they cherish themselves can be given charge of it.

Favor is the harbinger of disgrace, and high status may become a great trouble. Once you see this clearly, why be alarmed? The body, too, is merely something external. These principles can be discussed only with those who understand; for that reason, one should know how to value and care for oneself. The world is like an inn where we stay for a while. People are only lodging here as guests; perhaps they have another home to return to. Ah, since having a body brings the troubles that come with it, what benefit is the world to me? If one can be at ease with oneself and no longer cling to the self, one is like Xu Zi, letting the wind stir a gourd until it makes a soft rustling sound.

What is near can be sought within oneself; the body is indeed precious, but things outside it are not worth worrying over. Ah, since having a body brings the troubles that come with it, what benefit is the world to me? If one can be at ease with oneself and no longer cling to the self, one is like Xu Zi, letting the wind stir a gourd until it makes a soft rustling sound.

Only by searching within oneself does one realize that one’s own being is most precious, and that nothing outside oneself is worth worrying over. But to seek only in the body is to regard the “self” and the body as two separate things; the body then becomes a burden. Although Xu Zi could forget the great affairs of the world, the sound of a gourd stirred by the wind still captured his attention. Clearly, he had not yet forgotten himself. How does this compare with Nanguo Ziqi, who “lost his self” (forgot his personal biases and reached a state in which self and things were no longer distinct)?

Chapter Fourteen: Look, and You Do Not See

Look for it, but you cannot see it: this is called yi. Listen for it, but you cannot hear it: this is called xi. Reach for it, but you cannot touch it: this is called wei. These three cannot be examined clearly, and so they blend into one. Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark. It extends without end and cannot be named, then returns at last to a state without form or substance. This is called the form of the formless, the image of the imageless, and also “the indistinct and elusive.” Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. Grasp the Dao of ancient times and use it to guide the things of the present. To know the beginning of antiquity is to hold the thread of the Dao.

Not hearing is true hearing; not seeing is true existence. This is the form of the formless and the image of the imageless—in other words, “the indistinct and elusive.” Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. Grasp the Dao of ancient times and use it to guide the things of the present. To know the beginning of antiquity is to hold the thread of the Dao.

Not hearing is true hearing; not seeing is true seeing. There is no need to hold a stick of kindling or blow on the fire: the flame appears of itself. Since there is no beginning, there is no end; past and present form a single whole. Though the myriad things undergo countless transformations, what appears remains their original nature. Ah, to recognize this original nature and grasp the guiding principle of the True Law is to understand that this is the Void Emperor, the supreme deity revered in Daoism. Thus one pays homage and takes refuge in him in the ten directions.

Chapter Fifteen: Those Skilled in the Dao in Ancient Times

Those skilled in cultivating the Dao in ancient times were subtle, mysterious, penetrating, and profound, beyond the ability of others to fathom. Because they were so hard to fathom, one can only attempt to describe them: cautious, like someone crossing a river in winter; wary, as if watching out for neighbors on every side; dignified, like guests; yielding, like ice on the verge of melting; plain, like uncarved wood; open, like a valley; and murky, like muddy water.

Who can let muddy water settle and slowly become clear? Who can remain still and, through prolonged activity, gradually bring forth new life? Those who keep to this way do not seek completion. Precisely because they do not seek completion, worn things can continue to be renewed.

Only when something is stored within can it show itself outwardly. Between inner and outer, what can the heart contain? Thus nothing cannot be transformed. Wait quietly, and what you seek will become abundant. It is precisely because one is not self-satisfied that old shortcomings can be cast off and renewal can continue.

Only when something is stored within can it show itself outwardly. Between inner and outer, what can the heart contain? Thus nothing cannot be transformed. Wait quietly, and you can respond to every change. Rest peacefully between being and nonbeing, and so endure. Ah, one is always present yet does not cling to “being”; even when absent, one is not destroyed. One falls neither into form nor into emptiness, seems neither extraordinary nor strange.

Chapter Sixteen: Bringing Emptiness to Its Utmost

Bring the mind to the utmost state of emptiness and stillness, and devote yourself to holding fast to deep tranquility. As all things grow and change together, I observe how they cycle and return. Though all things flourish in profusion, in the end each returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called a return to one’s original life. Returning to one’s original life is called constancy; knowing constancy is called illumination. Those who do not know constancy act recklessly and invite danger. Those who know constancy can embrace all things; those who can embrace all things can be impartial. Impartiality makes one fit to be the ruler of all under Heaven. To rule all under Heaven is to accord with Heaven; to accord with Heaven is to endure with the Dao. One who endures with the Dao will face no danger throughout life.

Where there is no obstruction, air can pass freely. Leaves fall and the woods grow still; year after year, it is always so. The principle of emptiness and stillness has long been made clear: when Qi returns to the Primordial Sea, the source where primordial energy gathers, life is without limit. The kingly way accords with Heaven; Heaven accords with the Dao. The Dao endures, and throughout life there is no danger.

Where there is no obstruction, air can pass freely. Leaves fall and the woods grow still; year after year, it is always so. The principle of emptiness and stillness has long been made clear: when Qi returns to the Primordial Sea, life is without limit. Ah, the nature of Qi is subtle and hidden; I can perceive it only with a still mind. If people can remain constantly calm and clear, all things under Heaven will return within them.

Chapter Seventeen: The Highest

Of the best rulers, the people know only that they exist. Those of the next rank are loved and praised by the people; those below them are feared; those at the bottom are despised. When a ruler’s trustworthiness is insufficient, the people will not trust him. He is cautious and composed, and does not issue commands lightly. When the work is done and the achievement complete, the people all say, “We did it naturally, of our own accord.”

Even when the wind is mild and the sun warm, frost and snow may still descend. The joys and fears of the human heart, too, pass with the turning seasons. How fondly remembered is the old man who played the game of striking the earth in the fields. The game of striking the earth was an ancient pastime, also used to portray life in a peaceful age. A thousand years have passed since he died, yet his song still seems to reach us. Ah, though the bearing of Yao, Shun, and Yu differed somewhat, flourishing and decline still gave rise to one another, as do the changes between Heaven and Earth.

Chapter Eighteen: When the Great Dao Was Abandoned

Only after the Great Dao was abandoned did people speak of benevolence and righteousness. Only after cleverness and ingenuity came to the fore did great deceit appear. Only when families and relatives became estranged was filial devotion and parental kindness especially promoted. Only when the state fell into disorder did loyal ministers appear.

There were no Three Sovereigns, legendary sage-kings of antiquity, nor Five Emperors, ancient rulers. The kings of the Three Dynasties—Xia, Shang, and Zhou—no longer rose to power, and the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period no longer appeared. There was neither Gu Sou, Shun’s father, nor Shang Xin, the last king of the Shang dynasty. This was just the time to contemplate the beginning of Heaven and Earth. Ah! Within that beginning, one may go further and observe the mystery of what preceded the beginning of all things. If you grasp the pleasure of wine, do not take the confusion of sobriety too seriously; loyal ministers still live in the world.

There were no Three Sovereigns or Five Emperors, the kings of the Three Dynasties no longer rose to power, and the Five Hegemons no longer appeared. There was neither Gu Sou nor Shang Xin. This was just the time to contemplate the beginning of Heaven and Earth. Ah! Within that beginning, one may go further and observe the mystery of what preceded the beginning of all things. If you grasp the pleasure of wine, do not pass these teachings on to the sober.

Chapter 19: Abandon Sagehood and Discard Wisdom

Set aside the pursuit of seeming sage-like and the clever use of schemes, and the people will benefit a hundredfold. Set aside the practice of proclaiming benevolence and righteousness, and the people will recover their innate filial devotion and kindness. Cast off cunning and the desire for profit, and thieves will disappear. If these three teachings are treated as mere outward show, they will not suffice. Therefore, one must return to something: reveal one’s unadorned nature, hold fast to simplicity, reduce selfishness, and diminish desire.

Hundun, the primordial being said to have had no seven openings, was kindly given seven by Shu, the ruler of the South Sea, and Hu, the ruler of the North Sea, who drilled them for him. Who could have imagined that an act of care would bring harm, damaging his original Qi, without even Heaven noticing? Ah! To divide what is one is to damage its original unity; to let the small obstruct the great is also to cause loss. A mind set on deliberate action becomes a wound to the spirit. Qi can flow in undivided unity; original Qi is beyond compare. Draw in the gaze and turn back the hearing, so that the mind and spirit return to themselves.

Chapter 20: Abandon Learning and Be Free of Worry

Release the desire to pursue learning deliberately and the fixation on distinctions and calculations, and worries will lessen. “Wei” and “a” are both sounds of response—how far apart are they? If good and evil are divided so absolutely, how great is the difference between them? What people fear cannot simply be met without reverence. The Great Dao is vast and deep, without end.

Everyone is full of excitement, as if attending a grand feast or climbing a terrace to admire the spring scenery. I alone am calm and detached, my feelings still unformed, like a baby who has not yet learned to smile, or one drifting without knowing where to return. Everyone seems to have more than enough; I alone seem to lack something. My foolish heart—plain and unadorned. The Great Dao is vast and deep, without end. Everyone is full of excitement, as if attending a grand feast or climbing a terrace to admire the spring scenery. I alone am calm and detached, my feelings still unformed, like a baby who has not yet learned to smile, or one drifting without knowing where to return. Everyone seems to have more than enough; I alone seem to lack something. My foolish heart is simple and unadorned. People of the world are perceptive and accomplished; I alone seem dim. People of the world are sharp and clever; I alone am quiet and dull. I am as deep and broad as the sea, drifting as if without end. Everyone seems capable; I alone am stubborn and crude. I differ from everyone else: I cherish only seeking nourishment from the “Mother.” Here, the “Mother” means the Dao that nourishes all things.

The Great Dao makes people forget distinctions and hold to the One, without forcing things into opposing categories. A baby, for instance, knows only to depend on milk and drifts along in ease and contentment. Why would it concern itself with things outside? As it grows, disturbances arise one after another. Gains and losses, both within and without, tug at the heart, and distinctions and knowledge acquired through learning become a burden. Only by letting go of this fixation can one be freed from its entanglements. Wonderful, wonderful! Then one can return to the state at the beginning of Heaven and Earth. Alas, learning may cause people to lose their original nature; to restore it, one must still seek within learning. What others say is like a dream. Do not believe it all, and do not let a deluded heart waste a whole life in vain.

The Form of Great De, Chapter 21

The form of great De follows only the Great Dao. The Great Dao is indistinct and elusive; within its indistinctness there are images, and within its elusiveness there seem to be concrete things. Deep and obscure, it contains the subtle Qi; this subtle Qi is real and not false, and within it lie reliable signs. From ancient times to the present, the name of the Great Dao has been passed down without interruption, through which we may observe the origins of all things. How do I know what the origins of all things are like? Through the Great Dao.

Only through “nothingness” can there be emptiness; only through emptiness can there be spirit; only through spirit can there be Qi (the breath of life as understood in Daoism); only through Qi can there be Jing (the essence of life). Emptiness and Qi mingle with one another, forming a state that is full yet cannot be grasped as a concrete thing. By observing with a quiet mind, one can see subtle changes continually taking place within it. Ah, spirit, Qi, and Jing are three superior medicines; they arise naturally from nothingness. All things in the world are likewise formed. If one does not believe this, the name “immortal” is merely an empty title.

