《道德真经藏室纂微篇(陈景元)》Vol. 2

Cast aside those three practices decisively, as one would discard jade, destroy pearls, burn written tokens, and smash seals. Then the people will return to simplicity and plainness, and theft will naturally cease.

“These three statements still do not make the meaning clear enough, so I will explain further.”

The word shu means “to continue.” The “three” here refer to “abandon sagehood and discard cleverness,” “abandon benevolence and discard righteousness,” and “abandon craft and discard profit.” The point is that although one may advocate setting aside these practices and restoring the simplicity of ancient times, writing these ideas down and passing them on as teachings is still not enough to make the principle clear. People therefore often remain doubtful. The explanation continues so that they may suddenly understand, as ice melts away.

“Reveal one’s plain nature and preserve honest simplicity; lessen selfishness and reduce desire.”

“Revealing the plain” means preserving what is genuine and simple, without adding ornament. The traces and clever schemes left by sages will then naturally disappear. “Embracing simplicity” means returning to honest plainness rather than seeking acclaim; benevolence and righteousness will no longer be deliberately proclaimed. “Lessen selfishness” means keeping to one’s place, acting impartially, and not coveting external beauty; the impulse toward clever contrivances will naturally fade. “Reduce desire” means restraining one’s desires and remaining quiet and detached; one will no longer pursue showy gains.

The practices of sagehood and wisdom can address an urgent need in the moment, but may fail to see how they harm what endures. Feelings of benevolence and righteousness can resolve an immediate crisis, but may not accord with what is genuine. Clever devices for pursuing profit can help with small matters, but may damage the larger whole. Therefore, the sage sees clearly without showing off and has wisdom without deliberately putting it to use. The sage’s concern is to reveal what is plain and preserve honest simplicity, and the sage’s aim is to lessen selfishness and reduce desire. Govern a state this way, and the people can become prosperous and live long, returning to the customs of ancient simplicity. Cultivate oneself this way, and one can still the body and the mind, dwelling alone in peace.

When the traces left by sages disappear, clever schemes and stratagems gradually fade from memory. When the deliberate proclamation of benevolence and righteousness ceases, kindness, filial devotion, and familial harmony can instead grow naturally. These problems arise from the failings of those who study, so the text next says, “Abandon learning, and there will be no worries.”

“Put aside the troubles of worldly learning, and there will be no anxiety.”

The Dao is profound and difficult to put into words. How could it be grasped through learning…

The Great Dao is deep, mysterious, and distant, beyond the power of words to explain. How, then, could one truly attain it through study alone? It can be conveyed, but not taught to another in full as ordinary knowledge can; it can be understood, but not grasped completely through detailed analysis. When Wheelwright Bian spoke of the art of making wheels, it was not that he was unwilling to pass it on. His son simply lacked the aptitude needed to grasp the craft. How much more so with the Great Dao realized by the sages? Most people who study today merely pick up the surface words of those who came before, like eating only the dregs left behind.

“Abandoning learning” here does not mean ending study. It means preserving one’s natural nature and not striving beyond one’s proper limits. A wild duck’s legs are naturally short; forcibly lengthening them only brings it distress. A crane’s legs are naturally long; forcibly shortening them only makes it suffer. Li Zhu, famed in legend for his keen eyesight, and Shi Kuang, the Spring and Autumn period musician famed for discerning sounds, were born with exceptional intelligence and skill. How could later people, by forcibly changing the strengths and weaknesses of their own endowments, catch up with them through admiration and self-praise? Let go of such comparisons and striving, and you will no longer be ensnared by sorrow or delight. Follow the natural Qi (vital energy) of your endowment and understand the sages’ intentions; then you will see that what is real needs no deliberate seeking, while deluded thoughts need no effort to dispel.

Some people in the world devote themselves to study and yet become distressed by it. They bend over their books until they are even pricking their thighs to stay awake, all for the sake of empty fame. They read by the light reflected from snow or by gathering fireflies for a lamp, yet chase only shallow gains. Thus they are swayed by favor and disgrace, trapped between sorrow and delight, and have truly lost their way.

How great is the difference between saying yes and rebuking someone? How far apart are good and evil?

“Wei” is a respectful response, while “a” is a dismissive one. From the perspective of ritual propriety, “wei” is respectful and “a” dismissive; from the perspective of honesty, both are sounds of response. People cling to these distinctions: some want to change “a” to “wei,” while others think the two are entirely different. They fail to understand that both arise from the sound of responding, and ask how great the difference between them can really be. Let go of worldly attachments, and there is no distinction between “wei” and “a.”

“Good” is an auspicious designation, while “evil” names what is ominous. Learning and putting principle into practice is called good; failing to learn and going against principle is called evil. Yet the Great Dao is deep, obscure, and still, as quiet as an abyss. How could it be constrained by the distinction between learning and not learning? Those who do good should not covet a reputation, for when reputation reaches its height, it harms the self. Those who do evil should not press toward punishment, for when punishment reaches its height, it destroys life. Good and evil, then, are not the essence of the Dao, but external distinctions. Since both are external, how great can their difference be? One who entirely lets go of worldly learning, even with the wisdom of a sage, does not claim to know. How much less would such a person cling to the distinctions between good and evil, or between “wei” and “a”?

Some also explain that worldly learning should be transformed into true learning: change “a” to “wei,” and evil to good, as easily as turning over one’s hand. The passage above speaks of the root of principle; this interpretation speaks instead of worldly instruction. To argue in this way—how is it different from disputing the distinction between “wei” and “a”? The old text reads here, “beauty and ugliness,” matching the statement in the previous chapter: “When all under Heaven know beauty as beauty, ugliness is already there.”

What people revere must also be revered. The world’s disorder is boundless; it seems never to end.

Those who have attained the Dao are inwardly attuned to the Great Dao. They let go of worldly learning and are free of worry. Though they do not cling inwardly to distinctions between good and evil, in their outward conduct they still follow conventions such as “wei” and “a,” and do not dare treat the injunctions concerning good and evil lightly. Perhaps only those deeply imbued with the Dao can do this. Ordinary people, however, are different: they admire goodness but do not practice it; they fear evil but refuse to rid themselves of it. They sink into worldly learning, becoming ever more deeply entangled without turning back. They neglect their true nature and never cease. “Yang” means to stop, or to reach an end.

People all fear evil, yet refuse to rid themselves of it. They sink into worldly learning, going farther and farther without turning back. They neglect their true nature and never stop. Here, “yang” means to stop, or to reach an end.

Everyone appears cheerful and excited, as though attending a lavish feast or climbing a high terrace on a spring day to admire the flourishing scenery.

“Xi xi” describes a state of joy and delight; “Spring Terrace” refers to a high terrace filled with springtime sights. Here, these images serve as a metaphor for ordinary people. Influenced by false teachings and governance, they pursue external things and lose their original nature, becoming immersed in desires and attachments. They delight in them as a hungry person would at a lavish feast, craving without satisfaction. They hurry along the road in pursuit of fame and profit, watching eagerly, like travelers who climb a terrace to admire the spring and lose themselves, forgetting the way home.

Only I am quiet and still, as though no thoughts have yet arisen, like an infant who has not learned to smile. I move with the course of events, as if I had no fixed destination.

Here, “pa” means quiet and settled; “zhao” means the first trace of something appearing; “hai” refers to smiling; and “cheng cheng” describes moving with the current. The mind of one who has attained the Dao is quiet and steady, practicing Wuwei and emptiness without revealing any trace of itself. Even amid the clamor of the world, witnessing the transformations of all things, such a person remains as simple and unworldly as an infant, making no distinctions. Then, adapting to the ways of the world, they flow along with all things and do as others do, without appearing different from them. They remain at ease, letting things take their course, as if they had no fixed destination. Another interpretation takes “cheng cheng” to mean drifting like an empty boat carried by the water, with nowhere to moor, whether it travels east or west. Some versions write “po” instead of “pa”; Wang Bi’s edition has “kuo.” Wang Bi’s edition reads “lei lei” for “cheng cheng,” while another edition reads “kui kui.”

Everyone feels they have something in abundance; only I seem to lack something. My mind is truly like that of a fool—unclear and unformed.

People’s hearts are always attached to something. Whenever they encounter the outer world, they take it as a place of refuge and become absorbed in wealth and status, believing themselves inwardly content. The Perfected Person—a person of the highest moral cultivation—regards worldly affairs as no more valuable than chaff, and sees ceremonial robes and official rank as temporary adornments. Understanding that carriages, horses, and titles come and go like things held in trust, he does not keep them in his thoughts, as though he had forgotten them. This is because his mind is wholly simple and uncontrived, makes no distinctions, and sees all things as one. Fools may try to distinguish beauty from ugliness, but the Perfected Person’s mind is not dull. It is simply free of distinctions and attachments, pure and without desire. Some versions write “hùn hùn” as “chún chún”; both mean being simple and without desire. The phrase “Is my heart the heart of a fool?” means: “Could my heart really be like a fool’s?” In fact, it refers to having no impulse to make distinctions. This is precisely the state of mind of the Perfected Person.

People are dazzlingly bright and consider themselves perceptive; I seem dim and ignorant.

“Zhāo zhāo” describes something radiant and bright. In their pursuit of learning, worldly people often chase ever more superficial brilliance, and so consider themselves clever and discerning, with exceptional talents. Though the Perfected Person’s wisdom can comprehend all things, he never boasts of it; instead, he appears dim and ignorant.

People are sharp and exacting; I am generous and unhurried. My mind is at times as vast and deep as the sea, and at times drifts unsettled, as if it had no fixed place to return to.

“Cha-cha” describes strictness and clarity, but also suggests severity, impatience, and deliberate self-restraint. “Men-men” describes tolerance and composure. Some versions instead read “hun-hun,” meaning dim and indistinct, hidden from view.

Ordinary people govern affairs by relying on methods they have learned. They devise intricate systems, enforce laws harshly and urgently, and pride themselves on taking action, making it difficult for the people to live in peace. The Perfected One, a person who has attained the Dao, observes the Way of Heaven and follows the Great Dao. Allowing things to unfold naturally, the Perfected One lets all beings develop on their own and governs the world with generosity and tolerance, without displaying sharpness or force. In this way, the people can preserve their inborn nature.

The Zhuangzi says, “The utmost point of the Dao is dim and silent.” Though indistinct and difficult to fathom, all things return to it, and no one knows where it ends. The people are nourished by it without knowing when it might be exhausted. It is adept at remaining low and welcoming all things; unfathomable, it is like the sea. Nor does it follow any fixed method in responding to change: it drifts like waves upon the water, with no certain place to settle.

Another version reads: “Suddenly dim and still, as though there were nowhere to remain.” This means that the Perfected One’s bearing may at times seem obscure and hard to discern, while the heart-mind rests as still as a corpse, unmoved by external things. This is what Huqiu Zilin, a figure from ancient parables, meant by “changing with the waves and responding to change nine times.” Both interpretations are reasonable; this text adopts the former.

“Everyone else has something to rely on. I alone seem dull and crude. I am different from everyone else: what I cherish is the root that nurtures all things—the ‘Mother,’ a metaphor for the Great Dao.”

“Having an aim” means acting with a purpose and putting one’s abilities to use. People in the world prize learning and achievement. Unable to practice Wuwei (non-action), they always seek to make use of their talents; hence the phrase “having an aim.” The Perfected Person—one who, in Daoist thought, has realized the Great Dao—moves as though dragging a withered tree and, when still, resembles a heap of cold ashes. They make no deliberate effort to adorn their appearance, and so seem dull and unrefined.

Whether the Perfected Person enters public service or withdraws from it, speaks or remains silent, they do not intend to differ from ordinary people; they are simply as they are. Why is this so? Because what they value is putting the Dao to use. Those who put the Dao to use bring body and mind into accord with the natural workings of creation and transformation. Thus they say, “I alone differ from others,” and prize “nourishing the mother.”

“Nourishing” means putting to use and sustaining; the “mother” refers to the Dao, the root of all things. Another interpretation takes “nourishing” to mean fostering and the “mother” to mean Shen (spirit), since Shen gives life to and sustains the human body, and is therefore called its “mother.” People in the world prize desire and thereby damage the body. The Perfected Person prizes freedom from desire and uses it to nourish the spirit, which is why they differ from ordinary people. Another interpretation holds that the “mother” refers to Qi (vital energy): people in the world crave all kinds of flavors, while the Perfected Person prizes harmonizing Qi, and so differs from them.

Someone asks: Laozi took “blending one’s light with the dust” — restraining one’s brilliance and living among ordinary people — as a guiding principle. Why, then, does this chapter repeatedly say that “I” differ from “others”? The answer is that this is not the Perfected Person’s intention; they speak this way only because they have no choice. The Perfected Person’s conduct is originally no different. It is only because the movements and inclinations of worldly people run counter to the Great Dao that these words are used to offer instruction and explain the difference between them.

When ritual norms are lost, people become anxious. This condition arises through acquired learning, and so appears muddled and confused. The text then speaks of “the form of great De (Virtue/Power),” that is, the expression of great De.

The expression of great De consists solely in following the Dao.

“Great” means vast or supreme; “form” means expression; and “follow” means to accord with. The Perfected Person brings body and mind into accord with the Dao. The constant Dao has no fixed name and becomes manifest through De. Supreme De, too, has no fixed foundation; it follows the Dao and comes about naturally. How could the many expressions of a person of great De be recognized by outward appearance? One can only say that their way of following the Dao seems at once present and absent, difficult to discern clearly.

The Dao, as a mode of being, is subtle and unfathomable, without any fixed fundamental form. A person of great De comes about naturally by following the Dao, and their expression is likewise difficult to recognize from outward appearance. What can be seen is only the way they follow the Dao: a state that appears and disappears, elusive and indistinct.

The Dao (the Way) is inherently profound and unfathomable, elusive and difficult to express. Neither hearing nor sight can grasp it directly, so how could one explain what it is? The word “thing” here is simply a borrowed name for exploring the Dao’s mysteries. Those of profound De (Virtue/Power) can follow the Dao. But since the Dao has no form and cannot be named, how can one follow it? One can only apprehend it through its elusive, barely discernible state, as one senses things through their shadows.

