《道德真经集义(危大有)》Vol. 1

The Daode zhenjing jiyi (Collected Meanings of the Authentic Scripture of the Dao and De) is a collection of commentaries on the Daodejing compiled by Wei Dayou of the Ming dynasty, in ten juan. It is included in the Zhengtong Daozang under the Dongshen (Cavern of Spirit) section, Yujue (Jade Instructions) category. This preface was written by the author for that work, and it chiefly explains the value of the Daodejing and the reasons for compiling the book.

The preface begins by pointing out that the Daodejing—that is, the Laozi, in two parts, upper and lower, with more than five thousand characters—is complete in its contents: inwardly it speaks of the work of preserving and refining Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) and cultivating the mind-nature; outwardly it speaks of the affairs of cultivating oneself, regulating the family, governing the state, and pacifying the world. It may therefore be called the learning of “inner sagehood and outer kingship,” that is, the unity of inner cultivation and outer ordering of the world.

The preface then criticizes two one-sided views. One is to classify Laozi together with Shen Buhai, Han Fei, and others of the “forms and names” (xingming) school, and thus to call it “Huang-Lao forms and names”—which is very different from the original purport of Daoism. The author considers this view to be skewed. The author explains that when the Zhou dynasty declined and the kingly Way gradually waned, Laozi’s writing also had the intention of aiding the world and salvaging its customs; it was not solely for personal cultivation. In the early Han, Cao Can and Gai Gong governed by the art of purity, stillness, and wuwei (non-action) and achieved practical results, which shows that its use for ordering the world was not far removed from reality. As for the world-transcending teaching—referring to Daoist cultivation—it too developed and grew strong from this. The other view is to dismiss the Daodejing wholesale as empty, nihilistic, and bizarre doctrine without investigating its fundamental meaning. The author holds that such people do not truly understand the Dao.

The preface further says that from ancient times to the present more than a hundred commentators have annotated the Daodejing, each with their own views. The author believes that the best annotations should possess both literary expression and doctrinal meaning, fully integrated and coherent; if the doctrinal meaning is blocked and the sense obscure, then even beautiful language is not worth adopting.

Finally, the preface introduces the compiler Wei Dayou, a native of Xujiang with the sobriquet Daoji. He was upright and cautious, with aspirations toward the Dao; he repeatedly explored the various commentaries, selected the best among them, arranged them by category, and prepared to fund their printing and circulation—his efforts were indeed painstaking. The author hopes that readers will be able to grasp the meaning beyond the words and put it into practice in body and mind: in this way, the inner work of preserving, refining, nurturing, and sustaining will become full, and the outer affairs of self-cultivation, family regulation, state governance, and world pacification will naturally manifest. The Dao is fundamentally one, with no division between inner and outer. At Wei Dayou’s request, the author wrote this preface for the book.

On the last day of the eleventh month of the Guiyou year (1393), Zhang Yuchu—who succeeded to the position of the forty-third Celestial Master (Tianshi) and is a disciple of the Three Caverns (Sandong)—respectfully composed this preface. (The Celestial Master is an honorific title for the head of the Zhengyi (Orthodox Unity) school of Daoism; the Three Caverns refers to the three major divisions of Daoist scriptures.)

The Taishang Daode Jing is the foundation of Daoist scriptures. It takes Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness as its substance, and humility and yielding, compassion and love, and frugality and restraint as its function. From this, the principles of cultivating the self, regulating the family, governing the state, and bringing peace to the world can all be extended, and nothing is left out. Ge Xuan, the Perfected (Zhenren; an Eastern Jin Daoist honored in Daoism as Ge Xiangong), said: The five-thousand-character Daode Jing is truly the source of the great Dao; it is so vast that nothing is outside it, and so fine that there is no place it does not enter; it is the classic of the natural principles of Heaven and humanity. Lord Ni Wenjie (a notable minister surnamed Ni, posthumously titled “Wenjie”) said: Laozi’s five thousand words are truly the essential way of cultivating the self and governing the state, and a good medicine for relieving the world. From this we see that it is not merely the ancestor of Daoist scriptures; how could the scriptures of the three teachings—Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism—depart from it and possess any other principle?

