《道德真经藏室纂微篇(陈景元)》Vol. 3

The Dao reflects the transformation of all things: they emerge from the quiet and still source, then return to it.

When things are about to change, they must first return to their quiet and still root. Perhaps only the highest kind of person can respond to change and act effectively from within stillness. That is why the text next speaks of “the highest kind of person hears the Dao.”

When the highest kind of person hears the Dao, they earnestly follow it in practice. When the middling kind hears the Dao, they sometimes keep it in mind and sometimes forget it. When the lowest kind hears the Dao, they burst out laughing. If the lowest kind did not mock it, it would not be the true Dao.

The highest kind of person is by nature quiet and peaceful, detached and serene, empty and free of striving, pure and undisturbed. Their mind is settled and focused, and does not waver. After hearing the Dao, their conduct may seem to others like the result of deliberate, strenuous cultivation, but they are not cultivating deliberately. This is “natural release”: liberation that comes naturally from following one’s nature.

The middling kind of person has an ordinary nature. When the world has no use for them, they go to quiet, open places such as mountains, forests, marshes, and lakes. They exhale stale Qi and take in fresh Qi, move their bodies like bears, and stretch and soar like birds, caring for their body and spirit in this way. When the world puts them to use, they speak of achievements and establish a reputation; they observe the proprieties between ruler and minister, set the relations between high and low in order, and take the management of affairs as their responsibility. This is “sometimes present, sometimes absent”: at times they incline toward quiet cultivation of the Dao, and at other times they immerse themselves in worldly achievements.

The lowest kind of person has a nature clouded and unsettled. Their eyes crave beautiful sights, their ears pleasant sounds, and their mouths delicious flavors; their will and vital energy are always seeking gratification. When they hear of the Dao’s detachment and Wuwei (non-action), they laugh and reject it. If the lowest kind did not mock the Dao, it would not be worthy of being called the supreme Dao.

Yan Junping said: “Small birds such as quail fly high and spend all day rushing about, yet their thoughts remain among the grasses. Wild geese fly far, crossing east and west, yet their thoughts remain with marshes and lakes. Phoenixes soar ten thousand ren into the sky, freely roaming the realm of Great Clarity. They draw near to the sun and moon, fly high and far, and rest across the eight directions of Heaven and Earth. Only this accords with their nature. Each of the three is suited to a different way of life, yet each takes pleasure in its own. The endless source and fathomless spring are where the divine dragon returns, and where small fish depart. High mountains and great hills, deep forests and secluded valleys, are beloved by swans and tigers and leopards, but disliked by chickens and dogs.”

Therefore, lessen sensory desires, set aside clever schemes and calculations, and return to simplicity. Roam in the Great Simplicity, the primal state before things were differentiated. Regard external things lightly and do not let worldly conventions constrain you. Keep the mind clear, undisturbed by joy or anger, and do not let thoughts of gain and loss take root within. Treat noble and lowly alike, preserve your De (Virtue/Power), and nurture equanimity. This is what the great sage esteems and what the highest kind of person strives for. The middling kind is perplexed by it, while the lowest kind laughs without end.

Lu Xisheng said: “‘What is above form is called the Dao’ means that the Dao transcends concrete forms and pervades what lies beyond them. ‘What is below form is called a vessel’ means that things within concrete forms are called vessels.” The highest kind of person understands both what is subtle and what is evident, and can reach beyond form; therefore, on hearing the Dao, they believe and strive to put it into practice. The middling kind stands between the subtle and the evident, between Dao and vessel. They half believe in the Dao, so they sometimes remember it and sometimes forget it. The lowest kind sees only what is evident and does not understand what is subtle. Confined to the realm of concrete forms, they laugh when they hear the Dao, and go beyond mockery to reject it. The Dao is hidden, mysterious, profound, and difficult to fathom. If the lowest kind did not reject and mock it, it would not be worthy of being called a profound and true Dao.

“Ancient teachings contain this saying”: Since ancient times, there have been teachings that set forth the Way. They describe how people of three different capacities respond when they hear of the Great Way, and how the Way can seem contrary to ordinary expectations. What follows explains these principles.

“Those who understand the Way seem dim”: Those who truly understand the Great Way keep their brilliance in check and do not show it off. Their conduct may therefore look confused or obscure. People of middling capacity doubt whether they really understand, while those of lesser capacity mock them.

“Those who advance along the Way seem to retreat”: People of the highest capacity grasp the Way fully and reach their aim without making a show of it. Since this is so, they have no need to cling to the pursuit of further progress. Though they accomplish what a sage accomplishes, they do not claim it as their own. In their dealings with the world and their approach to all things, they may appear to be withdrawing or disheartened.

“The level Way seems uneven”: “Level” means flat and smooth. In one interpretation, “uneven” refers to irregular threads, the parts discarded in weaving. Those who cultivate the Way at the highest level are broad-minded and at ease, with no barriers between themselves and other things. Yet they do not appear uniform or neatly ordered, seeming instead to have some irregularity; for this reason, the worldly have no use for them. The version of the text attributed to Heshang Gong reads “uneven” and explains that those who attain the Way are open and calm, follow along with all things, and become like them without deliberately making distinctions.

“Highest De seems like a valley”: Those of profound De practice Wuwei (non-action) and leave things undisturbed. Their minds are as open as empty space; their depth and height are impossible to measure, like a deep valley that can hold all things.

“Great purity seems disgraced”: What is purest is as clean as frost or snow, yet it goes everywhere and does not reject even filthy places. Those who possess the Way are the same: even while living in a polluted world, they preserve their purity and remain unstained.

“Vast De seems insufficient”: Sun Deng says that those with deep and expansive De have far-reaching insight. They therefore do not cling to minor details and may appear to be lacking something.

Sun Deng said: Those whose De (Virtue/Power) is deep and abundant are open-minded and far-sighted, and can overlook minor details. They may therefore seem to lack wisdom. It is like a skilled merchant who keeps precious goods well hidden, appearing to have nothing at all. A noble person of De has virtue in abundance, yet looks simple and foolish. Lu Xisheng said: When kindness extends throughout the world, yet one does not consider oneself benevolent, De is great but appears insufficient.

“In building De, one seems furtive”: This refers to accumulating hidden De and quietly doing good. Those who build up hidden virtue do not display their achievements, for fear that others will learn of them; they therefore seem to be acting in secret. Wu Yun’s Treatise on the Fundamental Principles says: “Achievements should be concealed, while faults should be brought to light. Concealed achievements can be preserved; faults brought to light are easier to correct.” This is the meaning.

“True simplicity seems to fade”: “Fade” means to change or lose vividness of color. A simple and genuine person does not embellish their conduct, and so seems like a color that has grown pale, its brightness no longer apparent. The Phonetic and Meaning Glosses by Chuan Yi records that an old edition reads “to lose”; the Guangya says this word can mean foolish and unadorned. Some editions also read “elm,” while the edition by Dong Yu reads “to waver.” Here, following the editions by Wang Bi and Chuan Yi, the character “fade” is used.

“The greatest square has no corners”: “Square” means upright, and “corners” means angles. The Kaiyuan imperial commentary says that striving for a reputation for integrity and displaying sharp edges everywhere are the habits of those bound by rules, not of people who are truly great and upright. The truly great and upright person can be refined without being harmed, and remain unstained even in the mud. Able to rein in their sharpness and live among others, they act without seeming out of place; thus they have no corners.

“The greatest vessel is completed late”: A “vessel” is an object equipped for various uses. Heshang Gong says that a great vessel is like the Nine Tripods or the Huli goblets, precious ritual vessels of antiquity; it cannot be made in a single day. Good habits and accomplishments must be built up over a long time before they can finally be brought to completion.

“The greatest sound is scarcely heard”: Heshang Gong says that a great sound is like thunder: it resounds only when the time is ripe. This is a metaphor for cherishing Jing (essence) and speaking little. If thunder is not heard at every moment, how much less can the highest words be heard? Lu Xisheng says that guiding the myriad things through the teaching that does not speak, without relying on petty words in one’s actions, is what is meant by “the greatest sound is scarcely heard.”

“The greatest image has no form”: The greatest image has no fixed, visible shape.

The Old Man by the River explains: “One who accords with the Great Dao is simple and natural, without any fixed form. The Great Dao has no fixed image, yet it can respond to all things; hence it is called the ‘Great Image.’ Because it can respond to the myriad forms, no single shape can confine it. Thus, it is said to be formless.”

“The Dao is hidden and nameless.” The Dao originally had no name; people reluctantly called it “Dao.” Now it is once again deeply concealed and unseen, so even this name is insufficient to point it out. This means erasing its traces and concealing its beginnings.

“Only the Dao of Heaven is good at giving and bringing things to completion.” This praises the Great Dao’s unique and wondrous function: it enables the spirits and the Celestial Emperor to act, generates Heaven and Earth, and bestows harmonious, subtle Qi upon all things, allowing them to grow and come to fruition before ultimately returning to their natural state. “Giving” means bestowing.

Junping says: The Great Dao transforms and nurtures all things, beginning in nonbeing and ending without limit. It exists within what seems not to exist, and bestows without claiming to bestow. When it moves, all things come into being; when it is still, all under Heaven finds its proper place.

Lu Xisheng says: The Great Dao is good at relieving and giving to all things, yet asks for nothing in return. Thus, all things are brought to completion by it, but do not know its kindness. Those of lesser understanding who hear this principle will scoff and refuse to believe that the Great Dao can work in this way.

Those of superior understanding practice diligently and establish De (Virtue/Power). The Dao arises from this, so the next passage speaks of “the Dao gives birth to One”:

“The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three; Three gives birth to the myriad things.”

The Dao (the Way) is the emptiness within emptiness, the formlessness within formlessness, and the root of what comes about naturally. It is blended throughout the Great Nonbeing, profound and still yet all-pervading, beyond the power of words to name. But once the Dao moves and its transformations become manifest, it is called Hunlun: the undivided state in which all things remain blended as one.

While Hunlun was still one and Qi had not yet dispersed, the divine spirit was already concealed within it, showing the first signs of its presence. The divine spirit has two aspects, “spirit” and “illumination.” Once these become distinct, clear Qi and turbid Qi can be discerned. When the clear and turbid blend, they differentiate into three kinds of Qi: clear, turbid, and harmonious, each settling in a different place. Clear Qi becomes Heaven, turbid Qi becomes Earth, and harmonious Qi becomes humanity. Once Heaven, Earth, and humanity—the Three Powers—have taken shape, the myriad things grow by relying on them.

Yan Junping says: Emptiness within emptiness gives rise to the formless nonbeing, and the formless nonbeing gives rise to “nonbeing.” From nonbeing, form comes into being; all formed things therefore belong to the category of the myriad things. Each thing has its own source and ancestral root. Heaven and Earth are the greatest things, with humanity following after them. Heaven and humanity come into being because form depends on Qi, Qi depends on harmony, harmony depends on the divine spirit, and the divine spirit depends on the Dao. The Dao comes about naturally, and so the myriad things are able to exist. Thus, what makes Heaven Heaven is not Heaven itself, and what makes a person a person is not the person themself: it is the Dao.

Gushenzi says: The Dao transforms naturally and gives rise to spirit. Spirit moves and forms harmonious Qi. As harmony disperses, Qi gathers; when Qi has gathered, it forms bodies. Hence the saying: “The Dao gives rise to One; One gives rise to Two; Two gives rise to Three; Three gives rise to the myriad things.”

Heshanggong says: The Dao first gives rise to One; One gives rise to Yin and Yang; Yin and Yang then give rise to the three kinds of Qi—harmonious, clear, and turbid—which form Heaven, Earth, and humanity respectively. Together, Heaven, Earth, and humanity generate the myriad things: Heaven spreads the power of life, Earth nurtures and transforms things, and humanity enables them to grow and flourish.

The imperial commentary of the Kaiyuan era says: “Dao” is the wondrous root of the realm of utmost emptiness; “One” is pure, balanced Qi; and “giving rise” means moving and becoming manifest. When the Dao moves, it first brings forth harmonious Qi to generate the myriad things, but this alone is insufficient to complete their transformation. It therefore gives rise to Yang Qi, which gathers to form “One”—hence “One gives rise to Two.” Pure Yang alone still cannot generate the myriad things, so Yin Qi is also brought forth; it gathers to form “Two”—hence “Two gives rise to Three.” “Three gives rise to the myriad things” means that Yin and Yang mingle and the balanced, harmonious Qi matures and nurtures them, thereby generating things everywhere.

The accounts of these three traditions are broadly similar, differing only in a few details, so they are recorded together here.

All things bear Yin and face Yang. Yin Qi and Yang Qi intermingle, forming a harmonious Qi.

“Bear” means to turn one’s back; “embrace” means to face or encircle. Animals fear death and seek life; plants turn away from the cold and toward warmth. The flesh and skin of all things cover the outside, where Yin Qi gathers, so they are said to “bear Yin.” Marrow fills the inside, where Yang Qi gathers, so they are said to “embrace Yang.” Between Yin and Yang, harmonizing Qi flows, allowing the body and vital essence to take shape. When this Qi is abundant, the body and vital essence remain whole, and life flourishes. When it declines and disperses, the body and vital essence separate, and life moves toward death. Thus, the great person keeps the mind empty and still, and pure Qi gathers. The noble person does not let external things disturb the heart, and so can nurture abundant, upright Qi. “Pure whiteness” and “vast, flowing Qi” are both other names for harmonizing Qi. Because this Qi is gentle and can regulate Yin and Yang, the text says, “Harmonizing Qi brings them into balance.”

Among the names people dislike, the only ones are “orphan,” “widower,” and “unworthy.” Yet lords and princes use these names for themselves.

“Orphan,” “widower,” and “unworthy” are all humble, self-deprecating names, often scorned by ordinary people. Only great and noble persons use them for themselves; for this very reason, they attain the honor of lords and princes. This follows the balance of harmonizing Qi: one diminishes thoughts of inner toughness and self-importance in order to increase one’s virtue.

Thus, things sometimes gain by being diminished and suffer loss by being increased.

If people can lessen their desires, refrain from boasting or relying on themselves, and uphold themselves with humility—like lords and princes who call themselves “orphan”—they can make progress in cultivating virtue.