“Huang” suggests that something seems to be there, though it is not actually present; “hu” suggests that something seems absent, though it is not entirely absent. To say it exists in nonbeing does not mean it is absolutely nothing; to say it exists in being does not mean it is a concrete thing. To speak of the Dao, one must borrow terms such as “image” and “thing.”

Amid the elusive and indistinct, images of Qi (vital energy) seem to emerge; at the very beginning of their appearance, some wondrous presence also seems to be there.

“Image” refers to the appearance of Qi, while “thing” refers to the wondrous presence—the “True Ruler” (the inner, real master) spoken of by Zhuangzi. Here it can also be understood as human nature. The Dao dwells in an elusive and unsettled state. If one says it is entirely absent, it nonetheless gives rise to images from the formless, becoming signs of the sprouting of the myriad things. If one says it truly exists, these images still change and disperse, returning to formlessness.

Yet within utter emptiness and formlessness, a wondrous presence remains. Its transformations are unpredictable, enabling each of the myriad things to manifest its own wonder. The workings of Heaven and Earth, the generation and transformation of Yin-Yang, and the formation of the myriad things from Qi all depend on it. Cultivating oneself, governing the state, and progressing from the coarse to the subtle also take it as their foundation.

The Dao is deep and dark, yet it contains subtle essence. This essence is real and not illusory, and within it there is a trustworthy basis.

“Dim” describes something deep and remote; “dark” describes something still and obscure. The Dao is indistinct and elusive, with no definite form. Though it gives rise to the forms of all things, it cannot be seen directly. Profound and still, it is not understood in its essence by those who inquire into it, nor can those who respond to it explain its principles. Yet within the Dao lies pure vital energy, containing the truth and trustworthiness of nature. Its vital energy is not false, so it is called “true”; it responds to things and changes with them, so it is called “trustworthy.”

It is like a crow’s feet giving rise to grubs, human blood turning into marsh fire, a rotten melon becoming a fish, or a virtuous woman becoming stone. Though plants and animals differ in kind, none transforms without a resonance of vital energy, and none fails to change when the conditions are ripe. Who but one whose Virtue has reached the highest level could understand the principle at work?

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never vanished. Thus one can investigate the beginning of all things. How do I know what the beginning of all things is like? By this principle.

“Survey” means to examine and measure, and also to read through; “beginning” means the origin. From antiquity to the present, the Dao has endured in depth and has never disappeared. Though unseen, its name has always remained. Those who have attained the Dao can therefore investigate the roots of all things and know that they all originate in the Dao; the Dao also gives each thing its own form and substance.

Someone might ask again: How do I know that all things receive the Dao and come into being, passing through life and death, beginning and ending? The answer is that the Dao is elusive and profound, yet it endures and does not depart, able to act through change as things unfold. It is still and Wuwei (non-action), yet it can observe the transformations and movements of all things. There is nothing that does not receive the Dao and come into being. This is the basis for knowing.

Those with great De (Virtue/Power) follow the Dao. By following the Dao, they can bend and thereby remain whole; this is why the text next says, “Bending allows one to remain whole.”

The above concludes juan three of Collected Subtleties from the Chamber of the Dao De Jing. What follows is the title of juan four and the phrase, “The Dao Jing, and thus wholeness.”

One who understands how things work and can preserve integrity, when wronged, returns to what is right. One who occupies a low position is thereby able to become full. After being worn down and damaged, one can become new again. Taking little brings gain; seeking too much leads easily to confusion.

Some wise and learned people have broad knowledge and understand both past and present. They can investigate what is profound and see far ahead; they are open-minded and have distinctive insight. Yet they keep their abilities in check and never show their edge. They do so to avoid harm and protect themselves. Others are perceptive and discerning, accomplished in their work, and upright in their intentions. Yet they often yield and step back, refusing to contend or stand up for themselves. This is what it means to be truly upright.

Another way to explain this is that those who attain the Dao do not oppose what comes from outside. When external circumstances cause them to be wronged, they yield and accept it humbly. If the other person reflects and recognizes their mistake, what is right will naturally return to their side. Thus it is said, “When wronged, one becomes upright.”

Among mountains, plains, rivers, and valleys, elevations and depths are never fixed. Low-lying river valleys gather streams and are therefore filled, while high mountains are worn down and eroded by rain. When people are humble, others respect and rally around them, making their De (Virtue/Power) more evident and extensive. Thus it is said, “By occupying a low position, one becomes full.”

If capable people can keep their De in check, avoid showing their edge, and willingly take a low position, others will gladly esteem them, and the Dao they follow will continually renew itself. Thus it is said, “After being worn down, one becomes new again.”

“Little” means simplicity. The Book of Changes says, “With simplicity, one can understand the principles of all under Heaven.” The Scripture of the Western Ascension says, “If you attain the One, all things will be complete.” Here, “the One” means the root, the unifying principle. “Much,” by contrast, means extensive and complicated learning. The Zhuangzi says that excessive ornament obscures substance and that complicated knowledge unsettles the spirit; the Liezi says that too many branching paths make one lose a sheep, and too many methods of study make one lose the Great Dao.

Therefore, the sage holds fast to the One—the fundamental Dao—and makes it the standard for all under Heaven.

The Dao De Jing says, “The Dao gives birth to One.” Here, “One” is the fundamental source generated by the Dao. It refers to Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the origin of things before they are differentiated. Taiji is also called Hundun, the undivided primordial Qi: a state of harmony and unity, that is, a state of Wuwei (non-action). The sage preserves the Way of primordial unity, returning to the ancient atmosphere of Wuwei, and so becomes a model for all under Heaven. Why say that “One” is Wuwei? The Dao De Jing says, “Heaven, by attaining One, becomes clear; Earth, by attaining One, becomes settled.” The Zhuangzi also says, “Heaven is clear because it is non-acting; Earth is settled because it is non-acting.” This makes the point clear. The six matters discussed from “bending and so remaining whole” onward still bear traces of correcting particular problems. The teaching here on preserving “One” and practicing Wuwei, by contrast, encompasses the principles behind them and can therefore serve as a model for all under Heaven.

“Because he does not show himself, he is clear-sighted; because he does not assert himself, his reputation is made known; because he does not boast, his work is accomplished; because he does not exalt himself, he endures.”

All four points express an understanding of Wuwei. The sage follows the Way of Wuwei and never flaunts his abilities; people under Heaven naturally call him clear-sighted. He Shangong explains that although the sage sees clearly, he does not claim to see a thousand miles away. Instead, he uses the eyes of all under Heaven to observe, and so understands things fully. This reliance on the insight of many also expresses not showing himself. The wording differs, but the meaning is much the same.

The sage is empty and still. He does not assert himself or disparage others; he forgets the distinctions between self and other, and people under Heaven naturally praise him and make his De (Virtue/Power) known. The sage is calm and unassuming. He does not boast of his De or his excellence, and people under Heaven naturally celebrate his achievements. The sage is quiet and still. He does not vaunt his worthiness or nobility, and people under Heaven naturally call him one who has the Dao and believe that he will endure.

Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him.

The Huainanzi’s “Treatise on Responses to the Dao,” also known as the Honglie Jie, says, “After Zhao Jianzi died, but before he was buried, Zhongmou came under Qi’s control…” The sage is quiet and still. He does not vaunt his worthiness or nobility, and people under Heaven naturally call him one who has the Dao and believe that he will endure.

Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him.

The Honglie Jie (Commentary on the Huainanzi) records: Zhao Jianzi died before he could be buried, and Zhongmou then came under the control of Qi. Five days after Zhao Jianzi’s burial, his son Xiangzi raised an army to attack Zhongmou. Before the troops had time to surround the city securely, a thousand zhang of its wall collapsed on its own. Xiangzi struck the bronze gong and ordered the army to withdraw. His officers urged him, “You intend to punish Zhongmou for its wrongdoing. Now its walls have collapsed by themselves—Heaven is helping us. Why withdraw?” Xiangzi replied, “I heard Shuxiang say: A gentleman does not take advantage of another’s good fortune to attack him, nor drive another into danger. Let them repair their walls first; once the walls are restored, then we can attack.”

When Zhongmou heard of Xiangzi’s righteous conduct, it asked to surrender. Thus, precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him.

Could the ancients’ saying that “bending can preserve one’s integrity” really be empty talk? It truly can preserve oneself and bring De back to oneself.

The sage’s nature and mind are pure and unified. Following what comes naturally, the sage acts through Wuwei (non-action). How could there be any desire to compete for superiority? The Daodejing says, “One whose De is profound is like a newborn child: venomous creatures do not sting it, fierce beasts do not attack it, and birds of prey do not seize it.” If even insects and animals can respond this way, how much more so should people treat one another? The ancients spoke of “bending in order to preserve oneself”—was this merely a fable invented today? If people can put this into practice, they truly can preserve their De and bring it back to themselves. This is the profound meaning behind the repeated exhortations to cultivate De.

Bend in order to preserve yourself; hold fast to unity; do not boast or rely on yourself. When you do not make a show of yourself, you naturally speak less. So the text next says, “Speak little and follow what is natural.”

Speak little and follow what is natural. A gale cannot last through a whole morning, and a downpour cannot last through a whole day.

The Classic of Changes (Yijing) says, “The fortunate speak little; the impulsive speak much.” This passage values sparse, concise speech and warns against fickle behavior. To speak little is to accord with nature.

When someone who has attained the Dao is asked for guidance, they respond. When they encounter things, they speak according to the circumstances. Whether speaking or remaining silent, they follow the right moment and so accord with nature. It is like wind and rain arriving at the proper time, benefiting all things. But if the wind and rain are fierce and sudden, arriving without restraint, they cause harm. “Violent” means fierce; “sudden” means abrupt and severe. The period from morning until noon is called “the whole morning”; from morning until dusk, “the whole day.”

The flow of Qi between mountains and marshes may give rise to fierce winds; when Yin and Yang Qi clash, sudden, violent rain may fall. Such phenomena are understood to result from Yin and Yang exceeding their proper bounds and the harmony between them breaking down. For this reason, they cannot last long. Consider people in light of this principle: if their words defy reason and their joy and anger shift unpredictably, would that not damage the mind’s original purity and calm?

Who brings about such wind and rain? Heaven and Earth. Even the fierce winds and rains formed by Heaven and Earth cannot last for a whole morning or an entire day. How much less can people endure them?

Heaven and Earth have the greatest forms, and Yin and Yang Qi are vast beyond measure. When Yin and Yang clash and the Qi of Heaven and Earth intertwines, violent winds and storms arise. Yet even these cannot last long. People live between Heaven and Earth like a single hair on a horse. If they indulge their desires, let their joy and anger run unchecked, and act with restless excess, they will bring about a swift ruin. Is this not pitiable?

Therefore, those who cultivate the Dao accord with the Dao; those who cultivate De accord with De. Those who lose Dao and De, too, meet the consequences of having lost them.

“Following” means acting in accord and going along. The Dao is emptiness, spontaneity, stillness, and simplicity. People should act in harmony with the Dao, speak little, cherish their primordial Qi, and preserve the natural harmony within them over time. How could one be as fierce as a violent storm and yet fail to endure?

Those who follow the Dao move in activity together with Yang Qi and, in stillness, accord with Yin Qi. When gathered, they appear as a body; when dispersed, they transform into Qi. They pass between the visible and the invisible, moving together with the mysterious Dao. De means preserving oneself inwardly without depleting one’s spirit, while benefiting all things outwardly, extending kindness to plants and trees. Once the work is done, one does not claim credit. This accords with the spirit of Superior De: deep virtue that makes no display of itself.

“Loss” means treating desires and cravings as pleasure, regarding constraints and burdens as honor, willingly submitting to servitude without regret, and being content to move toward ruin. This accords with the loss of virtue.

Those who accord with the Dao are welcomed by the Dao; those who accord with De receive De; those who accord with loss meet with loss. If one lacks sincerity oneself, others will not trust one.

This means that things of the same kind resonate with one another, and may also draw loss upon each other.

Those who accord with the Dao are welcomed by the Dao; those who accord with De receive De; those who accord with loss meet with loss. If one lacks sincerity oneself, others will not trust one.

This means that things of the same kind resonate with one another. Those who truly accord with the mysterious Dao are not only gladly recommended by the people; the Great Dao also grants them a fitting position. Those whose virtue accords with Superior De are not only revered and supported by the people; people of utmost virtue recognize them as well. Those whose hearts are sunk in loss are not only, in death, as though their body and spirit willingly accept that state; those on the path to ruin also resonate with them. This is because all things respond to others of their own kind. Thus, those who trust in the Dao attain the Dao, and those who trust in De attain De. Those who do not trust in the Dao and scorn De receive no response from them, nor do the Dao and De manifest in them. How, then, could anyone under Heaven trust them? Hence the saying: “If one lacks sincerity oneself, others will not trust one.”

Only by speaking little and letting things follow their natural course can one accord with the Dao. When Dao and De are in harmony with each other, one does not force things or show off one’s strength. This is why the text next says, “Those who rise onto their toes cannot stand firm.”

Those who rise onto their toes cannot stand firm; those who take great strides cannot walk far.

“To rise onto one’s toes” means lifting the heels to see farther, and can also imply deliberately pressing ahead. Those who accord with the Dao and De do not force things or show off their strength. This is why the text next says, “Those who rise onto their toes cannot stand firm; those who take great strides cannot walk far.”

“Standing on tiptoe” means rising onto one’s toes to gaze into the distance; it can also mean rushing forward. “Striding” means grasping or crossing over, and can also mean surpassing others. Those who are greedy and eager to get ahead are always standing on tiptoe, vainly hoping to obtain favor and glory that do not belong to them. Even if they happen to get them, how could they remain steady for long, when they are like someone stretching out their neck and standing on tiptoe? Their abilities are meager, yet they want to overtake and outdo others. Then everyone will join in obscuring them, leaving them unable to express their views. They want to rush in, seize their chance, and gain influence quickly—but how could such a course succeed?