Chapter Twenty-Two: “Bent, Yet Whole”

By yielding and stepping back, one can be preserved; after being bent, one can become straight again; what lies low can be filled; what is worn out can be renewed. Taking little brings gain, while grasping for much leads to confusion. Therefore, the sage holds fast to the One—the wholeness and root of the Dao—and makes it the standard for all under Heaven. Because the sage does not display himself, he is clear-sighted; because he does not insist that he is right, his reputation is made known; because he does not boast, he can accomplish things; because he does not exalt himself, he can endure. Precisely because he does not contend, no one under Heaven can contend with him. When the ancients said, “Yield, and you will be preserved,” could these words have been empty? One can indeed preserve oneself and, in the end, return to the Dao.

Within yielding, sincerity can be maintained; when sincerity reaches its utmost, matters can be brought to completion. Which Confucian scholar would say this differs from the Confucian Way? Confucius once asked Laozi about ritual, and that event has been passed down for a thousand years. Ah, the Limitless gives rise to Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate); the nameless comes before the named. Only sincerity and holding fast to the One accord with the truth of nothingness and being. Yielding and being preserved, being bent and becoming straight again, lying low and being filled, growing worn and being renewed, taking little and gaining, grasping for much and becoming confused—all these are natural transformations of one into another. By quietly accumulating De, brightness gradually emerges; by insisting on displaying oneself, one’s reputation instead fades. By reducing selfish desire, one gains; by remaining humble and low, one becomes honored and luminous. That is the whole of it. To discuss these principles in words alone is like comparing rice with husks.

Chapter Twenty-Three: “Few Words Accord with Nature”

Speaking little accords with nature. A gale cannot blow for a whole morning; a torrential rain cannot fall all day. What makes them so? Heaven and Earth. Even the gales and downpours of Heaven and Earth cannot last long. How much less can human efforts endure?

So, those who act in accordance with the Dao are in harmony with the Dao; those who cultivate De (Virtue) are in harmony with De; and those who turn away from Dao and De are in harmony with being estranged from the Dao. The Dao gladly receives those who are in harmony with it; De gladly receives those who are in harmony with De; and estrangement from the Dao gladly receives those who are in harmony with it. When people lack sincerity, others naturally do not trust them.

Words that accord with nature have genuine substance, just as Heaven and Earth move according to the constant Dao. Things that go against what is reasonable and lack substance cannot last. In the end, all things return to the same principle. Ah, if one does not speak, seeking reaches its limit; without reliance on what is genuine and unchanging, gales and downpours arise. All things come from the same Dao, so what real differences can there be? Creation truly works this way, and it is everywhere.

Speak at the proper time, and people will not grow weary of your words. Words themselves are not the Dao; spoken at the wrong time, they are hard to trust. When others do not believe you, your words seem insincere; what is insincere cannot last. Gales and downpours are transformations of Heaven and Earth, and transformations cannot endure. This follows from the nature of things and the circumstances that shape them.

Chapter 24: “Standing on Tiptoe”

Those who stand on tiptoe cannot keep their balance; those who take huge strides cannot walk far. Those who show off cannot see clearly; those who think themselves right do not gain recognition; those who boast of their achievements have no merit; those who are arrogant cannot endure. From the Dao’s point of view, these behaviors are like extra food and burdensome actions. All things detest them, so those who have the Dao do not act this way.

Those wholly intent on reaching greater heights do not know how to be content with the height they have already attained. Those who rush ahead impatiently do not realize that their steps are too large. Clinging possessively to what one has makes it hard to change; chasing what has already passed only adds to one’s burdens. Ah, cultivating the Dao means continually diminishing. If one can forget oneself, what more is there to pursue? Even sages such as Tang Yao and Yu Shun were merely excess; between Heaven and Earth, human beings are no more than skin tags.

Chapter 25: “There Was Something Formed in Chaos”

Something complete in itself existed before heaven and earth. Whatever clings to “being” cannot last forever; chasing after traces left by things only stirs up confusion. Ah, the Dao continually diminishes people’s desires until nothing selfish remains. What, then, is there still to pursue? What Tang Yao and Yu Shun prized was no more than leftover food; everything between heaven and earth is like a growth on the body.

Chapter 25: Something Complete in Itself

Something existed as a complete whole before heaven and earth took shape. It was silent and vast, existing on its own and never changing. It moves everywhere without ceasing, and may be regarded as the source of all things beneath heaven. I do not know its original name, so I provisionally call it “Dao,” and, for lack of a better name, call it “Great.” Great means moving without cease; moving without cease means extending far; extending far means returning to the source.

Thus the Dao is great, heaven is great, earth is great, and the ruler is great. There are four great things in the world, and the ruler is one of them. People take their model from the earth, the earth from heaven, heaven from the Dao, and the Dao from its own natural state.

The Dao is not any particular substance. It is wondrously complete in itself, and all change and growth within and beyond heaven and earth come from it. We seek it but cannot grasp it, so we can only call it “Dao” for want of a better name. Who can return to the Dao’s source? Only the beings endowed with spiritual insight. Let the mind accord with nature and do not cling to bodily form.

Ah, people are always trying to climb to the summit of Mount Kunlun, building one lofty terrace upon another. Yet “Kunlun” is already here before our eyes. We can point it out to others, but can they see it?

Chapter 26: The Heavy Is the Root of the Light

Steadiness is the root of carelessness; stillness is the master of agitation. Therefore, the sage travels all day without leaving the baggage cart—the vehicle for carrying supplies, symbolizing a steady foundation. Even amid splendid sights, the sage remains at ease and composed. As ruler of a kingdom of ten thousand chariots, how can one treat the world lightly? Carelessness loses the support of one’s ministers; agitation loses the authority proper to a ruler.

The foundation lies in weight and stillness. Weight does not mean rushing along the road, and stillness does not mean watching with half-closed eyes. In acting, do not cling to action; in resting, do not cling to comfort. Governing the world means following the earth’s example: steady and able to bear all things.

Ah, when spring comes, willow fluff fills the air, and people say only that the east wind is in control. Yet the fluff flies to and fro without ever finding a home, merely making heaven and earth seem boundless.

Chapter 27: Good Conduct Leaves No Tracks

Those skilled at walking leave no distinct tracks. Those skilled at speaking make no mistakes in their words. Those skilled at planning need no counting tools. Those skilled at closing need no bolt to make a door impossible to open. Those skilled at binding need no rope to make something impossible to untie.

Thus the sage is always skilled at helping people, and so no one is abandoned. The sage is always skilled at making use of things, and so nothing is discarded. This is called carrying on and putting the Bright Dao into practice. A good person can be a teacher to one who is not good, and one who is not good can serve as a lesson to a good person. If you do not honor the teacher or value the lesson, then, though you may think yourself clever, you remain confused. This is the profound and essential principle within it.

Without a place where something can be put to use, the openings in things cannot be discerned. By practicing De and carrying on the Bright Dao, one can share what one has gained with others. Thus, the good person is a teacher to the wicked, and the wicked person is a lesson to the good. By drawing on the strengths of everyone, one avoids becoming one-sided. Self-praise, however, inevitably brings confusion. Ah, the myriad things of Heaven and Earth arise of themselves and do not cling to forms. Why, then, should the sage harbor partiality? In spring, flowers flourish in gentle warmth; the sea receives a hundred rivers, boundless in depth and breadth.

Knowing the Masculine, Chapter Twenty-Eight

Know the masculine, yet remain with the feminine, and you will become the valley where all beneath Heaven flows and returns. As the valley of all beneath Heaven, your constant De will never depart, and you will return to the purity of an infant. Know brightness, yet remain with darkness, and you will become the model for all beneath Heaven. As the model for all beneath Heaven, your constant De will never falter, and you will return to the limitless, a state without boundaries or definition. Know honor, yet remain with disgrace, and you will become the valley of all beneath Heaven. As the valley of all beneath Heaven, your constant De will be complete, and you will return to the uncarved simplicity of the natural state.

When the uncarved simplicity is divided, it forms the many particular things. The sage makes use of them to govern the people. Thus, truly great governance does not divide the myriad things.

The wonder in me lies in a purity like that of an infant; the wonder of Heaven and Earth lies in the limitless; the wonder of the Dao’s body lies in the Great Uncarved Simplicity. To understand its wondrous principles, one must also know their limits. Be strong yet able to be gentle, be bright without dazzling, be honored yet able to remain humble: this is to grasp the essential point. Ah, when the Great Uncarved Simplicity is divided, it becomes the instruments of Heaven and Earth. Grasp the essential point, and you can put the myriad things of Heaven and Earth to use.

The Dao has no fixed and unchanging form. We can only call it, by way of analogy, the “Great Uncarved Block”—its original state, whole and untouched by carving. What, then, is the Great Uncarved Block like? Viewed as it unfolds, heaven, earth, and all things have appeared, yet we can still sense the mystery of their state before they appeared. This is called the “Limitless”—the boundless, indescribable source. Viewed as it gathers back in, I have been born, yet I can still sense the mystery of what came before birth. This is called the “Infant,” a metaphor for the original nature untouched by worldly carving. The infant represents the mystery within what has form; the Limitless represents the mystery within what has no form.

From this, it seems that the mystery of the Great Uncarved Block lies between being and nonbeing: nonbeing is contained within being, and being arises from nonbeing. Perhaps this is the Dao? Of all things, human beings are the most spiritually perceptive. They can sense and understand the Dao, and they can also act in accordance with it. “Know the masculine, keep to the feminine”; “know the white, keep to the black”; “know honor, keep to disgrace”—these sayings mean that once you understand these principles, you must put them into practice. If you do not depart from or violate them, you will be in accord with the marvel of the Great Uncarved Block. All of this is called “constant De” (steadfast, unchanging virtue): the Dao is the foundation, and De is its expression. Understand this, and the creation and transformation of all things will seem to lie in your own hands.

Chapter 29: “Seeking to Possess”

I believe that to seek to possess the world and govern it is ultimately impossible. The world is a wondrous vessel; it cannot be handled as one pleases. Those who force their actions will fail; those who insist on holding it will lose it. The conditions of the myriad things differ: some move ahead, while others follow; some exhale, while others inhale; some are strong, while others are weak; some bear their load securely, while others topple and are destroyed. For this reason, the sage rejects extremes, extravagance, and excess.

By acting through Wuwei (non-action), one can receive gains that were neither sought nor contrived. By dealing with things without clinging inwardly, one can guide transformations that leave no trace. Even Heaven and Earth do not know that I am arranging and bringing all things to completion—who, then, could know that this is the power of a ruler? Ah, follow the course of Heaven’s Way, observe the changes of all things, and let everything happen naturally. Human schemes and strength are only instruments.

Chapter 30: “Aiding the Ruler with the Dao”

Those who assist rulers through the Dao do not use military force to dominate the world, because warfare often invites retaliation. Where armies have been stationed, thorny brambles grow; after a great war, years of famine are sure to follow.

