《道德真经藏室纂微篇(陈景元)》Vol. 4

People like to undertake difficult and momentous tasks, and so they often fail and suffer harm. The passage says that the Sage never deliberately undertakes great tasks because the Sage is careful even with the smallest things. The Sage does not take on difficult, momentous tasks, but follows things as they naturally unfold, avoids needless action, and acts simply and plainly. In this way, the Sage can accomplish works that are truly great and enduring.

Yan Junping says: When Sages establish achievements and a good name, they begin with what is small. Thus they can make profound principles clear and explain subtle matters; they can also bring hidden intentions to light. They place themselves below the people, and so come to be their rulers.

Promises made too readily are often hard to keep; when a task is taken to be too easy, many difficulties tend to arise.

If one speaks without thinking things through and then makes promises carelessly, it becomes hard to keep them all as commitments multiply. If one begins without careful planning and acts rashly, difficulties gradually accumulate and changes become hard to foresee. How could one fail to be cautious?

Thus the Sage always takes things seriously, as though they were difficult. For this very reason, in the end nothing proves difficult.

If even the Sage, with such ability and De (Virtue/Power), takes seriously what is small and seems easy, how could those without the Sage’s ability and De afford to treat such things lightly? Ordinary people are therefore often burdened by troubles, while the Sage ultimately encounters no difficulty.

Yan Junping says: The Sage’s mind is still and does not stir without cause; the Sage’s mouth is still and does not speak without cause; the Sage’s eyes are still and do not look without cause; the Sage’s ears are still and do not listen without cause. In action, the Sage moves like the workings of Heaven and Earth; in stillness, the Sage is as deep and mysterious as ghosts and spirits. Without deliberate action, the Sage accomplishes things; without much speech, the Sage puts the Dao (the Way) into practice. When advancing, no one can overcome the Sage; when withdrawing to hold position, the Sage is never trapped. No subtle trouble afflicts the Sage personally, and no slightest calamity befalls the state. The stability brought by Wuwei (non-action) must rest on simplicity and ease. The discussion therefore turns next to why this kind of stability is easy to maintain.

When a situation is stable, it is easy to preserve that stability. When signs of disorder have not yet appeared, it is easy to make plans against it. When things are still fragile, they are easy to break apart; when trouble is still slight, it is easy to dissipate. Take action while events have not yet unfolded.

A state is easy to preserve while it is at peace; once it is on the brink of collapse and in danger, it is difficult to protect. Thoughts of rebellion are easy to dispel before they arise; once evil deeds have come to light, they are difficult to quell completely. The first shoots of disaster are easy to remove while they are still fragile; once their branches have grown, they are difficult to uproot. Worries and mistakes are easy to resolve while they remain slight; once danger and disaster have become clear, it is difficult to undo them. Some ancient editions read “what is fragile is easy to split apart”; others read “what is fragile is easy to dissolve.” Both “split apart” and “dissolve” mean to break down or dissipate.

“To act upon” means to put things in order and clear them away. If a state has not yet fallen into danger and thoughts of disorder have not yet arisen, then with advance precautions, where could troubles that have not yet occurred come from?

Bring order to a situation before it becomes chaotic.

Good governance means dealing promptly with trouble. When the seeds of wrongdoing have not yet taken root, and danger and disaster have not yet appeared, acting early can prevent great calamity. Yan Junping said, “A person is easiest to cure before falling ill; a state is easiest to plan for before it faces crisis; trouble is easiest to deal with when it has just begun to arise; disaster is easiest to prevent while it is still small and slight.”

How do we know this? Before a cart is damaged, even a child can steer it. But once it overturns and plunges from a height into a ravine, even a thousand people may struggle to set it upright. Before a bird’s egg hatches, it can be gently held between two fingers. But once the bird has grown into a swan goose and beats its wings high into the sky, it is hard to hit even with a rope-propelled arrow. When a tiger cub is newly born, a single rope can restrain it. But once it has grown into a fierce tiger that preys on cattle and horses, swords and blades can scarcely withstand it, and nets cannot contain it.

Thus, tiny drops of water gather to form rivers and seas; if a small snake is left alone, it may grow into a divine dragon. Small acts of goodness, accumulated over time, bring good fortune; small evils, left unchecked, ultimately lead to ruin.

A tree so thick that several people could encircle its trunk grows from a tiny sprout; a nine-story tower is built basketful by basketful of earth; and a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step beneath your feet.

These three analogies all make the same point: when people fail to recognize the early signs of trouble and do not take care over small things, they eventually bring consequences upon themselves. If danger is not guarded against in advance and bad habits are not stopped at their beginning, the situation is like a tree. When it has only just sprouted, it is easy to pull out. Once it has grown thick enough for several people to embrace, with roots sunk into the shadowed cliffs and branches reaching toward the high ridges, lush and towering enough to block the sun, it is difficult to cut down. This shows how trouble can grow out of a person’s own nature.

It is also like building a platform. When it consists of just one basket of earth, a single kick can knock it over. Once it has risen through nine tiers, towering a hundred ren high and spreading like a hill, it is difficult to destroy. This shows how habits accumulate day by day until they create a situation that is hard to change.

It is also like setting out on a distant journey. After only a few steps, a traveler can turn around and return. But after going a thousand li, with vast rivers, steep mountains, difficult mountain paths, remote roads, and many forks ahead, it is hard to turn back. This shows how, once a long journey begins, one may keep going farther and farther. The Book of Changes says, “When you step on frost, you know that solid ice is coming.” This is precisely the point. In an old edition, “nine tiers” is written as “nine levels.”

“Acting with intent can ruin things; insisting on holding on can lead to loss.”

If one goes beyond one’s proper bounds and acts recklessly, one damages the natural order. If one inwardly covets gain and acts deliberately to obtain it, one depletes one’s spirit. If one clings to possession and hungers for fame, one ultimately loses oneself. If one clings to displays of courage and likes to fight with others, calamity will follow, and may even bring loss upon the state. All of this happens because one fails to guard against things before they arise and to bring order before the situation falls into chaos.

Therefore, the sage follows things as they are and does not act recklessly, so does not bring about ruin. The sage does not insist on holding on, and so suffers no loss.

Things fail chiefly because people force them along. If they did not act presumptuously, what could fail? The mind goes astray chiefly because it clings to things. If it did not cling, what could it lose? Thus, the sage does not set the mind on small achievements, but keeps it empty, still, calm, detached, and free of action. By following what is natural, neither forcing things nor clinging to them, one avoids failure and error.

The Zhuangzi says: The ruler of the Southern Sea was called Shu, the ruler of the Northern Sea was called Hu, and the ruler of the center was called Hundun. Shu and Hu often met where Hundun lived, and Hundun treated them well. Shu and Hu discussed how to repay his kindness. “Everyone has seven openings,” they said, “for seeing, hearing, eating, and breathing. Hundun alone has none. Let us try making some for him.” So each day they bored one opening. On the seventh day, Hundun died. This shows clearly that forcing things along leads to failure.

People often fail at their tasks just when they are close to succeeding.

“Ji” means “near.” Even when ordinary people set out to do good, they often begin but cannot persevere to the end: at first they are eager, but later they grow lax. When a task is nearly complete, if they do not remain vigilant and careful, they will fail again.

If you remain as careful at the end of a task as you were at the beginning, you will not fail.

This is another warning: if ordinary people remain as careful at the end as they were at the start, they can bring their work to completion. The Book of Songs says: “There is nothing that does not have a beginning, yet few can see it through to the end.”

Therefore, the sage seeks to desire nothing and does not prize goods that are hard to obtain.

“Goods hard to obtain” refers to gold, jade, pearls, rhinoceros horn, and the like. Ordinary people regard wanting nothing as a source of sorrow, but the sage takes joy in wanting nothing. The sage values stillness and frugality, while ordinary people prize greed and extravagance. Thus, what ordinary people do not value is precisely what the sage treasures; the sage regards gold and jade as no more than dirt.

The sage learns what ordinary people do not learn, then turns back to make amends for the mistakes everyone else has made.

Ordinary people damage their innate nature by seeking knowledge outwardly, and in doing so lose the true nature that belongs to their original condition. The sages preserve what is natural and do not pursue learning deliberately, thereby safeguarding the harmony innate to their original condition. Society considers not studying a fault, but the sages regard not studying deliberately as true learning. Thus, the sages restore what the multitude has turned away from.

The sages assist all things in following their natural course and dare not impose contrivances on them.

At birth, the mind is tranquil; this is the nature bestowed by Heaven. The sages teach the multitude not to covet or pursue learning deliberately so as to help all things follow their natural course and fully realize their own natures. They dare not introduce other contrivances, lest the roots be lost.

Those who can hold fast and avoid ruin examine things before signs have appeared, before disorder has taken hold. They do not lose sight of the fundamental principle, but assist all things in following their natural course. This was the principle followed by those of old who were skilled in practicing the Dao, so the text now turns to them.

Those of old who were skilled in practicing the Dao did not seek to make the people clever and crafty, but to keep them simple and unadorned.

Those of old who were skilled in cultivating themselves through the Dao and governing the people first cultivated sincerity within, bringing the Dao into accord with all things. Their governance succeeded, yet their reputations did not become renowned. All things each fulfilled their own inherent capacities, and people naturally grew close to and praised one another, without outside interference. They did not deliberately publicize teachings and commands, lest the people develop cleverness and deceit through their many desires and fears. Instead, they guided the people back to simplicity, to their natural state. This describes the ways of those of old who possessed the Dao, offered as counsel for the present age.

The people are difficult to govern because they have too much cleverness.

When the people are too clever, wrongdoing comes first. Even when laws and commands exist, people no longer fear them; that is why they are difficult to govern. The Zhuangzi says, “When those in high office truly prize cleverness but do not follow the Dao, the world falls into great disorder.” Why do we know this will happen? When there are too many bows and crossbows, fishing nets, and ingenious ways of trapping game, birds are disturbed. When there are too many hooks, bait, nets, and other means of catching fish, fish are disturbed. When there are too many sharpened stakes, nets, and traps for catching beasts, beasts are disturbed. When clever deceit, sophistry, and elaborate distinctions multiply, ordinary people are confused by words. Thus, great disorder in the world often has its roots in the esteem for cleverness.