Anything that reduces desire, avoids self-display, and maintains humility may seem to diminish what it has, yet in reality it gains the benefit of honor. The lords and princes called themselves “orphan,” “widower,” and “unworthy” to show their self-abasement through these humble titles. People of the world, by contrast, seek only fullness, craving wealth and honor without knowing when to stop; danger and ruin follow. The Book of Documents says, “Self-satisfaction brings loss; humility brings gain.” From the perspective of worldly desires, humility and self-restraint seem like losses. From the perspective of the Dao (the Way), they bring benefit. Conversely, pursuing fullness in accordance with worldly desires means losing ground in the Dao.

The teachings passed down among people of the world are what I, too, use my own understanding to teach them.

The teachings people pass on each establish their own position, while I teach them according to my own understanding. The various schools of thought each founded their own doctrines: those with benevolent aims ultimately accord with the teachings of the sages, while those that depart from the right path become the arts of political maneuvering. Such arts draw people into violence and conflict, and in the end they do not meet a good end.

Those who assert themselves through brute force and arrogance do not meet a good end; I will make this the foundation of my teaching.

Softness and weakness belong to Yang and are associated with life; force and arrogance belong to Yin and are associated with death. Those who occupy high positions and act with force and arrogance lose the support of their subordinates, and their downfall soon follows. Those who occupy low positions and act this way invite attacks from everyone and soon fall. “Do not meet their end” means they cannot die a natural death in old age. Laozi saw that people were turning away from the right path, so he left these lessons for later generations. He knew that those who practice humility and yield, and conduct themselves with gentleness, will surely find good fortune, while those who are greedy, cruel, and forceful will surely meet disaster. So he wrote words of warning as the foundation of his instruction. “Father” means a guide or foundation.

One should take as a model the Dao’s balanced harmony—peaceful, humble, and yielding—gain through humility, cast off self-righteousness and the impulse to dominate, and hold fast to the principle of utmost softness. Thus the text continues: The softest thing under Heaven can move through the hardest things under Heaven.

Water is softest and weakest, while metal and stone are hardest. “Galloping” here describes a current that rushes on without ceasing. Water flows like a swift horse at full gallop: through its very softness and weakness, it can pierce metal and stone and overwhelm all things. That is why it can gallop among the hardest things under Heaven.

“Nonbeing” refers to the Dao, and “gaps” are openings. The Dao is a seamless whole of Qi (vital energy), without form or substance. It can therefore encompass Heaven and Earth without anything outside it, and enter so finely into the space between the tiniest hairs that no inner gap remains. If the Dao had form, how could it enter the most minute openings? Zhuangzi says that metal and stone would make no sound without the action of the Dao’s Qi; this means that Dao-Qi is hidden within them as well. Yang Xiong, whose courtesy name was Ziyun and sobriquet Junping, says: “Things with form, however sharp, cannot enter what is formless and without gaps. When the spirit resides in the body, it comes and goes without needing doors or openings; in the space of a bow or a glance, it can travel a thousand miles.”

Thus I know that Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial. “I” is Laozi’s way of referring to himself. The Dao of emptiness is soft and formless, yet it passes everywhere. Wang Bi says: “‘Nonbeing’ cannot be exhausted; what is supremely soft cannot be broken.” From this we can infer that the Dao of Wuwei benefits all things.

Few things under Heaven can equal the teaching carried out without words or the benefits brought by Wuwei. The sage observes the natural workings of the Way of Heaven, acts with care, uses resources sparingly, and sets an upright example to guide others. In this way, teaching can take hold without many words. If one relies entirely on deliberate action, one easily becomes bound to artificial methods and harms the myriad things. Practicing Wuwei brings many benefits, and few other approaches can compare.

The sage observes the principles by which the Dao of Heaven operates naturally. He therefore restrains himself with care, uses resources sparingly, and sets an example through his proper appearance and conduct, thereby inspiring others. So even without issuing many commands, his teaching can be put into practice. Deliberate action, by contrast, can become bound by fixed rules and harm what it seeks to manage; Wuwei brings many benefits. From this we can see that the Way of quiet simplicity is indeed the best method for ruling the world, though few in the world can achieve it. The scripture says, “Those who understand me are few; that is why I am valued.” Wenzi said: “Although Gaoyao was not eloquent, he served as the Grand Judge, the official responsible for criminal cases, and the world saw no brutal punishments. Must government orders depend on words to have value? Although Shi Kuang was blind, he served as the Grand Steward, responsible for state affairs, and the state of Jin suffered no disorder. Must governing a state depend on seeing with one’s eyes? Commands issued without words, and clear understanding without the use of sight—these are what make the sage fit to be a teacher.”

Gentleness, humility, and freedom from contention have their roots in Wuwei. The benefits of Wuwei first appear in preserving oneself. The discussion therefore turns next to the question of which is closer and more important: reputation or the body.

Which is closer, reputation or the body?

The body is real; reputation is merely secondary. To abandon the real body in pursuit of a secondary reputation is to mistake the root for the branch. The Liezi says: “There is truth without wealth, and falsehood with wealth; those who possess truth but no reputation, or have reputation alone without truth, are merely false.” Yet people in the world often pursue reputation without end. Reputation cannot be entirely cast aside, but can we regard it as secondary? Today, those with a reputation are respected and enjoy prosperity, while those without one are low in status and suffer disgrace. Respect brings ease and pleasure; disgrace brings sorrow and pain. Sorrow and pain harm one’s nature, while comfort and pleasure accord with it. These things truly affect people’s lives. How, then, can reputation be entirely abandoned, or treated as something of no consequence? What should truly be condemned is clinging to reputation at the cost of harming oneself, until one faces danger and ruin with no way to recover. The issue is not simply a choice between comfort and distress. Bao Jiao and Jie Zitui were men who cared only to preserve their reputations and thereby harmed themselves.

Which is more important, the body or possessions?

“Wealth” means possessions and material goods. Those who live in affluence and depend on possessions to enjoy life are invariably attached to wealth. The rich tire their bodies and labor hard to amass riches, yet cannot fully enjoy them. In treating their bodies this way, they place too much value on external things. Those in high office spend day and night pondering the rights and wrongs, gains and losses of affairs. In treating their bodies this way, they neglect them. Even when gold and jade fill the house, without kindness and generosity one will only invite the scorn of having stolen a false reputation and accumulated wealth through corruption. And when the family fortune collapses and one suffers disgrace, how much will one have lost?

Between gain and loss, which is truly a calamity?

Fleeting fame and profit are as light as a feather when gained; but life, body, and spirit weigh as heavily as a mountain when lost. Those who understand the matter weigh the two and see which is truly a calamity. The Zhuangzi says that those who nurture their inner nature forget the body; those who nurture the body forget profit; and those who cultivate the Great Dao forget their personal concerns.

Thus, excessive attachment inevitably brings great loss, and hoarding too much inevitably brings heavy harm.

“Waste” means harm. Those who crave fame excessively often feign emotions and disguise their conduct, thereby exhausting their spirit. Can this be a small loss? Those who covet possessions and always seek to take the greatest share may bring disaster upon themselves—even death. How could such a loss be slight?

Those who know contentment will not suffer disgrace; those who know when to stop will not meet danger. In this way, they can endure.

“Peril” means danger or ruin. A person who knows contentment does not covet wealth; without such covetousness, one will not bring humiliation or calamity upon oneself through greed.

The Zhuangzi records Confucius saying to Yan Hui, “Your family is poor and your home is humble. Why not come out and take office?” Yan Hui replied, “I do not wish to take office. I have fifty mu of farmland outside the city, enough to provide porridge; within the city I have ten mu, enough to grow mulberry and hemp for clothing. Playing the qin is enough to entertain me, and studying your teachings is enough to make me happy. So I do not wish to take office.” After hearing this, Confucius grew solemn and said, “Well said! I have heard that those who know contentment do not exhaust themselves in pursuit of gain; those who are truly at ease with what they have do not fear losing anything; and those who cultivate their inner character well do not alter their principles for lack of office. I have recited these words for a long time. Now I have seen them embodied in Yan Hui, and that is my gain.”

A person who knows where to stop does not cling to fame or rank. Without craving status, one ultimately has no fear of falling into danger. The Zhuangzi also tells of Yuan Xian, who lived in the state of Lu. His house was small, with a thatched roof; its door of woven reeds was incomplete, and its hinges were made of mulberry wood. Coarse cloth covered the broken windows. Though the roof leaked and the floor was damp, he sat calmly playing the qin. Zigong came to visit in a grand carriage drawn by tall horses, but the carriage was too wide to enter the lane. Yuan Xian came out to greet him wearing a tattered cap and worn shoes, and leaning on a staff of goosefoot. Zigong asked, “How have you come to be in such distress?” Yuan Xian replied, “Lacking wealth is called poverty; learning without putting it into practice is called affliction. I am poor, but I am not afflicted.”

Hearing this, Zigong stepped back in shame. Yuan Xian smiled and said, “Acting to curry favor with the world, forming cliques to make friends, studying to show off to others, teaching to advance oneself, and using benevolence and righteousness as a disguise, like decorating a carriage—these are things I cannot bear to do. I am poor, but I am not afflicted.” Those who know contentment and know where to stop have no fear of being humiliated or falling into danger through covetousness. They can therefore remain at ease for a long time.

Only through personal experience can one understand contentment. Those who do not chase fame will not suffer disgrace. One who knows contentment will not be humiliated. Yet the achievement of the Great Dao appears to be incomplete, so the text next speaks of “great completion seeming incomplete.”

“Great completion seeming incomplete” means that the most perfect achievement appears to have flaws, yet its function never runs dry.

“Flaw” means damaged; “worn” means distressed or ruined. “Great completion” refers to a person of complete De (Virtue/Power). Someone whose De is abundant within can make room for what is undeveloped, set aside admonitions, and avoid clinging to outward form. Such a person is like a vessel with flaws on its surface: it may not seem especially useful, yet it can preserve itself and avoid distress and ruin. It is also like a vast pool from which water never ceases to flow, or a bright mirror that reflects things without obstruction. That is why its function never runs dry.

“Great fullness seeming empty” means that the fullest state appears empty, yet its function has no end.

“Empty” means hollow. People of deep De and great accomplishment are often modest rather than proud. Those who enjoy abundance and wealth can also remain open-minded and frugal rather than extravagant. Such people always have room to spare in what they do. How could they fall into want?

“Great straightness seeming bent” means that the most upright person appears to yield and bend.

Here, “great straightness” means remaining upright while following the nature of things. At times, such a person tolerates defilement without rushing to defend himself, because uprightness is not expressed only by holding fast to one’s own position. For this reason, he may appear to give way and bend.

“Great skill seeming clumsy” means that the highest skill appears clumsy.

True skill lets things come naturally to completion according to their own nature. It does not deliberately manufacture ingenious objects, so it appears plain and unrefined. The Liezi tells of a man in the state of Song who made a leaf from jade, taking three years to finish it. When he mixed it among real leaves, it was difficult to tell them apart, and he earned his living in Song through this craft. Hearing of it, Liezi remarked: if Heaven and Earth also took three years to grow a single leaf, there would be very few things with leaves. The sage relies on the Dao’s transformative power, not on cleverness. The Dao’s transformative power may be called the highest skill: it follows the nature of things and brings them to completion without boasting of its own ability, and so it appears clumsy.

“Great eloquence seeming inarticulate” means that the most gifted speaker appears unable to express himself.

“Great eloquence” means wisdom that is comprehensive and leaves nothing out. Such a person speaks in keeping with the underlying principles of things, and so appears in no hurry to show off his verbal skill.

“Great discernment” means that true wisdom understands all things. It expresses itself in accordance with the actual circumstances of things, without being clouded or obstructed. If one relies only on one’s own words and argues forcefully, it is difficult to explain matters fully. One simply remains silent about what is unreasonable and does not speak of what is improper, without deliberate artifice; as a result, one may seem to lack eloquence.

Activity can overcome cold; stillness can overcome heat.

Here, “activity” means movement and exertion. In spring and summer, Yang Qi rises from beneath the earth, and all things grow. But when anything reaches its extreme, it turns in the opposite direction. Thus, at the summer solstice, Yin Qi begins to arise within it. When the movement of Qi reaches its extreme, it turns to cold, and cold causes all things to decline. This shows that restless activity is the root of death, and that flourishing to the utmost marks the beginning of decline. By analogy, anyone who does things to excess without knowing when to hold back will eventually fail; anyone who rises high and grows complacent without knowing how to be humble will eventually fall; and those who act by force alone, stubbornly and in haste, will also meet with ruin.

Yan Junping, a Daoist scholar of the Western Han, said that the movements of Heaven and Earth include advance and retreat, through which the myriad things come into being and change. This process cannot be sealed off or stopped. When Yin Qi reaches its height, the earth splits with frost, layers of ice form, fierce winds bite, and frost and snow grow heavy. Fish and turtles lie hidden, and all things curl inward. Even in a heated room, close to a brazier and dressed in thick furs and padded clothes, one may still be unable to withstand the cold. But if one settles the spirit and nourishes Jing and Qi, while exercising and stretching the body, Qi and blood will circulate. Even after taking off one’s clothes and stepping outside, the body will still feel warm.

“Stillness can overcome heat” means that in autumn and winter, Yang Qi lies quietly beneath the cold springs. When adversity reaches its height, good fortune begins to return; thus, at the winter solstice, Yang Qi begins to arise, bringing forth a warm and gentle atmosphere, and all things grow. Life depends on stillness to flourish. Stillness is therefore the root of vitality, and stands in opposition to restless activity.

Yan Junping also said that when Yang Qi reaches its height, sand and stones grow scorching hot, birds can scarcely fly, creatures in the water become restless, all things wither, and rivers run dry. At such a time, even diving into cool springs, wearing light clothes, climbing to a high terrace to catch the breeze, and taking cooling substances may not be enough to endure the heat. But if one sets aside one’s worries, lets the spirit return to stillness, and keeps the body from being disturbed by external things, then with a calm and balanced mind, the body will feel cool.