Those who show off cannot see things clearly; those who presume they are right cannot make their reasoning clear; those who boast of themselves achieve no merit; and those who exalt themselves cannot endure.

“Bent, yet whole” is the title of Chapter 22 of the Dao De Jing. The chapter explains that the sage follows the Dao of Wuwei, does not show off or boast of achievements, and does not deliberately seek to make himself conspicuous. This passage says that shallow people are different: they flaunt their own talents and conceal others’ accomplishments, so how can they see matters clearly? They insist they are right and accuse others, elevating themselves while denigrating others, so how can they explain what is reasonable? They do not use benevolence to help the people or use righteousness to judge right and wrong, but concern themselves only with winning a reputation and polishing their image. What merit could they have in governing affairs? They exaggerate their abilities and suppress the foolish and weak, but how could they endure in cultivating the Dao?

Such conduct is like leftover food or growths on the body: people tend to find it repellent. Here, self-promotion and similar practices are compared to things superfluous to the constant Dao of Wuwei. Leftover food only provokes aversion, while growths on the body appear ugly. If all things in the world abhor these, how could people of the Dao allow themselves to remain caught up in such conduct? Those who follow the Dao do not rush to outdo others or boast and exaggerate. The text therefore goes on to speak of “something formed in undifferentiated unity.”

There is something formed as an undivided whole, generated before Heaven and Earth came into being.

“Something formed in undifferentiated unity” refers to the source of the Dao. The Dao cannot be seen, heard, or touched. Its principle is profound and still, yet it endures without ceasing; hence it is called “something.” The Great Dao runs through all things and gives rise to myriad transformations, yet has no boundaries that divide one thing from another; hence it is called “formed in undifferentiated unity.”

There is a whole and undivided presence that existed before Heaven and Earth took shape.

“Something complete and undifferentiated” refers to the origin of the Dao. It cannot be seen or heard, nor can it be touched by hand. The deepest principles of the Dao are still and profound, yet they have always existed; hence it is called “something.” The true Dao gives rise to the myriad things, intricate and varied yet never divided; hence it is called “complete and undifferentiated.” Though it cannot be fully understood by human beings, all things are born from it. That is why it is said to be “something complete and undifferentiated.” “It existed before Heaven and Earth” means that the Dao is the source of all things. The Dao De Jing says, “I do not know whose descendant it is; it seems to have preceded the Di, the ruler of Heaven.” Zhuangzi also says that the Dao was before the Supreme Ultimate, yet is not thereby lofty; it lies beneath the four directions of Heaven and Earth, yet is not thereby deep; it was born before Heaven and Earth, yet is not thereby ancient; it has endured since remote antiquity, yet is not thereby old. These statements all explain the fundamental nature of the Dao.

It is silent and still, empty and without form. It exists alone and never changes; it moves through all things without ever ceasing, and can serve as the source of all things under Heaven.

“Silent” means without sound; “empty” means without form. Though it is called a whole and undivided presence, when we seek its shape or sound, we find only emptiness and stillness, without appearance, form, or substance. Hence it is called “silent and empty.” The myriad things between Heaven and Earth each stand distinct, yet nothing can be compared with them. If this is true even of things with form, then how much less could anything match the vast, formless Dao? That is why it is said to “stand alone.” The myriad things change in countless ways and pass through life and death, while the Dao never shifts or changes. That is why it is said to “never change.”

The Dao’s workings sometimes spread out, becoming the harmonizing Qi that pervades the vastness of space; sometimes they draw inward, becoming the pure Qi hidden within the tiniest things. It circulates throughout Heaven and Earth, its workings without limit. That is why it is said to “move through all things without ever growing weary.” All things, great or small, depend on the Dao: with the Dao, they are preserved; apart from it, they fall into ruin. The growth and fulfillment of all things depend on it. That is why it is called the “Mother of all under Heaven,” the source of all things.

I do not know what to call it, so I call it “Dao.” If I must give it a name, I call it “Great.”

The Great Dao has no form, so it cannot be seen or heard, nor touched by hand. It has no shape, sound, or discernible signs, and therefore its original name cannot be spoken. Yet the preceding passage calls it “something,” showing that it has substance and function. When its substance and function manifest, they flow through all things and bring them to life. Its Virtue is made evident through its function; so, as a makeshift name, it is called the Dao. It encompasses Heaven and Earth and is immeasurably vast, so it is provisionally called “Great.”

“Great” implies ceaseless movement; “passing” means going forth and flowing onward. Ceaseless movement makes it seem distant, so distant that its source cannot be traced. Yet though the Dao moves to the farthest reaches, beyond the remote lands in every direction, it can also return, resting peacefully within the small space of the human heart. “Returning” means coming back and restoring. Going forth and returning, perishing and being reborn, and Yin turning into Yang are all transformations of the Dao.

Thus the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is also great. Between Heaven and Earth are four great things: the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king, each one of them. The Dao is the source of Heaven and Earth, vast and boundless, with nothing beyond its reach. All things receive the Dao and can grow; scholars and common people who hold fast to the Dao can earn respect.

The Dao is the source of Heaven, Earth, and all things. It is vast and boundless, able to contain and encompass everything. All things can grow by receiving the Dao, and scholars and common people can find stability and dignity by following it. Thus it is said, “The Dao is great.” Heaven stands high above, its cycles never ceasing; it covers all things without end. Thus it is said, “Heaven is great.” Earth gathers below, still and unmoving, gentle and steady; it bears all things without end. Thus it is said, “Earth is great.” The ruler of ancient times was tranquil and practiced Wuwei (non-action), extending instruction and transformation to all things. As the leader of the people, the ruler nevertheless did not dare to compare himself with Heaven, Earth, or the Dao. Thus it is also said, “The ruler is great.”

“The four great things within the realm” refers to the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the ruler. “Realm” means a domain or extent. The Dao is so vast that it encompasses the cosmos, yet so subtle that it enters the space between the finest hairs. At times it lies beyond visible forms; at others, it exists within a defined domain. Everything above the surface of the Earth belongs to Heaven. The Heaven spoken of here is not merely the distant, boundless sky: Heaven lies beyond the Earth, while the Earth is within Heaven. The ruler holds the highest position in human society and resides at the center of the Nine Provinces, also within this domain. Hence the phrase “the four great things within the realm.” The ruler assists in the workings of Heaven and Earth and holds the authority to govern all things, and so has a place among the four great things. Zhuangzi said, “Nothing is more wondrous than Heaven; nothing is more abundant than Earth; nothing is more exalted than the emperor. The emperor’s De (Virtue/Power) accords with Heaven and Earth—how could he fail to be cautious?”

People take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes the Dao as its model; the Dao takes what is natural as its model.

This passage admonishes rulers to model themselves on the workings of Heaven and Earth and take the utmost Dao as their standard. In this way, the realm will be governed naturally. When a ruler maintains gentleness and stillness, he accords with the virtue of Yin; bearing all things without favoritism is to model himself on Earth. Yet he must not cling to Earth’s gentleness and stillness without knowing when to adapt. When firmness and strength are needed, he should accord with the movement of Yang; covering and nurturing all that lies within his care with impartial concern is to model himself on Heaven. Yet he must not become fixed in one state of Heaven without knowing how to change. He should then follow Wuwei and unite with the Dao, allowing all things to develop according to their own nature and return to what is natural. This is what it means for a ruler to model himself on Heaven and Earth and follow the utmost Dao. The passage speaks of a ruler modeling himself on Heaven and Earth to attain the utmost Dao; it does not say that Heaven and Earth themselves model themselves on the utmost Dao. One should grasp the deeper meaning of the sage’s teaching rather than stopping at empty talk.

“Dao in its undifferentiated state” is a provisional name for the Great Dao. The “Four Greats” are the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the ruler. The ruler is one of them because, through steadiness and substance, he governs what is light and frivolous. The text therefore goes on to say, “The heavy is the root of the light.”

Substance is the root of frivolity, and stillness is the master of agitation.

The flowers and leaves of plants are light and fragile. Growing at the tips of branches, they are easily shaken off by wind and frost. Their roots are firm and substantial, hidden deep underground, so they are less easily damaged and can endure for a long time. From this we can see that whether cultivating oneself or governing a state, one should take substance as the foundation. Dragons and snakes coil in stillness before they transform and soar. Tigers and leopards, though fierce and powerful, are hunted because of their restlessness and die young. When practitioners settle their minds, the “myriad spirits”—the gods that Daoism says dwell within the human body—can be at peace and harmony, and are no longer driven by greed and agitation. When a ruler governs with stillness and Wuwei (non-action), the people can live in peace, and powerful ministers are less able to disrupt the government.

Thus, the noble person, even when traveling all day, does not leave the covered wagon carrying their belongings.

“Covered wagon” refers to a vehicle enclosed for protection, and also to a large carriage; “heavy” means acting with care and deliberation. A noble person who has attained the Dao does not treat words and actions lightly: when traveling, they bring a covered wagon, and when speaking, they give due weight to what they say. If they are this careful in word and deed, how could they ever leave the Great Dao, even for a moment? Some also interpret “covered wagon” as stillness, taking this passage as a further admonition to remain still and substantial. Another interpretation is that travelers do not readily leave behind the wagon carrying their provisions, since it holds their food, clothing, and other necessities; if they abandon it, they may find themselves stranded along the road. If a noble person leaves behind the substance and stillness represented by the Great Dao and turns instead to frivolity and agitation, the harm they bring upon themselves will be no small matter.

Even amid splendid sights, the noble person remains at ease, detached and self-possessed.

“Fine splendor” refers to magnificent sights, while “banquet” means ease and comfort. The passage says that those who have succeeded in cultivating the Dao, and exemplary people, remain watchful within themselves. They do not regard worldly splendor as something worth pursuing, nor do they become absorbed in comfort and pleasure. Rising above the secular world, they set aside pride and extravagance. This, too, is a way of maintaining composure and quietude. Another version reads “splendid residence” and “swallow’s union”: the meaning is not to become attached to luxurious homes, but to live simply in a modest hut while the spirit remains free to roam beyond the ordinary world.

Why would the “lord of ten thousand chariots”—the Son of Heaven—take himself lightly and act carelessly, thereby treating the realm lightly? Careless conduct means losing one’s foundation; restless and reckless behavior means losing the standards a ruler should uphold.

“Why should this be so?” is the sense of “how could this happen?” and carries a note of lament. As Son of Heaven, occupying a position of honor, how could one fail to maintain composure and quietude, instead taking oneself lightly and indulging one’s desires? If a minister cannot remain calm and steady, he loses the foundation for his position and the duties he must fulfill. If a ruler does not uphold Wuwei (non-action) and quietude, but grows restless and disturbs the people, he will lose his throne and damage his own natural harmony. An old explanation holds that when a ruler acts carelessly, meddles constantly, and repeatedly disturbs the people, they will disperse—who, then, would wish to be his subjects? If ministers deceive others in pursuit of office and emoluments, and impatiently struggle for power, they will invite exile and punishment and will no longer be able to serve their ruler. Both explanations make sense.

Only exemplary people are adept at maintaining composure and quietude, so the text next says, “Those skilled at walking leave no tracks.”

Those skilled at walking leave no cart ruts or footprints. Those skilled at speaking make no errors. Those skilled at planning do not rely on counting rods or calculating devices. Those skilled at closing need no bolt, yet no one can open what they have shut. Those skilled at tying need no rope to bind, yet no one can undo what they have tied.

Those skilled in action act in accord with the patterns of nature. The Yinfu Jing says, “Observe the Way of Heaven and follow its workings.” This means observing the Way of nature without deciding in advance what to look for, and following nature’s course without clinging to any fixed method. Because such people have no deliberate observation or attachment in their hearts, they simply accord with nature. They grasp what is essential without ever leaving their gates, and leave no trace of human contrivance.

Those skilled in speech speak as Zhuangzi describes in “goblet words”: they express themselves naturally as things change. Their words are measured and fitting, yet adapt and renew themselves with the moment. They accord with nature’s measure, neither overstepping nor exaggerating. In this way, they avoid mistakes and the blame that follows.

Those skilled in planning hold fast to unity and follow Wuwei (non-action), letting the myriad things each follow their own nature. They allow short and long, broad and narrow, great and small, many and few, to serve their purposes appropriately, without harming what things are by nature or how they function. Zhuangzi says, “When one combines with a statement, it makes two; when two combines with one, it makes three. From then on, even a skilled calculator could not work out the total—how much less an ordinary person?” This shows that what is valuable is following things as they are, rather than relying on complicated calculations. The Perfected Person, whose virtue and wisdom have reached a high level, lets the mind roam in the original state of the myriad things. The things change of themselves, while the Perfected Person is not ruled by them. By understanding things from their own circumstances, the Perfected Person has no need for counting rods.

Those skilled at closing are speaking of Wuwei in the heart. When the heart is free of action, even when sights and sounds appear before it, they do not disturb the spirit. No bolt is needed, yet no one can open the gate. The horizontal bolt is called the “bar,” and the vertical bolt the “bolt.”

Those skilled at binding are speaking of using the Dao to restrain things. The Perfected Person acts simply and without contrivance, skillfully using the Dao to restrain a heart given to greed and excess. Desires and passions are thus brought naturally into check, and the heart becomes calm and clear, without any need to struggle to free itself or cast them off.

Therefore, the sage is always skilled at helping people, so no one is cast aside; and skilled at making use of all things, so no object is wasted. This is called “concealing the light”—keeping inner wisdom hidden within the practice of everyday life.

“Concealing” means putting something to use discreetly. “Sage” refers to someone who practices the five kinds of goodness. The sage’s body and mind accord with nature, and the heart remains undivided. Thus, the sage can regard all things as one regards the straw figures used in ritual: acting without claiming credit for the results. By assigning suitable responsibilities according to each person’s abilities or limitations, the sage enables people to preserve their nature, remain whole in body and mind, and make full use of their capacities. In this way, no one is cast aside.

The sage also follows the qualities of plants and animals, and makes use of objects according to their materials and purposes, without harming their original nature. Even tiles, bricks, ladders, and wooden boards can all be put to use, so no object is wasted. “Always skilled” means holding to the constant Dao, understanding the characteristics of things, and using them according to the circumstances.