Therefore, governing a state through cleverness is a calamity for the state.

If rulers appoint ministers who manipulate clever schemes and deceptive tactics to govern the state, those ministers will inevitably use political maneuvering to disrupt affairs of government and unsettle the people. This is a calamity for the state. The Daode Jing says, “When cleverness arises, grave falsity follows.” It also says, “When government orders are harsh and restrictive, the people are troubled and uneasy.”

Governing the state without relying on clever schemes and political maneuvering is a blessing for the state.

When rulers appoint honest and virtuous people to govern, they follow the principles of Wuwei (non-action) and simplicity, treating people with ease and fairness. This brings the people peace and stability, and is a blessing for the state. The Daode Jing says, “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform of themselves; when I refrain from meddling, the people grow prosperous of themselves.” It also says, “When government is lenient and not harsh, the people become simple and sincere.”

Du Guangting says: A ruler is like a measuring post: when the post stands straight, its shadow is straight; when the post leans, its shadow bends. When the ruler is upright, the people follow suit; when the ruler is corrupt, the people become corrupt as well. Whether social customs are sincere or debased has its roots here. Appoint ministers who delight in clever schemes, and political tactics and restrictive orders will proliferate; appoint loyal and honest people, and customs will be shaped by sound instruction and become simple and sincere. As the people are influenced and become harmonious and honest, the state grows prosperous and secure. This is a blessing.

To understand these two approaches is to grasp the standards that can guide one’s conduct.

The “two approaches” here mean appointing people who rely on clever schemes and political maneuvering, and governing the state without relying on them. The first approach harms government and brings trouble to the people. It is a calamity for the state, and may also bring disaster upon the ruler and ruin the family. The second approach can therefore serve as a lesson and warning against the first. The second approach uses virtue and good government to benefit the people. It is a blessing for the state, and can bring distinction to one’s home region and honor to one’s family. It can also serve as a model for the first approach to learn from. An old version has the phrase “standards for examining the past”: “examining” means to investigate, so these are standards handed down from antiquity for study.

To understand and follow these standards at all times is called “Mysterious De” (profound and subtle Virtue).

“Mysterious” means profound and hidden. A ruler should understand that the state’s blessings can be brought about and its calamities removed. Enabling the people to live prosperous and long lives is profound and subtle Virtue.

The sages cultivated profound De (Virtue), a quality so deep and subtle that it cannot be measured. On the surface, it seems to go against worldly affairs; yet when its underlying principles are examined, they accord with the people’s hearts. In this way, one can enter a state of following nature, in which nothing is contrary to nature. This is called “great accord.”

Yan Junping said that profound De is unfathomable and inexhaustible. It may seem to run counter to all things in the world, and no one can truly understand it. The Liezi records that after Yao had governed the realm for fifteen years, he still did not know whether his rule was good or whether the people wished to support him. He asked those around him, court officials, and ordinary people, but no one could answer. So Yao put on common clothes and walked through the streets. There he heard children singing: “The people who raise us all depend on you; the people do not deliberately think things through, but simply follow Heaven’s patterns.” Yao asked who had taught them the song. The children said they had heard it from a senior official. When Yao questioned the official, he said it was an ancient poem. After returning to the palace, Yao abdicated in favor of Shun. Shun did not refuse and accepted the throne. The Jing (classic) holds that this exemplifies the depth of profound De, which ultimately reaches a state of natural harmony.

Those skilled in practicing the Dao (the Way) do not reject what is few or weak. Their De is generous and far-reaching, like the rivers and seas gathering the waters of many streams. The text therefore goes on to explain why rivers and seas can become the rulers of all valleys.

Rivers and seas can become the rulers of all valleys because they willingly take the lowest position, and so are able to gather the waters of every river.

The Kaiyuan Imperial Commentary says: The rivers and seas can receive all the streams and become their kings because they are skilled at remaining in a low place. The Book of Changes says that the way of Earth diminishes what is full and benefits what is humble. The way of Earth works through humility, so all the streams flow together and return to it. The sage, too, treats others with humility; therefore, people willingly draw near and follow him without growing weary.

Yan Junping says: The rivers and seas become the kings of all streams neither by accumulating De and practicing benevolence, nor by dispensing favors to attract them; neither by esteeming ritual and yielding at every turn, nor by showing off cleverness and skill to please them. Nor do they prevail through surprise, wielding political stratagems, establishing authority, or flaunting military might. They simply remain still and clear in a low place, waiting with an open mind, taking no action and seeking nothing. The streams gather of their own accord. They do not come out of admiration after hearing of the rivers and seas’ excellence or feeling moved by their influence; nor are they compelled or disciplined, or guided by someone toward them. They pass through metal and stone, bore through cliffs, and soak the mountain slopes, then flow into the rivers and seas without turning back. This happens simply because circumstances accord and natures respond to one another: it is the natural outcome of things.

From this we can see the profound significance of the way of humility and yielding. It is not easily harmed by the many forms of misfortune, nor controlled by clever schemes or strength. It does not fight, yet grows strong; it displays no authority, yet possesses power. Quiet and inactive, it lives in harmony with all things. Streams occupy low places, so water can flow through them without end; rivers and seas lie below, so they can become the kings of all streams and endure without decline.

Therefore, if the sage wishes to stand above others, he must speak to them humbly. The sage understands that the rivers and seas gather all the streams by remaining low. If he wishes to lead people, he must first speak with humility, knowing that self-satisfaction inevitably brings loss. When his words are gentle and yielding, and he uses humble titles such as “orphan” and “widower” to describe himself, his De grows deeper and his work becomes more secure. People then naturally choose him to rise to the highest position.

If the sage wishes to go ahead of others, he must place himself behind them. To become foremost among all things, he must be humble and yielding, putting himself after others. This is the practice of cultivating oneself with care and following the Great Way.

To become foremost among all things, one must be humble and yielding, and speak gently. One deliberately takes a place behind others out of care in cultivating oneself and in following the Great Dao. By not striving to stand ahead of all things, one is instead raised to the front by them.

Thus, when he holds a position of authority, people do not feel burdened or oppressed by him; when he walks ahead, they do not feel harmed.

The sage occupies the sovereign’s honored place, yet bears the toil himself so the people may live at ease. He thinks little of himself and treats all things with care. The people gladly rejoice in and support him, yet he still feels he should not lightly place himself before them. The people are thereby well governed and willingly follow him—how could they feel harmed?

Thus, the people of the world gladly raise him up and do not grow weary of him.

A ruler who possesses the Dao is cherished by the people, like the sun they long for and the clouds they look up to. The people support him as their ruler without growing tired of him. This is the result of his humble and gentle virtue.

Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with him.

The virtue of humility transforms those below, and everyone learns to yield. Thus the sage makes an open and receptive mind the foundation of his conduct, and selflessness his inner rule. Neither his body nor his mind is ever complacent, so what could contend with him?

Lu Xisheng says: “The Way of Heaven diminishes what is full and adds to what is humble. The Way of Earth transforms what is full and benefits what is lowly. The spirits bring calamity upon the full and bestow blessings upon the humble. People despise complacency and cherish humility. Humility is a virtue that keeps itself low. Thus, because rivers and seas lie below, all streams flow into them; because the sage takes humility as his virtue, the people of the world raise him to the foremost place. Does the sage truly wish to lead and stand above others? It is only that the people of the world gladly raise him up and do not grow weary of him.”

Rivers and seas occupy low places, and the enlightened ruler, too, keeps himself humble. Since the common view prizes strength and considers gentleness and stillness unworthy of esteem, the text next says: “Everyone in the world says that my Dao is vast, yet it seems unlike anything.”

“Xiao” means “to resemble.” Laozi says: “Everyone in the world says my Dao is empty and vast, bright yet not dazzling, its virtue abundant yet seemingly dull-witted. It has no concrete form to compare it with, so it seems to possess no particular excellence.”

The Great Dao is so vast that it seems unlike the kind of virtue praised by the world. Had it truly been virtuous in the way the world applauds, people would have been praising it long ago; it would not have taken until today. But if it were merely something everyone praises, how could it be called vast? The Zhuangzi records Laozi saying to Shicheng Qi, “As for the clever, the wise, and the sage, I long ago believed I had freed myself from pursuing them.” This shows that Laozi had long ceased to regard a reputation for virtue or praise as precious. An ancient text says that others could match the wisdom of Xiao Wuzi, but no one could equal his foolishness; this makes much the same point.

I have three treasures, which I cherish and keep close.

Though the Great Dao is empty and has no fixed form, there are three principles by which we can rely on it and put it into practice. They are vital treasures for cultivating oneself and governing the state, and these are the three principles described below. An early version reads, “Hold them and treasure them.” This means that if people follow these three principles, treating them as treasures and holding firmly to them, they can meet any situation. The version in the Heshanggong Commentary reads, “Hold them and preserve them.”

The first is compassion; the second is frugality; the third is not daring to place oneself ahead of everyone under Heaven.

The Kaiyuan Imperial Commentary explains: To give generously and care for and nurture all living beings is compassion. To limit expenditure, make the people prosperous, and avoid wasting resources is frugality. Not rushing to initiate things, treating others with equanimity, and not forcing one’s views upon them is not daring to place oneself ahead of everyone under Heaven.

Because of compassion, one can be courageous. Because of frugality, one can be generous. Because one does not dare to place oneself ahead of everyone under Heaven, one can become a leader whom all hold in high regard.