Today the sage and enlightened Son of Heaven sits on the throne, particularly venerates Daoism, and has established the Daoist Office (an official bureau for managing Daoist affairs) to oversee religious administration. Scholars of later times must first understand the meaning of the scriptures before they can be granted a dudie (the official certificate of identity issued to Daoist priests). Unfortunately, worldly customs have declined, and even those who read the scriptures do not understand the texts, let alone their meaning and principles. I, Wei Dayou, in my spare time from praying for blessings on behalf of the state, collated and compared the commentaries of various schools. Some differ and some agree; some are sound and some are flawed. Scholars are therefore inevitably confused. I then took the annotations of Heshang Gong, He Xinshan, and more than ten other commentators, selected those whose explanations are detailed and clear and whose reasoning is coherent and not forced, and compiled them into a book in two volumes, upper and lower, entitled Collected Meanings of the Daode Jing. My hope is that later scholars may know the settled conclusion and no longer be misled by divergent theories.

As for those who, through principles, come to understand the scriptural text, and through the scriptural text come to realize the great Dao, and who delight in practicing the work of Wuwei—can there be none?

In the Dingmao year of the Hongwu reign (1387), Wei Dayou, Daoist Registrar of Xujiang, burned incense and respectfully wrote this.

Names of the Commentators in Collected Meanings: Heshang Gong, also known as Heshang Zhangren, the legendary recluse who annotated the Laozi; Lü Zhichang, He Xinshan (courtesy name Chuyin), and Li Daochun (style name Qing’an) are among the authors whose annotations are selected in this book.

List of Commentators (the original text repeatedly lists some of the commentators): Liu Shili (sobriquet Zhenjingzi), Ni Si (sobriquet Qizhai), Lin Xiyi (sobriquet Yanzhai), Su Zhe (courtesy name Ziyou), Dong Sijing, Chao Jiong, Chai Yuangao (courtesy name Zhibai), and Hao Cheng (sobriquet Caolu). These are scholars from successive eras who wrote commentaries on the Daodejing, listed by surname, given name, sobriquet, or courtesy name.

Chapter One

The Dao that can be put into words is not the eternal, unchanging Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal, unchanging name. “Nameless” refers to the Dao that cannot be described and has no form or image—the beginning of Heaven and Earth; “named” refers to concrete things that can be named—the root of the myriad things.

(Dao: the core concept of Laozi’s philosophy, referring to the origin and operating principles of the universe. Chang Dao [the constant Dao]: the eternally unchanging Dao that transcends language.)

A Vernacular Interpretation of Collected Meanings of the True Scripture of the Dao and De (Wei Dayou)

Master He says: Dao is the state of primal Qi—void, undifferentiated, chaotic, and spontaneous. Heaven and earth, the Two Modes, arise from it, and the myriad things take form by relying on it. It cannot be precisely designated by any name; only with reluctance is it called “Dao.” Therefore, the character Dao in the first chapter of the Dao De Jing should be punctuated at this point and made into a separate sentence, just as in the chapter “Dao chong er yong zhi” the character Dao is also placed at the beginning in order to show reverence. This is to indicate that Dao is supreme and incomparable; names are established on account of Dao, and so they are marked out together with it.

The phrase “the Dao that can be spoken, the name that can be named” means that once the art of Dao is transmitted by people in divided forms, it will split the world’s teachings, and names are merely external markers of Dao. The phrase “the constant Dao, the constant name” refers to that Dao which is “from voidness comes spontaneity, from spontaneity comes Dao,” profound and distant, difficult to describe. If Dao is the constant Dao, then its name is also the constant name; whereas the Dao and name that are “speakable” and “nameable” are only provisional. To say that it is “can” implies that there is both can and cannot; since there is can and cannot, how can it still be called “constant”? This is what is meant by something “forced”; in fact it is not the true constant Dao. To say that it is “constant” means there is no question of can or cannot; since there is neither can nor cannot, how could it change? This is what is meant by “the spontaneous is precisely the eternally so.”

Dao is its substance; name is its function. At times it can indeed be named, and the state of nonbeing may also be said to be its name. Dao arises from nonbeing, profound and empty; this is what is named the beginning of heaven and earth. Things grow from being, full of vitality; this is what is named the mother of the myriad things.