Those skilled in the use of arms stop once they have achieved their aim. They do not dare to use force to show off their power. When the task is done, they do not boast, flaunt their success, or grow arrogant; they resort to arms only when there is no other choice. This is to act without becoming forceful. When things grow too powerful, they begin to decline: this is called failing to stay within one’s proper bounds. After war, thorny brambles grow; after a great war, famine is sure to follow. Those skilled in the use of arms stop once they have achieved their aim and do not dare to use force to show off their power. When the task is done, they do not boast, flaunt their success, or grow arrogant; they resort to arms only when there is no other choice. This is to act without becoming forceful. When things grow too powerful, they begin to decline: this is called going against the Dao. What goes against the Dao soon perishes.

Great De (Virtue and Power) lies in protecting life. The character for “martial” is understood to mean “stopping weapons”: true martial virtue lies in putting an end to warfare. Even one unrighteous thought can injure the Qi of Heaven and Earth. Ah, doing good brings many blessings, and the Lord above will descend to protect you.

“On Fine Weapons,” Chapter 31

Weapons are inauspicious things, and people generally detest them. Therefore, a person who follows the Dao does not use them as ordinary tools. In daily life, the noble person honors the left; in warfare, the right is given precedence. Weapons are inauspicious things, not something a noble person should rely on. When their use is unavoidable, one should remain calm and detached. Even after winning a battle, one should not regard the victory as cause for celebration. To take pride in victory is to delight in killing. Those who delight in killing cannot prevail over the world.

For joyful occasions, the left is honored; for funerals and mourning, the right. The deputy general stands on the left, and the supreme general on the right: this treats a military expedition as a funeral rite. When many people have been killed, one should grieve and mourn them. Even a victory should be marked according to the rites of mourning.

To make preparations but not deploy the army is to preserve it; to set out without engaging in battle is an even greater victory. I do not commend abandoning this approach. Grieving over military success serves as a profound warning to the world. Ah, the Golden Register of the Nine Perfected (a Daoist Zhaijiao purification ritual and the names of perfected beings) repeats its admonition three times: compassion and abstention from killing are the true talismanic seal. Speak no more of being granted a fief or made a general: a general’s fame is often bought at the cost of countless soldiers’ lives.

“The Dao Is Ever Nameless,” Chapter 32

The Dao is ever nameless. It is simple and small, yet no one can bring it under their control.

The Great Dao is vast and universal, present everywhere, to the left and to the right. All things depend on it to grow, yet it refuses nothing. Once its work is done, it claims no credit. It nourishes all things but does not rule over them, and so it is often without desire; in this sense, it may be called small. All things return to it, yet it does not rule over them; in this sense, it may also be called great. The sage never considers himself great, and thus achieves true greatness.

Because it is not bound by things, people cannot fathom what it does. Since they cannot fathom what it does, all things are unable to oppose it. From this we can see that to regard oneself as great and external things as small is possible only for one who does not boast of greatness. Ah! Among all things in Heaven and Earth, only physical form creates limitation: what is great cannot become small, and what is small cannot become great.

Hold fast to the Dao, the root of all things, and all under Heaven will turn toward it. When all return to the Dao without harming one another, they can live in stability, peace, and harmony. Music and fine food can make passersby stop, but the Dao, when spoken of, seems plain and tasteless. Look at it, and nothing comes into view; listen for it, and nothing is heard; use it, and it is never exhausted.

The most subtle image seems to have no image; the most subtle music seems to have no sound; the most subtle food has no taste. The most subtle action shows no deliberate effort. All things return of themselves and come to rest of themselves; they grow and come to fruition naturally. Ah, the dragon flute sounds, and the alligator-skin drum resounds. Delicacies such as camel’s hump are served in green cooking vessels. Yet no amount of sound can be heard to its end, and its use is inexhaustible.

The most subtle image seems to have no image; the most subtle music seems to have no sound; the most subtle food has no taste. The most subtle action shows no deliberate effort. All things return of themselves and come to rest of themselves; they grow and come to fruition naturally. Ah, the dragon flute sounds, and the alligator-skin drum resounds; delicacies such as camel’s hump are served in green cooking vessels. Even thousands upon thousands of ants and flies will gather for a time. How can one wash away the dust accumulated over the three lives—the Buddhist past, present, and future? I offer you a cup of water that flows on without end.

Chapter Thirty-Six: If You Would Draw Something In

If you would draw something in, you must first let it expand. If you would weaken it, you must first let it grow strong. If you would cast it down, you must first let it rise. If you would take something from it, you must first give to it. This is called subtle insight. The soft overcomes the hard; the weak overcomes the strong. Fish cannot leave the depths, and a state’s sharp instruments must not be displayed for all to see.

Opposites depend on one another; this is the inevitable way of things. To preserve your own effectiveness, simply act with gentleness. Fish live at ease in the depths, and the people do not regard sharp instruments as important. They seem to forget, yet do not truly forget; in this way, they can be governed. Ah, people live among causes and conditions and the patterns that govern them; this too is inevitable. To preserve your own effectiveness, simply act with gentleness. Fish live at ease in the depths, and the people do not regard sharp instruments as important. They seem to forget, yet do not truly forget; in this way, they can be governed. Ah, people exist between principle and Qi (vital energy), like fish living in water, unaware of the very environment they inhabit. Life and death arise as things enter and depart, come and go. Follow the patterns of things and act accordingly; use gentleness to preserve your original Qi. The most precious treasure remains within, sharing its beginning and end with Heaven and Earth.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Dao Always Acts Without Action

The Dao always follows its own nature, yet nothing is left undone. If rulers and lords can hold to this principle, all things will transform and flourish of themselves. If, after transforming, they give rise again to restless action and desire, I will calm them with the nameless simplicity of the uncarved block. This nameless simplicity will also free people from restless seeking. Without desire, the heart can be still, and all under Heaven will naturally settle into peace.

Such is the natural way things are; it is the regular course of Heaven’s operation. Though all things appear uniform on the surface, each has its own differences—this is the reality of the myriad things. Grasp the workings of Heaven and observe the reality of all things, then turn back from these to discern the traces of what is formless. Still and profound, without scent or sound: then who is it that makes Heaven clear and Earth tranquil?

Ah, look at the surface of the water and you will know that the workings of the Dao are subtle: the ripples have barely settled when the wind stirs them up again. Stand quietly for a little while and wait for the water to become calm; then everyone can naturally see the scene reflected in it.

“Always acting, yet following things as they are and never forcing them”; “accomplishing merit without claiming credit, without taking control, and without striving to be first”; along with softness, stillness, returning to the natural state, and continually diminishing desires—these are the central aims of the Dao De Jing and the methods for seeking the Dao. The meaning of its five thousand words is fundamentally interconnected. Heshang Gong divided it into eighty-one chapters for reasons of his own; nevertheless, some divisions seem forced and do not preserve the full continuity of the text. Readers may use these chapter divisions as a guide to exploring the meaning of the whole work, and thereby arrive at their own understanding.

End of Volume One of Explanations, Annotations, and Hymns on the True Scripture of Dao and De.

Explanations, Annotations, and Hymns on the True Scripture of Dao and De, Volume Two

Annotations and hymns by Taixuanzi Zhang Sicheng, the thirty-ninth Celestial Master of the Han succession.

Chapter Thirty-Eight: “Those of highest De do not cling to De…”

Those of the highest De (Virtue) do not make a show of having De, and so they truly possess it. Those of lower De never forget that they have De, and so cannot be said to possess it. Those of the highest De follow their nature and act without seeking any result; those of lower De act with a clear purpose in mind. Those of the highest benevolence act, but seek nothing in return; those of the highest righteousness act to achieve a definite aim. Those who prize ritual propriety insist on formal observance. If others do not respond, they roll up their sleeves and forcibly draw them into the ritual.

Thus, only after the Dao (the Way) is lost does talk of De begin; only after De is lost does talk of benevolence begin; only after benevolence is lost does talk of righteousness begin; and only after righteousness is lost does talk of ritual begin. Ritual arises when loyalty and trust have grown thin, and it is the beginning of disorder. “Foreknowledge” means making predictions in advance and flaunting one’s supposed insight. It is merely the showy surface of the Dao, and the beginning of folly. Therefore, the great person rests in what is substantial and does not choose what is superficial; stands on what is real and does not pursue what is showy. So they let go of the latter and choose the former.

When the way of the sovereign declined and the virtue of the emperor was lost, kingship and hegemony became entangled, and benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom arose one after another. Words multiplied, and ornament came to outweigh simplicity. Yang Qi was used in the pursuit of long life, while Yin Qi was used to transform the myriad things. Some even claimed that tiles and stones could be refined into the Golden Elixir, shaped like an orange. The workings of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) were reversed, and primordial Qi—the original vital energy that forms life and all things—was scattered. The practitioners of occult arts displayed their techniques one after another, yet all they did amounted to mere tricks. Alas, since Heaven and Earth first opened, I have watched the puppet shows unfolding before my eyes. However novel they become, each new explanation is worse than the last.

“Of Old, Those Who Attained the One,” chapter thirty-nine.

In ancient times, all things that attained the unity of the Dao (the Way) were transformed: Heaven attained the Dao and became clear and bright; Earth attained the Dao and became settled; spirits attained the Dao and became efficacious; valleys attained the Dao and became full; the myriad things attained the Dao and grew; and lords and kings attained the Dao and became the proper standard for all under Heaven. Each was as it was because it had attained the Dao. If Heaven could not remain clear, it might collapse; if Earth could not remain settled, it might shake; if spirits could not remain efficacious, they might fade away; if valleys could not remain full, they might run dry; if the myriad things could not grow, they might perish; and if lords and kings could not uphold what is right, their high status would lose its foundation, and they would eventually fall into hardship.

Therefore, the noble take the lowly as their root, and the lofty take the low as their foundation. When lords and kings call themselves “orphaned,” “solitary,” or “unworthy” (all humble forms of self-reference), are they not treating lowliness as their root? Is this not so? A cart comes into being when its parts are joined together; if one clings only to the parts, there is no complete cart. Do not seek the dazzling prestige of fine jade; it is better to remain plain like a rough stone.

Heaven’s movement depends on strength; Earth carries all things and rests in stillness; the transformations of spirits have no fixed direction; and valleys, through emptiness, can receive and become full. The myriad things are diverse, yet follow their natural course. Lords and kings hold power, but should govern themselves through restraint. To follow nature purely is one thing; to divide it into two opposing sides is to go against it. Stone cannot become jade, nor jade stone. Only what can appear as either stone or jade may be said to possess complete De (Virtue/Power).

Ah, empty Qi (vital energy) meets and responds, bringing wondrous transformations and endless forms and scenes. Nature’s workings unfold in their own ways, yet who can fully know the subtle principle that runs through all things?

Reversal is the movement of the Dao; weakness is the way the Dao works. The myriad things under Heaven are born from Being, and Being is born from Nonbeing.

Where there is stillness, there is movement; where there is form, there is function. Being and Nonbeing cycle back and forth, like waking and realizing that one had just been dreaming. Ah, from Nonbeing arises the mysterious; the mysterious takes shape as nature. Emptiness gives rise to Qi, and Qi in turn is bound to life. They form one another as substance and function, movement and stillness. Who can escape life and death, or the interplay of responses?