The sage takes compassion as his guiding principle and courageously helps all things. A person who is benevolent must have courage; courage means fearing nothing. Those who use resources sparingly have the means to give relief and aid widely. This is what people mean by cutting expenses and caring for the people. Those who dare not place themselves ahead of everyone under Heaven can, in turn, bring all kinds of objects and undertakings to completion. The Book of Changes says, “When the dragons appear together, with none claiming to be their leader, it is auspicious.” This is why the Great Dao can seem contrary to ordinary expectations. Li Yue says, “Cultivate from a low position, and your achievements will gradually rise; thus you can become the ruler of all under Heaven.”

If people now cast aside compassion and seek only fierceness, cast aside frugality and seek only extravagance, and cast aside yielding and seek only to be first, they will meet their ruin.

Ordinary people, however, do not see it this way. They think that what seems natural and reasonable is often the very opposite of the Great Dao. They abandon compassion and virtue, treating displays of bravery and love of fighting as righteousness. Relying on a hotheaded spirit, they make light of death and harm others; they are like people wading on foot into deep water and will be swallowed up. They refuse to value resources or spend sparingly, instead wasting extravagantly and craving without limit. Even plunder cannot satisfy them. In the end, they will squander wealth and harm the people, bringing the calamity of scarcity upon themselves. They also show off clever tricks to intimidate the ignorant, and polish their appearance to hide their corruption. They like to be first in everything and feel ashamed to fall behind. They press forward without any wish to yield or hold back, and act always with a hard, competitive spirit. If this is allowed to continue without restraint, they will rebel against their superiors. None of these three ways can sustain a lasting practice of the Great Dao; they lead only to the ruin of one’s family and the destruction of one’s life. That is why it says, “they will meet their ruin.”

Those who are compassionate will prevail when they take up arms, and will be secure when they defend.

Of the three treasures, compassion is the most precious, so it receives special praise here. When a commander leads troops with compassion and cares for the soldiers, the army can go wherever it pleases without being defeated. A compassionate army entering enemy territory does not trample crops, dig up graves, destroy stored supplies, or burn houses. As a result, people are all willing to submit to it, just as a dutiful child draws close to a loving parent. Those who come to surrender will arrive in great numbers, like powerful crossbow bolts flying into a deep valley. Why, then, must victory always be won through battle in the open, or defense secured by layers of city gates and night patrols striking wooden clappers? (Striking wooden clappers was a way to patrol at night.)

If Heaven wishes to save someone, it will protect that person with compassion.

The Way of Heaven bestows blessings on the good and brings calamity to the wicked. The good, protected by the Way of Heaven, feel close and at ease, like filial children in the presence of loving parents. Those who submit also yield naturally, like an arrow shot from a powerful bow, flying deep into a valley. If this is so, why deploy troops in the wilderness and fight before seeking victory? Why reinforce the city gates and beat the night watchmen’s clappers to defend them?

Heaven uses compassion to protect those it wishes to save.

The Way of Heaven bestows blessings on the good and brings calamity to the wicked. Those who receive Heaven’s protection enjoy good fortune and success, with nothing going against them. The Dao De Jing says, “The Way of Heaven has no favorites; it always helps the good.” Heaven saves people because their commander can protect soldiers and civilians with a compassionate heart.

The Great Dao may seem lacking in wisdom, while compassion and frugality may seem to lack the qualities of a warrior. So the text goes on to say that those skilled as soldiers do not flaunt their force.

Those skilled as soldiers do not flaunt their force.

“Soldiers” here refers to commanders and troops. Those skilled as soldiers follow compassion and put virtue and righteousness into practice. They suppress rebellion and relieve hardship, but do not use their power to oppress the weak and isolated.

Those skilled in combat are not quick to anger.

Those skilled in directing a battle may possess armor and weapons, but use them only when there is no other choice. Even when they fight, they do not do so because they delight in killing. They regard war with sorrow and treat those killed in battle with the solemnity of a funeral rite. How could they be eager to fight out of anger?

Those skilled at defeating the enemy do not compete with others for superiority.

Victory comes through virtue, not struggle. An army that works in harmony is more likely to win. It does not act rashly for profit, but wins by responding to circumstances. Stories of Lu Zhonglian calmly reciting poetry and Xiao Yiliao playing with pellets are both used to illustrate those skilled at winning.

Those skilled at employing people place themselves below them.

Those who are skilled at employing others rely on humility rather than force. When people work willingly and wholeheartedly, they forget their toil. So when appointing ministers who assist the ruler, treat them as your own arms and inner circle. When appointing generals, kneel in person to present them with the military tally; when sending them off to war, push their chariot yourself. This means first treating them with virtue, and only then drawing on their strength.

This is called the virtue of “not contending.” It is also called skill in making use of the strength of others, and it can be said to accord with the Dao of Heaven. It is the highest principle known since antiquity.

Those who are skilled at leading armies, waging war, winning victories, and employing others are often humble and yielding. They do not contend with others, and they restrain themselves through modesty. They allow all things to bring their abilities fully into play, and ensure that everyone can be put to use. Is this not precisely the virtue of “not contending,” and skill in making use of the strength of others? Others take the initiative, and I respond in cooperation. It is like Heaven, which shows favor to no one, yet lets great blessings arise of their own accord; Heaven does not speak, yet the four seasons continue to run their course. To govern all things in accordance with the Dao of Heaven is the highest expression of the ancient way.

The virtue of “not contending” is also expressed in the art of warfare, so the text now turns to the principles of using military force.

On the use of military force, an ancient book says:

Laozi grieved that people in his time treated love of war as the foundation of military affairs. So he cited an old saying from military tradition, repeatedly warning the world:

I dare not take the initiative in attacking; I would rather be on the defensive. I dare not advance an inch; I would rather retreat a foot.

In warfare, one must distinguish between “the one who strikes first as host and the one who responds as guest.” A sage takes up arms only when there is no other choice. He therefore waits until the enemy invades before responding, and so usually occupies the guest’s position. Advancing only a little and retreating much expresses caution, restraint, and careful judgment of the enemy’s intentions. Even when the enemy arrives, I must use military skill without rashly arraying my forces for battle. In this way, I will not take the initiative in launching an attack.

The principle of warfare is this: the host makes plans to initiate war, while the guest makes responding to the enemy its priority. To advance, even a little, is to draw nearer to killing; to retreat, even a great deal, is instead to draw nearer to preserving life. Thus one dares not initiate war, but is willing to take the position of one who responds; one dares not advance a single step, but would rather retreat a foot. As the Dao De Jing says, those who act fiercely and love war may bring death upon themselves, while those who dare not act rashly can preserve their lives.

This is called “acting as though not acting, raising one’s arms as though one had no arms, facing the enemy as though there were no enemy, and holding weapons as though there were no weapons.”

The purpose of leading troops in battle is to stop the enemy’s attack, and the highest value lies in not contending with others. Even when it is necessary to stop the enemy, one should harbor no desire to kill. Without a will to kill, one’s troops uphold what is right and defend their position. That is why it is said, “acting as though not acting.” Even if a general must raise his arm and lead the charge, he should do so as though he had no arm to raise, because he abhors killing and values compassion.

A ruler who follows the Dao, even when confronted by violent invaders who attack without cause, should admonish them through civil virtue and make his position clear through an army that acts in accordance with what is right. When the enemy hears what is right, they will withdraw, and there will naturally be no enemy to fight. Even if the army has the force to draw the enemy in and meet their attack, there is no enemy that must be engaged. That is why it is said, “facing the enemy as though there were no enemy.” Once the enemy has retreated far away, the weapons are put away and stored. Even if there is a ceremony involving weapons, there are no weapons that need to be taken up for battle. That is why it is said, “holding weapons as though there were no weapons.”

There is no greater misfortune than underestimating the enemy. To do so is nearly to lose what one holds most precious.

“Ji” means “approaching,” while “treasure” refers to the ruler’s body and position. “Treating the enemy lightly” means being warlike toward other states while failing to prepare defenses at home. In wars abroad, one may win or lose; a country wholly unprepared at home is bound to perish.

When a sage holds the highest position, it is indeed possible for no one under Heaven to oppose him. Yet if we look at how times shift between order and disorder, there are still many who become enemies. Why? The Book of Documents says, “Treat me well, and I will honor you; mistreat me, and I will oppose you.” Thus every state under Heaven might become an enemy, as might a village or even a single household. Therefore, if a ruler does not look down on ministers of humble rank, he can win the hearts of people in every state. If a duke or marquis does not mistreat widowers and widows, he can earn the people’s support. If a person of resolve does not neglect self-cultivation, he can please the spirits and bring joy to Heaven. Only by doing these things can one preserve what one holds dear.

What does “I nearly lost my treasure” mean? I have a compassionate heart and do not like killing. Even if forced to fight, and ultimately left without an enemy, that was never my intention. Since this is not what my heart truly wished for, it counts as losing my treasure. But the loss is not yet great, which is why it says “nearly lost.”

When two armies meet in battle and match their strength, the side that feels compassion will prevail.

“Resist” means to raise up or set in motion; here it refers to two states sending out troops to fight. “Compassion” means a heartfelt kindness that arises from within. A ruler can have this kind of compassion only by following the Dao. When those in high positions are compassionate, they do not neglect proper respect for their ministers; when ministers are loyal and fulfill their duties, serving their ruler as they should, how could they fail to prevail when the moment comes?

In using troops, one must beware of treating the enemy lightly. What follows is easy to understand, so it says: “My words are easy to understand and easy to put into practice.”

The Daodejing says, “Act with an attitude of Wuwei (non-action).” It also says, “Without leaving home, one can understand the world; without looking out the window, one can see the Dao (the Way).” And it says, “Teach without relying on words.” All of these speak of Wuwei: a principle that people can naturally follow, simple and easy to put into practice. It is not complicated to explain or strenuous to carry out, so it is easy to understand and easy to follow.

Yet few people in the world can understand or practice it.

Those who cannot understand it are the lesser scholars, people of shallow insight. Their desires and aversions are tangled and confused, and their attention rests only on surface details. They are often misled by deliberate action and enjoy studying teachings that stray from the right path. Unable to clear the dust from their minds, quiet their wandering thoughts, and settle their minds in unity, they find the Way of emptiness dark and obscure, and cannot see how to put it into practice.