This passage uses the seasons and changes in temperature to explain that restless activity is the root of decline, while stillness is the foundation of vitality, and uses this lesson to admonish rulers. If a ruler is impatient and overbearing, rejects advice, conceals faults, and goes against the nature of things, the state will decline. This is like the cold growing ever deeper until all things wither and die. But if the ruler preserves the principle of stillness, governs without exertion, and allows the myriad things to retain their nature, the state can remain stable for a long time. This is like the warmth and gentleness of a mild season, when people live in harmony and the state flourishes.

A person of supreme clarity remains unclouded by external things even amid filth and confusion. A person of supreme stillness remains undisturbed by events amid turmoil. Great accomplishment, great fullness, great straightness, great skill, and great eloquence each take the form of what seems flawed, never quite complete, bent, lacking, or inarticulate. Only stillness and clarity can hold fast to the many affairs of the world and serve as its true standard.

Zhuangzi said, “Guard the spirit and keep the mind quiet; then the body will naturally become upright. You must be still and clear, neither exhausting the body nor disturbing the vital energy, if you are to live long.”

What appears deficient on the outside is complete within: this is the state of a person who has the Dao. Hence the text next speaks of “the world having the Dao.”

When the world is clear and at peace, warhorses are retired and sent back to the fields to plow. “Retire” means to dismiss or withdraw; “manure” means to tend the fields. To say that “the world has the Dao” means that the times are peaceful: the people prosper, ancestral temples flourish, the realm is secure, the feudal lords submit, the four quarters are at peace, and warfare has ceased. People value agriculture as the foundation of life, and every household is busy farming and raising silkworms. The seasons are therefore harmonious, and all things thrive.

When the world lacks the Dao, warhorses breed in the countryside. “Countryside” refers to the border between two states. To say that “the world lacks the Dao” means that the times have fallen into decline: government affairs are neglected, rulers are anxious, state treasuries are empty, floods and droughts are frequent, bandits rise in the commanderies and counties, and the strong oppress the weak. The people lose their livelihoods, and everyone prizes warfare, so warhorses breed along the borders. The Qi of Yin and Yang also seems cut off and obstructed, leaving all things desolate and unsettled.

There is no greater offense than arousing people’s desire to invade and seize from others. People have all abandoned their proper work and grown accustomed to glorifying warfare. Even horses that should be used for farming are taken away to fight, and warhorses appear along the outskirts and borderlands. As a result, the forces of Yin and Yang are cut off from one another and fall out of harmony, and all things sink into desolation and grief.

There is no greater offense than craving things one desires.

Once people develop a desire to admire and possess, they will pursue what they want without regard for reason, like a spreading fire that cannot be stopped. So, chasing a tiny gain, as fine as an autumn hair, can cost one something as weighty as Mount Tai; indulging extravagant desires will ultimately bring punishment. No root of wrongdoing is more serious than greed.

The Liezi tells of a man from the state of Qi who wanted gold. One morning, he dressed carefully and went to the market. When he reached a gold seller’s stall, he seized some gold and ran. An official caught him and asked, “There were people all around you. Why did you still snatch someone else’s gold?” He replied, “When I took the gold, I saw no one else. I saw only the gold.” This is like turbid water that makes it impossible to see clearly, or like becoming so absorbed in what is before you that you can no longer see the clear depths.

There is no greater calamity than not knowing when enough is enough.

Here, “calamity” means disaster. Craving things one desires may still be held in check to some extent; someone who knows no contentment, however, wants to possess everything they see. Desire keeps swelling, without restraint, until it leads at last to ruin. Thus, no cause of disaster is more serious than knowing no contentment.

There is no greater fault than being bent on possessing things.

Calamity means disaster. Though the myriad things in the world are too numerous to take in, human desire has no limit. Whether we see something or have never seen it, we want to make it our own, wishing that not a single thing were left for anyone else. This is a grave departure from the Dao (the Way). It brings harm not only upon ourselves but may also pass disaster down to generations to come.

“Offense” refers to violating prohibitions. Daoism places importance on repentance: the first wrongdoing is called an “offense,” or a “transgression”—a lapse or mistake. The scripture also says that when transgressions accumulate to 1,080, they are called “misfortune,” a more serious state than an offense; when they reach 2,160, they are called “calamity,” more serious still. All three arise from actions that go against the Dao. At the least, they harm oneself; at the worst, they bring a state to ruin. How could we fail to take them as a warning?

Thus, only by knowing contentment and being content can we remain content over time.

Even when one possesses many things, the heart may still feel unsatisfied. This is called not knowing contentment. Even when one possesses little, the heart may often feel content. This is called knowing contentment.

The Biographies of Eminent Recluses records that Yan Junping was on friendly terms with Luo Chong, a wealthy man from Shu Commandery. Hearing that Yan Junping refused to accept a summons to enter government service, Luo Chong asked him, “Why don’t you take office?” Yan Junping replied, “It is not that I lack the ability to support myself.” Luo Chong then arranged for him to have a carriage and horses, clothing, food, and servants. Yan Junping said, “I am ill; I do not lack these things. I have enough, yet you think you do not. How can you give me, who already has enough, what you believe you lack?”

Luo Chong said, “A single mat of mine is worth ten thousand gold pieces. You don’t even own a single measure of grain, yet you say you have enough. That is absurd.” Yan Junping replied, “I have stayed at your home. Late at night, when all is quiet, your servants are still working. They toil day and night and are never satisfied. I now earn my living by divination. Without leaving my seat, money comes to me on its own. I have several tens of thousands left over, piled up so long that the dust on it is an inch thick, and I do not know what to do with it. So which of us has enough, and which of us does not know contentment?”

After Luo Chong withdrew, he sighed, “Increasing my wealth wears down my spirit; advancing my reputation may cost me my life. If one knows how to be content and self-sufficient, how could the great calamity of warhorses appearing in the suburbs ever occur?” “Warhorses are born in the suburbs” means that warfare is about to begin; it is used here to refer to a grave calamity.

The Dao is everywhere, so there is no need to seek it in distant places. For this reason, the text next speaks of “not going out through the doorway.”

Without going out through the doorway, one can understand all under Heaven.

Sages who govern all under Heaven must begin with themselves and their own hearts, then extend their understanding from what is near to what is far. One can understand what lies beyond the four seas without leaving the court because one can infer other people and situations from those close at hand: while eating, one thinks of those who are hungry; while dressing, one thinks of those who are cold. By loving one’s own family, one comes to understand that there are elderly people throughout the world; by caring for one’s own children, one comes to understand that there are young children throughout the world. If one can understand all under Heaven in this way, why must one go out in order to know it?

Without peering out the window, one can see the Dao of Heaven—the natural order in motion.

The human body is about seven Chinese feet tall. It includes the four limbs, the nine apertures (the openings of the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and so on), the five viscera, and the six bowels, all contained within a single body. Thus, the body’s original Qi connects with the Way of Heaven.

When a ruler holds to himself and remains tranquil, the weather becomes clear and bright, and things naturally return to the proper Way. If he indulges his desires, the weather grows dark and turbid. The ruler’s De accords with Heaven and Earth and connects with the way of the sun and moon. By maintaining tranquility, he can shine with the same brightness as the sun and moon. When he acts in accord with the Way of Heaven, Heaven does not oppose him; when he follows the timing of Heaven, he can carry out its Way. There is no need to lean out a window and gaze into the distance: the Way of Heaven becomes clear on its own.

Yan Junping said: Therefore, the sage need not leave his door. Looking upward, he can infer the state of his parents; looking downward, he can examine his descendants. Whether facing danger or safety, benefit or harm, he reflects on himself. In this way, he understands the principles of life and death, distinguishes right from wrong, grasps the sources of benefit and harm, and knows the roots of order and disorder. From knowing himself, he can infer the condition of his family; from knowing his family, he can infer the condition of others. In carrying out affairs, he grasps their guiding principles; in dealing with the myriad things, he understands their order. When he acts, he knows where to go; when still, he knows what to hold fast to.

The sage takes Dao and De as his father, numinous clarity as his mother, tranquility as his teacher, and Great Harmony as his friend. He regards the world as one family and the myriad things as a single whole. He sees others as himself and places himself in their circumstances. He does not dare let selfish thoughts arise or act rashly. He casts aside clever devices and affected displays of intelligence, and cuts off every calculating impulse to manipulate events. Thus, he need not withdraw to mountain cliffs or caves, needlessly kill living creatures, or eat plants while they are still growing. He does not force himself to take things before their time, nor gather them before their cycle is complete. Heaven and Earth, people and things, each preserve what is theirs. This is to regard oneself as part of a single whole and to model oneself on Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things.

The more one pursues things outside oneself, the less one comes to know.

A ruler who has lost the Way cannot model himself on the Way of Heaven or follow its course. Instead, he relies on his own cleverness to inspect and control the myriad things.

A ruler who has lost the Dao cannot model his actions on the Way of Heaven. Instead, he relies on his own cleverness to observe the myriad things. The more deliberately he probes, the farther he strays from the Dao, and the less he comes to know.

Yan Junping said, “Examine Heaven and Earth and test the past and present: no change in anything departs from the Way of Heaven. From this we know that the Way of Heaven and Earth is entirely within me.” The family is the foundation for understanding others; the person is the deep source for discerning Heaven and Earth. If we observe the world without beginning with ourselves, or understand others without starting with our family, we will see only what is near and miss what is far, and our limited knowledge will deepen our confusion. Leave the home to look at the world, and the world becomes harder to see clearly. Turn away from yourself and peer out the window, and you still cannot understand the Way of Heaven. The farther you travel, the less you know; the more widely you wander, the deeper your confusion. The greater the goal you pursue, the smaller the result you obtain. If you do not rely on sight and hearing but seek within yourself, then the principles linking Heaven and humanity will become clear.

An ancient text says, “If you wish to govern the world, first govern your state; if you wish to govern your state, first govern your family; if you wish to govern your family, first cultivate yourself; if you wish to cultivate yourself, first set your mind straight; if you wish to set your mind straight, first make your intentions sincere.” Thus, if a gentleman is not sincere, everything will depart from the right Way. This is precisely the principle of seeking understanding through oneself and one’s own mind.

Therefore, the sage knows without traveling and can name things without seeing them with his own eyes.

The sage need not travel throughout the world to see clearly into human affairs, because everything can be inferred by reflecting inward: using oneself to observe oneself, and inferring what is outside from what is within. This is understanding through oneself alone. One need not see the signs in the heavens to speak of the workings of the Way of Heaven: one can infer the great from the small and understand the distant from the near. This is observing the myriad things within one’s own mind.

Without deliberate action, things can still be accomplished.

The sage brings the world to natural transformation through Wuwei (non-action) because he understands that each thing has its own nature, and simply follows it, letting it develop of itself. Confucius said, “To govern the world through non-action—could it be that only Shun was capable of this?”

“To know without traveling and name things without seeing them with one’s own eyes” refers to understanding through learning. That is why the text next says, “In the pursuit of learning, one increases day by day.”

In the pursuit of learning, knowledge increases day by day.

Once things that can be spoken of and named appear, people gradually esteem Virtue and honor the worthy. Those who study read widely and expand their knowledge, competing with one another to boast and compare themselves. In this way, the simple and honest customs disappear, though they themselves do not realize it.

In the pursuit of the Dao, desires and artificial embellishments diminish day by day.

Learning makes people’s knowledge increase each day. Once the Dao can be spoken of and names can be established, a culture of honoring virtue and esteeming the worthy gradually arises. Those who pursue learning read widely and broaden their understanding, then boast to one another and compete with one another. In this way, the simple and honest way of life disappears, though they themselves do not notice.

Cultivating the Dao, by contrast, means reducing each day.

Learning causes knowledge to grow day by day, but after it grows, one must also know how to reduce it. Only by understanding this can one hold fast to the root and return to one’s original state. To return to the original and restore the source, one should first set aside clever knowledge, grasp the essential points, and keep to the root. As thoughts and actions gradually lessen, one can slowly enter a state of emptiness, stillness, and mystery.

After reducing, continue to reduce, until Wuwei (non-action) is reached. Through Wuwei, nothing remains undone.

To reduce means not to let anything unnecessary remain: gradually relinquish things until even feelings of aversion are forgotten. When there is nothing further, however small, to remove, let go even of attachment to goodness. Evil is wrong, and good is right. One reduces what is wrong, then continues by reducing attachment to what is right; this is why it is called “reducing, then continuing to reduce.” When all distinctions between right and wrong are forgotten, the desire for gain naturally fades. One’s nature then accords with the Dao, and Wuwei is attained. Once there is Wuwei, one does not contend with the myriad things but lets them develop on their own, according to their nature. When each thing follows its own course in this way, nothing remains undone.

To gain the realm, one must often rely on Wuwei and having no affairs to manage. If government is burdened with many affairs and interferes at every turn, the realm cannot be gained.

The sages practice the Dao by cultivating themselves first, then extending this to the realm. What came before described cultivating oneself through Wuwei: by letting the myriad things develop on their own, nothing remains undone.

To gain the realm, one must often rely on Wuwei and having no affairs to manage. If government is burdened with many affairs and interferes at every turn, the realm cannot be gained.

The sages practice the Dao by cultivating themselves first, then extending this to the realm. The earlier passage described governing oneself through Wuwei; this passage describes governing the realm through having no affairs to manage. Thus, when sages govern with care, they always consider whether each person has found their proper place. To remedy abuses and quell disorder, the key is to win the hearts of the people. To win their hearts, one should make minimal interference a guiding principle, use Wuwei as one’s teaching, and treasure freedom from desire. Then customs will naturally become calm and pure, and the people will gladly support their ruler without growing weary of them. If the ruler interferes forcefully in everything and issues complicated orders that burden the people, they will fear their ruler. How, then, could the ruler win the hearts of the people?

The previous passage said that after learning has increased, one should return to reduction, until the heart no longer clings to anything. That is why the next passage says, “The sage has no fixed heart.”

The sage has no fixed views of his own, but takes the wishes of the people as his own.

The sage models himself on the Dao and keeps his mind empty and still. When something in the world stirs him, he can respond. Since events in the world stir people in different ways, the sage’s responses are not confined to a single pattern. That is why it is said that the sage has no fixed mind. People generally wish to live in peace and follow their nature. The sage enables everyone to obtain what they need. Is this not taking the wishes of the people as his own? The Zhuangzi says: “The Perfect Person uses the mind like a perfectly balanced scale: it does not anticipate what is coming or pursue what has passed. It responds when moved, but keeps nothing within.” Thus the sage can respond to things without being harmed by them. This is what it means for the sage to have no fixed views.