“Those of superior understanding who hear of the Dao” is the heading of the next chapter.

When people of the highest capacity hear of the Dao, they practice it diligently. Those of middling capacity hear it and half understand: at times they remember, at times they forget. Those of the lowest capacity hear it and laugh aloud. If it were not laughed at, it would not be the true Dao.

Thus an ancient saying goes: the bright Dao seems dim; the forward path seems to lead backward; the level road seems rough. The highest De is like a low-lying valley; the purest white seems stained; abundant De seems insufficient; strong De seems lazy; plain honesty seems changeable. The greatest square has no corners, the greatest vessel is often completed late, the greatest sound is scarcely heard, and the greatest image has no form. The Dao is hidden and unseen, beyond the reach of any name. Only the Dao is skilled at giving and bringing all things to completion.

Those who understand see the Dao and follow it with understanding; those who are confused see the Dao and interpret it through their confusion. People’s habits and understanding differ, but the substance and workings of the Dao are everywhere. If you do not treat your own abilities as an exclusive possession, you will not place yourself above all under Heaven. If you do not claim what you have as your own, you will not compete to lead all under Heaven. Because you can proceed from being to nonbeing, you can bring forth a vast existence like Heaven and Earth and endure as long as they do. Ah, the nature of the Dao is empty and responsive to what is natural. Whether we believe or doubt, we cannot necessarily grasp it in full. Do not judge people’s worth by their habits and understanding; before anyone laughs at anyone else, set distinctions aside for a while.

“The Dao Gives Birth to One,” Chapter Forty-Two

The Dao gives birth to One; One divides into Two; Two forms Three; and Three gives rise to the myriad things. The myriad things carry Yin and embrace Yang; the two Qi mingle and form harmony. People dislike being called “orphaned,” “widowed,” or “unworthy,” yet these are the names rulers use for themselves.

“The Dao Gives Birth to One,” Chapter Forty-Two

The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three; Three gives birth to the myriad things. The myriad things carry Yin and embrace Yang; the two Qi mingle to form harmony. People dislike being called “orphaned,” “widowed,” or “unworthy,” yet princes and kings use these names for themselves. Thus, things may sometimes benefit by being diminished and sometimes suffer from being increased. I teach others the principle that others have taught me: those who use force and aggression do not meet a good end. I take this as the foundation of my teaching.

Taiji is a name; the Two Modes are forms; from them the Three Powers take shape. “The myriad things move and act” means that all things move and transform through this process. Lower your own titles and do not take pride in fullness, and you can preserve your life. Ah, the wondrous works of spiritual beings are carried out through Shen, while life takes Qi as its root. By remaining empty and still and following what is natural, one can become equal to Heaven and Earth.

The softest thing under heaven can pass through the hardest things under heaven. What has no form or substance can enter places with no gaps. This shows that Wuwei (non-action) can also bring benefit. Few people in the world can achieve the benefits that come from teaching without words and following things as they naturally unfold.

Within and beyond Heaven and Earth, primordial Qi flows abundantly. It causes metal and stone to form, and also to dissolve. All things come into being without clear traces or gaps, yet people often fail to notice. Just as a rope, rubbed back and forth, can saw through wood, or water, given enough time, can wear through stone. Reflect quietly on the principle at work, and you will see that it accords with nature.

Which is more worth cherishing: reputation or the body? Which matters more: the body or possessions? Which brings greater distress: gain or loss? Excessive attachment inevitably comes at a great cost, and those who amass too many possessions often suffer heavy losses in the end. Those who know contentment will not be disgraced; those who know when to stop will not fall into danger, and so can endure.

A lofty reputation brings slander in its wake; accumulated wealth attracts the covetous gaze of thieves. Gain and loss turn endlessly. Only Qi and blood, along with the physical body, will eventually decay and cannot be restored. People rush about in pursuit of things—why not look within instead? With a body come all the troubles it brings; beyond the body, what more is there to seek? Recognizing the treasure that has no form frees one from attachment to the physical body and brings greater ease.

The most complete thing may seem to have something missing, yet its function never fails. The most abundant thing may seem empty, yet its function is never exhausted. What is most upright may seem somewhat crooked; what is most skillful may seem clumsy; what is most eloquent may seem inarticulate. Activity can drive away the cold, and stillness can dispel the heat. By remaining calm and still, one can become the right path for all under Heaven.

The wondrous workings of the Dao of Heaven, the Dao of Earth, and the Dao of humanity all lie in humility. Cold and heat naturally take turns; all things, deep and subtle, will in the end return to emptiness. Heaven and Earth bring things into being, within and without, through this primordial Qi—the root energy that forms and sets all things in motion. Its workings are vast; everything depends on its capacity for emptiness.

Chapter 46: When the Way Prevails Throughout the World

When the world is at peace and the Dao prevails, warhorses are sent back to plow the fields. When the world is in turmoil and the Dao is lost, warhorses appear in the countryside and are sent into battle. Nothing is a greater offense than indulging greed; nothing brings greater trouble than not knowing when one has enough; and no failing is greater than relentlessly seeking to acquire. Only those who know contentment and are content with what they have can remain satisfied.

In peacetime, warhorses are valued less than manure. Wherever oxen plow, farmers’ songs can be heard, and every household has enough food and clothing. So be wary: do not crave what is greater or more abundant. Alas, human desires arise from not knowing when to stop. Once we fixate on getting what we want, even a lucky success may bring terrible consequences. In the Western Han, Emperor Wu sent an army west to conquer Dayuan, at enormous cost and with heavy losses. Later, he issued an edict to halt the campaign at Luntai, but by then his regret came too late. This historical example shows how greedy expansion can lead to profound disaster.

Chapter 47: Without Going Out the Door

Without leaving the house, one can understand the world; without peering out the window, one can grasp the Dao of Heaven—the patterns of nature’s activity. The farther one travels, the less one may come to know. Thus, the sage can understand how things work without personally traveling about, discern right from wrong without seeing everything firsthand, and accomplish things without contrived action.

Rushing in every direction and straining one’s eyes amid the endless complexity of things can make one increasingly confused. When the mind grows still, clear insight arises naturally, allowing even the smallest details to be seen and understood. The rise and fall of order and disorder, and the changes of Yin-Yang, can all be gathered into one’s own cultivation and brought into accord with its underlying principles. By nurturing the breath and cultivating the spirit, keeping the mind inwardly settled and preserving one’s true nature, one can unite with the Dao and sustain vitality over time.

Chapter 48: With Learning, Each Day Brings Increase

In the pursuit of learning, knowledge increases day by day. In cultivating the Dao, one must reduce attachment and contrived action day by day. Keep letting go until one reaches Wuwei (non-action)—acting without contriving from personal desire. Through Wuwei, nothing is left unaccomplished. Therefore, in governing the world, one should consistently follow the principle of noninterference. When commands are multiplied and every matter is forcibly controlled, the world cannot be governed.

True learning lies in following things as they naturally are, without insisting on endless argument. Cultivating the Dao calls for letting go of excessive attachment. Knowledge may increase, but one must also know what to take up and what to set aside. Keep reducing until one reaches Wuwei; when Wuwei is attained, things can come to fruition naturally. Therefore, in governing the world, one should consistently follow the principle of noninterference. When every matter is controlled, the world cannot be governed.

To truly study the Dao, follow what is natural; there is no need to question or argue deliberately. If what should be diminished is not diminished, there will be no benefit. Only by diminishing continually can one truly gain. When diminution continues without end, selfish desires will be exhausted. I gladly welcome every good deed under Heaven. Ah, if studying the Dao means exerting oneself single-mindedly, it has already become an obstacle. What, then, of studying to become an immortal or learning the arts? Who knows that true learning is originally free of contrivance? Yet when learning reaches what is true, there are more things to attend to.

Chapter 49: The Sage Has No Fixed Mind

The Sage has no fixed opinions, but takes the people’s minds as his own. I treat kind people kindly, and I also treat unkind people kindly; in this way, people can return to kindness. I trust those who keep their word, and I also trust those who do not; in this way, people can return to trustworthiness.

The Sage lives among the people with a wary, unsettled mind, helping the people of the world return to a simple, unformed state of mind. The people are absorbed in what they see and hear, while the Sage leads them back to the innocence of a child.

Not clinging to one side is a way of following the Dao; not setting things apart in opposition to one another is the generosity of De. The people are as my own kin, and the myriad things are as my companions. The Sage leads everyone’s mind back to the childlike simplicity of an innocent child. Ah, there is no divide between people and the myriad things: they embrace one another and return to unity. The myriad things grow without end; how vast and full of life Heaven and Earth truly are.

Chapter 50: Going Out into Life and Entering Death

People pass from birth toward death. About three in ten belong to those who live long, and about three in ten to those who die young. There is also a group who are alive by nature but, through acting unwisely, move toward death; they too make up about three in ten. Why is this so? Because they pursue the pleasures of life too greedily.

I have heard that those skilled at caring for life walk on land without encountering rhinos or tigers, and enter battle without being harmed by weapons. The rhino has no place to gore them with its horn, the tiger no place to claw them, and weapons cannot pierce them. Why is this? Because they do not put themselves in places of death.

Life and death follow a regular pattern and occur in certain proportions. The phrase “three in ten” refers to the different circumstances of life and death. Those skilled at caring for life do not put themselves in situations where death is likely; therefore, they are not harmed by rhinos or tigers, nor injured by weapons.

Life and death are natural principles, and neither can escape the measure of allotted Qi. Life has three parts; death also has three parts. People are already within the changes of life and death. If we pursue survival too desperately, we may instead enter the road to death, adding three more parts to our share of death. Together, this makes six parts of death. Three parts of life and six of death make nine parts in all. Only the “One” is free from the bonds of life and death. The “One” is the source of Kun, the Earth’s power to bring forth all things, and the beginning of Qian, the starting point from which the Way of Heaven creates all things. Hold fast to this One, and you can preserve your spirit and gather in your original Qi. When spirit and original Qi return to emptiness and stillness, joining as one without division, both self and things dissolve. What could then harm or burden you?

Alas, life and death depend on one another and are never apart. If we follow their course, their allotted measure is hard to resist. If we do not observe Heaven and Earth from beyond Qi, then while we remain inside a dream, how could we know that we are dreaming and that the dream is not real?

Heaven and Earth, people and things, inward and outward—all depend on Qi. When Qi gathers, it forms bodies; when Qi moves in harmony, life can grow. What is called nourishing life is simply following the movement of Qi. But if we take excessive care to pamper ourselves, we may injure our original Qi and even bring about death. Good and ill fortune, darkness and hardship all arise from action. Of the four outcomes that action brings, only one is favorable. Thus, those who understand the Dao act with care and know the way of stillness and keeping to their place. Stillness brings calm; calm makes endurance possible; endurance leads back to the root; and returning to the root brings understanding. This is the state of being united with the One and unbound by life and death.

This speaks of the subtlety of spirit and original Qi returning to emptiness: forgetting life and death, moving in and out without obstruction. What could external things add to the “self”? To understand the way of stillness is to know why one should be still and to choose to remain so. It is not like sitting stiffly while counting breaths, rigidly treating oneself as empty space. If one merely sits inertly in pursuit of emptiness, how could one observe Heaven and Earth from beyond the limits of Qi?