“Words have their source; affairs have their ruler” explains why the Way of Wuwei is easy to understand and practice. “Source” means the root; “ruler” means that which governs. Though the teachings of the many schools differ, they ultimately return to principle. Once principle is understood, words can be forgotten, so “not speaking” is the root of discourse. Though the myriad affairs of life differ, they ultimately aim at accomplishing results. Once the work is complete, one no longer clings to the particular affairs, so “having no affairs” is the guiding principle in conducting oneself. To teach through not speaking and having no affairs—is that not easy to understand and practice?

Yan Junping said: The words of the sage take nature as their root and the numinous as their source. They continually hold speech and silence in a mutually complementary tension, subtle and profound, until they ultimately return to nature. They see things clearly, yet seem not to see; they hear keenly, yet seem not to hear. They are perceptive, yet seem dull; prominent, yet seem constrained. The sage’s actions begin in nature and flow through the numinous, always maintaining harmony between acting and not acting. They are quiet and yielding, subtle in their movements, simple in their dealings, modest and self-effacing, and ultimately return to Wuwei.

Precisely because the sage does not claim worldly knowledge as his own, people in the world do not understand him.

Those with little understanding like to dissect sentences and let their minds run wild, becoming entangled in debates over “hardness and whiteness,” “sameness and difference,” and the like. When they hear me speak of forgetting words and embodying the Dao, they do not believe me; instead, they laugh. Since they do not understand how vast and far-reaching my Dao is, they think it seems shapeless.

Yan Junping said: People do not understand me, but not because my Dao is too small or shallow to be worth understanding, nor because what I do is too trivial to be worth doing. Nor is it because people prefer failure to success, calamity to ease, and so refuse to follow me. It is simply that human nature runs counter to mine, and people’s desires differ from my own. The clever are often led astray by their desires, spending their lives immersed in what they have heard and seen. Their spirit and vital energy cannot settle in my Dao, and their minds do not agree with my teachings.

Few understand me; therefore, my Dao is precious.

The highest principle has a foundation and a sovereign source. Only those of clear understanding can grasp it, so few do; to ordinary people, it seems remote and obscure. Those who attain this Dao are honored by all things. That is why it is said, “My Dao is precious.” The Kaiyuan imperial edition, from the Kaiyuan era of the Tang dynasty, reads “those who take me as their model are precious,” meaning that those who take me as their standard are worthy.

Yan Junping said: I do not see their discernment, nor hear of their wisdom. Thus profound words invite slander, and great deeds invite criticism. Insight that is one of a kind finds no use in the world, while wisdom that is one of a kind is mocked by the crowd. Deeds that accord with the spirit do not fit with worldly custom; even achievements equal to Heaven and Earth may fail to please the people.

Therefore, the sage wears coarse cloth on the outside and keeps jade within. “Coarse cloth” is what people of low status wear. Jade is pure and lustrous, and is often used as a metaphor for a gentleman’s virtue. The sage holds Dao and De within, as though keeping jade against the chest; outwardly, the sage makes no show of refinement, like someone dressed in coarse cloth. Within, the sage is clear and open; outwardly, the sage may seem dull and dim. Just as pearls lie hidden in shells and jade in rock, the people of the world may not recognize them. Yet the Dao and De held by the sage remain precious.

Ordinary people often presume to guess at the wisdom the sages hold within. That is why the discussion now turns to knowing and not knowing.

To understand fully without priding oneself on one’s knowledge is the highest form of wisdom. To fail to understand yet believe oneself to understand is a fault.

The sages received pure primordial Qi (vital energy), possessed an elevated nature, and held genuine wisdom within. They could naturally grasp the affairs of the world. Even when they understood many things, they did not boast of their knowledge; this was a sign of lofty virtue. Those of middling or lower ability received turbid Qi and had forceful temperaments. Their minds were full of clever schemes, and they liked to exaggerate what they did. Though they did not truly understand the principles, they insisted on arguing and dressing up their words, presenting themselves as knowledgeable. This was a fault of virtue. Zhuangzi said, “The realm of not knowing is deep; the realm of knowing is shallow. Not knowing is inward; knowing is merely outward.” This is also what is meant by the saying, “Those who understand say little; those who say much do not truly understand.”

Only by recognizing this fault as a fault and remaining alert to it can one avoid falling into it.

The sage has truly realized the subtle root and penetrated the profound and far-reaching principles of the Dao. Thus, the sage can see things from every angle, while moving through the world without any fixed direction. Seemingly dazed and free of intent, the sage remains unburdened and at ease, yet is often troubled by the plight of ordinary people. Worldly people recklessly cling to showing off their strength and seeking knowledge. This failing often drives them to a dead end from which there is no return. It is truly lamentable.

This passage speaks of the sage’s compassion and of how the sage alone worries about the failings of ordinary people. If worldly people have this failing of showing off their strength and seeking knowledge, what failing could the sage’s own De have? True wisdom has no failing; the failing lies in showing off one’s strength and seeking knowledge. The sage is free of this failing because the sage takes the failings of ordinary people as a source of personal concern, and is therefore free of affliction. The sage understands that “not clinging to knowledge” is the key to penetrating the Great Dao, and so restrains the acuity of the ears and eyes and abandons cleverness and contrivance. The sage truly has none of the failings of the world. Through kindness and compassion, the sage grieves over the suffering of living beings precisely because the sage is free of these afflictions. If the sage were afflicted too, how could the sage grieve over their suffering?

The Zhuangzi says: “People do not praise flowing water, but praise still water. Only stillness can settle all things. All things receive the Qi of the earth and come to life; only the pine and cypress remain evergreen through both winter and summer. All things receive their life from Heaven’s mandate; only Shun was able to set himself in order.” Only by setting one’s own life in order can one set all living beings in order. This means that one must first put oneself in order before putting others in order. In the same way, the sage is free of afflictions, yet takes the afflictions of others as a source of concern.

Showing off one’s strength and seeking knowledge causes people to lose the Dao, transgress prohibitions, and invite calamity. Calamities fall repeatedly, yet the people still do not fear them. The text therefore goes on to say, “The people do not fear the power.”

When the people do not fear the power, a great power is about to descend.

Worldly people do not revere the might of Heaven or the authority of the law. A great power will therefore arrive. The “great power” here refers to the signs of death. The noble person reveres Heaven’s mandate, those who possess De, and the teachings of the sage. In conducting oneself in the world, one should take reverence as the foundation. If one treats small evils as inconsequential and has no sense of reverence, a great power will descend.

If ordinary people do not revere the majesty of Heaven and the laws of the state, great calamity will befall them. The “great threat” here refers to the signs of death. A noble person reveres the Mandate of Heaven, those who possess virtue and office, and the teachings of the sages. In conducting oneself in the world, one should take reverence and caution as one’s foundation. If one treats minor evils as unimportant and gives them no heed, then, once wrongdoing has accumulated to a certain point, there will be no escape when great calamity arrives.

Yan Junping said: If one begins to do good only after great calamity is already at hand, then even virtue cannot save one, and Heaven and Earth cannot avert the disaster. This is not Heaven’s fault. If people covet high rank and ease, rely on their power, forget their worries, lose their vigilance, and fail to look for the cause within themselves, they will invite calamity. Those who worry about their own conduct will not fear others; those who keep themselves in check will not be controlled by external things; those who are careful about small matters will not fear great calamity; and those who guard against present problems in good time will not regret distant consequences.

“Do not become accustomed to the place where you dwell.” In old editions, “become accustomed” also means to grow familiar with or attached to something, while “the place where you dwell” refers to one’s surroundings. The passage says that a cautious person should choose virtuous neighbors and avoid keeping company with bad friends; by remaining quiet and self-possessed, and living humbly and modestly, one makes it difficult for calamity to intrude, preserves the body, and keeps the spirit at peace. This is what it means to understand reverence deeply and act with caution.

The Kaiyuan imperial edition has “narrow” instead. This means not to put oneself in a constricted position or to take a rigid stance. One should restrain one’s sharpness, be tolerant toward others, and avoid conflict with external things. An old explanation holds that the place where the spirit dwells is the human heart. People should let go of attachments and remove desires, making the heart broad and gentle, so that the spirit may dwell at ease within it. Only then can the body be preserved.

“Do not let beasts harm what they have brought forth.”

“Dislike” means to detest. The forms nurtured by the Dao are called “what the Dao gives life to.” People should not detest anything the Dao has nurtured. Instead, they should diligently honor and admire the Great Dao, and revere both the Dao and Heaven. In this way, they can preserve good fortune for a long time. If they indulge their desires, slight the Great Dao, and neglect their De, calamity will soon befall them.

An older interpretation holds that the human body is brought forth by spirit, so “what the Dao gives life to” also refers to spirit. Spirit rests in emptiness and stillness. When people cleanse their thoughts and quiet their minds, spirit will naturally return. But if they indulge their desires and disturb their spirit, or let various pursuits unsettle their nature, their spirit and Qi will disperse and their lives will decline. For this reason, people are urged not to reject the spirit within them, but to uphold the enduring Dao.

“Only those who do not slight it will remain steadfast.”

Only those who revere the Great Dao and Heaven can be wholly focused and sincere, following the Dao in all places and at all times without growing idle or lax. Heaven’s Way then protects them unseen and bestows many kinds of good fortune, allowing people to care for one another rather than cause one another harm.

The Kaiyuan Imperial Commentary says that “be unwaveringly devoted and hold fast to unity” comes from the “Counsels of the Great Yu” in the Book of Documents. These were the words spoken when Shun charged Yu with succeeding him. The human mind is prone to peril and instability, while the mind of the Dao is subtle and hard to discern. Only through wholehearted sincerity and steadfast unity can one truly grasp the balanced and upright Way.