The Huainanzi: Teachings on the Way (called the Honglie jie here) records that when Gongsun Long was in the state of Zhao, he told his disciples, “I do not associate with anyone who has no skill.” A visitor dressed in coarse cloth and wearing a white cloth sash came to see him, saying that he knew how to call out. Gongsun Long asked his disciples whether anyone among them was skilled at calling out. They said no, so he had the visitor entered on the household register. Several days later, Gongsun Long went to persuade the king of Zhao. When he reached the riverbank, the boat had already crossed to the other side. He told the visitor to call out loudly. Hearing him, the boat turned back. This shows that the sage does not reject anyone who has a particular skill; hence the saying, “No one is cast aside.”

Thus, a good person is a teacher to one who is not good; and one who is not good serves as a lesson and a resource for the good person.

The “good person” discussed here refers to a person of the Dao. The Dao De Jing says that establishing the Son of Heaven and appointing the Three Dukes is meant to instruct those who are not good. Thus, the good person is a teacher to those who are not good. Even when dealing with such people, the good person can give them tasks, put their abilities to use, and gradually guide them toward goodness.

The Dao De Jing also says: “I treat the good with goodness, and I treat the not good with goodness too; in this way, people can be made good. I trust those who are trustworthy, and I trust those who are not trustworthy too; in this way, people can be made trustworthy.” This means using one’s De (Virtue/Power) to transform and win over those who are not good, so they can be put to use.

The Huainan Honglie Jie (Commentary on the Huainanzi) records that Zifa, a general of Chu, liked to recruit people with skills. A man skilled at stealing came to see him and said, “I hear that you recruit people with abilities. I can steal, and I would like to serve you with this skill.” When Zifa heard this, he rushed out without taking time to tie his robe or adjust his cap, and received the man courteously. His attendants urged him, “A thief is a robber who harms the whole world. Why receive him so courteously?” Zifa replied, “This is beyond your understanding.”

Not long afterward, Qi sent its army to attack Chu. Zifa led his troops into battle, but the Chu army was driven back again and again. The talented officials of Chu had all done their utmost to offer plans, yet the Qi army remained powerful. At that point, the thief asked, “I have a small skill and would like to use it to serve you.” Zifa agreed without asking for details and sent him on his way.

That night, the thief slipped into the Qi camp, took the Qi general’s tent canopy, and brought it to Zifa. Zifa then sent someone to return it, with a message for the Qi general: “Some soldiers went out to gather firewood and found your tent canopy. We are returning it to you.” The next day, the thief went again and took the general’s hairpin. Zifa once more had it returned. When the Qi army heard what had happened, they were deeply alarmed. The general and his officers conferred: “If we do not retreat today, the Chu army may even take our heads.” So the Qi army withdrew.

This shows that even a small, seemingly insignificant skill can be valuable; what matters is whether the ruler knows how to put it to use.

Do not revere the teacher as supreme, and do not cling to the support and means the teacher provides. This may sound easy to misunderstand, but it in fact expresses a subtle and profound principle.

Although sages can calmly embody the Dao in a state of self-realization, they still establish teachers and companions. Yet even when teachers and friends are present, they worry that people may revere their teachers too much, rely too heavily on what they have learned, and become confined by the words and actions of those who came before them, thereby failing to grasp deeper truths. That is why they again say, “Do not esteem the teacher; do not cling to the resources he provides.”

People may awaken and seek the highest truth through a teacher’s guidance, but that truth ultimately arises from their own nature. This is called “self-transformation”: all things change naturally in accordance with their own nature. Bole could not turn a weak horse into a fine steed, and even a master craftsman could not make poor-quality wood or stone into a pillar. Only by letting go of admiration for external models and achievements can one reach the utmost of the Dao.

Liezi once studied under Lao Shang and befriended Bo Gao; later, he became an immortal who rode the wind. He said, “I did not know that my teacher was a teacher to me, nor that this man was a friend to me.” This is what it means truly to forget the roles and supports of teacher and friend.

Sages know that ordinary people easily become attached to words and teachings, so these statements may sound absurd. Yet sages use them to instruct those of the highest ability, so that teacher and student, self and other, no longer cling to their distinctions from one another. This is the essential and subtle principle within verbal instruction.

Skill in action and skill in speech serve to aid people and all things. Establishing teachers and companions helps people understand the soft and the firm. That is why the text next says, “Know the masculine.”

Know the firm, yet hold to the soft, and you can become the streambed of the world. As the streambed of the world, you will never lose your constant De, and you will return to the pure, natural state of an infant.

The masculine signifies nobility, strength, and taking the lead; the feminine signifies lowliness, gentleness, and taking a place behind. If people know they are noble and prominent, ahead of others, yet let this attitude run unchecked, they will become domineering and invite disaster. They should therefore place themselves low, remain gentle and humble, and the people of the world will in turn submit to them, like streams flowing into a deep ravine. When the mind is empty and still like a deep ravine, enduring De (Virtue) can remain within. One can then cast off the desire for rigidity and restless ambition, return to one’s nature, and become as simple and peaceful as an infant, no longer clinging to distinctions between right and wrong.

Know what is bright, yet hold to what is dark: this allows one to become a model for the world. As a model for the world, one’s enduring De will not force itself into view, and one will return to the limitless—the state that has no boundaries and cannot be confined.

The mind of a person who follows the Dao is like a ravine; an empty, still heart gives rise to clear wisdom. Such people hold to deep stillness and do not flaunt their radiance. They let themselves be seen without dazzling others, and so can become a model for the world to follow. People take them as their example because they see that their enduring De is impartial and balanced, approaching the source of the Dao.

Know what is glorious, yet hold to the place of disgrace: this allows one to become a valley for the world. As a valley for the world, one’s enduring De will be full, and one will return to the uncarved simplicity—the state of one’s original nature before it has been shaped.

Even when people follow them, those who follow the Dao should still hold to a low position, accept disgrace, and willingly remain beneath others rather than compete for victory. Then the people of the world will turn to them, like streams flowing into a valley. With a heart as broad as a valley, De that is full but seeks no renown, one can return to the simplicity of the Dao. “Uncarved simplicity” means keeping one’s abilities hidden and restraining their use.

Once uncarved simplicity is divided, it becomes the many particular things. The sage makes use of these things and so can lead the people; therefore, skillful governance does not divide things apart.

To return to the uncarved simplicity of the Dao is to return to a state of wholeness, deep and still, without clinging to what is apprehended through sight and hearing. With a heart as broad as a valley, De that is full but seeks no renown, one returns to the simplicity of the Dao. “Uncarved simplicity” means keeping one’s abilities hidden and restraining their use.

Once uncarved simplicity is divided, it becomes the many particular things. The sage makes use of these things and so can lead the people; therefore, skillful governance does not divide things apart.

Returning to the Dao’s (the Way’s) simple state means becoming an undivided whole, profound and mysterious, beyond the grasp of sight or hearing. This is what accords with the truth of the Dao. From the perspective of governing the world, however, the Dao’s simplicity must be dispersed into particular implements and functions. Heshang Gong says: When the simple state of the myriad things is dispersed, it becomes all kinds of objects. When the Dao’s activity unfolds, it appears as divine spirits, spreads through the sun and moon, and differentiates into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). When a person’s true heart is dispersed, it becomes all kinds of thoughts and reflections. As soon as a thought arises, various actions follow, and many affairs come into being. These affairs are like different implements. The sage appoints people according to their talents and abilities, placing them at the head of the various offices. In this way, the sage can coordinate the myriad things, allowing each to function naturally without harming them.

Lu Xisheng says: Only when the Great Dao fell into decline did benevolence and righteousness appear; only when the Dao’s simplicity was dispersed did it become all kinds of implements. The sage knows how to use these implements well and can therefore command the officials. The Great Dao itself is not confined to any one implement, and so can make use of implements that have taken shape. The sage governs comprehensively without causing harm and can therefore lead the myriad things. If one has not yet understood the Great Dao but tries to use the world’s many talents and functions, one will instead be constrained by external things. If one still seeks to control the world’s talents, I believe one will inevitably fall into danger.

Know what is strong, yet hold to what is weak, like a lowly valley; know what is bright, yet hold to what is dark, keeping oneself from view. In this way, one becomes a model for the world. Once this model has been put into practice, someone may then wish to use it to gain the world. That is why the text next says, “wishing to gain the world.”

If one wishes to gain the world but forces things through one’s own actions, I believe one will surely fail.

The Dao follows nature and does not force things. Even things as fine as autumn down still follow the natural course of the Dao, so how much more should this be true in governing the world? If one now fails to follow nature and Wuwei (non-action), instead relying on decisiveness and force to seize the great vessel that is the world, and indulging in action, one not only departs from the Dao but, I believe, will also lose one’s life. “Yi” means death.

The world is a sacred vessel and cannot be governed by force. Forceful action leads to failure; clinging to it leads to loss.

The world is a sacred vessel. If one indulges oneself and acts as one pleases, one not only departs from the Dao but, I believe, will also lose one’s life. “Yi” means death.

The world is a sacred vessel entrusted with carrying the Dao of Heaven. It cannot be governed by imposing one’s own will. Forcing things into action will spoil them; rigidly holding on to control will cause one to lose what one already has.

Here, “sacred vessel” refers to the precious and holy position of the world, an instrument entrusted by the divine powers of Heaven and Earth. Human beings, too, are beings endowed with spirit between Heaven and Earth. Zhuangzi said that he had heard of letting the world dwell in ease and freedom, but never of governing it through human contrivance. Letting the world be free is meant to keep people from indulging their nature; treating the world with forbearance is meant to keep people from altering their original De. If people in the world neither indulge their nature nor alter their De, is there any need for someone to govern them? This means that the world should not be governed by coercive means.

To govern without forcing things is to follow the way things are and let the myriad things develop naturally. Then the world is at peace, and all living beings endowed with spirit can also dwell in tranquility. Failing to follow nature and insisting on deliberate action is like an inept person carving wood: the harder they work it, the more they damage it. Thus, when the seven apertures were bored into Hundun, Hundun died; when horses are driven with a whip, their strength is spent. Does this not show that forcing things into action brings ruin? If one remains stubbornly attached to one’s own views and refuses to change, believing oneself to be carrying out enlightened government, one will lose not only the fundamental principles of things but also one’s own original nature.

Thus, things sometimes advance and sometimes are damaged; sometimes they take shape like pottery, and sometimes they disperse like breath; sometimes they grow strong and sometimes they weaken; sometimes they bear up and sometimes they collapse.

These eight kinds of change show that external things cannot be fully controlled by people. Someone may act with sincere intent, yet things still follow their own changes: advancing or being damaged, taking shape or dispersing, growing strong or weakening, bearing up or collapsing.

The eight situations mentioned above all show how difficult it is for people to control external things. In the world, some people act with sincere commitment, while others act insincerely, merely following along. Sincere action brings order to affairs; insincere compliance leads to disorder. Order accords with nature, while disorder results from deliberate interference.

“Exhaling” means breathing out warm air and can serve as a metaphor for praising others and helping them prosper. “Blowing” means breathing out cold air and can serve as a metaphor for disparaging others and bringing them into disrepute. Some also interpret “exhaling” as warmth and wealth, and “blowing” as cold and poverty, just as spring and summer nourish the myriad things, while autumn and winter bring them to decline. The affairs of the world undergo similar changes.

Some people see another grow powerful and help them; others see someone weakened and suppress them. Some help others become stronger, while others suppress them and make them weaker still. These are all expressions of people colliding and competing with one another. Some also put things in proper order, while others destroy them and make the situation precarious. All these are the faults that arise when people depart from nature, act solely on their own intentions, and stubbornly seek to gain something from their actions.

Therefore, the sage casts off excess, extravagance, and arrogance.

“Excess,” “extravagance,” and “indulgence” all refer to acting beyond measure and overstepping one’s proper bounds. This passage says that a sage ruler who governs the world understands how fortune and misfortune depend on one another and lie concealed within each other. He therefore abandons deliberate interference and returns to desirelessness: he casts off excessive contrivance and returns to nature; casts off luxurious clothing and amusements and returns to simplicity and thrift; casts off unrestrained desires and returns to stillness. Though “excess,” “extravagance,” and “indulgence” are three different expressions, they all stem from departing from Wuwei (non-action) and nature. When people act recklessly out of extravagance and arrogance, they invite calamity. Laozi therefore offers this particular warning.

Those who stubbornly seek to obtain something often end in failure; forcibly helping or suppressing others can also bring collapse and conflict. Even when one has already fallen into extravagance and arrogance, it is better to assist the ruler in accordance with the Dao (the Way). The next chapter therefore goes on to discuss “assisting the ruler with the Dao.”

End of Collected Subtlety from the Treasury of the Dao De Zhen Jing, juan four.

Juan five: Compiled by Chen Jingyuan, Master of the Jade Void. Dao section.

Those who assist a ruler through the Dao do not use armies to impose their power on the world, because doing so often brings consequences in return.

“Through” means “by means of.” A capable minister assists a wise ruler by following the natural Dao. First, the minister must understand the Way of Heaven, then attend in turn to De, benevolence and righteousness, duties and responsibilities, titles and realities, appointing people according to their abilities, examining and verifying matters, distinguishing right from wrong, and finally administering rewards and punishments. This is the way to assist a ruler through the Dao. When a ruler grasps the Great Dao, people throughout the world will turn to him, suffer no harm, and the state will enjoy peace and stability.

Weapons are ill-omened things, and war is dangerous. How could anyone display military might to the world? War begins in people’s hearts before weapons are taken up: anxiety and apprehension without yet mobilizing troops are signs of war; an angry expression is a sign of war; arrogant words, arguments, and contests are signs of war; indulging in fighting and launching attacks means war has already begun. These are conflicts of varying scale. Whoever uses violence to oppress others will eventually face a counterattack, just as a beast driven into a corner will fight back. Thus, actions caused by war often bring retribution.