I treat the good with goodness, and I treat the not good with goodness too; in this way, everyone can return to goodness.

Among the people are those who wish to do good. The sage follows their nature and responds with goodness. Those whose nature is already good are guided by the sage toward a still greater good, so that their goodness may reach its full expression. Even when someone harbors ill intent, the sage still treats them with goodness. Moved by this Virtue, that person changes their own heart and turns toward goodness. In this way, there is no one in the world who is not good. The sage thus transforms people by following the nature of all things, without forcing them to submit to his own wishes.

I treat the trustworthy with trust, and I treat the untrustworthy with trust too; in this way, everyone can return to trustworthiness.

Among the people are those who are honest and trustworthy. The sage does not oppose their intentions, but responds with trust. Those whose trust is firm are guided by the sage toward even greater trust, so that their trustworthiness may reach its full expression. Even when someone is not trustworthy, the sage still treats them with trust. Moved by this Virtue of trust, that person develops sincerity of their own and becomes trustworthy. In this way, there is no one in the world who is untrustworthy. The sage acts in accord with what is true in people; he does not make them act this way through favors or gain.

When the sage is among the people, he acts with care and unease, tempering and regulating his own intentions for the sake of all under Heaven.

“Anxious and unsettled” describes a mind troubled by worry, its thoughts constantly in motion. “Whole and undivided” means making no distinctions, being one with everything.

When rulers of antiquity governed the world, they did worry about affairs of state and attend to the people’s concerns. Yet they kept their inner selves empty, still, and free of attachment, in harmony with nature. They could therefore respond to change and move freely in every situation, regarding all things as one and allowing everything to follow its natural course. Those who govern the world bring the people’s minds back to simplicity and their desires closer together, responding to each person’s nature as all things change together. Why, then, would they need to exhaust their minds and energy with painstaking deliberation, treating every matter as something that must be forcibly managed?

Lu Xisheng says: When the sage holds office, all things in the world respond to one another, and change never ceases for an instant. Yet the sage’s mind remains whole, at one with all things in the world, without ever imagining that he is accomplishing anything. This is why the “Four Don’ts” spoken of by Confucius mean not making things up, not assuming something is certain, not insisting on one’s own view, and not putting oneself at the center. Then nothing is bound to be possible, and nothing is bound to be impossible. The sage governs through Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing remains unaccomplished. The Heshang Gong edition reads “restless and uneasy,” while Wang Bi’s edition reads “absorbed and intent.”

The people all apply themselves intently to their eyes and ears, while the sage treats them all like children.

“Apply” means to direct one’s attention or concentrate. The sage puts De (Virtue/Power) into practice through Wuwei, without going against the nature of things. The people are therefore transformed by the sage’s De and each develops their own abilities. Those with intelligence use their wisdom to plan; those with keen hearing listen attentively. They focus their minds on their eyes and ears, taking the sage’s natural way of acting as their model. The sage, however, lowers his gaze and draws in his senses as though screened by the hanging beads of a ceremonial crown. He does not wear himself out with cleverness or deliberately probe into hidden matters. He cares for the people and treats them all like infants; hence the phrase “treats them like children.”

The sage has no fixed opinions and keeps a mind that is whole. When facing change, he regards the people as children and so can see through the transformations of life and death. The text therefore continues with “Entering life and leaving death.”

Emptiness gives rise to nature; nature gives rise to the Dao; and the Dao gives rise to the One Qi. The One Qi changes without cease, and from these changes all things take shape. This is called “birth.” When life reaches its end, it changes into the formless. This is called “entering death.” Yet this still has a beginning and an end, and remains within the bounds of Heaven and Earth. How, then, could beings beyond those bounds be constrained by life and death?

Of those who belong to the category of life, there are three in ten; of those who belong to the category of death, there are likewise three in ten.

“Category” is the meaning of the word tu. “Those who belong to life” refers to people skilled at preserving life; “those who belong to death” refers to people headed toward death. Han Fei explains “three in ten” as the body’s four limbs and nine apertures—the eyes, ears, nose, mouth, and other openings—which together make thirteen parts. The activity and stillness of these parts are all connected with life and death.

Those skilled at preserving life do not let their eyes greedily feast on sights, their ears become absorbed in sounds, their noses chase after scents, or their mouths speak without restraint. Nor do they let their hands take things at will or their feet wander wherever they please. They comport themselves calmly and avoid all manner of wrongdoing. This is what it means to belong to the category of long life.

Those headed toward death are enamored of dazzling colors, immersed in disorderly sounds, troubled by foul and rank odors, and fond of words that go against reason. Their hands are accustomed to wielding weapons, and their feet rush along crooked paths. Their actions and minds are caught up in these things, leaving no room to speak of good fortune. This is what it means to approach death. The roots of life and death both lie in how these thirteen parts are used.

Sun Deng said: Among all the beings of Heaven and Earth, few lives accord with the principles of the Dao, while many go against them. Thus, of every ten, only three live in accord with principle. The roots of life and death are connected with these thirteen parts. When people do not live according to principle, their deaths, too, are out of accord with what is natural. Few follow the Dao of life, while many violate it. Therefore, among those who die, only three in ten are able to follow the mandate of Heaven.

Another interpretation holds that this refers to the three karmic actions and the ten evils. Those who restrain the three actions and cease the ten evils belong to the category of long life; those who give free rein to the three actions and commit the ten evils approach death. Taken together, these interpretations show that Han Fei’s account of the nine apertures and four limbs is the most detailed explanation discussed here.

In a person’s lifetime, once they begin to act, thirteen factors can lead them toward death.

People living in the world are often tempted by all kinds of desires and advantages. They focus only on pursuing delicious food, fine clothes, beauty, and pleasing music to satisfy their bodily senses and physical pleasures. As a result, they always seem hurried and agitated in what they do, as though they have no choice. Even when they are moving step by step toward death, they often remain unaware. This state of affairs is always caused by the “thirteen things.” Why is this so?

Here the question is why ordinary people keep acting in ways that lead them toward death. The reason is that they pursue the preservation and enhancement of life too intensely.

“Generating life” means continually seeking to prolong it. Only by letting go of attachment to life and making fewer plans for oneself can one hope to endure. Greedily seeking pleasure and indulging oneself excessively instead brings one closer to death. The pursuit of prolonged life often begins with reliance on external things. Such things can indeed comfort the body and delight the mind, seeming to offer a means of extending life. But if this leads to attachment to wealth and excessive pursuit of things that nourish life, it disturbs the “thirteen things” (the thirteen causes of death mentioned earlier) and hastens one toward death.

It is said that those skilled at nurturing life—

“It is said” is a modest way of speaking; “nurture” means to care for and preserve. “Those skilled at nurturing life” refers to people who truly understand how to care for life and have mastered its essential principles.

When such people walk on land, they do not encounter rhinoceros-like beasts or tigers; when they enter a battle formation, they are not harmed by weapons. The rhinoceros has no place to use its horn, the tiger no place to sink its claws, and blades find no place to pierce.

“Meeting without expectation” means encountering one another naturally, without having made an appointment. The si, a large one-horned creature from ancient legend, roams south of the Xiang River. It has dark, bluish-black fur, resembles a wild ox, and its horn weighs a thousand jin.

Those skilled at preserving life regulate themselves inwardly, so that no illnesses arise; outwardly, they accord with the myriad things, so that calamities find it hard to harm them. They forget the pursuit of private gain and naturally encounter good fortune.

Among all implements, none is more dangerous than weapons; among all fierce beasts, none is more ferocious than the tiger and the si. One who does not fear weapons placed before them is beyond the reach of their blades. One who does not panic when a tiger or si blocks the road is beyond the reach of their claws and teeth. Calamities can harm those who act with intention, but they cannot harm those who are without intention.

Why is this so?

This asks why calamities do not come to invade them, and how they are able to escape death.

Because they have not entered a situation in which death is inevitable.

A Perfected Person, one whose virtue and cultivation have reached the highest level, does not indulge desire inwardly and harbors no intention of harming the myriad things outwardly. Thus, they can forget the self and preserve life: they have not placed themselves in a situation where death is inevitable. Zhuangzi says, “One who understands the Dao must be versed in affairs. One who is versed in affairs must understand how to adapt to changing circumstances. One who understands how to adapt will not let external things harm them. One whose virtue has reached the highest level cannot be burned by fire or drowned by water; cold and heat cannot injure them, and birds and beasts cannot attack them. This does not mean they take these things lightly. It means they can discern safety from danger, meet calamity and good fortune with composure, and choose carefully when to advance or withdraw. Thus, nothing can harm them.”

Death means losing the Dao; awakening allows the Dao to manifest. The text therefore goes on to speak of “the Dao gives life.”

The Dao gives life to and nourishes the myriad things; De nurtures them.

The Dao is the formless, empty source. De is the function revealed through the natural course of things. Though the Dao’s source is formless and empty, it can operate and bring forth the myriad things. They receive Qi from the Dao; hence, it is said that “the Dao gives life to and nourishes the myriad things.” De’s function follows what is natural, embracing and nurturing the myriad things. Their physical forms are nourished by De; hence, it is said that “De nurtures them.”

The myriad things take shape and are brought to completion through their particular conditions.

All plants and animals are born from the Dao and nourished by De. Each of the myriad things has its own form; hence, it is said that “the myriad things take shape.” They are also brought to completion through the conditions and circumstances in which they exist; hence, it is said that “they are brought to completion through their particular conditions.”

All living things, including animals and plants, come into being in accordance with the Dao (the Way) and are nourished by De (Virtue/Power). Once they have bodies, they are called “forms.” With their forms established, all things then grow gradually in accordance with the changing patterns of the four seasons.

Thus, there is nothing among the myriad things that does not revere the Dao and cherish De.

The Dao bestows pure Qi (vital energy) upon all things, giving them their nature of life. De contains gentle, balanced Qi that nourishes their forms. Therefore, all things look up to the Dao and cherish De.

The Dao is revered and De is cherished not because anyone has bestowed rank upon them. It has always been so, naturally and of itself.

“Rank” means the granting of a title and status, such as duke, marquis, count, viscount, or baron. In the world, things often appear noble because a ruler has granted them a title. The Dao brings all things into being with pure Qi, so they revere it as they would a father. De nourishes their forms with gentle, balanced Qi, so they cherish it as they would a mother. All things receive the Dao’s and De’s work of bringing them into being and raising them; they therefore revere and cherish them as they would their parents. This does not depend on an appointment to rank: all things are naturally moved to respect them.

Thus, the Dao brings all things into being, stores and sustains them, makes them grow, nurtures them, brings them to completion, brings them to maturity, nourishes them, and shelters them.

Earlier, the text said, “The Dao gives birth; De sustains.” De is not mentioned here because the Dao permeates everything, and so it is omitted in the wording. Receiving the Dao’s Qi is called “birth”; holding the Dao’s Qi within is called “sustaining”; allowing the body to unfold is called “growth”; nurturing life is called “nurturing”; assisting its functions to reach completion is called “completion”; bringing it through its cycle of growth is called “maturity”; preserving its balance is called “nourishment”; and protecting it from harm is called “sheltering.” These eight are all inherent functions of the Great Dao. Whether a creature flies or leaps, or is a tiny crawling life, how could it fail to revere the Dao and cherish De?

The Dao brings all things into being but does not claim them as its own; it acts but does not take pride in its achievements; it enables all things to grow but does not rule them. This is called “Mysterious De,” the profound and natural virtue.

This passage sums up the eight functions mentioned earlier, such as bringing things into being and sustaining them. It means that the Dao brings all things into being. If the Dao were to reveal an intention to possess them, then …

All things arise from the Dao, yet the Dao does not claim ownership of them. It nourishes all things without relying on this as a merit, and helps them grow without ruling over them. This is called “profound De” (hidden and far-reaching Virtue). It sums up the eight points discussed above about the Dao giving life to and nourishing all things: when the Dao gives life to all things, if it proclaims that it owns them, its benevolence and Virtue diminish; when it nourishes all things, if it relies on its own efforts, it claims credit; when it helps all things grow and mature and cares for plants and animals, if it boasts of ruling them, it assumes the place of an elder. The Dao does all this, yet withdraws into obscurity; therefore its De is profound and hidden.

The Dao gives life to all things, and De nourishes them. All things thus have a beginning, so the text next says, “The world has a beginning.”

Each thing in the world has its own beginning, which can be regarded as the mother of all things. Knowing the mother, one can also know the offspring that arise from her. Here, “beginning” refers to the Dao: the root, the nameless Dao. “Mother” refers to its function of nourishing all things: the named Dao. The Dao encompasses Heaven and Earth from without and fills the cosmos within; all things arise through it and take shape in accordance with it. What gives things their form is the “offspring”; what enables them to arise and grow is the “mother.” “Offspring” also refers to the One, the harmonious Qi that comes from the Dao. The Dao is the substance of true essence, while the One is the wondrous function through which the Dao gives life to all things. Knowing the Dao as the root also makes it possible to know its wondrous function. Substance and function depend on each other and ultimately return to the utmost emptiness, the state of stillness and non-action. After knowing this wondrous function, one must also hold fast to the root. Only when substance and function are united, responding to all things with inexhaustible effect, can one practice Wuwei (non-action) and yet leave nothing undone, remaining free from danger throughout one’s life.

Block the outlets of the senses through which desires arise, and close the gates that stir up longing; then you can live your whole life undisturbed.

This passage explains a method of cultivation: ending desire and safeguarding one’s root.

“Dui” means delight. It refers to the ears and eyes taking pleasure in sounds and sights, and the nose and mouth taking pleasure in scents and flavors—each of the senses has its own attractions. “Gate” means a passage for entering and leaving. The senses, such as the ears and eyes, are channels through which the forms of the external world enter the human heart-mind. If one closes these gates that invite attachment, troubles will cease, and body and mind will no longer be driven and exhausted by desire.