“Thus the sage knows himself but does not display himself.” The sage understands himself without deliberately showing himself.

The sage cultivates himself before cultivating others. First, he reflects inward, distinguishes good from evil, and cleanses his thoughts so that no dust or grime enters his heart. This is called “knowing oneself.” Having embodied the Dao, the sage is deep and still. He follows the Dao day and night, does not boast of his abilities, and does not let external things disturb his spirit. He is mindful that he might act against principle or behave improperly, becoming someone who knows no reverence.

“He loves himself but does not exalt himself.” The sage cherishes himself, but does not regard himself as noble.

Those who dare to act aggressively often bring destruction upon themselves. Those who know restraint and do not dare to act recklessly, by contrast, can preserve their lives.

Firm resolve is called “courage”; rashly pressing ahead is called “daring.” Those who are hard in temperament fear nothing. They do not yield before displays of power, and once they decide to do something, they never turn back. Relying on ferocity and obstinacy, they resort to killing at the slightest provocation. That is why it is said, “Courage in daring leads to death.” People of the Dao carefully choose when to advance and when to withdraw, keep themselves in check, and know how to yield. They are quiet and gentle, do not act recklessly, and cannot bear to harm life. That is why it is said, “Courage in not daring leads to life.”

One of these ways brings benefit, the other harm. What, then, does the Way of Heaven abhor? Who can fully understand its reasons? Even the sage approaches this with caution and finds it difficult to judge.

The “two courses” discussed here refer to the choice between daring to kill and not daring to kill, between causing someone’s death and allowing someone to live. The greatest virtue of Heaven and Earth lies in nurturing life. The sage takes compassion as the foundation and does not delight in killing. Death is a calamity in human life, and all living things abhor it. The courage to act decisively may lead to the way of killing; the courage to be compassionate and benevolent leads to the way of preserving life.

If one clings to a single course without changing, one has yet to understand how Heaven and Earth balance killing and nurturing life. Some people now gain while others suffer harm; perhaps this is because it has not yet been determined who should die and who should live. Someone who does wrong in broad daylight may be punished by people; someone who does wrong in secret may be put to death by ghosts and spirits. Even the sage’s compassion and the benevolence of the Dao of Heaven may not be enough to save such a person. If that person is pardoned, the pardon may instead bring the calamity of retribution.

Some people deserve death and are killed; others deserve life and are saved. Some may be killed, yet should not be; others may be saved, yet should not be. At times, saving someone brings calamity; at times, killing someone brings good fortune. Why is this so? Who can know the reasons behind what Heaven abhors? Without perceiving the true workings of creation—the patterns by which Heaven and Earth give rise to, transform, and end the myriad things—how can one understand where calamity and fortune come from, or where benefit and harm take root? Even a sage, for all their discernment, would find it difficult to decide lightly who should live or die. How much less should someone who is no sage decide another’s life and death out of private motives? This matter, therefore, calls for caution.

Yan Junping, a thinker of the Western Han, said: “These two courses, killing and sparing, call for equal courage and equal resolve. If one makes plans only on the surface, contending and blaming one another, one defies Heaven’s will and departs from Earth’s way, each acting according to personal intent. Some who possess a realm with a thousand chariots end up as fugitive slaves; some who begin as commoners go on to become kings. Thus, in some cases, allowing someone to live brings calamity; in others, saving someone brings good fortune. In some cases, killing someone brings good fortune; in others, killing someone becomes a source of guilt and harm. These two choices are profound and difficult to fathom; no one can fully understand them.”

The Dao of Heaven does not contend with the myriad things, yet naturally brings each to its proper order; thus it excels at prevailing. The Dao of Heaven acts equally and does not oppose the myriad things, each of which grows and changes in its own way. How could it compete with people over who is bold and who is timid, who lives and who dies? If people follow the Dao of Heaven and do not struggle against the myriad things, they too can excel at prevailing. To prevail without harming the myriad things is what can truly be called courage.

The Dao of Heaven does not speak, yet it enables all things to receive a response. When has Heaven ever opened its mouth? The seasons still turn, and the myriad things still grow. Good deeds bring blessings, while evil deeds bring calamity: these responses are indeed never in error.

The Dao of Heaven never summons the myriad things, yet they come of their own accord. Heaven is lofty and gives no verbal commands, so when has it ever called to the myriad things? Yet they all turn their backs to the shade and face the sun, grow in spring, and bear fruit in autumn. This is the natural order of Yin-Yang’s growth and decline.

The Dao of Heaven is silent and soundless, yet excels at arranging things. The Kaiyuan and Heshanggong editions read “serene”; the Yan Junping edition reads “silent,” and the Wang Bi edition reads “calm.” The Dao of Heaven is still, impartial, and free of self-interest: those who do what is auspicious and good receive auspicious responses, while those who do what is violent and evil receive calamity. The rise and fall of life and death in the human world, and the paths traced by the stars, are all without error. Does this not resemble skillful planning and arrangement?

The net of Heaven is vast and boundless. Though its mesh is loose, nothing slips through. “Heaven’s net” refers to the laws by which nature operates; “vast and boundless” describes its immeasurable breadth. It extends in every direction and sees all clearly. Nothing can escape it, whether hidden in darkness or openly visible; hence the saying that nothing slips through.

Those who boldly flaunt their strength are likely to bring death upon themselves, because they are always unafraid of dying. The text therefore goes on to say: if the people are always unafraid of death, how can they be intimidated by threatening them with death?

There are two kinds of people who “do not fear death.” Those who understand the Way know the constant Dao, and so do not fear death; the ignorant go against the constant Dao, and likewise do not fear it. At birth, human nature is originally tranquil. To cherish life and dislike death is an ordinary human feeling. Farming to obtain food, weaving to make clothes, living in peace and pursuing one’s livelihood, nourishing life and seeing the dead on their way—all these are the customary rites of the world. When the people preserve their normal nature and the government observes its established laws, neither bending the law nor abusing its power, everyone can live as they should and die in peace. If the people’s lives and deaths both accord with what is natural, what is there to fear?

But when De declines and rulers can no longer let things follow their natural course, prohibitions and legal nets grow ever denser, and life becomes difficult for the people. Theft, wrongdoing, deceit, and strife then arise. Small fears leave people anxious and unsettled; great fears instead numb them, until they can no longer even concern themselves with death. Punishments grow harsher and officials more brutal. If rulers use severe penalties such as execution and the destruction of a whole family to frighten the people, how can they make the people truly fear death?

If the people always feared death, then when someone acted recklessly, I would only need to seize and execute that person. Who would dare behave lawlessly? This is a rhetorical question, pointing out that threatening the people with execution may not actually keep them from committing crimes.

“Fearing death,” too, takes two forms. Those who carefully nurture life respect Heaven’s mandate and cherish life, and so cultivate their De. Those who do evil and seek only immediate comfort fear punishment and death, and therefore try to evade the law. In their natural state, people are undisturbed by external things. They are content and at ease, eating their fill and resting freely, with a calm and untroubled mind, as though unaware that old age is approaching. Such people live in accord with change. Today, however, laws and decrees multiply, and the people can easily fall under sentence of death. This makes them fear death at every moment. If they focus only on preserving their lives in the present, they may turn to opportunism and deceit to evade the law. Deceit flourishes, and disorder follows. Officials can then arrest and kill people, hoping in this way to eradicate wrongdoing and put an end to evil, so that no one will dare offend again.

“Those who constantly administer death are always killing”: in the world, a force in charge of taking life is constantly carrying out executions.

Heshang Gong says, “Those who administer death” refers to Heaven. Heaven dwells high above, watches over the human realm, and is in charge of punishing people’s offenses. Heaven’s net is vast; though its mesh seems wide, nothing slips through. This means that Heaven’s watchful gaze misses nothing.

The Lord by the River says: “‘The one who administers killing’ refers to Heaven, dwelling above and looking down upon the human world, where it oversees the punishment of people’s faults. ‘Heaven’s net is vast: its mesh may be loose, yet nothing slips through’ means that Heaven’s scrutiny is clear and penetrating, and nothing can escape its sight. Why, then, use harsh punishments to deal with people?”

Du Guangting says: “‘To administer’ means to be in charge. Heaven and Earth nurture and cherish all people. The Southern Palace’s cinnabar registers—the Daoist records of good deeds, which govern the rewarding of virtue and the prolonging of life—reward the good and govern life. The Northern Palace’s black registers, which record transgressions and govern the rolls of the dead, record faults and govern death. The spirits throughout Heaven and Earth observe people’s good and evil deeds, using this to punish wrongdoing and encourage virtue, so that people may turn away from evil and toward the good. Thus, those who have merit may have their lives prolonged, while those who are guilty have their allotted years reduced. Not even the smallest detail is misjudged, just as officials in the human world investigate merit and fault. In Heaven there are the four stars of the offices of fate, located between the Xu and Wei lunar mansions. They govern people’s merits, faults, and lifespans. This is what is meant by ‘Heaven’s administrator of killing.’ Heaven observes people’s sins and blessings so that those in the world may learn to cultivate good and refrain from evil. A ruler should teach the people through the Way of goodness and always hold compassion and forgiveness in his heart. Heaven’s own officials will take charge of punishing those who do evil. Heaven’s net is wide: it may seem loose, yet it lets no one who defies Heaven and turns against the Way escape.”

One who takes charge of killing on Heaven’s behalf is like someone wielding an axe for a master carpenter.

If the person in charge of punishments arrogates the task of surveillance and the administration of penal law, exercising the powers of life and death in place of the workings of creation, it is like an inept worker doing a skilled carpenter’s job.

When an inept worker chops wood in place of a skilled carpenter, it is rare for him not to injure his own hand.

When an inept worker chops wood for a master carpenter, he may ruin the timber and damage the tools, and may even injure his hand or break his fingers. This is a metaphor: when those in power exercise the powers of life and death in place of the workings of creation and impose punishments rashly, they harm the people and disrupt the harmonious Qi of Heaven and Earth. The Way of Heaven is lofty and discerning, while human understanding is limited and easily misled. If people of limited understanding are allowed to govern all things in place of the lofty Way of Heaven, their policies will go against the nature of things and abandon governance that accords with nature.