Where armies have been stationed, brambles often grow thick. After a great army has passed, famine is sure to follow. The presence of troops harms the people and disrupts farming, leaving fields neglected and houses empty. The killing that follows an army’s passage also brings countless deaths and injuries. Grief and damage disturb the harmony between Heaven and Earth; Yin and Yang fall out of balance, and calamities such as floods and droughts may then occur one after another.

From the perspective of self-cultivation, “many affairs” are like armies, “troubles” are like brambles, “indulgence in desires” is like a great army, and “illness” is like a year of calamity. These words can be understood on different levels and carry profound meaning.

Therefore, those skilled in warfare are satisfied once they have achieved their aim. They dare not use that achievement to assert their power. Even when they succeed, they do not boast, show off, or act arrogantly.

Weapons harm all things, and both the spirits and people of De abhor them. Yet wise and enlightened rulers have never entirely abandoned military affairs, for they have existed since ancient times. Gengsangzi said, “If we trace the origins of warfare, it arose almost at the same time as humankind.” He also said, “Some people die from taking medicine, but that is no reason to forbid physicians throughout the world. Some people die while traveling by boat, but that is no reason to forbid boats throughout the world. Some states perish through warfare, but that is no reason to forbid warfare everywhere. Military affairs cannot be abolished, any more than water and fire can: used well, they bring benefit; used badly, they bring disaster.”

Thus, a household cannot do entirely without discipline, a state cannot do entirely without punishment, and the world cannot do entirely without punitive expeditions. The sage kings of antiquity waged wars that accorded with righteousness, but they did not abolish warfare altogether. Therefore, one who assists a ruler through the Dao should remain yielding and still, and should not use force to dominate the world. Only when there is no alternative should one send out troops to respond; this is what it means to be skilled in warfare.

“Resolve” means courage. Those skilled in warfare have the courage only to rescue others from danger; they do not dare use weapons to contend for supremacy in the world. Even when they courageously take on the task of rescuing others from danger, they should not boast of their skill or flaunt their achievements, much less become proud and complacent. This is what it means to be skilled in warfare.

To act resolutely, yet only when there is no alternative; to be courageous, yet not domineering. When things reach a state of great strength and flourishing, they tend to turn toward decline and old age. This is called going against the Dao; what goes against the Dao declines prematurely.

Though decisive and forceful words can quell danger and stop an enemy, such measures are taken only when there is no other choice. The purpose of using troops should be to root out disorder; decisiveness must not become a pretext for showing off one’s might.

As plants grow, they are soft and fragile; when they reach their peak, they wither and fall. People are weak in childhood, and as they reach their prime, they too gradually grow old. The use of troops follows the same pattern: flaunting strength and glorifying arms gives rise to disorder. Once disorder arises, defeat will follow. Since defeat is inevitable, such conduct cannot be said to accord with the Dao. What goes against the Dao cannot serve as a guiding principle. In that case, it is better to stop early.

Thus, a righteous army can take the lead; an army that takes up arms in response to what is right can win; an army that takes up arms out of anger will be defeated; and an arrogant army will be destroyed. Those skilled in the use of troops first seek to make proper arrangements, then act decisively without boasting. They do not act out of anger, nor do they covet or grow proud. They take up arms only when there is no other choice, to eliminate hostile forces and save the people—not to rely on strength or delight in war. The Jie on Cultivating the Self says: “People become withered because they do not practice the Dao. Those who do not practice the Dao end up dying young.”

In assisting a ruler, one should rely on De, not flaunt power through splendid weapons and a mighty army. That is why the text next discusses “fine weapons.”

“Fine weapons” are not auspicious objects. All things tend to loathe them, so a person who has the Dao does not draw near to them.

“Fine” means to cherish and esteem. To cherish and esteem weapons, treating them as ornaments and playthings, is to prize instruments of evil. Weapons harm people’s bodies and spirits; only the fierce and unruly delight in handling them. If all things loathe them, how much less would a person who has the Dao draw near to weapons?

In ordinary life, the gentleman honors the left; in military affairs, he honors the right.

The way Heaven and Earth operate is this: the left belongs to Yang, and the right to Yin. Yang represents De and growth, as well as softness; Yin represents punishment and killing, as well as hardness. Therefore, in ordinary life, the gentleman places people of De on the left. When military action is called for, he places the brave on the right.

Weapons are inauspicious things, not implements a gentleman uses in everyday life.

This passage restates what came before, using the classic to explain the classic. Weapons are chiefly for killing and fighting. They embody force and are used to harm others, so they are instruments of ill. A gentleman takes Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness as his guiding principles, and acts according to Dao, De, benevolence, and righteousness. At most, weapons may be used to guard against the threat of force; they are not things a gentleman would ordinarily use.

When there is no choice but to use weapons, calm restraint is best.

When outside peoples invade the Central States or bandits cause disorder, a gentleman who follows the Dao may have no choice but to take up arms, yet he does not start a war. He does not presume to be the host, but takes the position of a guest; he does not dare advance an inch, but would rather retreat a foot. These are all measures of last resort. The purpose of a righteous army is to put an end to calamity and disorder and to meet the enemy, not to seize land or wealth.

Zhuangzi says that Yinan of the South Market played with pellets and resolved a dispute between two families. Sun Shuao rested at ease, holding a feather fan, and the people of Ying, the capital of Chu, laid down their weapons. This is victory without fighting, with calm restraint as the highest course. Another interpretation says that “calm” means the mind is undisturbed, while “composure” means the heart is at peace. Remaining undisturbed when events arise is also a way of cultivating oneself.

Even when victorious, one must not take pride in it. To regard victory as something glorious is to delight in killing. Those who delight in killing cannot achieve their aims under Heaven.

The greatest virtue of Heaven and Earth is to bring all things to life. For this reason, all things and all people cherish life. When people are not brought to submission through virtue, but instead armies are sent out and weapons taken up to kill and win, how could a person who follows the Dao approve?

The Liezi records that Zhao Xiangzi sent a retainer to attack the state of Di. After winning, he wore a sorrowful expression. This is how a wise ruler regards victory; hence a battle won is not something to praise. If someone treats killing enemies and winning as a fine thing, that person takes pleasure in killing. One who loves killing will not win people’s allegiance; in the end, someone will come to kill him. Such a violent, bloodthirsty person must not be allowed to gain power over the world. If he does, he will surely defy Heaven’s life-protecting virtue and kill at will. How could Heaven then protect him?

At auspicious occasions, the left is honored; at funerals, the right is honored. In the army, the deputy commander stands on the left and the commander-in-chief on the right. This means that the arrangement follows the rites for mourning.

The left belongs to Yang and governs life, so in ordinary rites it is honored and symbolizes good fortune. The right belongs to Yin and governs death, so in funeral rites it is honored and symbolizes grief and mourning. The Book of Rites, in the “Tan Gong” chapter, records that when Confucius and his disciples stood with their hands clasped, Confucius stood on the right, and his disciples followed his example. Confucius said, “You are indeed eager to learn! I stand on the right because my elder sister has died.” His meaning was that the disciples should return to the ordinary custom of honoring the left. The commander-in-chief leads the army and holds authority over killing, so he stands on the right; the deputy does not hold that authority alone, so he stands on the left. This means that military arrangements follow the rites for mourning. Today, the commander-in-chief stands on the right precisely because war is treated according to the rules of funeral rites.

When many people have been killed, one should mourn them with sorrow and grief. Even after victory in battle, the dead should be treated according to the rites for mourning.

A just army takes up arms only when there is no other choice. Even in victory, it kills and wounds many people; victory is not something to boast of. One should therefore feel sorrow and mourn the dead. The commander stands on the right, for the right is the place from which funeral rites are conducted.

Weapons are inauspicious things and should be used only when there is no other choice. What the exemplary person values is the Dao’s ordinary course. That is why the discussion now turns to “the Dao that is constant and nameless.”

The Dao is constant and nameless. Though the Uncarved Block is small, nothing under heaven can rule over it. If the lords and kings can hold fast to the Dao, the myriad things will naturally come to them.

Whether vast or subtle, the Dao leaves nothing out: it embraces the myriad things and reaches through to the tiniest detail. In stillness and emptiness, it contains what is real; within Yang, it also contains Yin. This is what is meant by saying, “The Dao is not a constant, fixed Dao, and a name is not a constant, fixed name.” Thus we say, “The Dao is constant and nameless.” Since the Dao is nameless, it is not an implement that can be put to work. Its particular functions have not yet appeared; this state is called the Uncarved Block. The Dao’s Uncarved Block is subtle, so it cannot be seen or heard. This is what is meant by “small.”

All kinds of capable, named things in the world can be put to work by the Dao of Wuwei (non-action): discernment can govern sight, acuity can govern hearing, intellect can govern the will, courage can govern strength, eloquence can govern speech, and skill can govern affairs. Only the Dao’s Uncarved Block is nameless, so nothing under heaven can rule over it.

If the lords and kings can hold fast to the foundation of Wuwei, they may occupy a high position yet remain detached and unassuming, with an open and still heart. Then external things cannot burden their true nature, and desires and appetites cannot disturb their spirit. In this way, the myriad things will naturally come to them, and the people will all obey.

When the Yin-Yang Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth mingle, sweet dew descends. No one commands it to do so, yet it naturally spreads everywhere in an even measure.

When Heaven remains in a state of Wuwei (non-action, following things as they are without imposing arbitrary action), Yin Qi descends. When Earth remains in a state of Wuwei, Yang Qi rises. The two kinds of Qi from Heaven and Earth mingle, and harmonious Qi gathers. Sweet dew falls, and auspicious signs appear. This is the Way that rulers should follow in governing the state. When the virtues of Heaven and Earth harmonize, they can also communicate with the spirits. The Dao De Jing says, “I practice Wuwei, and the people transform themselves naturally; I do not favor elaborate display, and the people return naturally to simplicity.” These words show that people can naturally come under the influence of good teaching and live in peace without the need for commands.

At its beginning, the Dao has no name; this is what “the Dao is constantly nameless” means. To have a name means that the myriad things each acquire their own names and uses. Though the Dao is initially nameless, it can govern all things that have names, like an uncarved block of wood. When the block is divided, it is made into various vessels. The sage applies the Dao just as one uses its principles to govern the officials. Once names and functions are established, distinctions between high and low, superior and subordinate, become clear. People must not overstep their proper bounds, and so they should know where to stop. To know when to stop is to understand how things work. With both understanding and wisdom, how could one fall into danger? The Heshang Gong edition reads, “Heaven, too, will know this,” meaning that if people emulate the Dao and put De into practice, Heaven will know. The different interpretations express the same principle.

The Dao extends throughout the world, like the waters of streams and valleys that ultimately flow into rivers and seas.

The Dao (the Way) extends throughout the world, reaching everywhere—from the Clear Capital and Purple Palace, the celestial residences where immortals are said to dwell, down to rubble and tiny weeds. When a state follows the Dao, it flourishes; when it goes against the Dao, it declines. If rulers can uphold clarity, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action)—refraining from arbitrary action and allowing things to follow their natural course—they can attune themselves to harmony above and win the people’s support below. Then root and branch will work in concert, and everyone will benefit. This is like streams flowing from valleys into rivers and seas: moving with the current, they nourish all things; going against it, they surge and churn, scouring the land into sand.

When the Dao is upheld, all things submit. One who knows oneself can also know others. That is why the text next says, “One who knows others is wise.”

Knowing others is wisdom; knowing oneself is clarity.

Observing and distinguishing among others is called “wisdom.” Understanding another person’s words and actions allows us to know that person, but this is only the wisdom used to understand others; it is not the same as knowing oneself. Knowing oneself and quietly holding fast to one’s inner nature is called “clarity.” Understanding without saying much is to perceive the Way of Heaven. This is simply the clarity of keeping to oneself, yet it surpasses the wisdom that only observes and judges others.

To overcome others takes strength; to overcome oneself is true power.

Overcoming others is not a way to prevail consistently; this kind of power is merely physical strength. With strength, one can defeat those who are weaker, but against an equal one may be put in danger. Overcoming oneself, by contrast, is a way to prevail consistently. This power lies in gentleness and humility: all things will place what is gentle and humble first. This is how one seems not to contend for victory, yet naturally prevails; one does not force oneself to take on responsibility, yet is able to bear it. Such a person can remain secure and free from danger. Is this not true power?

One who knows contentment is rich; one who strives to put the Dao into practice has resolve.

“Knowing contentment” means being able to restrain one’s desires. When one’s desires do not become excessive and one lives frugally, satisfied with what one has, one may be called rich. “Striving” means diligently putting principles into practice. Through diligent effort, one can achieve something; hence one may be called resolute and steadfast in one’s principles.

The Zhuangzi says: When Zengzi lived in the state of Wei, he wore worn-out coarse cloth, his face was swollen and haggard, and his hands and feet were covered in calluses. For three days he had not lit a fire to cook, and for ten years he had made no new clothes. When he adjusted his hat, its strap broke; when he lifted his robe, his elbow showed; and when he put on his shoes, their heels were worn through. Dragging his broken shoes, he sang the “Hymns of Shang.” His voice filled Heaven and Earth, ringing like metal and stone. The Son of Heaven could not make him a minister, and the feudal lords could not befriend him. Those who nurture their aspirations forget their outward form; those who nurture their bodies forget profit; and those who attain the Dao forget the mind that makes distinctions and calculations. This is precisely what is meant by “the contented are rich, and those who strive diligently are resolute.”

“Those who do not lose their place endure; those who die yet do not perish have longevity” means: if one does not lose the root one upholds, one can endure. Though a person dies, if their spirit or moral influence does not vanish, they may be said to have longevity.

Here, “place” refers to the circumstances Heaven assigns to people, such as long or short life, success or hardship, high or low status, and wealth or poverty. By upholding what is constant, accepting one’s allotted circumstances, and not allowing gain or loss to unsettle the heart, one can remain secure for a long time. Such a person, while alive, does not regard life as something to cling to, understanding that life comes naturally. When death comes, they do not fear or grieve, understanding that life will naturally depart in time. They simply follow their destiny and wait for life to reach its end. Because they do not damage their life or wound their spirit, they may be called long-lived.