Another interpretation holds that “Dui” refers to the eyes. Restrain the gaze that is never satisfied, and the various external things will naturally be kept at a distance. Keep the constantly talkative mouth in check, and many troubles will have no way to intrude. When external things are kept at a distance, the source of craving is blocked; when troubles cease, the path of reckless action is closed. One can then remain tranquil and at ease, free from toil throughout life.

If one indulges the desires of the senses and lets affection and delight grow without restraint, craving will grow ever stronger. If one leaves the path of reckless action open, troubles will continue to arise. Then sorrow, pain, and danger will follow one another, and it will be difficult to recover for the rest of one’s life.

“To see the small is clarity; to hold to softness is strength” means that noticing the signs of disorder while they are still faint, before trouble has appeared, is clarity; holding to softness before matters become chaotic is strength. Knowing how to close the entrances to sensory desire is the ability to perceive what is subtle. Diminish the sharpness of craving, resolve the turmoil brought by reckless action, and hold to softness before things become chaotic: then external things will find it difficult to harm you, and this is what is called strength. When you can see subtle signs, events will not cloud your mind; this is what is called clarity.

“Use its light and return to its clarity” means to make use of one’s inner light and return to the clarity of one’s nature.

“Radiance” refers to the illuminating discernment of intellect. Intellect tends outward, and when it shines outward it is often active; activity is how it deals with external things. “Clarity” refers to the insight of wisdom. Wisdom tends inward, and when it reflects inward it is often still; stillness is its own foundation. When intellect shines outward, it is used to handle affairs. Withdraw that outward gaze, and it returns to the inner principle. Thus, when function returns to its foundation, this is called “returning to its clarity.” Here the text again explains what it means to perceive the subtle and know what is manifest, and to hold fast to softness: let the mind and spirit stop rushing outward and return within.

“Bringing no misfortune upon oneself is called inheriting the constant Dao.”

“Bequeath” can mean either to give or to leave behind. If one understands both the principles of things and one’s own foundation, joining substance and function as one, then one need not rely on intellect’s outward gaze but can remain in wisdom’s inward reflection. If cravings settle before they arise, and one returns to the source like a mother’s womb (“child and mother” refers to the functions born from the foundation and their source), one will not bring misfortune upon oneself. This is the hidden use of the constant Dao.

There is a beginning and an end. Understand the “child”—the function born from the source—and hold fast to the “mother,” the source itself, closing off the pull of cravings and preferences. If one can maintain this solitary, self-contained awareness, one will not bring misfortune upon oneself. This is the hidden use of the constant Dao.

So the text continues: If I can maintain this solitary, self-contained awareness…

If I can maintain this solitary, self-contained awareness and act in accordance with the Great Dao, my only concern is that I may undertake deliberate action.

“Solitary” carries the sense of being alone and uprightly self-contained. The author laments that people of his time did not follow the ancient Dao, and says: If someone like me, uprightly self-contained and versed in governance, were present, he should act in accordance with the Great Dao. The Great Dao is the way of Wuwei (non-action), stillness, fairness, and integrity. Yet governance always involves some deliberate action. When such action is simple and unassuming, it can guide the people toward stillness; when it is complicated and disruptive, it leads them toward greed and disorder. What demands the greatest vigilance is whether these actions depart from the ancient Dao.

The Great Dao is level, open, and easy to follow, yet people delight in taking side paths.

“Level, open, and easy” means that the Great Dao is unobstructed and simple. When deliberate action is simple and unassuming, it can guide the people toward stillness; when it is complicated and disruptive, it leads them toward greed and disorder. Therefore, one must be vigilant lest one’s actions depart from the ancient Dao.

The Great Dao is level, open, and easy to follow, yet people delight in taking side paths.

The Great Dao is easy to follow, like a broad highway: straight, open, and leading wherever one wishes to go. The essential thing in following the Great Dao is to proceed uprightly; there is no need to worry about taking a slight detour along the way. Yet people of the world are always eager to hurry and prefer shortcuts. The roads then become rough and the direction confused, so they fail to reach their destination. Laozi therefore worried about this way of acting and taught with care, so that people would learn reverence and caution. What follows explains how to guide the people onto the Great Dao.

The palace is splendidly renovated.

“Court” means palace buildings, and “renovated” means repaired and embellished.

The fields lie fallow,

with weeds growing thicker by the day.

The granaries are utterly empty, while the clothes are ornate and brightly colored.

Patterns woven from colors such as blue-green and red are called “designs”; colored silk threads are called “embroidery.” Chuan Yi says that “embroidery” is an ancient written form of the character for “stitching.”

At the waist they wear sharp swords; their meals are lavish and abundant, and their possessions exceed their needs.

The Han Feizi text reads, “Their goods and wealth are in excess,” meaning that they have amassed a great deal of property.

Enter a state and observe these conditions, and you can understand its government and teachings. If high terraces and palaces have been built with great splendor, and the walls and roofs of the buildings are decorated to look imposing, you can tell that the ruler delights in construction and is absorbed in pleasure. If the fields lie fallow and no one tends the crops, you can tell that the ruler frequently imposes labor service on the people, disrupting the farming seasons. If the granaries are empty and farmers go hungry, you can tell that the ruler favors secondary pursuits such as commerce and industry, while neglecting the fundamental work of agriculture. If clothes are prized for their patterns and colors, and people abandon the essential for decorative finery, you can tell that the ruler favors extravagant and elaborate crafts, to the detriment of women’s textile work. If people wear sharp swords and prize aggression, fighting among themselves, you can tell that the ruler admires valor and military force, keeping the state in ceaseless conflict. If meals are so lavish that food is often left uneaten, with fatty meat cooked and fresh livestock slaughtered, you can tell that the ruler indulges in eating and drinking, forgetting how the people make their living. If wealth is always accumulated in excess and rare treasures are avidly gathered, you can tell that the ruler favors hoarding, leaving the people financially depleted.

Confucius said, “If the people are not wealthy, how can their ruler be wealthy?” If the people are continually plundered, their strength will be exhausted. This is not the way of the sage.

This is called “thieving display”: seizing things like a thief and flaunting them. It is not conduct in accord with the Great Dao.

The seven methods discussed earlier all employ schemes and calculations, secretly extracting benefits from the people. Since they do not accord with reason, they are called “theft.” Because they engage in theft yet boast about themselves, they are called “boasting in theft.” This is not in accord with the Dao. The saying “Only the application of the Dao is to be feared”—that is, fearing that the Dao might be put into practice—probably refers to this situation.

Those who understand the principles and are skilled at putting them into practice have firm, unwavering virtue. Hence the next passage says, “What is well established cannot be uprooted.”

What is well established cannot be uprooted.

“To establish” means to set firmly in place. Those who cultivate themselves and govern a state in accordance with the Dao first strengthen the roots, then tend to the branches and leaves. When the roots are deep and the branches and leaves flourish, they cannot be overturned or uprooted.

What is well embraced cannot be lost.

“To lose” means to become separated or dispersed. Those who embrace the people in accordance with the Dao will have the people rally to them and remain united. Those who embrace the Origin and guard the One—protecting their original Qi and maintaining undivided focus—can also keep their spirit whole and prevent it from dispersing.

What is well embraced cannot be lost.

When people are embraced in accordance with the Dao, they do not become separated; when one embraces the Origin and guards the One, the spirit does not disperse.

The ancestral sacrifices of descendants will never cease.

“To cease” means to come to an end. Those who establish a state and embrace its people in accordance with the Dao will have flourishing descendants and blessings that endure, with sacrifices continuing from generation to generation.

Use the Dao to cultivate yourself, and your virtue will be genuine and pure. Use it to govern a family, and your virtue will be abundant. Use it to govern a community, and your virtue will endure. Use it to govern a state, and your virtue will grow rich. Put it into practice throughout the world, and your virtue will spread everywhere.

These five levels of cultivating the Dao begin with cultivating oneself and can extend, in time, to influence the whole world.

Cultivating the Dao in oneself means bringing calm to the heart and ease to one’s temperament, cherishing Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), nurturing Shen (spirit), reducing selfish thoughts and desires, increasing longevity, and ultimately becoming a realized person—one who has attained the Dao.

Cultivating the Dao in the family means that fathers are loving and children filial, elder brothers kind and younger siblings respectful, husbands faithful and wives virtuous. The family lives in harmony, allowing its blessings to endure through later generations.

Cultivating the Dao in the community means honoring the elderly, caring for children, and teaching those who are ignorant. The people live in unity and harmony, while those above and below trust one another and turn toward one another. The Virtue formed in this way can endure.

Cultivating the Dao in the state means that the people live at ease, officials each fulfill their duties, calamities and disorder do not arise, and all kinds of goods are plentiful and abundant, making life prosperous.

Cultivating the Dao in the world means transforming the people without relying on words and governing the world without coercive commands. Through an even and unassuming approach of Wuwei (non-action), harmony and understanding prevail throughout the world. Every household can uphold goodness, instruction reaches distant lands, and the influence of Virtue extends everywhere.

Therefore, observe oneself through oneself, the family through the family, the community through the community, the state through the state, and the world through the world.

“To observe” means to examine and discern. Look back upon your own body and mind through the methods by which the sages of old cultivated themselves: if your body and mind can embody the Dao, your Virtue is genuine. Look back upon your family through the methods by which the sages of old governed their households: if your family members live in affection and harmony, you have a sound foundation for governing the state. Look back upon the community through the methods by which the sages of old governed communities: if neighbors trust one another, Virtue can endure. Look back upon the people through the methods by which the sages of old governed states: if the people can live securely and make a good living, the state’s blessings of Virtue will be abundant. Look back upon the people of the world through the methods by which the sages of old governed the world: if the people can be quiet and free of excessive desire, no longer ruled by selfish cravings and deluded views, the transformation through Virtue can extend everywhere.

How do I know that this is how things are in the world? I know it by these principles above.

Laozi says, “How do I know that when the people of the world follow the Dao, they will flourish, and when they turn away from it, they will decline?” The answer is that I know by using the five things mentioned earlier to observe and examine the state of the world in reverse. The Dao De Jing says, “Without going out the door, one can understand the world”; the Yi Jing says, “Observe your own life, and thereby observe the circumstances of the people.” Surely this is what they mean.

To be adept at cultivating oneself through the Dao and governing the state, allowing the grace of De to reach throughout the world—this is probably what “containing De in great depth” means. Therefore, the discussion that follows turns to “containing De in great depth.”

End of Fascicle Seven of the Subtle Anthology from the Repository of the Dao and Its De

Fascicle Eight of the Subtle Anthology from the Repository of the Dao and Its De

Compiled by Chen Jingyuan, Master of the Jade Void.

The De Jing

One who contains De in great depth is like a newborn infant.

“Contain” means to hold within. One who has attained the Dao has a pure nature and mind, and holds deep De within. Their feelings return to their original nature; they are quiet and tranquil, without desires. Their expression and bearing are naturally composed, like those of a newborn infant. The infant is used here as an image of purity and simplicity, and of perfect harmony.

Venomous creatures do not sting it, fierce beasts do not harm it, and birds of prey do not swoop down upon it.

Scorpions, bees, and other insects deliver a poisonous sting with their tails; this is called “stinging.” Ferocious beasts such as tigers and leopards press and attack with their claws; this is called “seizing.” Birds of prey such as eagles and ospreys strike with their claws and wings; this is called “swooping.” The perfected person who has attained the Dao, whose cultivation has reached a profound level, is complete in spirit and clarity. Like an infant, he is free of calculation and desire, pure and unfeigned; his spirit is therefore whole, and external things cannot harm him.

Yan Junping said: “Though an infant has awareness, it has not yet revealed distinctions. Though it can understand how things work, its understanding has not yet matured into full cognition. It has abilities, yet has not put them to use; it is nimble, yet seems clumsy; it is alive, yet seems lifeless; it is new, yet seems old. It appears to do nothing, yet is closely joined with the Great Dao. Its life is a life that does not cling to ‘life’; its body is a body that does not cling to ‘body’; its functioning is a function that does not cling to ‘function’; and what it hears is hearing that does not cling to ‘hearing.’ It is Wuwei (non-action) and free of affairs, without intention or a self-centered mind. It does not deliberately pursue virtue or store up spirit; it neither broods nor is impeded or burdened. Its spirit and Qi do not attach themselves to external things. Its ears are keen and its eyes clear, yet it does not cling to distinctions. It is soft and yielding, empty and still, with its hun and po souls at peace and undisturbed. It delights in wanting nothing and rests in a state without desire. In life it does not deplete its spirit; in death it does not bend or diminish its resolve. Thus it can bear the Great Dao, nurture De, and accord with Heaven and Earth. Bees, insects, and snakes have no intention of stinging it, and birds of prey and fierce beasts do not deliberately harm it.”

Its bones are weak and its sinews soft, yet its fists are tightly clenched.

This describes the infant’s harmonious and complete body and mind, and uses them as a metaphor for the perfected person’s undivided virtue. The infant does not yet know joy or anger, yet its fists are tightly clenched, because its innate nature is undivided.

It does not yet know sexual union, yet its sexual organ becomes erect. This is a sign that its Jing and Qi are abundantly full. The “□” spoken of here refers to the source of the infant’s life. Though its desires have not yet awakened, Yang Qi arises naturally; this is precisely a sign that its true Jing is full.

The □ is the life source of the infant. Before desire and passion arise, Yang Qi moves naturally within the body. This is where the Qi of true Jing reaches. The principle serves as a metaphor for those who have attained the Dao: they are inwardly empty and free of desire, their breath moves naturally, and no desire can disturb them. The term “□ zuo” appears in an old edition as “quan zuo.” Wang Bi says, “‘Zuo’ means to grow.” Nothing harms them, so they are able to preserve themselves and grow.

The Shangqing Dongzhen Pin says: At birth, people receive the Qi of Heaven and Earth, which gives them spirit and form; they also receive the Qi of the Primordial One, which gives them fluids and vital essence. When Heaven’s Qi declines, spirit disperses; when Earth’s Qi declines, the body falls ill; and when primordial Qi declines, life moves toward exhaustion. The Way of Di Yi Returning to the Origin—a Daoist practice for returning primordial Qi and nourishing the body—can make Qi flow upward against its ordinary course and circulate through the hundred channels of the body, nourishing the Niwan, or brain, from below. When the brain is full, spirit can be preserved; when spirit is preserved, the body remains whole. In a healthy body, all the joints and passages are clear, and harmful influences cannot enter. The marrow condenses into bones, the viscera give rise to sinews and vessels, and the body and mind become pure and free of impurities. Such a person may hope to live long.