Yet Yang Qi is weak and Yin Qi congested; Yin Qi is often strong, while Yang Qi is often suppressed. Things are often difficult to bring to completion and easy to ruin. Clear, bright days are few; dark days are many. The saying about three parts of life and six parts of death gives a general picture of this condition. These are not the fixed lot of things by nature; they are brought about by human conduct. The Qi of Heaven and Earth and the Qi within our bodies are always closely connected. How, then, can those who nourish life fail to act with care?

Chapter Fifty-One, “The Chapter on the Way Giving Birth to Them”

The Dao enables all things to grow, De nourishes them, material substance gives each its form, and circumstances and conditions bring them to maturity. Therefore, nothing fails to honor the Dao and cherish De. The Dao is honored and De cherished not because anyone commands all things to do so, but because this is their natural way.

The Dao brings all things into being and nourishes them, allowing them to grow and develop until they mature and bear fruit, while also caring for and sheltering them. It lets all things grow without claiming ownership of them; it acts without taking pride in its achievements; it nurtures all things without ruling them. This is called “mysterious De,” the deep and natural power of Virtue.

The Dao has no form, yet is held in the highest honor, because all things arise from it, are nourished by it, and continually grow, mature, and receive its care. The Dao brings all things into being and nourishes them without claiming ownership; it acts without taking pride in its achievements; it nurtures all things without ruling them. This is called “mysterious De.”

That which has no form yet is honored, and from which all things arise, is the Dao. That which has no fixed name or appearance yet is cherished and nourishes all beings is De. The things of every shape and size are the myriad beings; what continually bends and extends, waxes and wanes, and changes from ancient times to the present is “the configuration”—the course and changing circumstances of things. Honor what the Dao honors, and cherish what De cherishes: they act everywhere and reach all things, yet do not know why. This is the highest principle. Ah, the Dao brings all things forth, and De nourishes them: what intention could there be? Its wonder leaves no trace to be found. Better still, forget the distinction between what is honored and what is cherished, and let tiles and gold each be as they are.

All Under Heaven Has a Beginning, Chapter Fifty-Two

All things under heaven have a beginning, and this beginning may be regarded as the mother of the world. Knowing the mother, one can understand the things she gives birth to. Having understood those things, return to and hold fast to the mother, and throughout one’s life one will not fall into danger. Block the openings of the senses and close the gates through which desire reaches outward, and throughout life one need not be driven by desire. Let the senses run free and pursue external affairs, and one’s life will be beyond rescue. To perceive what is subtle is called clarity; to hold fast to weakness is called strength. Use one’s brightness, then return to inward insight, and one will bring no harm upon oneself. This is called abiding by the constant Way.

Before heaven and earth appeared, before the source from which all things emerge, there was an undivided beginning called “the Primordial One,” the origin of all things. Like both father and mother, it gave rise to all things. Recognize the source from which things arise and be able to return to it, and one can avoid falling into a state beyond rescue. To perceive what is subtle is called clarity; to hold fast to weakness is called strength. Use one’s brightness, then return to inward insight, and one will bring no harm upon oneself. This is called abiding by the constant Way.

Before Heaven and Earth took shape, before father and mother appeared, there was an origin that could be called a beginning, yet had not appeared as one. This is called the “One Origin.” It is both father and mother; all things are brought forth and transformed from it. Understand that all things arise from the origin and return to it, and the spirit can become whole. When the spirit is whole and undisturbed, its bright light gathers into oneness. Thoughts from outside cannot intrude, and words within the heart do not arise recklessly. The mind is clear, like the blue sky in daylight. Having reached this state, one no longer imposes artificial action or shifts along with the transformations of things. How, then, could one become attached to particular things?

One can perceive what is subtle and see what is manifest; understand softness and firmness, use and withdrawal, change and constancy. Becoming an immortal can be likened to the Yellow Emperor ascending to Heaven on a dragon at Dinghu; governing the world can be likened to Emperor Yao of the Tao Tang ruling all under Heaven. Alas, though as lowly as chaff, one does not truly perish after death. Ah, this is the first way to pay homage to the Primordial Beginning and return to the original source: rise straight through the center of the crown and behold the Empty Sovereign, a deity revered in Daoism. Practices such as sacrificing to the Dipper and the Kitchen God are merely techniques. To chase unceasingly after methods for seizing tigers and subduing dragons is, in the end, only to drive oneself mad in vain.

This method of cultivation reaches its goal through sudden awakening. It differs in its point of entry from the gradual practice of accumulating merit described in Chapter Fifty-Nine, but the final attainment is the same.

Chapter Fifty-Three: “If I Had Even the Slightest Understanding”

If I had even the slightest understanding and were walking along the Great Dao, my only fear would be straying from it. The Great Dao is level and broad, yet people prefer to take shortcuts. The court is adorned in great splendor, while the fields lie waste and the granaries stand empty. People wear fine clothes, carry sharp swords, overindulge in food and drink, and keep their homes laden with wealth. This is called stolen luxury, a sign of turning away from the Great Dao.

People concern themselves only with grasping at affairs and pursuing practical gains, abandoning the right way for crooked paths. They govern the branches and lose the root; they indulge themselves and enrich their households. In all this, they squander what they naturally possess without knowing how to cherish it, then flaunt it instead. Ah, building bridges across the sea is ultimately laborious; flowers may bloom beautifully but bear no fruit, wasting the springtime. Do not boast of your cleverness or your ability to take shortcuts, lest you steal from yourself your priceless treasure.

Chapter Fifty-Four: “What Is Well Established Cannot Be Uprooted”

When the roots are firmly planted, they cannot be pulled up; when something is held fast, it will not slip away. In this way, descendants can continue their ancestral sacrifices from generation to generation. Apply the Way to cultivate yourself, and your De will become genuine; apply it to govern your family, and your De will be abundant; apply it to govern your village, and your De will endure; apply it to govern the state, and your De will flourish; apply it to govern the world, and your De will be universal. So observe yourself through yourself, the family through the family, the village through the village, the state through the state, and the world through the world. How do I know that the world is as it is? By this principle.

Building an enterprise is difficult, and preserving what has already been built is no easier. The ancestors receive offerings in the ancestral temple, generation after generation. Cultivating oneself and setting one’s family in order are the beginning of De taking effect. Then extend this principle to the village, the state, and the world: observe the village through the village, the state through the state, and the world through the world. How do I know that the world is as it is? By this principle.

Building an enterprise is difficult, and preserving what has already been built is no easier. The ancestors receive offerings in the ancestral temple, generation after generation. Cultivating oneself and setting one’s family in order are the beginning of De taking effect. Then extend the principle to the village, the state, and the world; this is simply applying it step by step on an ever wider scale. Refine your true nature, preserve the original Shen (spirit), cultivate immortality, and nourish Qi (vital energy). From snakes and fish to Heaven and Earth, all should be regarded equally. Is there anything that could be excluded? Alas, once the rabbit is dead and the hunting dog is cooked, life cannot be restored; when a precious pearl lies buried in the depths of the sea, the surface remains undisturbed. How can one recognize and realize the principle that links all things through spiritual subtlety? One may observe where fish and dragons transform.

Chapter Fifty-Five: The Abundance of De

Those who hold De in deep abundance are like infants. Venomous creatures do not sting them, fierce beasts do not harm them, and birds of prey do not attack them. Their bones are soft and their sinews supple, yet they can clench their fists tightly. They know nothing of sexual union, yet they become erect: their Jing (essence) is at its fullest. They cry all day without making their voices hoarse: their harmonious Qi is at its fullest. To know how to preserve harmony is to know the constant Dao; to know the constant Dao is to be wise. Seeking to prolong life through desire instead brings misfortune; forcing Qi to obey the mind is an act of strength. All things that grow excessively strong grow old. This is called being out of accord with the Dao; what is out of accord with the Dao soon perishes.

When the five lines are pure Yang, the six lines have not yet been completed; the primordial Qi of Qian acts alone, and this is Jing at its fullest. They cry all day without making their voices hoarse: their harmonious Qi is at its fullest. To know how to preserve harmony is to know the constant Dao; to know the constant Dao is to be wise. Seeking to prolong life through desire instead brings misfortune; forcing Qi to obey the mind is an act of strength. All things that grow excessively strong grow old. This is called being out of accord with the Dao; what is out of accord with the Dao soon perishes.

When the five lines are pure Yang, before reaching the sixth, the Qian origin (the primal Qi of the all-Yang Qian hexagram) acts on its own, like an infant. Formless and without appearance, how could it be harmed? Keep its source deeply hidden and hold it fast. When Jing and Qi are harmonized, quietly await the emergence of the Gou hexagram (the image of the first Yin beginning to arise). Maintain constancy and clarity; this is not, from the outset, the Li hexagram (the image of two Yin lines in the middle). Naturally comprehend the subtle principle of longevity, and apply the fire phase and drawing out and adding (methods for regulating breath and changes in Yin and Yang during cultivation). Do not force matters.

Alas, Yang De belongs to Qian, and the generation of the Five Phases all comes from Heaven. Yin Qi lies hidden in the second and fourth positions; all this happens naturally. To be in the state of an infant is to have Jing and Qi intact. Naturally one stays far from death; what could external things do to harm it? When Yin Qi lies hidden, it is not stirred by external things; when Yang Qi is vigorous, it grows ever stronger. If one’s nature and mind are not governed by external things, how could decline and death ever come?

This is a method of cultivating and preserving the Yang spirit. From Water arising as the first of Heaven’s sequence to Earth as the fifth, the action of the five pure Yang lines of the Qian hexagram reaches the sixth line, and Earth takes shape as the image of one Yin. This one Yin should be kept in reserve and left unused, situated on the outside. Yet taken together, the number six belongs to Yin; divided apart, it contains a Yang number. Thus the cycle turns again and again, ending only to begin anew. The second and fourth positions are Yin concealed within Yang. Though they have their function, they are not put to practical use. The Gou hexagram represents one Yin below, while the Li hexagram represents two Yin lines in the middle; therefore these Yin images must be kept at a profound distance. When Jing and Qi are harmonized to the utmost, reaching a state of constancy and clarity, this is all the result of the pure Yang Qian origin acting on its own. The “single point of divine light” means that the brightness of the mind and spirit illuminates oneself from beginning to end, penetrating every subtlety and extending beyond Heaven and Earth. It shines on without end, able to perceive and see through all things.

Chapter 56: “Those Who Know Do Not Speak”

Those who truly understand the Dao do not speak carelessly; those who enjoy talking do not truly understand. Block the openings of the senses and close the gates through which external things enter. Blunt the sharpness, untangle the confusion, temper the light, and mingle with the world of dust. This is called “Mysterious Unity” (harmony with the profound Dao). Such a person cannot be made either intimate or distant, cannot be made either to benefit or to suffer harm, and cannot be made either noble or base. Therefore, he becomes the most revered person under Heaven.

Zicha, said to have been a Daoist figure, sat quietly beside a small table. Yan Hui, a disciple of Confucius, appeared dull-witted, while Kāśyapa, a disciple of the Buddha, smiled in silence. The paths the three followed were different, yet in the end they led to the same place. If the heart makes no distinction between self and others, what difference is there between closeness and distance? If the heart holds neither craving nor fear, how can benefit and calamity affect it? If the heart clings neither to honor nor disgrace, how can rank and lowliness bind it? To understand in silence and know through direct experience—this state is deep and subtle, beyond words. This is what is truly precious: the state of one who follows the Dao of Heaven.