Yan Junping said: If you do not understand other people, you cannot understand the affairs of the world; if you do not understand the affairs of the world, you cannot associate with others. If you do not understand yourself, you cannot know the Way of Heaven; if you do not know the Way of Heaven, you cannot foresee what is to come. If you cannot surpass others, you cannot occupy a superior position; if you cannot occupy a superior position, you cannot become a ruler. If you cannot overcome yourself, you cannot attain contentment; if you cannot attain contentment, you cannot win others over. If a person does not know contentment, they cannot understand what it means to be rich; if they do not understand what it means to be rich, they cannot bring their desires to rest.

If one acts by force, one cannot accord with the Great Dao; without according with the Great Dao, one cannot grasp its intent. If action does not follow its own nature, harmony cannot be attained. Without harmony, life cannot endure; without enduring life, spirit cannot be accumulated. When spirit cannot be accumulated, it is difficult to prolong one’s years.

Thus, in establishing oneself and dealing with the world, in governing the realm, promoting benefit and removing harm, responding to events, and adapting to change, nothing is more important than wisdom. If one can gather in one’s ears and eyes and build up one’s clarity of perception, establish a state and govern its people, understand the intent of the Great Dao and the patterns of the Way of Heaven, nothing is more important than knowing oneself.

In wielding power and governing the people, establishing laws and rites, providing instruction and issuing decrees, and bringing peace to the realm so that subjects and feudal lords submit, nothing is more important than overcoming oneself. When people uphold virtue, accord with the spirits, inherit the Dao of Heaven and Earth, harmonize Yin-Yang, and conduct themselves with due regard for the human heart in every advance and retreat, nothing is more precious than self-restraint.

The foundation of governing the realm lies in knowing oneself. In wielding power and governing the people, establishing laws and rites, providing instruction and issuing decrees, and bringing peace to the realm so that subjects and feudal lords submit, nothing is more important than overcoming oneself. When people uphold virtue, accord with the spirits, inherit the Dao of Heaven and Earth, harmonize Yin-Yang, and conduct themselves with due regard for the human heart in every advance and retreat, nothing is more precious than self-restraint.

In governing a household and protecting the state, bringing ease and happiness to the people, handling matters with reason, respect, and care, and teaching people to be loving and filial and to respect the law, nothing is wiser than knowing contentment. Letting the mind roam among the spirits…

Even amid fame and prominence, one can remain calm and at peace. To attain honor, distinction, and prosperity, nothing is better than having one’s wishes fulfilled. To hold office and fulfill one’s duties, serve those above and govern those below, accomplish one’s own work, carry on the work of one’s predecessors, and benefit the people with its results, nothing is better than being able to endure. What Heaven and Earth cherish, and what all beings depend on, is to dwell in it without weariness and delight in it without end, so that every kind of good fortune flourishes together. To avoid competing with the myriad things for favor, nothing is better than longevity.

Lu Xisheng says: “Knowing external things is called ‘wisdom,’ like the light the sun and flames cast outward. Knowing how to turn inward is called ‘illumination,’ like the light metal and water reflect within. Overcoming another’s violence through gentleness and weakness is strength in accord with the Dao. Conquering one’s own restlessness by keeping gentleness within is the firmness of a person of De. Knowing contentment in the pursuit of profit and desire prevents harm to one’s great work; hence this is called being strong and prosperous. Practicing benevolence and righteousness brings one to abundant De; hence this is called being resolute. Acting without departing from the constant Dao enables one to endure. Though the body dies, the Dao does not perish; hence this is called longevity.”

To know others is to surpass them; to know oneself is to understand the Way of Heaven. To accomplish these things without losing one’s roots, so that the Dao does not perish after the body dies, and to reach broadly without being burdened—this may be what it means to attain the Dao. Therefore, the text next says, “The great Dao is vast and boundless” (the great Dao extends everywhere without limit).

The great Dao is vast and boundless; it reaches everywhere, to the left and to the right.

“Vast and boundless” describes what is unbound and unattached. The Dao is supreme and unfathomably deep. It conforms to the straightedge and can be measured evenly; it accords with the compass and square, taking round and square form. It contains the entire cosmos yet has no boundary between inside and outside. It is wholly integrated with the myriad things that cover Heaven and Earth, yet nothing can fully circumscribe it. The Dao is boundless and fills all space without constraint; this speaks of the Dao’s substance. Whether to the left or the right, one can encounter its source. It is everywhere and flows through all things; this speaks of the Dao’s function.

The myriad things rely on the Dao to come into being, and the Dao does not refuse them. When things are accomplished, the Dao does not claim the credit.

“Relying on” means depending on something. Heaven depends on the Yang Qi of the Dao, moving above; Earth depends on the Dao’s Yin Qi, resting below. Even Heaven and Earth, vast as they are, depend on the Dao’s activity. How much more so the myriad things: which of them was not born from the Dao?

The Great Dao has no feelings, yet it generates and nourishes Heaven and Earth. How, then, could it refuse the labor of caring for the myriad things? The Great Dao has no form, nor does it create things by means of anything tangible. Although the myriad things may seem to depend on something, if we trace their origins, they appear to change independently and arise naturally, as though each arose on its own. There is no sign of anyone stepping forward as an intermediary to excuse them or offer thanks on their behalf. The sage accomplishes great deeds without claiming credit for them; this is precisely to follow the Dao’s way of acting.

The Dao loves and nurtures the myriad things without ruling them; it is always free of desire and may be called “small”

The Dao nourishes the myriad things without asking anything in return. Thus the sage, with benevolence, nurtures all kinds of beings, allowing each to grow according to its own nature without ruling over it. The Jing says, “Always free of desire, one observes its mysteries.” The Dao’s subtlety reaches everywhere; therefore, its unadorned nature may be called “small.” Another version reads, “Clothes and covers the myriad things.” “Clothes and covers” means to shelter and nourish them.

The myriad things return to the Dao, yet the Dao does not rule them; it may be called “great”

The Dao covers and bears the myriad things, all of which lie within its embrace. The myriad things return to the Dao, yet each is different; the Dao brings them all back to itself without claiming the status of ruler. The Zhuangzi says, “To unite what is different is called great.” This means that what can encompass different things and give them a place is worthy of being called great. The Dao, so vast that it encompasses everything, may therefore be called “great.”

Thus the sage never claims to be great, and precisely for this reason achieves greatness.

The sage follows the Great Dao and remains humble throughout, calling himself “orphaned,” “bereft,” or “unworthy” (self-deprecating titles used by rulers in ancient times). He therefore never claims greatness for himself. The states under Heaven all rally to him, willingly choosing him as their leader without growing weary of him. This is precisely why he can achieve greatness.

Du Guangting says: The sage cares for the people and shows compassion for all things, extending kindness to the small as well as the great; in this sense, he may be called humble. He lets all things follow their own nature and attributes their accomplishments to Heaven; in this sense, he may also be called grand. He models his teaching on the Great Dao, brings the benefits of De (Virtue/Power) to everyone, guides them with an atmosphere of simplicity and peace, and governs them through quiet, restrained policies. He forgets his achievements and does not claim them as his own, nor does he exalt himself. Thus his accomplishments flourish and grow vast, and his sage virtue endures. Because he does not claim greatness for himself, he is able to attain such dignity and grandeur.

Those who cultivate themselves should be open and unimpeded, attached to no single course. They should be like clouds, free of intention, and like water, changing shape to fit whatever contains it: they may be on the left or on the right; they take a square shape when the vessel is square and a round shape when it is round, without clinging to fixed patterns. When things come, they respond, reflecting all things like a bright mirror; the range of what they can perceive is therefore broad. They do not boast of what they have done. Though they benefit many things, they do not praise themselves for having the virtue of benefiting all beings. Their benevolence extends to every living thing, yet they never claim it as their private possession. The many good deeds are attributed to the Great Dao, while they do not presume to be its master. In this way, they show a virtue that is neither biased toward smallness nor self-assertive about greatness. They do not make their name known through self-exaltation and boastfulness, and so they accord with the complete and genuine Great Dao.

The Great Dao circulates everywhere; from every direction, one can encounter its source. All things turn toward the Great Dao because it holds fast to the “Great Image” (the overall pattern and form of the Great Dao) and takes it as its rule. That is why the text next says, “Hold fast to the Great Image.”

When one holds fast to the overall pattern of the Great Dao, the people under Heaven will turn toward it. Once they have turned toward it, they will not harm one another, and all under Heaven can be settled, peaceful, and at ease.

“The Great Image” is the fundamental principle embodied by the Dao. It can also refer to the standards of governance revealed in the Eight Trigrams and the Nine Domains. In ancient times, rulers governed the realm without deliberate action, simply following the De of Heaven. Later, sages devised hexagram images and observed things; good and ill fortune could then be clearly distinguished, and change became apparent. People began to weigh gain against loss, and advance against retreat.

When Heaven and Earth first began to change, governing the realm by holding to the fundamental principle would cause the simple, unadorned way of life to fade. “Going” means departing. When simplicity has only just begun to fade, it can still be sustained by the fundamental principle, so doing so does no harm. “Going without harm” means acting in response to the times, establishing achievements according to actual conditions, assigning duties in light of people’s abilities, and not damaging anyone’s nature or proper place. In this way, the realm can be brought to peace and harmony.

Yan Junping, a Daoist scholar of the Western Han, said: “The Dao has no form, so Heaven and Earth depend on it for their birth. The Dao is not a concrete thing, so Yin-Yang depend on it for their beginning. The Dao has no fixed laws, so the four seasons depend on it to move through their cycles. The Dao has no visible image, so the myriad things depend on it for their transformations. The fundamental principle itself has no fixed laws; the Great Image itself has no visible form. The greatest ‘nothing’ is not absolute nonexistence, and the greatest ‘being’ is not a concrete, visible presence. Life arises from the formless, and the roots of obstruction are already present before they appear. Thus, through Wuwei, Heaven and Earth take shape; through De, which does not act deliberately, the myriad things each find their place. Why, then, impose arrangements by force? The Dao does not cling to being or nonbeing, success or failure, and so it moves freely; the myriad things, in turn, each rest in their own place. This is what it means to follow the De of Heaven.”

If the Dao’s transformations had to wait for human action before taking place, the changes it could bring about would be few. If its effects had to wait until people had completed their tasks, the benefits received by the myriad things would also be limited. This is where gain and loss, advance and retreat, come from. The text therefore says next:

Music and fine food can make passersby stop in their tracks.

This explains the principle through metaphor. People will always pause for a while to listen to harmonious music, and guests will stay temporarily to enjoy delicious food. But after listening for too long, the ears grow weary; after eating too much, the palate becomes dull; and when guests stay too long, their host grows tired and annoyed.

When laws are first introduced, the people draw close to them and praise them. But once their flaws emerge, the people fear and disdain them. Zhuangzi said that benevolence and righteousness are like an inn where the former kings stopped for a night: one may lodge there briefly, but not dwell there for long. Stay too long, and people will scrutinize the place and criticize its shortcomings. This describes the function of laws: they change as times rise and decline. If they are rigidly kept in force for too long, they will inevitably fall into disrepair. Once laws have fallen into disrepair, how could they fail to bring harm? And after people have already suffered from them, how can there be peace and stability?

The Dao, when spoken of, is bland and tasteless.

Music intoxicates people, and delicious food leads them to overeat; afterward, they grow weary or their sense of taste goes dull. When fundamental laws fall into disrepair, people’s fear and disdain also become evident. The Dao, by contrast, is bland and tasteless when spoken of. This is what is meant by “true words are not ornate.” In stillness and Wuwei (non-action), the people can rest in their nature, eat and drink their fill, and live at ease in an unselfconscious state of naturalness, without even knowing where they are going. What need is there for pleasing music or delicious food to make them listen closely and chew again and again?

Look at it, and it cannot be seen; listen to it, and it cannot be heard; use it, and it will never be exhausted.

Humanly devised laws and forms, when known only through the eyes and ears, will eventually reach their limits. The Dao of natural non-action, however, cannot be exhausted through sound and sight. Hence it is said that it cannot be seen or heard. From ancient times to the present, its name has never vanished. The people use it every day without knowing it is there; this is why its efficacy can never be exhausted.

When you are attached to no fixed form, your use of things is unrestricted; and when it is unrestricted, its effects are inexhaustible. If you cling to something fixed, how can you avoid the shifts between contraction and expansion, giving and taking? That is why what follows says, “To contract it, first expand it.”

To contract something, you must first let it expand fully; to weaken it, you must first let it grow strong; to abolish it, you must first let it arise; to take something from it, you must first give to it. This is called “subtle illumination”: seeing clearly, through minute changes, the principles by which things develop.

Earlier commentators offered many interpretations of this chapter, but most did not make its principles clear. Some cited Confucius’s remarks on “expedient judgment”—adapting flexibly to circumstances—while others based their arguments on shifts in statecraft and political strategy. Such accounts are close to the techniques of the persuaders and strategists, and are not reliable. In fact, this chapter accords with the workings of Heaven’s secrets described in the Scripture of the Hidden Talisman. Its key lies in the discerning person’s discreet observation of change and flexible use of it.

Lu Xisheng said: The deepest insight of the Sage lies in the subtle relationship between expedient judgment and the constant Way. The constant Way takes conformity to enduring patterns as its foundation; expedient judgment means adopting, in a particular situation, an approach that seems to go against the norm. Expedient judgment serves to fulfill the constant Way, while the constant Way makes expedient judgment possible. Though the two differ, in the end they are one. Laozi taught people the constant Way so they could understand enduring principles, and also spoke of expedient judgment as a way to respond to the myriad things. The Book of Changes says, “It brings all things to completion through bending, leaving none out; it encompasses Heaven and Earth without overstepping.” This too means bringing all things to completion by following their changes, so that each finds its proper place.

The Explanation of the Grand Commentary of Huainan records that Duke Huan of Qi enjoyed delicacies, so Yi Ya cooked his own son and served him to the duke. The ruler of Yu prized treasures, so Duke Xian of Jin tempted him with a jade disk and fine horses. The ruler of the Hu people loved music, so Duke Mu of Qin lured him with dancers and musicians. In each case, someone was brought under another’s control through a craving for gain.