Master Li says: The true and constant Dao of voidness, spontaneity, and naturalness is originally ineffable; a Dao that can be spoken is not the true and constant Dao. The primordial ancestral Qi transforms and gives birth to the various heavens; this is the Dao that responds and changes with time. Dao originally has no form; a name that can be named is also not the true and constant name. Heaven and earth move and transform, nurturing the myriad things; these are names that fall upon traces and appearances.

Master Lin says: Dao cannot be spoken. As soon as words are involved, they all fall into the second meaning.

Notes: Yuanqi is primal Qi, regarded in Daoism as the Qi of the cosmic origin. The Two Modes refer to heaven and earth, or to Yin-Yang. The phrase “Dao is empty, yet using it…” comes from chapter 4 of the Dao De Jing; chong means emptiness. The saying “the art of Dao is split by the world” comes from the “Tianxia” chapter of Zhuangzi; it means that after the art of Dao was divided, the world’s teachings each grasped one side. The phrase “endless and unnameable” comes from chapter 14 of the Dao De Jing and describes Dao as profound, distant, and impossible to name. “Second meaning” in Buddhist and Daoist discourse refers to the secondary level of meaning indicated by words and writing, not the original meaning of Dao.

Laozi says: Only by constantly maintaining a state of mind free of desire can one see the subtle wonders of the Dao; only by constantly maintaining a state of mind with desire can one see the boundaries and destination of the Dao. These two arise from the Dao alike; they differ only in name, and both may be called “xuan” (profound, hidden, and difficult to express in words).

The commentator He explains: The so-called “non-being” is not a temporary absence; it has been so since antiquity, and therefore it is called “constant non-being” (changwu). The Liezi says: Taiyi (the state in which qi has not yet manifested), Taichu (the beginning of qi), Taishi (the beginning of form), Taisu (the beginning of substance). These stages, followed, cannot be seen; grasped, cannot be touched; hence they are called “hundun” (undifferentiated chaos). Observed from the perspective of “non-being,” are they not subtle and wondrous?

“Being” too is not a temporary existence; it is so at all times, and therefore it is called “constant being” (changyou). The Liezi also says: Taiyi changes and becomes one; one changes and becomes seven; seven changes and becomes nine; nine changes back into one. “One” is the beginning of the transformations of formed things. It also says: things with form will ultimately return to the formless. Observed from the perspective of “being,” can one fail to see its destination? The word “jiao” here is explained by both Laozi’s and Liezi’s commentators as “return,” that is, destination. Zhuangzi says, “It reaches non-being and supplies their demands; it gallops with time and makes them return to their resting place”—this speaks of the same principle.

One being and one non-being must be observed together for anything to be attained. Those who are unwilling to observe otherwise are not on the path of the Dao.

These two are originally the same; only because the manner of their arising differs do their names become distinct. The scripture says, “All things under Heaven are born from being; being is born from non-being.” Thus their source is the same but their names differ. As for the subtlety: within non-being there is its wonder, and within being there is also its wonder. Therefore it is said that “being” can be made to become “non-being,” and “non-being” can be made to become “being.” Being and non-being are both called “constant,” and thus they may together be called “xuan.” Being and non-being are fundamentally one body: non-being itself is xuan, and being is also xuan; therefore it is said they are “the same xuan.”

The scripture also says, “All things flourish together; I thereby observe their return.” Returning to the root is called “constant.” In the scripture there are three ways of observation: observing wonder, observing boundaries, and observing return. From this we know that the “observation” in “observing return” and the “observation” in “observing wonder” and “observing boundaries” are in fact the same principle.

Mr. Lin says: The two lines “constant non-being” and “constant being” are where Laozi teaches people to investigate to the very end; the two words “desire” have deep meaning.

Desire means to want; it is to want to see something through to its ultimate end. Being and non-being are two ways of speaking; though their names differ, they actually emerge from the same source. If one can constantly observe the Dao’s subtlety from non-being, and also constantly observe the Dao’s boundary from being, then both may be called Xuan (the dark mystery). Xuan is the profound mystery of creation. From this, when did Laozi ever advocate emptiness and non-being alone? Had he focused exclusively on non-being, he would not have said that “the two emerge together,” nor that “both are called Xuan.”