The people do not fear death; they fear hunger. The discussion therefore turns next to the problem of the people’s hunger.

The reason the people go hungry is that the ruler imposes excessive taxes.

The people are the foundation of the state. When government directives are complicated, taxes grow heavy; when the people are poor, the state’s foundations also decline. The ruler depends on the people for sustenance, and the state depends on them for support. If the ruler taxes them too heavily, both ruler and people will fall into hardship. Taking the people’s wealth to enrich the ruler ultimately harms them both. Du Guangting says: “In ancient times, there were clear standards for establishing laws and institutions. ‘Food’ refers to provisions for the ruler’s table, while ‘tax’ refers to levies paid to the state. The essential point in collecting a tenth of the harvest is to keep the burden as light as possible. Heavy taxes impoverish the people; light taxes allow them to prosper. When the people prosper, the state is secure; when they are poor, the state is in danger. Governance should be measured, and laws should not be excessively harsh. Casting a penal code provokes popular resentment; imposing an additional land tax impoverishes the state. The ruler of Qi met his downfall through excessive taxation, while the Tian clan achieved hegemony through generous acts of benevolence. These lessons are plain to see, and rulers should take them as warnings.”

The reason the people are difficult to govern is that rulers are too interventionist.

When rulers do too much, government directives become complicated. When they follow Wuwei (non-action), government affairs become simple and clear. When governance is simple, the people can readily comply; when directives are complicated, they become difficult to govern. If rulers indulge in fresh delicacies and fine dishes, the people are left to regard spoiled dust, wine dregs, and coarse grain as good food. When the legal net is tightly drawn and commands are harsh, the people naturally become difficult to govern.

The reason the people do not fear death is that rulers make the means of securing a livelihood excessively difficult to obtain, causing the people to take death lightly.

When government directives are cumbersome and harsh and taxes are heavy, the people lose the means by which they make their living. Without a livelihood, they are more likely to break laws and defy prohibitions, risking death. Everyone struggles to accumulate abundant wealth and possessions; some will brave boiling water and fire without fear, or face sharp blades without alarm. That is why the people take death lightly.

Only those who do not make excessive efforts to preserve life their pursuit surpass those who value nothing but keeping themselves alive.

People who crave comfort and pursue profit are like sheep walking of their own accord to the slaughterhouse: they are hastening toward death. Only those who do not make too much of their bodies or of life and death can live in lowly circumstances without feeling disgraced, and find plain, coarse food delicious. Even amid hardship and danger in the world, they can dwell there in peace and contentment. This is how they differ from those who prize life and seek pleasure at every turn.

To “prize life” means to cherish it excessively, as if one’s own worth were extraordinarily great. Those who regard life as supremely important are always seeking bodily comfort, rich food, fine clothes, beautiful sights, and pleasing sounds. When they cannot have these things, they become anxious and fearful; they may even demand what lies beyond their rightful share and readily put themselves in danger.

When the people are hungry, their spirits grow scattered, and they are more apt to disregard death. When life is abundant, their dispositions become gentle and settled, and they cherish life more. So the text next speaks of how people are soft and yielding while alive.

While alive, people are soft and yielding; after death, they are stiff and unyielding.

While a person is alive, the body contains primordial, harmonizing Qi—the vital energy that sustains life—and holds the essence of True Unity, the vital essence that preserves life. The body remains whole and the spirit vigorous, so every part of it is soft. At death, the primordial, harmonizing Qi disperses and the essence of True Unity is exhausted. The body decays and the spirit perishes, so every part becomes stiff.

Plants and all living things are tender and pliant while alive; after death, they wither and grow dry and hard.

As plants grow, the Qi of Heaven and Earth flows within them, while the fluids of Yin-Yang nourish them from without. Thus, in spring their branches are green and fresh, and in summer their leaves and branches grow lush, showing their tender, pliant state. When they wither and die, the Qi of Heaven and Earth disperses within, and the fluids of Yin-Yang dry up outside. In autumn, their fruit turns red or yellow and falls; in winter, their branches become scorched, withered, and rotten, snapping at a touch.

The earlier passage spoke of beings with awareness; here it turns to plants, which have none. Inanimate things reveal flourishing and decline through the gathering and dispersal of Qi, while beings with awareness reveal life and death through the persistence and disappearance of the Dao.

While plants are alive, they are soft and tender; after they die, they become hard. From this we can see that people who insist on acting forcefully are setting out on the road to death. Only by remaining yielding can one preserve the conditions for life.

The Kaiyuan Imperial Commentary says: “Plants are soft as they grow and hard once they have withered and died. This shows that acting harshly and forcefully leads toward death, while acting gently and yielding accords with the vitality of life.”

Yan Junping says: “Where Yang Qi, the vital energy that makes all things grow, reaches, wood can bend and grass can be woven together. When Yang Qi departs, water freezes into ice, and ice is easily broken. Shenming and Yang Qi are the roots of life; softness and yielding are the conditions that allow all things to grow. Gentleness and responsiveness can bring about growth, while also sustaining Shenming and Yang Qi. Thus all things display their yielding side under the influence of Yang Qi. Hardness and force are signs of decline and death; softness, suppleness, and flexibility belong to vitality.”

Therefore, when an army relies on force, it is harder for it to prevail.

Yuzhen says: “An army is a dangerous instrument, a tool of conflict. Wherever it goes, it faces an enemy. When an army grows powerful, the ruler is apt to become complacent and the generals arrogant. Arrogant generals treat the soldiers harshly. With a complacent ruler commanding arrogant generals, who in turn oppress their soldiers, they will be too busy dealing with disorder at home to defeat the enemy.”

Jie and Zhou had armies numbering in the millions, yet lost the realm. Qin Shi Huang unified the realm but ultimately lost the Nine Provinces. Xiang Yu rose swiftly to supremacy and then quickly fell. Wang Mang’s usurpation was followed soon by his downfall. Fu Jian suffered a humiliating defeat at the Battle of the Huai River, and the Sui dynasty under Emperor Yang collapsed in the region of Chu. These rulers commanded armies that numbered as many as trillions, or at least hundreds of millions, yet all relied on their strength and brought about their own defeat. They are clear examples of the saying that an army relying on force cannot prevail. Winning a battle through military force may not be difficult; the difficulty lies in holding on to victory. Only a Dao-aligned ruler can do that. These rulers failed because they could not hold on to victory.

The phrase “when wood becomes rigid and strong, it is cut down” means that trees that grow stiff and upright are easily felled.

The Imperial Commentary on the Kaiyuan Era says: The trunk and roots of a tree are thick and strong, so they are below; its branches are supple and weak, yet they grow together above. Only a ruler who follows the Dao can persevere to the end and overcome hardship. The rulers mentioned earlier all failed because they could not persevere to the end.

The hard, strong parts of a tree are below; its supple branches are above.

The strong are below; the weak are above.

The sturdy trunk and great roots of a tree are always below, while its soft branches are always above. If this is so even of trees, how much more so of people and states?

As long as the Qi of life remains, weakness will be evident. Weakness embodies the way of yielding; Heaven’s Dao esteems yielding, so the text next speaks of “the Dao of Heaven.”

Does the Dao of Heaven not operate like drawing a bow?

The Imperial Commentary on the Kaiyuan Era says: Heaven’s Dao is lofty and remote, difficult to explain directly. So the text uses the image of drawing a bow to illustrate how Heaven’s De (Virtue/Power) works.

When the bowstring is drawn too high, it is pressed down; when it is too low, it is raised. What is in excess is diminished; what is insufficient is replenished.

The Kaiyuan Imperial Commentary says: The materials and shape of a bow must be properly adjusted so that the bowstring has the right tension and the bow’s height is suitable. Only then can an arrow be nocked and aimed correctly. When shooting, the archer adjusts the force according to the distance, reducing excess force and supplying what is lacking, so the arrow can hit its target. The bow is used here as a metaphor for the workings of the Dao of Heaven.

The Book of Changes says, “To establish the pattern of Heaven is to establish Yin and Yang.” Yang Qi rises, while Yin Qi descends. When Yang reaches its height, it begins to descend; when Yin reaches its lowest point, it begins to rise again. This is like lowering what is too high and raising what is too low when adjusting a bow. The Dao of Heaven has its periods of increase and decrease. A leap month is inserted into the year to reconcile differences in the courses of the sun and moon. The alternation of day and night, and the cycles of cold and heat, allow the passage of the years to run its course. A ruler should follow the example of Heaven: restrain the powerful and support the weak, reduce what is in excess and supply what is lacking. Those who are full should be brought to modesty, while those who are humble should receive support, so that all things may be treated fairly.

Yan Junping says: The bowyer does not arbitrarily add to or subtract from the bow’s materials, nor does he alter its tension and release at will. He adjusts it according to rules and measures. If the bowstring is too high or too taut, he lowers and loosens it; if it is slack and too low, he tightens and raises it. He removes what is in excess and adds what is lacking. Only when the string and bow fit one another, and their upper and lower parts are in harmony, can the bow be properly balanced and the arrow shot smoothly. Lowering what is too high, raising what is too low, reducing what is great, and supporting what is small: these are the principles by which Heaven and Earth operate.

The Dao of Heaven reduces what is in excess and supplies what is lacking. The ways of the human world, however, are often the opposite: they take from those who have too little and offer it to those who already have too much.

The Imperial Commentary on the Kaiyuan Era says: This passage explains that the principles governing human society cannot harmonize all things as the Dao of Heaven does, by diminishing what is excessive and replenishing what is insufficient. The Book of Changes says that diminishing below and adding above is called “Decrease,” while diminishing above and adding below is called “Increase.” This is because what lies below is the foundation.