Ah! Draw in the radiance of the spirit and become still, as though nothing were there. When everyone is drunk, drink only the faint wine. If you can grasp the subtlety of “nothingness” within it, you can catch the divine dragon alive and ride it as you please.

Chapter 57: Governing the State with the Upright Way

Govern the state by the upright Way; use surprise to win in warfare; and gain all under Heaven by refraining from disturbing the people. How do I know this is so? The more prohibitions there are under Heaven, the poorer the people become. The more weapons the people possess, the more disorderly the state grows. The more skills the people acquire, the more strange things arise. The more numerous and detailed the laws, the more thieves there are.

Therefore the sage says: “I practice Wuwei, and the people transform of themselves. I favor stillness, and the people become upright of themselves. I refrain from meddling, and the people grow prosperous of themselves. I have no desire, and the people become simple and unspoiled of themselves.”

When a ruler governs with hands folded and robe hanging loose, the people transform of themselves: this is the upright Way of governing a state. When the Duke of Zhou danced with shield and feathered ornaments and the Miao people submitted, this was an example of winning in warfare through surprise. To gain all under Heaven without disturbing the people, the key is humility. Governing all under Heaven through a tangle of affairs has its roots in the ruler’s self-interest.

Ah! From ancient times to the present, the Way of governing rulers and people has always been one and the same. Whoever insists on taking action will give rise to many troubles; only by becoming still can one move toward Wuwei. Once the upright Way is lost, it becomes punishment; once stratagems are carried too far, they become deceit. Who can rise beyond Heaven and Earth and quietly watch the moon in the night?

When government policies are generous and not excessively detailed, the people become simple and honest. When policies are harsh, intrusive, and tightly enforced, the people are more likely to become deceitful and lose their natural sincerity. Disaster often conceals good fortune, and good fortune may also conceal disaster. Who can see where their changes will end? Is there truly any fixed rule among them? What seems proper now may later become abnormal; what seems good may also turn evil. The people have long been lost amid these changes.

Therefore, the sage is upright without harming others, principled without wounding them, honest without being unrestrained, and bright without showing off.

The ways of the people can shift from simplicity to superficiality, and governance and instruction can be gentle or urgent. Fortune and misfortune do not arise without cause, but the human heart is hard to predict, and worldly affairs change in countless ways, like a dream to which one cannot cling. One who has attained the Dao (the Way) grasps the primordial Qi, the source of Heaven, Earth, and all things, and safeguards the first, subtle stirrings of life within body and mind. When the form-bearing body contains the formless Dao, its wondrous workings can endure. Transcending the realm of clear insight into change, one can see that all things were never divided into two.

Alas, fortune and misfortune both have to do with one’s own actions, and the body’s outward signs can reveal what is coming. Observe human affairs closely and consider them alongside the principles of Heaven; recognize the moment when the heart is sincere and desire is about to arise.

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Governing the People and Serving Heaven

In governing the people and following the way of Heaven, nothing matters more than restraint and conservation. To practice restraint and conservation is to return to the root early. Returning to the root early means continually accumulating De (Virtue/Power). When De has been accumulated deeply, nothing cannot be overcome. When nothing cannot be overcome, one’s power is unfathomable. Only with unfathomable power can one shoulder the responsibility of governing a state. Grasping the root of the state allows it to endure. This is the principle of deep roots and firm stems: sustaining life and keeping it clear for a long time.

The method used to govern oneself, when extended outward, becomes a strategy for governing others. Gathering the mind and maintaining inward stillness is the way to serve the Dao (the Way). By contemplating stillness and emptiness through what is actually present, and not exhausting one’s strength, one practices “frugality”: cherishing the spirit and original Qi (vital energy). In this way, one returns to the root and accumulates De (Virtue/Power). Through “incapacity,” one becomes capable, reaching the utmost within the infinite. Thus, those who possess a state put the Way of governance into practice, while those who grasp the root can follow the Dao and bring things to completion.

Once the root is attained, there is no need to seek the branches and leaves deliberately. The foundation and source of nature and life are nourished until they gradually gather and become firm. Yin and Yang Qi, the two interacting forms of vital energy, wind around one another like threads, giving life to the myriad things and bringing about changes beyond measure. One can then observe the beginning and end of Heaven and Earth’s cycles and roam freely through boundless realms.

Ah, this is the second method of returning to the origin: a state of cultivation in which original Qi returns to its source. The immortal realm of Penglai does not lie in the middle of the sea. A brooding hen is not startled by the wind at the hour of Yin, and a clam bearing a pearl still reflects the light of the night moon.

In cultivating the Real and learning the Dao, the path into the tradition may be one, but the specific methods differ. One should discern the proper moments for movement and stillness, understand the principles of response, uphold the correct path, and wait quietly for its fulfillment, allowing everything to follow its natural course. This is what is meant by accumulating merit and practicing good deeds, until the full measure of three thousand acts of cultivation is complete.

Chapter Sixty: Governing a Great State

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish. When the world is governed by the Dao, spirits and ghosts cannot work their wonders and cause trouble. It is not that spirits and ghosts lack spiritual power, but that their power cannot harm people. Nor are spirits and ghosts the only ones who cannot harm people: the sage does not harm them either. Since neither side harms the other, the blessings of De flow to all under Heaven.

As in cooking a small fish, one must keep water and fire in proper measure so that Yin and Yang remain in harmony. Spirits may seem to lack supernatural power because they conceal their Yin nature within Yang strength. Though spirits possess numinous power, they do not harm people because they do not entirely set aside Yang strength; they simply do not show its forceful side. The sage likewise does not harm the myriad things because he assists Heaven and Earth and regulates the myriad things, preserving the harmony between them.

Alas, with Yang alone and no Yin, the myriad things cannot come into being; with Yin alone and no Yang, they cannot grow either. Only when Yin and Yang join and gather can the myriad things be brought forth. Excessive hardness will break; gentleness sustained over time has strength. Maintain firmness and uprightness within, and act with gentleness outwardly. People take Heaven and Earth as their models and thereby gain spiritual clarity. The sage brings the myriad things into harmony, making Heaven and Earth clear and peaceful. He then gathers this principle within himself and can encompass all that exists. Though he appears withered and still, within he preserves firmness and brightness, allowing the Qi of the Dao to continue without end and endure forever in the Great Clarity (the Daoist realm of pure emptiness).

Chapter 61: A Great State Is Like the Lower Reaches of a River

A great state should dwell low, like the lower reaches of a river—the place where all under Heaven meets and gathers. It should also be like the female, taking gentleness and stillness as its guiding principles. The female often prevails over the male through stillness because she rests in a low position. Thus, when a great state humbles itself before a small state, it can win the small state’s allegiance; when a small state humbles itself before a great state, it can gain the great state’s welcome. Both gain something through humility. A great state seeks only to embrace and nurture the people; a small state seeks only shelter under the great state’s protection. For this reason, the great state should be especially humble.

When a great state treats a small state with courtesy, that is benevolence; when a small state serves a great state with respect, that is wisdom. The benevolent follow the Way of Heaven and are broad in spirit; the wise revere the Way of Heaven and are therefore able to preserve themselves. When there is broadness and tolerance, all under Heaven will follow the example of humility. When a state can preserve itself, it will be secure. That both great and small states attain what they seek is the natural result of humility.

Alas, rivers flow on without end—when will they ever stop? The sea is vast as the sky, yet so still that it seems motionless. From this we can see that movement is contained within stillness; where Yin and Yang meet, each also responds to the other with gentleness.

Chapter 62: The Dao Is the Deepest Recess of the Myriad Things

The Dao is the hidden root of all things and the treasure of the good. Even those who are not good depend on the Dao to live. Fine words can help people connect and make requests; noble conduct can enhance one’s reputation. When someone has faults, why abandon them completely? Thus, when the Son of Heaven is installed and the Three Dukes—high officials who assist him—are appointed, even if someone presents a great jade disk that takes both arms to encircle, accompanied by a chariot drawn by four horses, this is still less valuable than sitting down and offering them the Dao. Why did people of old prize the Dao so highly? Because it can be obtained without deliberate seeking, and even those who have committed offenses can use it to be released from blame. That is why the Dao is treasured throughout the world.

The Dao has no form, yet it can contain all things; this is why it is called the “mysterious depth.” Those who recognize its worth and hold it as a treasure are said to “treasure” it. People depend on it to live, yet do not know it is there; this is why it is called the “protector.” Only when there is what is not good can goodness appear; only when there is what is not beautiful can beauty appear; only when there is what is not noble can nobility appear. These things depend on one another and work through one another, so why argue about what to reject and what to accept? To honor someone with high rank and invite them with ceremony is merely for the worthy to make use of external conditions. How could that compare with turning inward to seek the Dao? A renewed understanding of its many mysteries is only a change of thought away. Ah, how could the Dao ever be fully expressed in words? And why try to impose arrangements upon it? Even if the Three Dukes sat down to discuss it, they could not exhaust it. Above the nine-thousand-mile sky, all look upon the same bright moon. How wondrous: before good and evil have yet been distinguished.

Chapter 63: Acting Through Wuwei

Act through Wuwei (non-action); handle affairs without imposing on them; savor what has no clinging. See how great and small, many and few, transform into one another. Meet resentment with De (Virtue/Power). Address difficult things by beginning with what is easy; accomplish great undertakings by beginning with what is small. The world’s difficult tasks must begin with what is easy, and its great undertakings must begin with what is small. Thus the sage never claims greatness for himself, and is therefore able to accomplish what is great. Those who promise too readily often find it hard to keep their word; those who regard things as too easy often encounter more difficulties. So the sage always treats difficulties seriously, and in the end has no difficulty.

If the heart clings to something, it is not truly free of thought; if one clings to outward forms, one has not truly transcended form. Let things follow their natural course, and the heart will hold no resentment or desire to claim merit. To deal with a difficult matter, begin where it is easy; to accomplish a great undertaking, start with what is small. Notice the first signs as things emerge and reduce unnecessary action: this is the key. Once a promise has been made, even a swift horse cannot catch up with the words already spoken, so one must be careful. Only by remaining careful from beginning to end can one see things through.

Alas, as soon as the sun rises, one thing follows another; while the tongue remains, it seeks flavors. Great and small, difficult and easy, all mingle and change. Nothing between Heaven and Earth stays fixed forever, so what day could truly be free of affairs? Once one rests in ease and forgets oneself, what, then, is truly gained or lost?

Chapter Sixty-Four: What Is at Rest Is Easy to Hold

When things are stable, they are easy to hold; before signs appear, they are easy to plan for. When something is fragile, it is easy to break; when it is slight, it is easy to disperse. So deal with matters before they arise, and bring order to a situation before it becomes chaotic. A great tree whose trunk takes several people to encircle grows from a tiny sprout; a nine-tiered tower is built with basket after basket of earth; a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step beneath one’s feet.