An infant can cry all day without becoming hoarse because the Qi within is perfectly harmonized. “Hao” means to cry; when crying reaches its extreme and the voice turns hoarse, this is called “sha,” meaning a hoarse voice. An infant cries throughout the day without the throat becoming hoarse or the voice breaking: this shows that the Qi of natural harmony is whole and abundant. Likewise, the perfected person breathes deeply, down to the heels, with a long, unhurried breath because the Qi of harmony is abundant.

To understand harmony is to understand the constant Dao; to understand the constant Dao is to be clear-sighted. The infant relies on harmonious Qi to preserve its true nature. Those who have attained the Dao know that harmony is essential, and so they take it as their constant standard. To understand the constant Dao and never depart from it, to hold fast to it, brings clarity of mind. This is a sign of profound De. Du Guangting says: When the Five Constant Virtues are present, this is called “harmony.” When the human body is in harmony, De becomes full and accords with the true Dao. When a state is in harmony, its teachings spread widely and its blessings endure. In dealing with others, harmony accords with proper conduct; when an army acts in harmony, it can achieve success. The meaning of “harmony” is far-reaching. When harmony and the constant Dao are understood, complete De naturally becomes clear.

An increase in life activity is an auspicious sign; directing the breath with the mind makes one appear vigorous.

Good fortune and calamity are both signs of things about to happen. When a person is born and takes on a fixed form, their endowment and lifespan have natural limits. If they do not follow what is ordinary and instead recklessly seek to add more, they invite danger. Zhuangzi says, “Follow nature; do not deliberately add to life.”

The mind distinguishes right from wrong, but Qi does not. So when we let Qi follow its own course, our nature and disposition become gentle; when we let the mind impose its will, we are likely to become rigid and violent. The will can influence Qi, and Qi can influence the will. If the mind uses Qi as its servant, Qi becomes excessive, and the mind grows hard in turn. Zhuangzi says, “Do not listen with the mind; listen with Qi.” This means not letting the mind control Qi. Deliberately adding to life causes Qi to stray from the right path.

When things grow too strong, they move toward decline and old age. This is called being out of accord with the Dao. What is out of accord with the Dao soon comes to an end.

Things that reach the height of their strength must wither and decline. When the will becomes too rigid, it can also turn violent. The Dao works through softness and weakness; single-mindedly pursuing strength and hardness is therefore out of accord with the Dao. For this reason, Laozi warns people to stop such conduct early. “Stop” can also mean ending or dying. Here it means that those who do not follow the Dao will meet death before long.

Those of profound De are quiet and sparing with words. Once they have understood, they do not cling to words, which is why the text next says, “Those who know do not speak.”

Those who truly understand the Dao say little; those who love to talk do not truly understand it.

Those who understand the Dao grasp it inwardly; they do not rely on argument to expound it.

Those who truly understand the Dao (the Way) rely on inward experience rather than verbal argument. They value putting it into practice rather than empty talk. Those who speak about the Dao often do nothing but argue, without any inward experience. As a result, they lose the Dao but keep a set of words.

Yan Junping, a Daoist scholar of the Western Han, said: When the five flavors enter the mouth and the five notes enter the ear, people find that sweetness is not simply sweetness, nor bitterness simply bitterness; the notes shang and yu, too, each have subtle distinctions. Yi Ya, the chef renowned for discerning flavors, and Shi Kuang, the musician renowned for discerning notes, could distinguish these differences, but the subtleties could not be fully explained in words. If this is true of flavors and sounds, how much more so of the subtle, mysterious Dao? The Zhuangzi says that when Zhuangzi traveled in the north, someone asked Wuweiwei—whose name suggests one who does not speak or express things in words—three times for guidance, but he did not answer. This was not deliberate silence; he did not know how to answer. This accords with the point made here.

The Xisheng Jing says: The Dao follows what is natural. Those who practice it can experience it; those who hear of it can speak about it. Those who truly understand the Dao do not speak, while those who love to speak may not understand it. People communicate with one another through language and sound, and so they speak about the Dao and respond to one another. Those who do not understand the Dao, however, use words to disturb one another. If they neither listen nor speak, they do not know what lies behind it. It is like someone who understands music: they can recognize a melody from the strings and know in their heart what sound it is, yet cannot fully convey it in words. The Dao is profound and subtle, and those who truly understand it do not express it lightly in words. Someone who hears sorrow in music lowers their voice and quietly takes it in, then lets what is in their heart guide their tongue. But speaking alone does not mean one understands the Dao. This refers to those who can both practice it and speak about it.

Block the openings of the senses; close their gates.

This phrase also appears in chapter fifty-two, but its purpose here is different. Chapter fifty-two emphasizes preserving the Dao’s stillness by blocking the roots from which craving and attachment arise. Here, the main point is that the Dao cannot be expressed in words, so the phrase “diminish hearing and abandon sight”—restraining the senses of hearing and vision—is used to make the point. The Dao has no form: the eyes cannot see it, and the tongue cannot convey it. The mind is perplexed by it, and words cannot discuss it to the end. Thus, the perfected person, one who has reached a lofty state, need not deliberately restrain hearing and sight or keep silent. They naturally block the openings of the senses and close their gates.

Blunt the sharpness; untangle the confusion; soften the light and blend with the dust of the world.

This passage continues the meaning of Chapter Four. The previous chapter explained the workings of the Dao; this one shows, through a person’s cultivation, how to put the Great Dao into practice. The Perfected Person, who has realized the Great Dao, shares the mind of Heaven and so does not rely on a discriminating mind to pursue deluded knowledge. Being one in body with the Dao, they do not cling to a fixed form. Where, then, could restless and confused thoughts arise? Where could the mind that divides things by their colors and distinctions take shape? This is called “mysterious sameness”: merging with the Great Dao and clinging to no distinctions.

In dealing with the world, the Perfected Person, when visible, shares the root of all things; when hidden, merges with emptiness. They speak when it is time to speak and are silent when it is time for silence, responding to circumstances without clinging to any one way. Their words are like “goblet words”—speech that changes with the occasion and takes no fixed position—and each day they respond to change. This is mysterious sameness.

Such a person is not swayed by closeness or distance, tempted by gain or constrained by harm. They do not pride themselves on honor or belittle themselves because of low status. For this reason, they are respected throughout the world.

They associate with the Dao without fawning, and even when praised by the world do not become overzealous in their efforts. Closeness alone cannot sway them. They engage with concrete things without treating them lightly, and even when criticized by the world do not become disheartened. Distance alone cannot unsettle them. They are indifferent to desire, keep to their proper role, and know contentment, so gain cannot tempt them. They do not feel humiliated by low status, and when things go against them they do not contend, so they are not trapped by others’ schemes. Rank and stipend cannot defile them, and power cannot move them; therefore, favor and honor cannot change them. In adversity they do not submit, and in poverty they remain at ease; therefore, low status cannot make them give up on themselves.

The Perfected Person puts these six principles into practice. They do not take pride in success or feel ashamed of hardship. They do not resent Heaven or blame others; they are not entangled by external things and do not incur the censure of spirits and gods. For this reason, they are respected throughout the world.

The discussion then turns to governing the state: first, how to cultivate and govern oneself, then how to govern things. After discussing governance through political affairs, it moves on to the use of military force and the governing of all under Heaven. A state is governed through ordinances; troops are led through unorthodox methods that secure victory; and all under Heaven is won through ruling by Wuwei (non-action).

When rulers govern the state through decrees and moral instruction, the people may not dare to give free rein to their desires, yet their lives gradually become more difficult and their livelihoods decline. The more conspicuous the methods of governance and the achievements they produce, the less likely that rule can last. A ruler who seeks hegemony uses cunning strategies and deception in warfare. The state may avoid collapse for a time, but disorder accumulates; as resentment grows, how can the ruler remain secure for long? If a Dao-aligned ruler wishes to win the hearts of the people and accomplish great and lasting things, it is best to intervene as little as possible. That is why chapter 48 of the Dao De Jing says that to take the world, one should always act without meddling; once one meddles too much, one is not fit to take the world. This is Laozi’s teaching on governing the world through stillness and Wuwei (non-action). In the Heshang Gong edition, the character “zheng” is written as “zheng” with the meaning “correct.”

Laozi poses a question and answers it: How do I know that the intentions of Heaven and humanity are truly as I have described? The circumstances we see around us today make it clear. What follows is his answer.

The more prohibitions and restrictions there are under Heaven, the poorer the people become. Here, “taboos” refers to prohibitions. When the ruler refuses to practice Wuwei and governs through a dense web of decrees, the people fear breaking the rules and find themselves constrained in everything they do. Busy avoiding forbidden acts, they dare not take action; their livelihoods are obstructed, and they grow poorer day by day.

The more schemes and tactical devices the people possess, the more disorderly the state becomes. Here, “sharp tools” refers to schemes and stratagems. When the ruler cannot govern calmly and instead makes cunning and manipulation a priority, people deceive one another from top to bottom. The people, too, rely ever more on schemes, concerned only with getting by and harboring ulterior motives, and society grows more disorderly.

The more the people prize skill and ingenuity, the more strange and extravagant objects there are. Here, “skill” refers to cleverness in craftsmanship and production. When the ruler refuses to govern without meddling and instead delights in clever contrivances, turning attention to luxury and pleasure, the people come to admire elaborate ornamentation and prize gold, jade, and all manner of unusual objects. Such things grow more numerous day by day. An ancient edition reads: “When the people are full of cleverness, harmful practices multiply.”

The stricter and more elaborate the laws and decrees become, the more thieves there are.

Laws and ordinances use punishment to teach the people. If the ruler cannot be free of desire and instead uses criminal laws to establish his authority, then even if the people are clever, crooked and wicked conduct will continue to increase.

The more numerous and severe the laws, the more thieves and robbers there will be.

Laws and ordinances use punishment to teach the people. If the ruler cannot be free of desire but uses criminal laws to establish his authority, the people may sometimes escape punishment by luck, yet still lack the means to meet their needs. Devious and wicked conduct will then arise first: on a small scale, people band together to steal; on a large scale, they covet the state. The Heshanggong recension reads, “As ritual objects flourish, so do displays of splendor.”

Therefore, the sage says:

Laozi did not dare present these words as his own views, so he says, “The sage says.” Some also believe that Laozi once served as the archivist beneath the pillars of the Zhou court and read the ancient texts preserved from earlier times, such as the Three Tombs and the ancient writings. He therefore cited the words of sages to support his own views.

When I practice Wuwei (non-action), the people are naturally transformed. When I do not disturb them, they naturally become prosperous. When I cherish stillness, they naturally become upright. When I have no private desires, they naturally become simple and sincere.

Here, “I” is the ruler who governs the world speaking of himself. When the ruler follows the Dao of Heaven and does not alter or create things arbitrarily, the people can live in peace and customs change naturally. When the ruler does not disturb the people, conserves resources, and values simplicity, they can devote themselves to earning a living, and every household naturally prospers. When the ruler is quiet and speaks little, living with detachment and self-restraint, the people can preserve their inborn nature, and customs naturally become upright. When the ruler is free of desire and inwardly still, rejects ostentation, and values what is fundamental, the people will not boast or compete with one another, and their nature will remain simple and sincere. If the ruler takes many actions and is driven by private desires, yet hopes the people will be prosperous and long-lived, I think this will be difficult to achieve.

The Zhuangzi says: “Heaven and Earth possess a great virtue but do not speak of it. The seasons follow clear patterns but do not discuss them. The myriad things grow according to their own principles but do not explain them. The sage takes Heaven and Earth’s virtue as a model and understands the patterns of the myriad things. Thus the Perfected Person does not act arbitrarily, and the great sage does not force things into being. This is the principle discerned by observing Heaven and Earth.”

The Heshanggong recension also includes the sentence, “When I am free of feelings, the people naturally become pure.” The commentary explains that when the ruler cultivates the Dao and preserves his true nature, cutting off the six desires, the people will follow him and naturally become tranquil.

In governing the state and transforming the people, nothing is better than not disturbing them. When they are left undisturbed, government is mild; therefore the next passage says, “When its government is dull and unassertive.”

When government is lenient and does not scrutinize every detail, the people become simple and honest. “Muffled and subdued” describes a spacious style of governing that makes no harsh demands at every turn; “simple and sincere” describes a plain, honest character. A ruler who governs through Wuwei (non-action) administers with generosity, allowing all things to follow their natural course and imposing no harsh tyranny on the people. As a result, customs remain simple, people find contentment in quietude, and their character grows ever more honest. An old edition reads “chunchun,” while Wang Bi’s edition reads “dun-dun.”

When government is strict and exacting, the people become impoverished and scattered. “Scrutinizing and severe” refers to deliberate intervention and harsh urgency; “fragmented and diminished” describes decline, disintegration, and insecurity. The ruler governs with severity and haste, restraining the people through laws and commands. As these multiply, thieves multiply as well. The people are driven into hardship and dispersal; they repeatedly run afoul of prohibitions and can only live in fear and seek refuge. Social customs, too, steadily deteriorate.

Disaster contains good fortune, and good fortune conceals disaster. Who can know where their transformations will end? “Leaning on” means relying on or depending upon; “hidden” means concealed. People may regard lenient government as neglect, yet it can make the people simple and honest. But disaster and good fortune depend on one another and transform into one another. Who can say where these changes will finally lead?

“Relying” means depending on something; “concealed” means hidden beneath the surface. When governance is lenient, people may call it negligent, yet the people remain simple and content. When governance is strict, people may call it capable, yet the people feel deprived and anxious. People usually regard calamity as something frightening, but the caution born of fear may also give rise to good fortune. They usually regard good fortune as something welcome, but the pride and complacency born of delight may conceal calamity. Calamity and good fortune depend on each other, changing without end. Heaven and Earth have periods of stability and decline; the sun and moon wax and wane. This is the pattern by which calamity and good fortune rely on one another and lie hidden within each other.