The Tai hexagram is open and flourishing. If what lies below is diminished to benefit what lies above, it changes into the Decrease hexagram. The Pi hexagram is closed and obstructed. If what lies above is diminished to benefit what lies below, the people rejoice without end, and the hexagram changes into Increase. This is how the sages devised the hexagrams and observed the transformations of things.

Who can take what they have in abundance and offer it to all under Heaven? Only a person who has the Dao can do so.

The passage now explains this point in detail through a question and answer. Question: Who can act like the Dao of Heaven, bestowing benefits on those below and rescuing the people, taking surplus stipends and providing them to the poor and needy throughout the world? Answer: Only a person of the Dao, an enlightened ruler, or a wise person can do so. “Offer” means that although an enlightened ruler holds high rank and stands above others, he does not forget the people below. He is like a person of low rank who respectfully serves someone of honor, rather than using his noble status to dominate others.

Thus, the sage acts without relying on his own ability, and when his work is accomplished, he does not claim it as his own. He does not wish to display his worth.

The sage is comprehensive and penetrating, responding to all things with wisdom. He acts in accord with their nature, bringing order to the myriad things without calling himself benevolent or righteous. His kindness extends through countless generations, yet he does not call himself compassionate. He has endured since ancient times, yet he does not call himself long-lived. He shelters Heaven and Earth and brings forth the myriad things, yet he does not call himself ingenious. How could he treat his deeds as capital, boast of his virtue, or insist on occupying the highest place once his work is done? Precisely because he does not rely on himself or claim credit, he can lead people of every kind.

The Dao of Heaven replenishes what is scarce and diminishes what is abundant; it presses down what is high and lifts up what is low. Only a person of the Dao can emulate the Dao of Heaven in its yielding nature. That is why the text next says: “Nothing under Heaven is softer and weaker than water.”

Nothing in the world is softer and weaker than water, yet nothing surpasses it in overcoming hard things. No other thing can take the place of this power.

Of all things in the world, nothing is softer than water. Yet water can penetrate metal and stone and overcome what is hard; nothing surpasses it. People often block and divert its flow, make it pass through places that are square or round, or direct it over uneven ground, through ditches and channels. By virtue of its softness and weakness, water ultimately does not change its nature.

Thus the soft overcomes the hard, and the weak overcomes the strong. Everyone in the world knows this principle, yet few are able to put it into practice.

Water can put out fire; Yin can restrain Yang. The tongue is soft, and so it can endure, while the teeth are hard and therefore easily broken. Everyone knows these principles, and they are often heard in everyday life. Yet people each cling to their own views and cannot practice the Way of softness and weakness. Laozi therefore sighs deeply and cites the words of a sage to explain how this Way should be put into practice.

Thus the sage says: “One who bears a country’s defilement may be called its ruler.”

The sage’s words cited here may be a passage preserved from the “Three Tombs,” ancient texts said to date from remote antiquity, or they may be Laozi’s own humble expression. The meaning is that a ruler who can bear the country’s filth and failings, taking upon himself the responsibility for the people’s offenses in all four directions and saying, “I alone am guilty; do not blame all of you,” can bear a country’s defilement. Such a person may be called its ruler.

The words attributed to the “sage” may be writings preserved from the Three Mounds (Sanfen), legendary texts from high antiquity, or they may be Laozi’s way of speaking modestly. The meaning is this: if a ruler can bear disgrace and take upon himself the blame for the faults of people throughout the realm, the people will admire his Virtue and will not scatter or flee. In this way, he can uphold the altars of soil and grain (the symbols of the state) for a long time and become ruler of all under Heaven.

The Huainanzi: Explanation of the Great Illustriousness records that when the state of Jin attacked Chu, its army had already advanced three she (an ancient measure of marching distance) and still had not halted. A Chu minister asked to send troops to meet the attack. King Zhuang of Chu said, “When my predecessor was on the throne, Jin did not attack Chu. Now Jin has come against us because of my fault. How can I let the state suffer disgrace?” Wei Zi, a minister, said, “When my predecessor served, Jin did not attack Chu. Now Jin has come against us because of my fault. I ask the king to send out the troops.” King Zhuang wept, rose, and bowed to Wei Zi.

When the people of Jin heard this, they said, “The ruler and ministers of Chu are competing to take the blame upon themselves, and the ruler treats his ministers with humility. A state like this cannot be attacked.” So they withdrew their army during the night. When a ruler is willing to bear the state’s disgrace, this is called “bearing the filth of the state.” It is precisely the principle by which the altars of soil and grain are kept secure.

When emperors and kings establish a state, they build the ancestral temple to the left and the altars of soil and grain to the right. The ancestral temple honors the ancestors and offers them a place alongside Heaven; the altars of soil and grain honor agriculture and make offerings to the Five Grains. Grain sustains the people and is the foundation on which their lives depend. Food is Heaven to human beings, so a state must first give importance to the altars of soil and grain, with the ruler presiding over their sacrifices.

One who bears the inauspicious events of all under Heaven is worthy of being called the “king of all under Heaven.”

When a ruler is humble and yielding, and takes upon himself the calamities and failings of the state, the people throughout the realm will turn their hearts toward benevolence and virtue, and people in every direction will trust and submit to him. Only then can he be called the ruler of all under Heaven. An ancient text says, “Mountains, rivers, lakes, and marshes take in what is foul.” This refers to a ruler’s capacity to tolerate failings.

The Huainanzi, in its “Honglie Jie” chapter, records that during the reign of Duke Jing of Song, the planet Yinghuo (Mars, as it was known in ancient times) appeared in the position of the Heart constellation, which was believed to correspond to the territory of the state of Song. Duke Jing was afraid and summoned Zi Wei to ask what it meant. Zi Wei said, “The appearance of Yinghuo is a warning from Heaven. The Heart constellation corresponds to Song, so calamity will fall upon the ruler. But it can be transferred to the chancellor.” Duke Jing replied, “The chancellor governs the state. To transfer a death sentence to him would be inauspicious.” Zi Wei then said it could be transferred to the people. Duke Jing replied, “If the people die, whom would I rule?” Zi Wei then said it could be transferred to the harvest. Duke Jing replied, “The harvest sustains the people’s livelihood. If the harvest fails, the people will die. As their ruler, I would be sacrificing them to save myself. Who would still be willing to accept me as their ruler? Since my allotted years have reached their end, say no more.”

Zi Wei bowed twice and said, “I presume to congratulate you. Heaven is high, yet it hears what is said below. Your words accord with the Way of rulership, so Heaven will surely reward you many times over. Tonight, the stars will move three she. A she is the distance traveled by a star; one she is about seven li, so three she amount to twenty-one li. Thus, your life can be extended by twenty-one years. I ask to remain before Your Majesty and observe the stars.” That night, the stars indeed moved three she. This is the principle by which one takes upon oneself the calamities of the state and becomes the common ruler of all under Heaven.

Words that accord with principle often sound contrary to ordinary understanding.

Only by practicing the way of yielding can one be a ruler; esteem for strength brings calamity. The sage accepts disgrace and a bad name, and so preserves great good fortune for a long time. Ordinary people covet a fine reputation and honor, yet in the end bring calamity upon themselves. This is why words that accord with principle sound contrary to the common view.

Water can hold what is foul, and many impure things can gather within it. For this reason, the next chapter goes on to speak of “reconciling deep-seated resentment.”

Even when deep-seated resentment has been resolved, some lingering resentment is bound to remain.

When a ruler cannot remain calm and practice Wuwei (non-action), humble and gentle, the people’s desires multiply and their taste for strife grows. Then people come to despise life and fight to the death, even swinging their arms at one another in the streets and at court. The ruler responds by establishing teachings and laws to restrain the people: those who kill must pay with their lives, and those who injure others must be punished. Yet answering resentment with leniency may instead feed it. Since resentment has already taken root, it is better to prevent it at its source, so it has no chance to arise. If one only knows how to reconcile a great grievance after it has formed, without investigating what caused it, then even the fairest mediation will inevitably leave some bitterness behind. This is like asking a master carpenter to cut wood: few can do so without injuring their hands. To respond with a mind free of intent and the highest De (Virtue/Power) may bring one close to the source from which all things arise.

How, then, could this be called good?

The sages intended to reconcile and answer resentment and wrongdoing through punishments and decrees. Yet deceit only grew worse, and resentment continued to increase. How, then, could this be called good government?

Therefore, the sage holds the left half of the tally and makes no demands of others.

Lu Xisheng says: In ancient times, people made agreements by tying knots in cords, and the people did not deceive one another. Later, they split pieces of wood to make tallies, with each party holding one half, and the people did not break their agreements. The sage has no fixed views and takes the people’s intentions as his own. The sage’s heart and the people’s hearts are like the two halves of a tally: when joined, they confirm one another. Thus, the sage holds no one to account; those above and below grow close, and resentment does not arise.

Li Rong says: The sages of antiquity carved tallies from wood. The ruler held the left half and the officials the right, and when joined, the pieces served as proof. They did not then devise additional laws to restrain the people, so they held no one to account. And if no one is held to account, what resentment could there be to reconcile?

“Che” means to pass through or make something accessible; “si” means to oversee. The phrase “Those with De hold the tally and make things accessible; those without De oversee the work of making things accessible” means that a ruler with De governs through tallies and trust, rather than relying on a dense web of documents and laws, and the people are naturally transformed. A ruler without De, by contrast, governs through regulations and institutions.

“Thoroughness” means being well informed and clear; “stewardship” means presiding over and managing something. The “virtuous” rulers spoken of here are monarchs of the Middle Ages. They did not govern through documents and laws. They used only tally sticks and matching tokens as signs of trust, and the people naturally accepted their teaching. This is why they are called “virtuous.”