Forcing action often spoils things; insisting on holding on often leads to losing them. The sage follows the natural course and does not act recklessly, so does not bring failure upon himself. He does not cling to what he holds, so he loses nothing. People often fail at their undertakings just when they are close to success. If they approach the end as carefully as they did the beginning, they will not spoil what they have done.

Thus the sage seeks what ordinary people do not seek, values no rare goods, and studies what ordinary people do not study. He returns to what the multitude easily overlooks. In this way, he helps the myriad things unfold according to their nature and dares not act recklessly.

Only by discerning the first signs of things in the world can one act in time and accomplish what needs to be done; only by perceiving their slightest changes can one avert troubles that might arise. Success and failure, gain and loss, are often set in motion when a matter is still only beginning to take shape. Yet human wisdom and strength may not be enough to notice signs that have not yet appeared. Therefore, in handling affairs, remain as careful from beginning to end as you were at the outset. To let some things go and choose others is to assist the workings of Heaven and Earth through the four seasons and the growth of all things, while following the natural order.

Alas, if you seek a fur coat, do not wait until frost and snow arrive to begin making one. A wooden drill can bore through a stone plate. When you act without deliberate intention, things may come naturally to you; when you draw a snake and add feet to it, you only create needless complications.

Chapter 65: Those of Old Who Were Skilled in Practicing the Dao

Those in ancient times who were skilled in practicing the Dao did not seek to make the people clever and cunning; they kept them simple and free of crafty wits. The people are difficult to govern because their minds are full of cunning. Governing a state through cleverness is a calamity for that state; governing without relying on cleverness is its good fortune. To understand these two ways of governing is to grasp the guiding principle. One who understands this principle is said to possess Profound De (deep and subtle Virtue). Profound De is deep and enduring. It may seem contrary to ordinary expectations, yet in the end it brings the greatest harmony.

When cleverness prevails, it easily descends into deceit; simplicity is close to truth. Deceit harms oneself, and when spread, harms others as well. Only by returning to truth can one return to simplicity, and the people, moved by this example, will become sincere and generous. Thus, when simplicity is taken as the guiding principle, the whole world turns toward benevolence.

Alas, the Qin dynasty used cleverness to deceive the people, yet failed to see that the people were deceiving the Qin in turn. To understand that the “foolishness” of simplicity is close to truth, perhaps one need only ask Emperor Wen of Han.

Chapter 66: The Rivers and Seas as Kings of the Valleys

The rivers and seas can become the place where all streams and valleys gather because they are skilled at staying below them; thus they can become lords of all valleys. For this reason, when the sage wishes to stand above the people, he must first speak humbly; when he wishes to lead the people, he must first place himself behind them in action. In this way, though the sage occupies the higher position, the people…

The reason rivers and seas can receive the waters of countless valleys is that they are adept at staying low. Thus they become the rulers of all valleys. If a sage wishes to stand above the people, he must speak with humility. If he wishes to lead them, he must put his own interests behind theirs. In this way, when a sage occupies a high position, the people do not feel oppressed; when he leads them, they do not feel obstructed. Therefore, people throughout the world gladly raise him up and do not grow weary of him. Because he does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with him.

Nothing is better than the sea at placing itself below others, and so all the waters of the world flow toward it. Nothing is better than the sage at diminishing himself and yielding to others, and so the people of the world turn to him. When water flows to the sea, the sea can gather and make use of the force of waters from everywhere; when the people turn to the sage, he can follow the timing of Heaven. We can see from this that humility is the foundation of honor, and diminution the basis of increase. All this comes from what is “present” being contained within what is “absent”—who can understand the principle behind it? Ah, humility leading to honor, diminution leading to increase: this is the profound meaning of the Dao. Looking at the sea, one should understand the hidden workings of creation. Consider the Milky Way hanging high in the sky: even the tail sluice at the bottom of the sea—the legendary place where its waters flow out—sometimes has water rising against the current.

All Under Heaven Say My Dao Is Great (Chapter 67)

People throughout the world say that my Dao is vast, yet it seems unlike ordinary things. Precisely because it is vast, it does not resemble any particular thing. If it resembled something particular, it would long ago have seemed small.

I have three treasures that I have always held fast to. The first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to put myself ahead of everyone else. Because I am compassionate, I can be brave. Because I am frugal, I can give generously. Because I do not dare to put myself first, I can become the leader of all. Now, if one casts aside compassion and seeks only bravery, casts aside frugality and seeks only extravagance, or casts aside yielding and seeks only to be first, one will move toward ruin.

When compassion guides one into battle, one can prevail; when it guides one in defending, one can stand firm. When Heaven wishes to save someone, it protects that person through compassion. If one casts aside compassion and seeks only bravery, casts aside frugality and seeks only extravagance, or casts aside yielding and seeks only to be first, one will move toward ruin. Compassion enables one to prevail in battle and stand firm in defense. Whomever Heaven wishes to save, it protects with compassion.

The Dao (the Way) is vast and has no form or image. Once it takes on a definite shape, it becomes confined. Only by holding fast to the Three Treasures—compassion, frugality, and not striving to be first—can the world be governed. Treat the people with compassion, and they can live in peace; act with frugality, and they can become prosperous; do not compete to come out ahead, but keep to what is constant and remain content in your place, and affairs can be brought to stability. By keeping to what is constant and remaining steady, one can become a person whose abilities endure. Generosity enables people to support one another, and courage should be directed toward justice. If these principles are cast aside in favor of their opposites, beware of the harm that follows. Only by continual self-examination and returning to the right path can one endure. Heaven’s Dao does not favor those close to it; it helps the good.

The Three Treasures belong to everyone; whether they are upheld depends on each person. Without compassion, how can one preserve one’s original Qi (vital energy)? Without frugality, how can one cherish one’s Jing (essence)? If one rushes about, striving to act ahead of others, how can one preserve one’s Shen (spirit)? When the spirit is calm, the essence can come together, flowing on without end and undisturbed by desire. Neither forcing oneself to contend nor deliberately clinging to what one has, one can naturally realize one’s true nature.

Those skilled at serving as commanders do not flaunt their military might. Those skilled at fighting do not give way to anger. Those skilled at defeating an enemy do not vie for superiority. Those skilled at employing others willingly place themselves below them. This is called the virtue of non-contention, and it is also called making good use of the strength of others. It accords with Heaven’s Dao and has been the highest principle since ancient times.

Not flaunting military might is a way to preserve oneself; not giving way to anger is a way to calm the heart and Qi. Defeating an enemy without vying for superiority allows one’s achievements to be preserved; willingly placing oneself below others means being ready to draw on their strengths. All these practices accord with Heaven’s De (Virtue/Power) and return to the same principle: the highest ideal esteemed by the ancients.

Preserving oneself and calming the heart and Qi are both difficult. Preserving one’s achievements and drawing on the strengths of others are even harder. The harmonizing of water and fire and the subduing of the Dragon and Tiger are familiar expressions in Neidan (internal alchemy). They refer to bringing the Yin-Yang energies within the body into harmony and settling body and mind. Where the human Dao and Heaven’s Dao come together is the Golden Elixir, the goal of Neidan practice.

On the Use of Armies

Those who use armies have a saying: “I dare not take the initiative to attack, but would rather be on the defensive; I dare not advance an inch, but would rather retreat a foot.” This is called appearing to draw up a formation without adopting an attacking posture, raising an arm without striking, and holding a weapon without using it to flaunt one’s strength. No calamity is greater than underestimating the enemy. To underestimate the enemy is nearly to lose the Three Treasures I hold dear. Therefore, when two armies face one another and their forces meet, the side that approaches with compassion can prevail.

One who does not set himself up as the leader can still respond effectively; the subtlety lies in responding in accord with the circumstances. One who advances by yielding is simply keeping to his proper place. One who acts as though he were doing nothing does so because his mind is undisturbed by external things. One who makes no enemies or grudges proceeds in accord with the other party’s situation.

Even lowering one’s status a little may help bring about an achievement. To slight an ordinary person and glare at him is an impatient course of action. Anger makes a person lose compassion, while one who is considerate has reason to prevail. Alas, three of the eighty-one chapters of the Dao De Jing discuss the use of arms. Understanding the subtlety of warfare can preserve life. All things in Heaven and Earth are originally one; in the end, victory and defeat are simply two relative sides of the same whole.

“My Words Are Very Easy to Understand,” Chapter Seventy

My words are very easy to understand and very easy to put into practice. Yet no one in the world truly understands them, and no one is able to put them into practice. My teachings have a foundation, and my actions follow a guiding principle. Because people lack genuine understanding, they do not understand me. Those who understand me are few, and so my Way appears precious. Thus the sage wears coarse cloth on the outside, while within he keeps a precious jade.

“Easy to understand and easy to put into practice” describes my teachings. What people find difficult to understand and put into practice is what is called the Dao. Because it is the Dao, it has a foundation and a guiding principle. It is like jade: worthy of being treasured and kept safe. Alas, though the myriad things are many, none lies outside the Dao. What could move without it? Everyone already holds a piece of jade within. The subtlety lies in not boasting or assuming one knows everything.

“To Know That You Do Not Know Is Best,” Chapter Seventy-One

To know that one does not know is wisdom; not knowing yet believing that one knows is a flaw. Only by recognizing this flaw as a flaw can one avoid being trapped by it. The sage is free of this flaw because he regards the presumption of knowing as a flaw, and is therefore able to avoid it.

To claim not to know what one does know is humility; not knowing yet believing that one knows is ignorance. If one can recognize this ignorance as a flaw to be guarded against, one can see the harm it causes and avoid being harmed by it. The truly wise are not troubled by this flaw because they can recognize it and remain alert to it.

To understand is to understand; not to understand is not to understand. To claim you understand when you clearly do not is to deceive yourself. To recognize self-deception as a fault, understand its harm, and stop deceiving yourself—that is true understanding. Those born wise are called sages; what faults could they have? Perhaps the sage can see the failings shared by everyone precisely because, without understanding, he can recognize them. Is this why the sage both sees the world clearly and understands the ignorant? The Confucians say, “Be as though you have nothing when you have something; be as though you are empty when you are full.” The Buddhists warn people not to claim they have attained what they have not attained, or realized what they have not realized. If we bring the teachings of both schools together in one place, what difference is there between them? Why insist on seeking distinctions?

Chapter 72: When the People No Longer Fear Authority

When the people no longer fear authority, a greater calamity is about to descend. Do not drive them into a corner where they have nowhere to live; do not oppress them until they grow weary of life. Only if the people are not made to hate life will they not come to hate their ruler. Thus, the sage understands himself but does not flaunt himself; he cherishes himself but does not exalt himself. So he sets aside the latter and chooses the former.

When a ruler is compassionate, the people draw near; when they are cared for, they are not afraid. Even when the people have no fear, this care still inspires awe. Embrace them as Heaven does, so they may live in peace; nourish them as Earth does, so they may delight in life. When ruler and people, above and below, do not weary of one another, the principle by which they respond to each other is the same. The sage understands himself but does not show off; he cherishes himself but does not regard himself as noble or exalted. He takes concealment and reserve as his strength, and humility as his virtue. Setting aside what does not accord with the Dao and choosing what accords with it, he can govern the people and cultivate his true nature, finding a way through all things. Ah, when inner cultivation is firm, strong, and Yang in character, while one conducts oneself gently and yielding toward the outside, the heart naturally becomes broad, and body and mind settle into ease. From this, one comes to realize true knowledge and care, and trusts that there is indeed a way to preserve life for a long time.