Good fortune lies hidden within calamity: if someone receives good fortune and grows proud and complacent, calamity will follow. Calamity also lies hidden within good fortune: if someone meets with calamity and becomes cautious and vigilant, good fortune may follow. This is common in the world. Thus, a ruler who has the Dao takes stillness as a guiding principle and lets things develop naturally. He does not covet wealth or attach himself to the powerful and the rich; he does not rejoice in a long life or grieve over an early death; he does not take prominence as an honor or poverty as a disgrace. In that case, what could calamity or good fortune depend on, or hide within?

“Is there no distinction between what is right and what is deviant?”

Calamity and good fortune depend on one another, but does that mean there is no distinction between what is right and what is deviant? A ruler who has the Dao practices Wuwei (non-action), takes no fixed hold on himself or on things outside himself, and so can accord with the right way. If he deliberately pursues what is “right,” that very rightness may turn into what is “strange”—abnormal or deviant. If he deliberately pursues what is “good,” that very goodness may turn into what is “monstrous”—aberrant or unnatural.

The saying “what is right turns strange, and what is good turns monstrous” reflects the fact that people’s minds differ. A ruler who has the Dao keeps his mind steady like the weight of a balance. He neither anticipates others in order to win their favor nor chases after them once they have acted. He responds only as things change and harbors no preconceptions, so he can meet the myriad things without being harmed by them. If he uses what he himself considers “right” to correct what he considers wrong, his idea of right may not truly accord with the right way. Once it departs from that way, crafty schemes and deceit arise; this is why it is called “strange.” If he uses what he himself considers “good” to correct what he considers bad, his idea of goodness may not truly accord with goodness. Once it departs from goodness, aberrant and reckless words and deeds arise; this is why it is called “monstrous.” If things are allowed to return to what is right and good in keeping with their own nature, calamity and good fortune will not be steered by human intervention, but will naturally depend on one another and transform into each other.

The people have been trapped in confusion for a long time.

Social customs have grown shallow. People can no longer naturally set themselves straight and do good, so they betray their true nature to advertise their integrity and go against their own nature in pursuit of supposed goodness. They end up treating what is ordinary as strange and regarding the right way as demonic. They are confused and do not awaken; this has been going on for a long time. The Xisheng Jing says, “There is no need to make a point of proclaiming the right way everywhere; the right way will return of its own accord. Do not admit evil Qi, and it will leave of its own accord.” This means that when one follows the Dao and acts naturally, one will receive the Dao’s help.

Thus, the sage is upright without harming others.

A ruler who has the Dao rectifies himself and lets all things awaken on their own. He does not use his own uprightness to judge or wound them, nor force them to comply with him and thereby lose their individual natures.

He is pure and free of defilement.

“Pure” means clean; “defilement” means filth. A ruler who has the Dao follows his nature and remains pure, allowing all things to change naturally. He does not display his own purity in order to disparage the impurity of others. He simply encourages all things to cleanse themselves of defilement. In an older version, the character for “pure” is written as “wound,” meaning injury. This can also be understood to mean that the sage peacefully maintains his own purity and does not injure the people with punishments.

He is upright without imposing his uprightness.

“Si” means to extend or put into practice. A ruler who has the Dao is frank by nature and does not bend himself to curry favor, yet he does not impose his frankness arbitrarily on all things or use it to anger or offend others. This is like the saying, “The greatest straightness seems bent”: true uprightness can appear as though it has yielded somewhat.

He is bright without flaunting his brilliance.

“Brightness” refers to clear insight. A ruler who has the Dao understands how things work, while also knowing how to restrain his sharpness and conceal his light. He does not show off his intelligence and abilities, lest all things be suppressed and lose their vitality. These are ways of governing with generosity and tolerance, rather than with petty scrutiny and severity.

When decrees are lenient, the people are blessed; when governance is harsh, they suffer calamity. Blessing and calamity depend on one another and are shaped both by human conduct and by the workings of Heaven. The discussion therefore turns to governing the people and following the Dao of Heaven.

In governing the people and following the Dao of Heaven, nothing is more important than restraint and conservation. “Se” means to cherish and conserve, and also suggests not recklessly exhausting one’s spirit and strength.

“Frugality” means cherishing what one has. Ordinary people squander their energy and pursue luxury, yet always feel they have too little. Sages cherish their energy and use resources sparingly, and so have something left over. Therefore, those who govern the people should be quiet and practice Wuwei (non-action), keeping their policies clear and simple. This lessens the people’s burdens and allows them to store up their wealth, fill their granaries, and learn the proprieties. People can then preserve their Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), and cherish their spirit. They will also approach sacrifices with cleanliness and reverence, no longer preparing lavish offerings, so that humans and spirits alike may be at peace. That is why nothing is more fitting than frugality.

Only by practicing frugality can one be said to have “early alignment.”

Using resources sparingly, avoiding luxury, curbing desire, and cherishing one’s spirit: this is following the Dao (the Way). Before misfortune or good fortune has yet appeared, the sage is already accustomed to following the Dao. This is called “early alignment.” An old edition reads “early return.”

Following the Dao early is called “accumulating deep De (Virtue/Power).”

Sparing the people’s resources and cherishing their spirit in order to honor the Lord on High is a form of virtue. Following the Dao early also brings people to sincerity and contentment, and brings harmony with the spirits. Thus it is called “accumulating deep De.”

One who accumulates deep De can overcome anything.

Those who accumulate deep De can govern the people, and people from every direction will admire and rally to them. No one will be beyond the reach of their virtue.

If nothing is beyond one’s power to overcome, no one can know the limits of that power.

When everyone submits and all things are transformed, De has no end. No one can measure its limits.

With deep, boundless De, one can possess a state.

One whose De is boundless must be humble and uncontentious; by yielding, they come to stand before others. By not placing too much importance on themselves, they are able to preserve themselves. All under Heaven are glad to recommend such a person and do not tire of them, so they can become a ruler of a region. In the past, Gengsangzi lived at the foot of Mount Yu. For three years, the local customs were free of corruption, and the harvest was abundant year after year. The people discussed among themselves: “When Gengsangzi first arrived, we thought him unusual. Now, measured day by day, the harvest seems modest, but measured year by year, there is more than enough. Perhaps he is a sage. Why don’t we join together to honor him, pray for his blessing, and make him the guardian spirit of our region?” This is what is meant by De without end, which makes it possible to possess a state.

One who holds the root of the state can endure for a long time.

The foundation of governing a state lies in accumulating De (Virtue/Power) without cease. De can fully nourish the people; only when they live in abundance can the state’s blessings endure.

This is called having deep roots and a firm base: the way of long life and enduring vision.

The “root” is the foundation of a tree; the “base” is where a flower joins its stem. When a fruit tree is planted, deep roots make its base firm. With a firm base, even strong winds can scarcely uproot it or blow away its flowers and fruit. Deep roots produce luxuriant branches and leaves; a firm base keeps flowers and fruit from falling, allowing the tree to endure. A ruler who accumulates De governs the people in accord with the way of Heaven. By ruling with generosity and nourishing the people, the ruler is like one who plants the roots in Wuwei (non-action) and makes the base firm in stillness and purity, so that the state may endure. Because the ruler can continually observe and govern the state, this is called “enduring vision.”

Du Guangting says that those who cultivate the Dao steady their spirit and strengthen their bodies, gather primordial Qi (vital energy), and maintain harmony. By guarding the Three Passes within, setting aside every concern, bringing the spirits into peace, and bringing all their practices to completion, they attain limitless transformations and can prolong their lives. They secure their base in the realm of primordial unity and plant their roots deep in the land of nothingness, walking alongside such Daoist immortals as the Nine Elders and the Seven Primordials. In an old edition, the character for “base” is written with a different form, but it also means a tree’s root.

By following the way of Heaven and accumulating De, one can govern a state well. The text therefore goes on to speak of “governing a great state.”

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish.

Governing a great state with ten thousand chariots is like cooking a very small fish: regulate the heat and the amount of water, and let the fish cook naturally so that it remains intact. If it is turned over again and again, it will be damaged; once damaged, it will break apart as it cooks. Those skilled at governing the people harmonize their laws and instruction so that the people can live in peace. If they constantly disturb the people, the people will be harmed and society will fall into disorder.

When the world is governed through the Dao, even ghosts and spirits cannot display their supernatural powers.

The sage governs the world through Wuwei (non-action) and the Dao of clarity and stillness, allowing the balanced Qi to spread in every direction. Where it reaches a valley, the valley is filled; where it reaches a hollow, the hollow is filled. Thus wind and rain arrive in season, floods and droughts do not occur, and people are content with what is natural, making no reckless demands for blessings. Even ghosts and spirits dare not manifest uncanny transformations. The Jing of the Western Ascension says: “Follow the natural course of the Dao, and you will naturally receive its aid. Do not make improper prayers or sacrifices, and ghosts and spirits will naturally retreat.” This is the principle being described. “Spirit” here refers to uncanny transformations.

It is not that ghosts and spirits lack uncanny powers; rather, they do not harm the people.

This does not mean that ghosts and spirits have lost their uncanny powers, or that their transformations have vanished. It is simply that when people do nothing contrary to the natural order or lacking in virtue, there is no cause for calamities and anomalies to arise. When people uphold the constant Dao and virtue, the transformations of ghosts and spirits have no opportunity to harm them. This is the natural way of things.

The uncanny transformations of ghosts and spirits do not harm the people, and the sage does not harm them either.

Ghosts and spirits do not refrain from harming the people because they lack uncanny powers. Rather, the sage’s Wuwei and stillness move them through the radiance of his virtue, so they remain in the unseen realm and do not manifest to cause trouble. When Liezi speaks of the sage governing the world, he says: the sage gives no favors or gifts, yet all things naturally flourish; he amasses no wealth and commits no wrong. Yin and Yang remain in harmony, the sun and moon shine steadily, the four seasons follow their proper course, and wind and rain are evenly distributed. All things grow in season, and grain harvests are abundant year after year. The earth suffers no calamities or damage; people meet no sudden death or premature end; all things are free of illness, and ghosts and spirits do not manifest to cause disorder.

Neither the sage nor ghosts and spirits harm the people; thus their virtues converge and come together as one.

“Both” refers to the sage and the spirits. Heshanggong says that when neither harms the other, the living can dwell in peace in the world of the Yang, while spirits and ghosts can dwell in peace in the realm of the Yin. People preserve their lives, and spirits and ghosts preserve their spiritual essence; thus, their Virtue returns to join with one another. A ruler can nurture the spirits, and the spirits can bless the ruler. This, too, is what it means for their Virtue to “return through mutual exchange.”

Du Guangting says that the people are the foundation of the state: only when that foundation is firm can the state be at peace. People are the beings on whom the spirits depend; only when people are secure can the spirits receive their offerings. The sage governs the state through the Dao, harming neither people nor spirits, and doing no damage to the myriad things. The spirits are moved by the sage’s merit, and people and spirits delight in one another; thus, their Virtue returns to join with one another.

A great state engages with others from a humble position and pacifies small states. The text therefore goes on to say, “A great state is like the lower reaches of a river.”

A great state occupies the lower reaches and becomes the meeting place of all under Heaven.

Rivers and seas become the destination of countless streams and valleys because they are adept at staying low. A great state can draw the other states to it for the same reason: it humbly takes the lower position and so becomes a gathering place for the scholars and people of all under Heaven.

In its dealings with all under Heaven, a great state should be like the female. The female often overcomes the male through stillness, because stillness means willingly remaining in the lower position.

This passage continues the preceding discussion and explains the principle further. The states of all under Heaven converge on a great state because it can maintain the feminine qualities of gentleness and stillness. Through humility, non-contention, and freedom from greed, the great state can pacify the powerful states and bring them to submit.

Therefore, if a great state treats small states with humility, it can win their allegiance.

A great state may occupy a position of strength and prosperity, yet not presume upon its size. In this way, there is no small state it cannot pacify and welcome. Though it holds the higher position, it treats those below with humility and gentleness, and does not use military force to intimidate them. Neighboring states will therefore submit willingly and accept vassal status, allowing the great state to win their allegiance.

Yan Junping said: A wise ruler governing a great state bestows favors without using them to control others, and humbles himself before others without seeking anything in return. His realm embraces the lands of the feudal lords, inspiring reverence in every state; his De encompasses their strength, making all sides willing to serve him. He lowers himself to treat others with courtesy, thereby answering the people’s wishes. He sets an example for scholars and officials through loyalty, incorruptibility, and trustworthiness. He grants land to attract worthy people and encourages farming and weaving, as well as the stockpiling of supplies. He befriends all sides and maintains ties with the feudal lords to guard against unexpected upheavals. He opens the granaries and distributes wealth, supports the elderly and cares for orphans, relieves the poor and aids those in hardship, and brings forth worthy recluses from the mountains and forests so they may be recognized and given important roles.

He accepts the allegiance of others but does not claim them as his own; he grants favors but demands no repayment. He handles affairs with gentleness and simplicity, governing through Wuwei (non-action). Even when a feudal lord is greedy and base, brutal and arrogant, and relies on force, the great state treats him with calm humility, backed by its deep prestige and De. Such rulers then cultivate themselves, act with care, correct their faults, and begin anew. They offer up land and treasures, and may even entrust their lives to the great state, asking to become its vassal lords and protective allies.

When a small state approaches a great state with humility, it can gain that state’s welcome and protection.

A small state should be at ease with its small size and not feel inferior because it is weak. Then no great matter will be beyond its ability to manage. It occupies a low position and treats others with respect and care, making no principle of conduct out of arrogance or self-importance. Neighboring states are therefore willing to comfort and assist it. This is how a state, by lowering itself, gains the influence and support of a great power.

Mencius said, “Only the humane can serve a great state by caring for a small one.” Thus Tang of Shang treated the Earl of Ge with courtesy, and King Wen of Zhou treated the Kunyi with courtesy. “Only the wise can serve a great state by serving it as a small one.” Thus the Great King served the Xun Chang, and King Goujian of Yue served the state of Wu. For a great state to treat a small state with courtesy is to delight in following the Way of Heaven; for a small state to serve a great one is to revere the Way of Heaven. Those who delight in Heaven can preserve all under Heaven; those who revere Heaven can preserve their own state. The Book of Songs says, “Revering the might of Heaven, he was thereby able to preserve himself.” These words from the Zhou Hymns praise King Cheng for revering Heaven’s might and bringing peace and order to all under Heaven.