The “without virtue” rulers were those of remote antiquity. Their virtue was vast but unnamed, and all things followed their natural course. People lived in caves or tree nests, each keeping to their place. The ruler was free of thought and worry, his mind clear; he could perceive the Dao, which exists independently in itself. He did not act deliberately or rely on anything, yet accorded with the Dao and possessed profound virtue. At that time, there were no agreements to administer; it was enough simply to let all things unfold naturally and freely. This is why they are called “without virtue.” This is Du Guangting’s interpretation. An older view explains “thoroughness” as conduct or traces; some editions instead read “track,” taking the passage to mean that regulating the people through laws and standards causes society to decline, hence the phrase “without virtue.” Here, Du Guangting’s explanation is considered more apt.

Heaven’s Dao shows no partiality; it constantly supports good people.

Heaven’s Dao favors no one, but accords with goodness. This is what is meant by “Heaven’s net is vast: its mesh is wide, yet nothing slips through.” Though Heaven’s Dao seems loosely woven, it leaves nothing out. The most virtuous people naturally accord with it, so why use agreements to restrain and make demands of the people? This brings us back to the ways of remote antiquity.

When enmity is reconciled, it has still not been fully dispelled. To let enmity subside, one must follow things’ natural course and refrain from forcing action. The key to not forcing action is to begin with small matters and not crave too much. This is why the discussion next turns to “a small state with few people.”

A small state with few people: even if there are various tools, they are not put to use.

“Shi” means a group of five, and “bo” means a leader; “tools” refers to implements and supplies. When a state is small and can preserve itself, and its people are few and can provide for themselves, they can return to simplicity and freedom from craving. This is why the discussion next turns to “a small state with few people.”

A small state with few people: even if there are various tools, they are not put to use.

“Shi” means a group of five, and “bo” means a leader; “tools” refers to implements and supplies. When a state is small and can preserve itself, and its people are few and can provide for themselves, they can restore the ways of remote antiquity. Let the people be organized into groups of five, so that people of different status do not encroach on one another. When the ruler follows the Dao of Wuwei (non-action), the people can accumulate ample resources and possess all kinds of fine tools, yet have no need to use them. This is governance brought to its highest degree.

Let the people value life and not lightly risk death, and let them not travel far or migrate.

When the ruler practices Wuwei, the transformation through De (Virtue/Power) becomes pure and deep. The people remain simple and do not hold life lightly, prize outward display, or abandon what is fundamental. They farm to provide food and spin and weave to make clothing, each cherishing their homeland and not migrating lightly. Even the governance of Xuanyuan (the Yellow Emperor) and Jiqu (a legendary sage ruler of antiquity) could not surpass this.

Even if there are boats and carts, there is no need to ride in them.

Hollowing out a piece of wood to make a boat is for traveling far and crossing water. If one follows the Great Dao in governing the world, the ruler of a large state seeks only to bring more people together and care for them, while the ruler of a small state wishes only to submit to and serve another state. Neither encroaches on the other nor competes for gain. Even if boats and carts are available, they are left unused. Zhuangzi said, “In the age of Perfect Virtue, there were no paths or tunnels in the mountains, and no boats or bridges in the marshes; all things grew of themselves.” This is what he meant.

Even if armor and weapons are available, there is no occasion to display or use them. Armor and weapons were originally used to punish disloyal ministers and defend against rebels and bandits. When the ruler governs through Wuwei (non-action), ministers each fulfill their duties, the people are left undisturbed, and the four directions are at peace. Naturally, there is no need to deploy troops.

Let the people return to keeping records with knotted cords. A commentary from the Kaiyuan era says that in ancient times, before writing existed, people recorded events by tying knots in cords. The “Appended Statements” says that in high antiquity people used knotted cords to manage affairs, until sages replaced them with writing and tally sticks. In the age of knotted cords, people were simple and sincere; after writing arose, deceit gradually increased. Therefore, the people should be made to forget personal attachments and cast off desires, returning to the simplicity of ancient times. This is why they are to keep records with knotted cords again.

Let the people find their food fragrant and sweet, their clothes beautiful, their homes secure, and their customs a source of joy. When the ruler has no greedy desires, the people naturally remain simple, seek no more than they need, and know contentment. Even eating only vegetables and wild greens in broth seems fresh and delicious. Wearing hemp cloth and a deerskin coat, caring only that the clothes fit and not seeking adornment, seems beautiful. Living in a thatched hut feels secure so long as it shelters them from wind and rain. Whether in the heat of the south or the bitter cold of the north, they feel comfortable as long as they can adapt to the local climate and terrain. In this way, customs bring neither premature death nor injury, and the land is free of epidemics and illness.

Neighboring states can see one another, and the sounds of chickens crowing and dogs barking can be heard across their borders. Yet the people need not travel between them, even until old age and death.

Neighboring states lie within sight of one another, meaning that their districts and counties share borders. The crowing of roosters and barking of dogs can be heard across the border, showing that the people are prosperous and live close together. The people live in peace into old age and die only when their time is complete, showing that there are no wars or hostile threats. They do not visit one another, like fish in rivers and lakes that do not concern themselves with one another and each move freely; they are also like people who have forgotten the distinctions and entanglements of Daoist arts. This way of life may be compared to the customs of the age of Hexu and Zunlu, legendary rulers of high antiquity.

When people are content with what they have, they are honest and unadorned, and do not pursue ostentation. That is why the text next says, “True words are not ornate.”

True words are not ornate; ornate words are often untrue.

True words are plain and tasteless, like water. Plainness endures. They are not ornate because they preserve their original simplicity. Ornate words are sweet and pleasing to the ear, but they may be too sweet and fall short of truth. Their very embellishment makes them hard to trust.

The good do not display their skill in argument; those who love to argue are often not good.

Those who are truly good within give priority to putting goodness into practice. They do not argue because they hold fast to their original simplicity. Those skilled in speech value eloquence. To say they are “not good” means that they are easily caught up in disputes over right and wrong.

Those who truly possess wisdom do not seek breadth of knowledge; those who seek breadth may not be wise.

“Those who know” here refers to people who understand the Dao. They grasp the principles and hold to the root; once they have the essential point, what need is there to range widely over everything? This is what is meant by “less brings gain.” The Scripture of the Ascent to the West says, “Attain the One, and all affairs are complete; with no desires in the mind, ghosts and spirits submit.” This means that once one grasps the root, all things become intelligible; when the mind has no cravings, even ghosts and spirits will yield. “Breadth” means studying many different matters and probing divergent doctrines, debating what is right and wrong. To say this is “not knowing” means that the more miscellaneous one’s knowledge becomes, the more easily one is confused. Zhuangzi says, “Ornament destroys substance; breadth of learning drowns the mind.” This means that embellishment can conceal simplicity, while miscellaneous learning can cause the mind and spirit to become submerged.

The sage does not accumulate private wealth. He does all he can to help others, and thereby becomes more fulfilled himself; he gives things to others, and thereby becomes more abundant himself.

“Accumulation” means gathering and storing things away. The sages assist the world through the Dao, but do not hide their virtue to elevate themselves. Whatever they have stored up, they can bring out and share with others; they do not amass wealth for their own enjoyment. They do not keep credit for their achievements and claim it as their own, nor do they conceal their wisdom in their hearts and refuse to put it to use. Because they are open and accessible both inwardly and outwardly, they are called “unaccumulating.”

Zhuangzi said, “The Dao of Heaven operates without accumulation, and so all things are brought to completion. The Dao of the sovereign operates without accumulation, and so the world submits. The Dao of the sage operates without accumulation, and so all within the four seas follows.” The sages do not accumulate because they illuminate the Dao and virtue and teach and benefit the people. As people gain from them, the sages’ virtue becomes all the more evident. This is like a bright mirror reflecting others: it does not conceal its likes and dislikes toward them, yet its brightness is not diminished. This is a metaphor for inner wisdom. The sages also distribute their possessions to the poor. The poor receive help, while the possessions seem all the more abundant. This is like a well whose water people may draw freely: everyone benefits, yet the spring remains clear and inexhaustible. This is a metaphor for the merit they extend outward. The Kaiyuan imperial edition, produced during the Kaiyuan era of the Tang emperor Xuanzong, gives both of the relevant lines as “Having given them to others.”

The Dao of Heaven benefits all things without harming them. Heaven belongs to Yang, which favors bringing life forth and nurturing it, and abhors killing. Spring and summer make all things grow and multiply; autumn and winter bring them to maturity and harvest. This is what it means to benefit without harming.

The way the sage acts is to accomplish things without contending with the myriad things. The sage acts in accordance with the nature of things and does not struggle against external things. This is precisely to model one’s conduct on the Dao of Heaven.

Truthful words are often not pleasing to the ear. When disputation reaches its end, words are forgotten. Names imposed on things must ultimately be set aside, as one returns to the profound and subtle source.

The Laozi Jing is divided into two parts and offers a comprehensive account of emptiness and nothingness, nature and De, divine powers and great harmony, Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang, as well as sages, rulers, scholars, ordinary people, plants, and animals. Its teachings may be said to be at once vast enough to encompass everything and subtle enough to reach everywhere.

In brief, the first chapter of the upper part explains the difference between “the Dao that can be spoken” and the “constant Dao.” This is the foundation of teaching: one must understand from the root and accord with the mysterious Dao. The final chapter of the upper part sets out the purpose of teaching through “Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing is left undone,” guiding people to follow the Dao in practice. In this way, neither substance nor function is clung to, and the beginnings and endings of the two parts connect with one another.

The first chapter of the lower part explains that possessing De and lacking De are ways of teaching suited to different circumstances. Teaching responds to the world as it shifts from simplicity toward superficiality, thereby accord­ing with the mysterious Dao. The final chapter of the lower part explains how teaching is put into practice through trustworthy and untrustworthy words: the Dao is applied in light of the outward adornment and inner substance of things.

Thus, to respond to the times and let things follow their own course without opposing or contending with them is to possess primal De, the fundamental virtue, and to follow the transformations of creation. Returning to the constant Dao enables one to enter the mysterious gate.

This concludes volume ten of The Subtle Meaning of the Dao De Zhenjing from the Repository of the Dao.