Chapter 73: The Courage to Dare

To rely on force and dare to act recklessly may bring death; the courage not to act recklessly can preserve life. Of these two ways, one brings benefit and the other brings harm. What Heaven detests—who knows why? So even the sage approaches this with caution. Heaven’s Dao does not contend, yet is skilled at winning; it does not speak, yet is skilled at responding; it does not summon, yet things come of themselves; it is calm and unhurried, yet skilled at making arrangements. Heaven’s net is vast and boundless. Though its meshes seem loose, it lets nothing slip through.

Indulging one’s temperament is a sign of approaching death; holding fast to one’s purpose is the way to survive. Why do these two paths inevitably lead to different outcomes, one harmful and the other beneficial? Because when people do not understand the changes of Heaven’s Dao, they end up like those on the first path. How, then, could they understand the constancy of Heaven’s Dao? A trickle of water can wear through stone; deep stillness can erupt in thunder. Cold gives way to heat and heat to cold, each in keeping with nature’s patterns. When thought is clear and far-reaching, nothing obstructs it. The Great Dao is vast and boundless, encompassing all things without constraint; not even something as fine as a single hair lies beyond its reach. Ah, rejecting excess and rejecting killing are both expressions of the Great Dao. Death and renewal alike contain the potential for change. Grasp its guiding principles, and the Great Dao becomes clear; whatever changes arise in the world, one will not stray from it.

The People Are Not Afraid of Death, Chapter 74

If the people are never afraid of death, why use death to frighten them? If people are afraid of death, and someone still dares to act recklessly, I will seize and kill him. Who would dare do the same?

When people do not know how to cherish life, they often seem unafraid of death. If people could be made content with their lives and able to enjoy them, how could they not fear death? The power to kill belongs to Heaven’s Dao; those who are guilty will naturally be punished. To “take the place of the one who holds the power to kill” means killing at one’s own discretion. It is like taking an axe to carve wood in place of a master carpenter: few can do so without injuring their own hands. To harm others is ultimately to harm oneself; Heaven’s Dao has its own retribution. Ah, the moment one forms the intent to harm someone, one’s own heart is already wounded. When one actually harms another, misfortune will fall on oneself and may even reach one’s descendants. Turn back and change one’s intention, and one can return to benevolence.

The People Go Hungry, Chapter 75

People go hungry because rulers impose excessive taxes. They are difficult to govern because rulers issue too many orders and interfere recklessly. They do not fear death because rulers pursue a life of excessive comfort. Only those who do not make the preservation of life their aim surpass those who prize preserving life.

When taxes are heavy, countless households lack enough to eat. When schemes and clever stratagems are put into practice, people grow restless and unsettled. Rulers’ desires have no limit: they think only of increasing what is provided for their own comfort, while people risk their lives in the struggle to survive, unaware of their suffering. Why not remain still and quiet, and let everyone’s desires grow faint? When the people have enough to eat and harbor no schemes, they will naturally settle into their proper place. Alas, desire sprouts and it is as if daylight suddenly turns to night; all manner of troubles crowd in, contending with the heart day after day. How can one escape them? By reducing desire and calming body and mind. This is the heart of the Way of stillness and quiet.

While alive, the body is soft; after death, it becomes rigid. Plants are tender as they grow, but dry and hard once they wither and die. Thus rigidity and strength belong to death, while softness and weakness belong to life.

While alive, the body is soft; after death, it becomes rigid. Plants are tender as they grow, but dry and hard once they wither and die. Thus strength belongs to death, while softness and weakness belong to life. An army that exerts its strength is hard pressed to win; a tree that is too hard is easily broken. The mighty therefore take the lower position, while the soft and weak take the higher one.

Softness and weakness are signs of gentle Qi; strength and rigidity are signs of Qi’s killing force. Gentleness means Yang-Qi is empty and still; the killing force means Yin-Qi is blocked and closed. Emptiness and stillness help the hun spirit endure, while blockage and closure cause the body to return to the po. Who can understand that death and life are more than outward changes, and are bound up with transformations that cannot be measured? Alas, Yin’s form is soft and weak, yet its use is strong; Yang’s form is strong, yet its use is soft and weak. Reversing the uses of the Five Phases is only a minor art; the transformations of life and death among the myriad things can all be brought under one’s command.

Isn’t the Way of Heaven like a drawn bow? Where the bowstring is high, it is pressed down; where it is low, it is raised. Where there is excess strength, it is reduced; where there is too little, it is supplemented. The Way of Heaven works by reducing what is in excess and adding to what is insufficient. The ways of the human world are often the opposite: they take from those who have too little to provide for those who have too much. Who can take what they have in excess and offer it to the world? Only one who has attained the Dao. The sage acts without relying on himself, accomplishes things without claiming credit, and does not seek to display his own worth.

What is the Way of Heaven like? We can use a bow as a metaphor: after a bow is drawn, it soon relaxes. The high part of the bow’s curve is pressed down, and the low part is raised. The sage does not rely on himself, does not claim credit for accomplishments, and does not seek to display his own worth.

What is the Way of Heaven like? We can use a bow as a metaphor: the high part of the bow’s curve is pressed down, and the low part is raised; what is in excess is reduced, and what is insufficient is supplemented. From the bow we can infer that the principles of all things are connected. Why, then, do people fail to follow the Way of Heaven and instead turn away from it? Whoever understands this principle will act in accordance with it. The sage does not regard himself as a sage; for this very reason, he becomes a sage. Ah, the Way of Heaven is like a bow, stretching and relaxing. The two Qi of Yin-Yang cycle endlessly: for whom, exactly, are they laboring? If you can see the target at the center of the bowstring, you will forget the myriad things and the bow itself.

Chapter 78: The Soft and Weak in the World

Nothing in the world is softer and weaker than water, yet nothing surpasses it in overcoming the hard and strong, and nothing can take its place. Thus the soft overcomes the hard, and the weak overcomes the strong. No one in the world fails to know this, yet few are able to put it into practice. Therefore the sage says: “One who bears the filth of a state is fit to be its ruler; one who bears the disasters of the world is fit to be its king.” Straightforward words seem like their opposite.

This chapter focuses on how Virtue lies in preserving softness over time: the soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong. Only by welcoming what is turbid and taking a low position can one gather into an ocean; the ocean comes into being through long accumulation. Ah, who does not know that water overcomes the hard through softness? People fail to practice it because they cannot persevere. By continually accumulating good deeds, welcoming many streams, and persisting without pause, one brings Virtue to completion and joins with the Dao; then all things under Heaven will turn toward them.

Chapter 79: Settling Great Resentment

If deep-seated resentment is eliminated, some resentment will inevitably remain. How can that be considered truly satisfactory? Therefore, the sage holds the left half of the contract—an ancient agreement divided into two pieces, with the creditor keeping the left half as proof—but does not use it to demand payment from others. A person of deep virtue keeps the contract without making a claim; a person lacking virtue pursues repayment without end, like following a cart’s tracks. The Way of Heaven shows no partiality and always protects the good.

Resentment should neither be allowed to arise nor be dealt with only through reconciliation. If the parties reconcile again and again, resentment will continue without end, and both will still suffer harm. The other party may have caused the resentment, yet the responsibility for demanding repayment falls to oneself. The image of holding a contract explains the principle of seeking compensation. One could clearly demand repayment but chooses not to; this is simply virtue. A virtuous person holds to virtue as one holds a contract without making a claim. The character for “trace” can also be written as “rut,” the mark left by a wheel. Here, following the tracks is a metaphor for pursuing repayment without stopping, so that resentment keeps cycling.

The Way of Heaven is impartial and accompanies only the good. A good person does not demand repayment; Heaven will naturally repay them. Ah, when all things return to emptiness and the mind’s distractions are cleared, where is there any resentment, and what need is there to proclaim virtue? If everyone is good, whom would Heaven need to protect in particular? The ancient green mountains are simply green.

Chapter Eighty: A Small State with Few People

Let the state be small and its people few. Even if there are devices capable of serving ten or a hundred people, do not use them. Let the people cherish life and not move far away lightly. Though they have boats and carts, there is no need to ride in them; though they have armor and weapons, they do not display or use them. Let the people return to the way of life in which they tied knots to keep records. Let their food taste good, their clothes feel comfortable, their homes be peaceful, and their customs bring them joy. Neighboring states can see one another, and the sounds of chickens and dogs can be heard across the borders; yet the people grow old and die without visiting one another.

The sage uses the usefulness of what is useless to help people be content with their own lives. All things follow their own ways without coming into conflict, and each can grow and find its proper place. People’s thoughts are often in accord, though they need not visit one another often. The sage’s vision is far-reaching, yet all he wishes is for a small state, a hundred li across, to live in such peace. Ah, the Dao has always been Wuwei (non-action), and customs have always been simple and unspoiled. Mountains, rivers, people, and all things are no different in ancient or modern times. Once the blue ox departed, it vanished without a trace. Who, then, understands that the sage of old held the whole world in his heart and wished to govern it through the Dao?

Trustworthy words are not ornate; ornate words are not trustworthy. Truly kind people do not argue; those who enjoy arguing are often not kind. Truly wise people do not pursue breadth and variety; those who seek more and more may not truly understand.

After the green ox departed into the distance, no news of it was ever heard again. Who now remembers Laozi’s wish, when he left through the pass, to help the world through the Dao?

Chapter Eighty-One: Trustworthy Words Are Not Ornate

Trustworthy words are not ornate; ornate words are not trustworthy. Truly kind people do not argue; those who enjoy arguing are often unkind. Truly wise people do not seek breadth; those who seek breadth lack true wisdom. The sage does not accumulate private possessions. The more he helps others, the more he has; the more he gives to others, the richer he becomes. The Dao of Heaven benefits all things without harming them. The sage acts, yet does not contend with others.

Language that is excessively ornate easily becomes hollow; plain speech is more trustworthy. Argument often leads to conflict, while the kind-hearted harbor no ill will. Only through single-minded understanding can one truly comprehend; the pursuit of endless variety yields only scattered knowledge. The sage accumulates no private possessions and makes emptiness and stillness his guiding principles. The more he helps others, the more he has: this is the subtle workings of creation. The more he gives to others, the richer he becomes, like a deep spring that wells up without ceasing. The Dao of Heaven bestows benefit without causing harm; the sage acts without contending. This is both the Dao of Heaven and the way of the sage, and they are no different. All things find what is fitting for them, and each has what it needs. The Dao is truly vast and boundless, running through all things from beginning to end.

Alas, the Dao cannot be fully expressed in words, and words cannot exhaust its meaning. Who, through argument and broad learning, can truly grasp the subtle truth that cannot be transmitted? Human beings model themselves on Heaven; Heaven models itself on the Dao. What, then, does the Dao model itself on? It models itself on what is so of itself.

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

A note says that the words “although so” in the phrase “although so, their ultimate achievement is one” may be an interpolation. The sentence means: despite this, what is ultimately achieved remains the same.