Yan Junping said: The workings of Dao and De are the laws recorded by the spirits, transformed by Heaven and Earth, and regulated by Yin-Yang. What is real may turn into emptiness; what is bright may turn dim; what flourishes may decline; what expands may slacken; what is possessed may be lost; and life may turn to death. This is the nature of the myriad things and the pattern of the natural world.

Thus, reversals and changes, bending and extending, advancing and retreating, each have their own advantage and momentum. Dao can govern Heaven, Heaven can govern the ruler, the ruler can govern the ministers, and the ministers can govern the people. All living beings that breathe also strive to preserve themselves. When tigers and leopards would rely on their claws and teeth, they hide them; when wolves are about to seize their prey, they conceal their fangs. The Sage sets aside private intentions and follows the Great Way; the wise adapt to the ways of the world and show care for the people. Frank advice often grates on the ear, so people abandon the right path; when treacherous ministers rise, they often cater to the ruler’s wishes. Those who understand this and put it to good use can benefit the world in every place. Those who do not may bring harm even within their own household, among their closest kin.

A son or younger brother, then, may at times be like a tiger or wolf; an enemy or stranger may at times act like a father or elder brother. What seems to deny something may contain an affirmation, and what affirms it may contain a denial. A temporary gain or loss, success or failure, may preserve a person or bring about their ruin. So even those close to us cannot be trusted if they are disloyal; and those who are familiar cannot be kept near if they lack goodness. This is a principle that the worthy lament and the Sage’s wise discernment gives careful thought to.

The Zhuangzi records that Xu Wugui went to see Marquis Wu of Wei. He began by speaking about dogs and horses, tending to the ruler’s spirit and body, and only afterward spoke of the Way of governing the state. This is an example of a wise person using the Way of contraction and expansion. From this, the meaning of “subtle illumination” becomes clear.

The soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong. The principle described here also reflects the importance of weighing circumstances and using political techniques with flexibility.

Fish cannot leave deep water. Likewise, the means of power a state uses to control the situation must not be casually shown to others. Political strategy is an important instrument for governing affairs. Once a fish leaves deep water, even ants can harm it. If a state’s strategies are disclosed to its ministers, ordinary people may seize the opportunity to manipulate them, to say nothing of ambitious schemers. The Scripture of the Hidden Talisman (Yinfu Jing), a Daoist classic, says, “Heaven has five thieves; those who perceive them prosper.” Given this, how could such secrets be shown to others carelessly?

Another interpretation says that once a fish leaves deep water, it can no longer readily survive, and once power falls into the hands of ministers, it is difficult to take back. Han Fei said that the authority held by a ruler is like the deep water on which a fish depends for survival, while ministers are like fish in that water. Since people in antiquity could not speak plainly, they used the fish as a metaphor.

Rewards and punishments are also important powers of the state. When the ruler controls them, he can restrain his ministers; if ministers control them, they can hold the ruler in their grasp. So if the ruler lets ministers know in advance who is to be rewarded, they may act first to bestow favors and claim the credit. If he lets them know in advance who is to be punished, they may use that knowledge to establish their authority. How could the state’s important powers be entrusted to others without great care?

The Honglie Jie, a chapter of the Huainanzi, records that in the past, when Sicheng Zihan served as prime minister of the state of Song, he said to the ruler of Song: “The security of the state and the order or disorder of its people all depend on how the ruler administers rewards and punishments. Rank and rewards are what the people desire, so I ask that Your Majesty bestow them personally. Execution and punishment are what the people resent, so I ask that you entrust them to me.” The ruler of Song agreed, saying, “I will enjoy the good reputation for granting favors, while you will bear the ill repute for incurring resentment. In that case, the other rulers will have no reason to mock me.”

Thereafter, everyone in the state knew that executions and punishments were controlled by Zihan. The ministers drew close to him, and the people feared him. In less than a year, Zihan had forced the ruler of Song aside and monopolized the government. This was like a fish leaving deep water, and like the state’s important powers falling into the hands of its ministers.

Gathering in, opening out, giving, and taking—these arts of change are called “subtle illumination,” insight that is minute and deeply hidden. If things are revealed too plainly, the fish will flee the depths. Only what is hidden and unseen can accord with the constant Dao. Thus the next chapter speaks of “the Dao always abides in Wuwei.”

The Dao always abides in a state of Wuwei, yet nothing remains unaccomplished. If the lords and kings can uphold this principle, all things will transform of themselves.

The Dao’s constant state is deep, still, and unmoving; this is why it is called “Wuwei.” It responds in accord with all things, while each thing’s changes unfold according to its own nature; hence the saying, “nothing remains undone.” If the lords and kings can always keep their minds empty and still, act through Wuwei, and hold firm without wavering, all things will naturally submit and transform. The Dao De Jing says, “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform of themselves.”

If, amid the transformations of all things, anyone gives rise to desire and a restless, deluded mind, I will soothe them with the “uncarved simplicity without a name”—the pure, unhewn Dao, untouched by human names and distinctions.

Good people in the world are few; those who are not good are many. Therefore, the sage’s teaching through De is always skilled at helping people. Even if someone refuses the teaching and wishes to act recklessly, turning away from the Dao, the sage bears with them and soothes them with the nameless Dao and the principle of simplicity, leading them back to stillness and Wuwei.

The nameless uncarved simplicity, too, does not cling to desire. When desire does not arise, one can return to stillness, and the world will naturally come into order.

The Dao has no fixed form. Here, “simplicity” is used to explain the Dao, but those who cling to outward appearances may take simplicity to be something they can grasp, leaving an affliction for later generations. The sage worries that this affliction cannot be remedied, and so does not cling even to preserving the phrase “nameless uncarved simplicity.” In this way, the world settles peacefully of itself and returns to the Dao’s constant state: Wuwei, with nothing left undone.

Lu Xisheng says: The opening chapter takes the constant Dao as its essence and the constant name as its function, ultimately returning to the “deep abyss,” a profound and remote realm. This chapter takes Wuwei as its essence and nothing left undone as its function, ultimately encompassing all in “forgetting both,” in which distinctions between this and that, self and things, are all forgotten. The beginnings and endings of the two chapters join together to clarify the essence and function of the Dao.

The Dao always abides in Wuwei: this is the constant Dao. The constant Dao can respond to change, and therefore nothing remains unaccomplished.

End of volume five of Collected Subtle Interpretations from the Chamber of the Dao De Zhen Jing.

Volume six of Collected Subtle Interpretations from the Chamber of the Dao De Zhen Jing.

Compiled by Master Chen Jingyuan of Bixu.

The lower section of the Classic of De (De Jing) explains De (Virtue/Power), taking freedom from attachment to De as its foundation. “Not having De” means forgetting that one possesses De, allowing it to work naturally.

“Those of highest De do not regard themselves as having De; that is why they truly have De.”

“De” also means “attainment”: inwardly, one attains the Dao; outwardly, one can accord with the myriad things, continually accomplishing things without loss. One benefits the myriad things without harming them, enabling them to grow. This is called De. De arises because it contains the Dao. When someone has De but does not make a name for it, this shows a deep accord with the Dao; when someone has De and proclaims it, this shows a shallow accord. The Dao has depths and shallows, and so De too has higher and lower forms.

“Highest De” means the utmost De. It is profound and vast, merging with the myriad things. People cannot see its traces, so they think it makes no deliberate effort to bestow De. It conceals its brilliance and does not display its edge; it acts without rigid constraints. The people benefit from it day after day without knowing why. Its De is therefore complete, and it is called “having De.”

“Those of lower De do not lose sight of De; that is why they do not truly have De.”

The traces and effects of lower De gradually become apparent, until its De is dissipated. It acts in accordance with the circumstances of things, preserving the stability of both those things and itself. People everywhere praise it and credit it with a fine reputation. This takes it far from utmost De, and so it is said to be “without De.”

“Those of highest De practice Wuwei (non-action), yet there is nothing they deliberately set out to do.”

Those of the highest De receive by nature the most subtle and wondrous qualities of the natural order, and their lives are endowed with the refined substance of primordial Qi. Their spirit connects Heaven and Earth, and their wisdom shines in harmony with the sun and moon. Their hearts are free of deliberation, and they naturally abide in Wuwei (non-action). They give no thought to merit or fame, and they seek nothing through their own actions. This is called “doing nothing.” In truth, they simply let themselves follow nature, and so things come to them of their own accord.

An older version reads, “Those of the highest De do nothing, yet nothing is left undone.” This means that people of the highest De are tranquil in mind and calm in temperament. They follow what their hearts incline toward without going against nature; they let their innate character act without opposing the myriad things. Thus, though they seem to do nothing, there is nothing they cannot accomplish.

Those of lower De take action, but their hearts cling to aims and intentions.

Lower De is a step below the highest De. Those who possess it receive a nature that is peaceful and detached, and their lives are endowed with the pure, harmonious substance of primordial Qi. Their spirit accords with Yin-Yang, and their discernment is as clear as the sun and moon. The people admire and support them, and are glad to recommend them, so they are said to “take action.” An older version reads, “Those of lower De act, but have no aim in acting.” This means that people of lower De harbor the thought of emulating others. They hold fast to emptiness and stillness, and proceed cautiously when responding to changing circumstances, not daring to act rashly. Hence they are said to “do nothing.”

Those of the highest benevolence take action, but do not claim it as their own.

Benevolence means extending kindness widely and caring for all. Thus, there are many things to be done. Though those of the highest benevolence take action, they do not show favoritism, which is why they are called “those of the highest benevolence.” They willingly seek to help everyone, so they are said to “take action.” Once their work is done, they claim no credit; once things are accomplished, they do not hold on to the results. Hence they do not claim their actions as their own.

Those of the highest righteousness take action and rely on judgments.

Righteousness means what is fitting. To insist that everything be fitting inevitably requires making choices and distinctions. Those who can handle all kinds of affairs while striving to deal with them appropriately are called “those of the highest righteousness.” Since this involves judging what is beneficial or harmful and seeking what is appropriate, they are said to “take action.” Everything they do involves weighing and choosing, so they are said to “rely on judgments.”

Those who embody the highest propriety take action. If others do not respond, they roll up their sleeves and force them back into the bounds of ritual propriety.

“To bare the arm” means to roll up one’s sleeve and expose the arm; “to reach out” means to draw something toward oneself or extend a hand.

What is called “ritual” is putting the Dao into practice and acting in accordance with it. Ritual distinguishes those above from those below and establishes rank and status. It makes people humble, accommodating, and gentle, so that they do not become contentious. This is ritual’s foundation, which is why it is called the higher aspect. Exchanging jade and silk, observing forms of decorum, responding appropriately, and the courtesies of advancing and withdrawing—kneeling, bowing, and making formal gestures—are all outward forms of ritual, and so belong to its lesser aspect.

Zhuangzi said, “Great ritual accords with the rhythms of Heaven and Earth.” He also said, “Only with ritual as your support can you make your way in the world.” The ancient sages established ritual to settle people’s minds and correct their bearing; in this sense, ritual was created by human beings. But people of middling and low attainment lose sight of its foundation and instead prize its forms, multiplying elaborate and cumbersome rules that cannot be applied appropriately to actual circumstances. This shows how ritual gradually loses its original meaning. Worse still, people suddenly change expression, thrust out their arms and hands, and argue over who should advance or withdraw, turning ritual into the starting point of conflict. This is an even more serious departure from ritual.

Laozi next describes how the state of undivided wholeness becomes dispersed and ultimately gives way to this situation. Yan Junping said: “Those who are empty and free of action, and who open the way for all things, are called Daoist people. Those who are quiet and accommodating, with nothing they cannot accomplish, are called people of De. Those who love all things equally and give without limit are called people of benevolence. Those who clarify distinctions, set matters straight, and act appropriately are called people of righteousness. Those who yield and defer, and who are respectful while maintaining harmony, are called people of ritual.” These five states are all traces left behind when the Dao becomes manifest; they are not the highest attainment. Those who reach the highest state do not cling even to the name “Dao”—how, then, could they make these five distinctions?

Thus, only after the Dao was lost did people emphasize De; only after De was lost did they emphasize benevolence; only after benevolence was lost did they emphasize righteousness; and only after righteousness was lost did they emphasize ritual.

The Dao, De, benevolence, righteousness, and ritual propriety could not originally be separated into distinct parts; they were blended into a single whole. Only when they became differentiated did these five names appear, and their distinct forms of expression become clear. People then put them into practice according to the needs of their times.

The Dao is the foundation of De, and De is the Dao in action. Only when foundation and action became separate did people begin to speak of De after the Dao was lost. De means gaining or receiving: when all things are able to grow, this is called De. Once living, all things are cherished by people; only after De is lost do people turn to benevolence. Benevolence means affection and care. To care for all things and help each fulfill its proper nature is called righteousness. Only after benevolence is lost do people turn to righteousness. Righteousness means what is fitting. From what is fitting, people proceed to humility and respect; only after righteousness is lost do they turn to ritual propriety. Ritual propriety means putting established norms into practice: following the Dao to form ceremonial practices and rules. When rituals and rules are simple and direct, they are easy to carry out; when they are elaborate and winding, they lead to confusion.

“Loss” means forfeiture. It is natural for the secondary details to flourish as the root is lost. Yan Junping said: The foundation of imperial rule has the Dao as its source and De as its beginning. When the Dao is lost, people turn to De; when De is lost, they turn to benevolence; when benevolence is lost, they turn to righteousness; when righteousness is lost, they turn to ritual propriety; when ritual propriety is lost, disorder follows. These five were originally one, but rulers in the world differ in how well or poorly they put them into practice. Thus, people often do not do what they truly wish to do, and what they seek is not what they can ultimately attain. This is because they fail to devote themselves to following what is natural and instead pursue shallow, trivial things.