Yan Junping said: When a state is weak and small, it should follow the Dao and act in accordance with De. It should not rely on force or make a show of arms and armor. It should treat others with loyalty and respect, esteem simplicity, and give priority to farming. Those above and below should be united in harmony, as close as father and son. The ruler should regard the people as his own heart and mind, and the people should be one with their ruler. If all are single-minded and united in harmony, they can live and die together.

Even if the ruler of a great state commands many troops and holds power and status, his heart may be as fierce as a hungry tiger and his anger may surge like a spring. A small state can still respond by following Heaven’s will, winning the people’s support, maintaining trust between ruler and ministers, and seeking help from neighboring states. It should be frank and humble, willing to lower itself and make a sincere appeal, entrusting its fate to the other state with steadfast earnestness. It should serve that state through stillness and Wuwei (non-action). In this way, the other state will be moved, its anger will subside, disaster will be averted, and in the end it will agree to make peace with the small state.

Thus some states win others through humility, while others are won because they occupy the lower position.

The word “or” indicates that the situation described here is not fixed. From the context, “to obtain” means to seek one another out and form ties: a great state treats a small state with humility and thereby wins its closeness; a small state, in turn, respectfully submits to the great state and thereby gains its acceptance. The two states form a relationship in different ways.

A great state has no excessive ambition to go beyond its proper bounds. It hopes only to embrace and nurture the people of the small state.

The ruler of a great state honors humility, observes ritual and law, cultivates himself, and treats the small state with deference. He does not seek to overreach through greed, annex the small state, or gather its people. Rather, he makes humility and respect for ritual his everyday way of conduct.

A small state has no excessive ambition to go beyond its proper bounds. It hopes only to attach itself to the great state and serve it.

The ruler of a small state is loyal and compliant, observes the established institutions, cultivates himself, and treats the great state with deference. He does not seek to overreach through greed or feign allegiance to the great state. Rather, he seeks to preserve himself and uphold his customary virtue.

Both the great state and the small state can obtain what they seek, so the great state should place itself below.

“Both” here refers to the great state and the small state. Each keeps to its proper bounds, depends on the other in some way, and refrains from disturbing it. This is a situation in which each dwells in its own place and takes pleasure in its own customs: neighboring states can see one another and hear the sounds of one another’s chickens and dogs, yet their people need never have dealings with one another, even to the end of their lives. The small state’s yielding submission accords with the ordinary principles of ritual; the great state’s humility and restraint can indeed bring a favorable outcome for both. Urging the great state to place itself below is meant to help it remain secure over time and to act with constant care and diligence, thereby bringing harmony to relations among all under Heaven.

The great state’s humility and restraint contain the profound mystery of the Dao. That is why the text next says: “The Dao is the hidden depth of the myriad things.”

“Profound” suggests something hidden, deep, and full of potential. The Dao embraces all things and has no boundaries. It is the most far-reaching and subtle source of all things, and nothing lies beyond its shelter. The Jing of the Western Ascension says, “The Dao is deep and mysterious, the abyss of nonbeing.” In other words, the Dao is the source where all things gather and are stored; nothing falls outside it. The lofty canopy of Heaven, the solid Earth, the Sun and Moon that shine everywhere, and the countless minute plants and animals are all nurtured by the Dao and depend on its protection.

Those who are good treasure the Dao, while even those who are not good can find shelter in it.

The good people referred to here are the superior scholars: those who understand the Great Dao and diligently put it into practice. After hearing of the Great Dao, superior scholars strive to cultivate it, train their bodies, and nourish their spirits, until they reach a state of transcendence and lightness. They firmly guard the mysterious source and regard the Dao as a lasting treasure. Those who are not good are the inferior scholars, who have not yet truly understood the Great Dao. When inferior scholars hear of it, they often laugh. Yet when they turn away from the Dao and lose De, encounter danger and calamity, and wish to return to good fortune and peace, they too rely on the Great Dao for shelter.

Beautiful words can be used in trade; noble conduct can raise a person above others.

This explains how even those who are not good can find shelter in the Dao. Pleasant, persuasive words may seem to work everywhere. Even people driven by cunning in the marketplace can get by through smooth talk. How can such words be compared with truthful speech, which is often unpleasing and plain? Conduct made to look noble may seem to put a person above others wherever they go. Even a lowly attendant at an inn can see how ugly this is. How can it be compared with the saying, “The level road seems like a rugged path,” or with white that seems stained? The point is that a person without moral cultivation can still use pleasing words and self-promoting conduct to win wealth and rise above others. How much more can a person who has the Dao accomplish?

If someone is not good, what reason is there to cast them aside?

Even those who are not good—people who are false and affected—use pleasing words and self-promoting conduct to win favor, and they know that the Great Dao can be relied upon and offers shelter. Given this, how could anyone remain forever in a state of badness? All the more, those who truly have the Dao should not be cast aside.

What reason is there to abandon those who are not good?

People who are not good, and those whose words and actions are false, sometimes use fine words and seemingly noble deeds to please others, making people think they understand the Dao and can be relied upon. Does this mean that people are forever incapable of becoming good? The only concern is that instruction has not yet taken effect. How, then, can they be abandoned?

For this reason, the ancients established the Son of Heaven and the Three Dukes, the highest officials who assisted him.

Heaven entrusted the ruler with the Dao for governing the world, so that he might instruct those who were not good. The ruler feared that his instruction might not be thorough enough, and therefore appointed the Three Dukes to assist him. Du Guangting says: “The world is vast and all things flourish. In the beginning, people could not do without a ruler, so the Son of Heaven was established to govern the people. The Son of Heaven honors the Supreme God, taking Heaven as his father and Earth as his mother; this is why he is called the ‘Son of Heaven.’ One person cannot govern the whole world far and wide, so officials were appointed to administer its various regions. At their head were the Three Dukes. The Book of Documents and the Offices of Zhou say: ‘The duty of the Three Dukes is to deliberate on the Dao of statecraft and govern the realm.’ The Three Dukes are the Grand Commandant, the Minister of Education, and the Minister of Works. They assist the Son of Heaven, harmonize Yin-Yang, draw close to the people, and extend instruction; this is their responsibility.”

Even if someone presents a great jade held in both hands, with a team of four horses led before it, that is not as good as sitting calmly and offering this Great Dao.

Du Guangting says: “‘Gong’ means bringing the two hands together in a formal salute. A ‘bi’ is a jade object symbolizing good fortune, and ‘gongbi’ refers to a large piece of bi jade. A ‘team of four horses’ means four horses harnessed to one carriage. In ancient times, when feudal lords paid court to the Son of Heaven, met the ruler of a great state, paid a formal visit to a small state, or encountered one another in the countryside, the two rulers would first present gifts. This ritual was called ‘first offering.’

The Three Dukes should now be responsible for discussing the Way of governing and administering the state. Even if they present their ruler with a carriage drawn by four horses and a great bi jade, that is merely the courtesy expected of a subject. Such gifts can only encourage extravagance; they do nothing to help govern affairs. It would be better to advise the ruler to follow the Way of Wuwei (non-action) and quietude, and use it to transform the world: leading those who do wrong to turn toward goodness, and those unwilling to mend their ways to repent. In this way, the Way’s teaching would spread widely, and the ruler’s De (Virtue/Power) would reach the four quarters. What need would there be for bi jade and horses? Those who diligently study already regard a jade piece a foot long as less precious than a moment of time; how much more so a ruler who possesses the Way?

‘Why did the ancients value this Way?’

Here, ‘the Way’ refers to the Way of Wuwei and quietude. The scripture goes on to ask: Is it not because people can obtain it by seeking it, and can use it to escape punishment for their offenses? That is why it is treasured throughout the world.

The subtle essence of the Dao (the Way) must first be realized through one’s own body and mind; only then can one ultimately understand it beyond all things in the universe. Its marvels reach into the finest subtleties, yet when they unfold, they fill all of space. Cultivating oneself through it benefits the whole person; applying it to worldly affairs can aid all under Heaven.

Though deliberate striving cannot guarantee success, that does not mean one should abandon seeking altogether. When something is gained naturally, without deliberate striving, it has been gained of itself. If so, why would one need to hold the office of the Three Dukes, the highest posts in ancient government? Thus, “not seeking, yet gaining” refers to seeking and then gaining. Seeking and gaining have always been a common principle. Those who understand this principle—what guilt could entangle them? If someone happens to stray from the Dao and commit a fault, they can correct their errors, turn toward good, and return to the Way of Wuwei (non-action) and tranquility. In this way, they may escape punishment by death or disgrace.

The ancient text reads, “It is not said that seeking leads to gain”; the version transmitted by Yan Junping reads, “Without seeking, one gains of oneself.”

The subtlety of attaining the Dao lies in acting without contrived effort. That is why the text next speaks of “acting through Wuwei.”

Act with a Wuwei attitude, without making a burden of what you do; savor with a sense of the tasteless, without clinging to flavor.

Those who have cultivated themselves to the highest level do not act willfully or contrive to impose their intentions. They follow the natural course of all things. When things unfold according to their own nature, one can seem to practice Wuwei (non-action) while nothing remains beyond accomplishment. Yet how could such a person’s heart ever be stirred by external things?

They do not treat affairs as burdens, but follow the circumstances inherent in each situation and let things take their course. When things proceed according to their own principles, one can seem to have nothing to do while no matter remains unmanageable. Yet how could such a person’s body ever grow weary?

They do not fixate on flavors, but follow the aromas and tastes inherent in food. When food reveals its flavor naturally, one can avoid clinging to taste while still savoring every flavor. Yet how could such a person’s mouth ever crave delicacies?

When the heart does not stir recklessly, it becomes empty, still, and clear. In that still clarity, one can observe the subtle changes in all things. When the body is not worn down, it remains full and strong; when the body is full, the spirit is not depleted. When the mouth does not crave flavor, one remains tranquil and unassuming, and the Jing, Qi, and bodily fluids that nourish life within do not dry up.

The phrase “tasting the tasteless” means not becoming absorbed in judging flavors as good or bad, and not clinging to distinctions such as beauty and ugliness or right and wrong. It means experiencing the Dao’s plain, flavorless state. The scripture says, “The Dao, when spoken of, is bland, as though it had no flavor.”

Whether facing great or small matters, gain or loss, respond to resentment with De.

People’s words and actions may be great or small, and the things they do in the world may be many or few. All these words, actions, and affairs can injure a person’s innate nature and cause them to lose their natural disposition. When innate nature is injured, resentment arises; when one loses one’s natural state, aversion grows. Interwoven, resentment and aversion become the beginning of disorder.

Only the Perfected Person, one who has attained profound cultivation, can practice Wuwei (non-action), have no affairs, and be free of taste: they do not act deliberately, see things as complicated and tangled, or cling to the flavors of things and to likes and dislikes. They can quiet the mind so it is undisturbed by external things. Even when others grow resentful because of what they do, they respond with the highest De (Virtue/Power), free of self-interest and intention. Someone asks, “If you repay resentment with De, then what should a person of De use in return?” The answer is that, whether worldly affairs are great or small, many or few, and whether people have resentment, anger, gratitude, or De between them, all should be met with an unselfconscious attitude of the highest De.

Lu Xisheng says: Those who understand the great Dao (the Way) have minds that are deep and open. In responding to worldly affairs, their foundation remains Wuwei; in handling matters, their foundation remains having no affairs; and in facing the myriad things, their minds hold no preferences or attachments. Their substance may be great, yet outwardly they are plain and unassuming; their activity may be extensive, yet its essentials are refined and simple. Therefore, the spirit should be spacious, detached, and tranquil, undisturbed by the myriad things. Only then can there be no desire; without desire, there is no selfishness. Gratitude accumulates through selfish motives, and resentment often grows out of gratitude. Only the sage can be free of selfish desire; thus there is no partial gratitude, and consequently no partial resentment. Ordinary people are different: because they have selfish desires, they have gratitude and resentment. When anyone in the world harbors resentment, the sage treats them with virtue and kindness; when faced with someone unkind, the sage responds with goodwill. Thus the people live in harmony, with no resentment between those above and below. This is what is meant here. Confucius said, “De extends throughout the world, leaving no resentment or aversion.” How could the sage resent external things?

To deal with difficult matters, begin where they are easy; to accomplish great things, begin with what is small. The difficult and easy, the great and small spoken of here correspond to the great and small, many and few mentioned earlier.

Right and wrong, beauty and ugliness, resentment and anger, favors and virtuous conduct all gradually take shape through subtle changes. Nothing does not begin with what is easy and end by becoming difficult, or begin small and later grow large. If we plan while a matter is just beginning and still easy to handle, we will not later fall into difficulty. If we address it while it is still small, it will not later grow into a major problem. But if we wait until it is hard to manage and the problem has grown before we plan and act, resentment will deepen and disorder will build up. By then, would it not be difficult to remove the obstacles and settle the disputes?

The difficult things under Heaven must begin with what is easy; the great things under Heaven must arise from what is small.

Difficult things necessarily begin when they are still easy, so we should plan while they remain easy to handle. Great things necessarily arise from what is small, so we should address them while they are still small. The world contains too many kinds of things to list them all, so the term “under Heaven” is used to encompass them.

Yan Junping, a Daoist scholar of the Han dynasty, said: When a serious illness is about to arise, it is like pernicious Qi entering the body. Before the illness appears, careful care can prevent it. When pernicious Qi remains at the surface of the skin, it can be removed with decoctions and warm compresses. When it penetrates the muscle fibers, fine needles can treat it. When it enters the internal organs, medicine can regulate it. Once it has reached the marrow, not even Heaven and Earth can change it, and the workings of creation cannot cure it. Thus it is said that the difficult things under Heaven must begin when they are still easy. When a great thing is about to arise, it is like water flowing down from a mountain: at first there is only dampness and a few drops; then a steady trickle gradually gathers into streams and ravines.

Therefore, the sage never undertakes what they regard as grand, and so is able to accomplish great things.

The passage above speaks of losing the Dao…