The practice of ritual propriety often makes inner feeling and outward display diverge: appearances are splendid while the inside is empty; secondary details flourish while the root grows weak. Ritual propriety is shallower than loyalty, and its stratagems are less powerful than the authority of De. Keeping one’s word is inferior to acting in accordance with what is right, and cultivating De is inferior to practicing benevolence. Ritual propriety is the most secondary of the means of governance, and it can also become the beginning of disorder. Deceit and hypocrisy arise from it, as do resentment and conflict.

Ritual propriety is what appears after loyalty and trust have grown weak, and it is the beginning of calamity and disorder.

If Dao (the Way), De (Virtue/Power), benevolence, and righteousness are neglected, and ritual teachings are treated only as a means of governance, is this not the beginning of loyalty and trust wearing thin, and of disorder arising? If moral conduct, benevolence, and righteousness are honored while ritual teachings are also put to use, then ritual is being used appropriately. What place could not be governed well in this way? Zhuangzi said, “The sage practices a teaching that cannot be conveyed in words. Dao cannot be obtained by force, nor can De be attained by force. Benevolence can be practiced with effort; righteousness may be compromised; ritual can devolve into mutual pretense.” This is the same meaning as saying that ritual teachings mark the beginning of disorder.

“Foreknowledge”—prescient insight and cleverness—is the showy surface of Dao and the beginning of folly.

Refining and exalting ritual teachings are signs of cleverness. Cleverness leads people to plan in advance, hence the term “foreknowledge.” When insight always tries to get ahead of things, the mind finds it hard to let go. Governing a state through cleverness instead makes that cleverness a source of harm to the state. Is this not the showy surface of Dao and the beginning of folly? If one can rein in insight and cleverness and think less, one can return to simplicity. Elaborate rituals breed disorder, while shifting cleverness leads to deceit: this is inevitable.

Thus the great man—the person who follows Dao—rests in honesty and simplicity, without pursuing superficial display; he stands on what is real and does not linger on appearances. So he sets aside the former and chooses the latter.

Wenzi said, “The great man is tranquil and without thought, at ease and without worry. He walks without being confined by roads and wanders without tiring. He enters and leaves without a fixed gate or dwelling. He gathers in his spirit and reins in his perceptions; still and practicing Wuwei (non-action), there is nothing he cannot accomplish.” Such a person naturally dwells in plainness and honesty, in keeping with highest De. He holds fast to loyalty and trust and devotes himself to sincerity. Why would he seek ornate decoration and false affectation? Thus he sets aside the superficial details of ritual and righteousness and chooses the root of Dao and De. In the ancient editions, all four of these lines read “dwelling.”

Only through the mysterious Dao can the myriad things come into being. The greatest virtue of Heaven and Earth lies in bringing forth and nurturing the myriad things. When things are able to grow, this is called “De”; the De that does not claim itself as De is called “highest De.” Dwelling in De without losing it is called “lower De.” Though highest and lower De differ, each has attained the One (Dao). Therefore the text continues with “Of old, those who attained the One.”

In ancient times, those who attained the Dao (the Way) were transformed by it: the sky became clear and bright; the earth became settled and peaceful; spirits showed their efficacy; valleys grew full; all things flourished; and lords and kings were able to become the rightful rulers of the world. Each attained a different result, yet all ultimately came from the same Dao.

The valley mentioned earlier did not boast of its achievements after attaining the Dao. This virtue of taking no credit is precisely what makes it noble; hence it is said to be “above.” It holds fast to this virtue and does not lose it; hence it is also said to be “below.” Though above and below are distinct, each has attained the Dao. That is why the text next speaks of “those who attained the Dao in ancient times.”

“Formerly” means in the past, in ancient times. “One” refers to Original Qi, the fundamental energy that existed before Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things had differentiated. Original Qi is the child of the Great Dao and the mother of the divine spirits. It is also the source of Great Harmony—the energy that brings Yin and Yang into balance—and the ancestor of Heaven and Earth. When it gathers, it becomes living things; when it disperses, it turns into radiance. In Yin, it joins with Yin; in Yang, it resonates with Yang. It dwells in the Jade Capital, the celestial palace of Daoist belief, without becoming aloof or exalted, and remains unstained even amid rubble and filth. It has no fixed place above or below, and its essence remains unchanged through past and present. For this reason, it is called “One.”

“One” concealed within the heart is called the “numinous chamber”; when it rises above the heart, it is called the “numinous terrace.” In stillness, it is called the “True Lord”; as the ruler of the human body, it is called the “True Ruler.” When gathered in, it can be hidden in the tiniest orifices; when spread out, it fills all of space. The Scripture of the Western Ascension says: “If you attain the Dao and hold to the One, you can accomplish all things. When a person empties the heart and waits, the One will naturally return to them.” Zhuangzi says: “Qi waits in emptiness and stillness for things to arrive.” Only the Dao gathers in emptiness and stillness. Zhuangzi also says: “An empty, still room gives rise to brightness, and good fortune comes to rest there.” The empty room here is a metaphor for a heart that is clear and still; it teaches that in cultivation one should empty the heart and wait in stillness.

Heaven is pure Yang energy. Having obtained the One, Heaven moves with strength and covers a vast expanse, revealing a clear sky; from it, all things receive their beginning. Earth is pure Yin substance. Having obtained the One, Earth is peaceful and yielding, substantial in its capacity to bear things, and stable and unmoving; through it, all things are able to grow. That which transforms all things in wondrous ways is called spirit. Having obtained the One, spirit can reach everywhere and transform without limit. It responds with integrity and numinous efficacy, and its dealings with all things never come to an end. A valley is a deep, broad ravine. Having obtained the One, it allows breath to flow and water to gather, remaining full and never drying up.

“Myriad” means an extremely large number; “things” are entities with visible form. Having obtained the One, the myriad things grow and take shape continuously, without perishing. “Marquis” is one of the five ranks of nobility; “king” is a general term for a ruler. Having obtained the One, marquises and kings can preserve the state’s great vessels for a long time, win the allegiance of all, and become the rightful rulers of the world.

Heaven, Earth, spirit, valley, the myriad things, and marquises and kings were discussed above. Their clarity, stability, numinous quality, abundance, and growth all result from a ruler following the Dao and keeping government orders upright. The “uprightness” referred to here means attaining the balance of Qi and holding to the One. If this balance is lost, the myriad things will decline and perish; this point is explained below.

The Kaiyuan Imperial Edition reads, “Their government lacks the One.” But the sentence is incomplete in context, since it is missing the word “two,” so the reading of the ancient edition is adopted here. Yan Junping’s edition omits fourteen characters: “The myriad things obtain it and thereby live,” and, later, “Without it, the myriad things cannot live and will surely perish.” This is because it regards human beings as the most numinous of the myriad things and marquises and kings as rulers of human beings, and so summarizes the point. Retaining these words makes the meaning of the passage more complete; omitting them does not affect its general meaning and is also reasonable.

“To lack” means to lose the fundamental conditions on which one depends to sustain oneself. “There is fear that” serves as a warning: once these foundations are lost, disaster may follow.

Heaven takes clarity and brightness as its constant. It symbolizes Yang Qi and may also be compared to a ruler. If Heaven cannot remain clear and bright, but instead relies on its own power, it loses the Way of clarity and rectitude. Yin and Yang then fall into disorder, the governing order loosens, and primordial Qi can no longer circulate. There may be signs that Heaven is splitting open. Excessive Yang Qi brings calamity and decline; when the harmonizing Qi dissipates, splitting follows. The Book of Yin and Yang says that a split in Heaven shows that Yang Qi is deficient and the ruler’s Virtue is in decline.

Earth takes stillness and stability as its constant. It symbolizes Yin Qi and may also be compared to ministers. If Earth cannot remain still and stable, but instead relies on its own power, it loses the Way of stability. Firmness and gentleness then fall out of balance, mountains and rivers collapse and break apart, and primordial Qi can no longer be held in place. There may be signs that the Earth’s Qi is escaping. Excessive Yin Qi brings floods; when the harmonizing Qi dissipates, the Earth’s Qi leaks away. The Book of Yin and Yang says that an earthquake shows that Yin Qi is in excess and ministers are failing in their duties.

“Spirit” refers to subtle, wondrous transformation. The Jing and Qi of all things flow and connect, each with its own wondrous quality; the unfathomable changes of Yin and Yang belong to this same realm of the wondrous. If Spirit cannot transform with subtlety but instead relies on its own abilities, it loses the Way of adapting to change. Disasters and strange events then arise, all kinds of unusual signs appear, and primordial Qi can no longer remain settled. There may come a time when it declines and fades. Thus, when Spirit loses its Way, it harms the people; when the people are harmed, they in turn reject it. A Spirit that has lost the people’s reverence can no longer fulfill its function.

The “valley” symbolizes emptiness, and so can receive all things. It does not fill itself; if it considers itself complete and insists on relying on itself, it will lose the principle of nourishing flow and invite the danger of collapse and decline. If the pure, harmonious Qi no longer circulates freely, it may run dry. This depletion can determine whether a state survives or falls: when the Luo River dried up, the Xia dynasty perished; when the Yellow River ceased to flow, the Shang dynasty likewise fell.

All things have form and substance, and should accord with change and transformation. If one believes that things can come into being through themselves and insists on relying on themselves, one loses the principle of following nature and goes against one’s own nature. The pure, harmonious Qi will then disperse, and all may ultimately come to ruin.

A ruler connects Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the Three Powers—and occupies the position of the sovereign, governing all things. The ruler should remain humble and restrained, entrusting affairs to capable people. If a ruler relies on rank and grandeur, the teaching of clarity and Wuwei (non-action) will be lost. Officials will neglect their duties, the people will no longer rally to the ruler, and the state will be exposed to the danger of overthrow and ruin.

Although the passages above speak of matters such as Heaven and Earth, in the end they all serve as admonitions to rulers. If even rulers should act this way, how much more should ordinary people?

Thus, honor has lowliness as its root, and height rests on what lies below.

The words that follow sum up the preceding ideas. How could the honored become honored from nothing? They must be upheld by those of low status in order to appear honored. This is what it means for lowliness to be the root. How could something high rise from nothing? It must be supported from below in order to appear high. This is what it means for what lies below to be the foundation.

For this reason, rulers call themselves “the lonely,” “the solitary,” or “the one lacking in goodness”—terms that suggest isolation, insufficient virtue, or a lack of good fortune. Are they not treating lowliness as their root? Is this not so?

“The lonely,” “the solitary,” and “the one lacking in goodness” are all names people regard as lowly and ill-favored. Rulers use them for themselves to remain humble and restrained, rather than boast of their honor. Is this not treating lowliness as the root? The question “Is this not so?” in fact affirms that lowliness truly is the root.

Therefore, striving fiercely for praise can prevent one from receiving genuine praise.

A ruler who embodies the Dao forgets fame and forgets himself. Though the people of the realm praise him again and again, he is not thereby spurred to greater effort; though they criticize him again and again, he is not thereby disheartened. He does not care whether he is respected or not. The Kaiyuan recension reads, “Thus, though there are many parts, there is no separate carriage.” Consider a carriage on its own: it is made up of many parts, such as wheels, spokes, the body, and the axle. There is no single thing apart from these parts called a “carriage”; only when they are joined together does a carriage come into being. The same is true of governing a state. A state is made up of scholars, farmers, artisans, merchants, and the people as a whole; there is no independent “state” apart from its people. If the materials that make up a carriage are neglected, how can it be built? If the people are abandoned, how can the state endure? These words are meant especially to admonish rulers to care for the people.

He does not wish to shine brilliantly like fine jade, nor to stand aloof and hard like a stone.

“Lulu” describes the vivid luster of jade, while “luoluo” describes the plain solidity of stone. The point here is that a ruler who embodies the Dao does not seek to display himself. Instead, he gathers his spirit and conceals his sharpness, remaining as plain as a stone. In this way, he can hold fast to the Dao of emptiness, stillness, harmony, and balance, and become a model for all under Heaven. An old recension reads, “like jade, like stone”; Fu Yi and Xu Xuan adopted this reading.

Having attained the One, the root of the Dao, he remains humble despite his high position. He calls himself “orphan” or “unworthy,” repeatedly yielding and taking the lower place. This leads into the following discussion of “reversal is the movement of the Dao.”

Reversal is the way the Dao moves.

“Reversal” means returning and changing. Emptiness and stillness are the root of all things. When things are about to arise, they first return to their root in emptiness and stillness; when change takes place, they emerge from that stillness and begin to move. Thus, first comes return, then movement. The Returning hexagram in the Book of Changes says, “The firm and vigorous force returns, and once it moves, it proceeds in accord with the natural course; thus its comings and goings meet with no obstruction.” This is the principle being described.

Weakness is the way the Dao functions.

If returning to emptiness and stillness is how the Dao moves, then gentleness, weakness, humility, and stillness are how the Dao functions.

All things under Heaven arise from Being; Being arises from Nonbeing.

“Being” is the One; the One refers to primordial Qi.

“Being” is the first stage of existence: the One. The One refers to primordial Qi, the original vital energy from which the myriad things arise. All things under Heaven are generated from primordial Qi. Qi belongs to the realm of Being: it has radiance but no definite form. Though it manifests as an appearance, it has its source in Nonbeing. Nonbeing is the fundamental substance of the Dao.

The Liezi says: “Things with form arise from the formless. From what, then, did Heaven and Earth arise?” It also says that the movement of a physical form does not produce another form, but a shadow; the movement of a sound does not produce another sound, but an echo; and change in the formless can likewise produce “Being.” Thus the myriad things arise from Being, Being arises from Nonbeing, and each comes into being naturally. Yan Junping says: “Heaven and Earth arise from Great Harmony”—the harmonized primordial Qi between Heaven and Earth—“and Great Harmony arises from the Mysterious Void,” a state of profound emptiness and stillness. This describes the myriad things cycling endlessly and ultimately returning to their source in emptiness and stillness.

When things are about to set change in motion, they first return to the source in emptiness and stillness. Those able to remain still while responding to change and putting their capacities to work are perhaps only the superior people—those of keen understanding who comprehend the Dao and put it into practice. That is why the text next says: “The superior person hears of the Dao.”

When a superior person hears of the Dao, they diligently put it into practice. When an average person hears of it…