Master Ni (Ni Si) says: Non-being and being are both the constant condition of the Dao. “Constant non-being” refers to the state in which the Dao has not yet manifested form; “constant being” refers to the state in which the Dao has already manifested form. The Dao is at once constantly non-being and constantly being; being and non-being generate each other, and neither can be missing. The Dao’s “constant non-being” is for people to observe the Dao’s subtlety; “subtlety” is what is refined and hidden within. The Dao’s “constant being” is for people to observe the Dao’s boundary; “boundary” is what is coarse, manifest, and on the outside. People say Laozi speaks only of non-being and not of being, but the first chapter sets “being” and “non-being” side by side and does not favor either side. From the first chapter one can see his intention in writing the book. Most commentators punctuate “without desire” and “with desire” as single phrases, but desire is an obscuration of the Dao; one ought to be “without desire”—how could one “have desire”?

Master Lü (Lü Huiqing) says: “Observing the subtlety” is inward contemplation. “Subtlety” refers to Shen (spirit); Shen is what enables the myriad things to be subtle and wondrous. Therefore inner contemplation means gathering in the restless mind, stilling desires, concentrating the light of Shen, congealing the proper Qi, and causing the Neidan (internal alchemy; the embryonic true) to coalesce. Taishang (the Most High Lord) has scriptures on inner contemplation and stabilizing contemplation, and the immortal perfected ones have oral formulas for withdrawing sight and reversing hearing. The Zhen’gao says: inner contemplation is the foundation for becoming a numinous immortal. “Boundary” means border, and it also carries the sense of “return.”

Master Dong (Dong Sijing) says: Whenever something is so distant that it cannot be exhausted, its color must be dark, black, and profoundly deep; in the human mind, it is the meaning of profound silence without image. As Guan Yinzi said, “It cannot be fathomed or divided.” Therefore some call it Heaven, Mandate, Shen, or Xuan; taken together, they are called the Dao.

Note: In the text, “Xuan” refers to what is profound, subtle, and difficult to name; “creation” refers to the process by which heaven and earth generate and transform the myriad things; “Qi” is equivalent to qi, and in Daoism refers to prenatal Qi; “Neidan” refers to the Jing, Qi, and Shen congealed within the cultivator’s body, a term from Daoist internal cultivation; the Zhen’gao is an Eastern Jin Daoist classic recording immortal revelations and the transmission of cultivation.

This is a commentarial note by the Yuan-dynasty Daoist Wei Dayou in the Daode Zhenjing Jiyi (Collected Interpretations of the True Scripture of the Dao and De). Someone asked: since the various commentators all read “chang wu yu, chang you yu” (“constant non-desire, constant desire”) as a continuous phrase in their interpretations, why does he alone adopt the punctuation “chang wu, chang you” (“constant non-being, constant being”)? The author replies that the reasoning in those commentators’ readings is not unintelligible, but it does not connect with the meaning of the following phrase, “both are called xuan (the mysterious).” If one reads it as “constant desire,” how can it be called xuan? There is also the saying “one who has desire loses his life”; if one loses his life, how can that count as xuan? Others interpret “constant desire” as the practical work of cultivation; although this explanation is subtle and wonderful, it inevitably feels forced. It would be better to break the phrase as “constant non-being, constant being”; in this way it is plain and easy while its meaning is profound, and so the author adopts this reading.

The final sentence, “xuan again xuan, the gate of all wonders,” comes from Chapter 1 of the Daodejing (Laozi’s Daodejing, also called the Daode Zhenjing). It means: within the profound there is again the profound; it is the gateway of all mysterious transformations.

Chapter One (Commentarial Section)

Master He holds that “wonder” (miao) is simply wonder itself, and that “boundary” (jiao)—the visible margin or trace—is also wonder; hence the phrase “all wonders.”

Master Lin holds that “mystery upon mystery” is an exclamation praising the profundity of the Dao. “All wonders” corresponds to what the Yijing calls “the wondrousness of the ten thousand things.” “Gate” means the place from which the ten thousand things emerge. The annotator reminds us that most people understand this chapter only on the level of Heaven and Earth, without grasping that what Laozi really intends is realization in the heart-mind.

Master Lü holds that “mystery” (xuan) is subtle to the utmost degree. “Xuan” also denotes Heaven, and “mystery upon mystery” is the Heaven within Heaven. In Daoist imagination, “Yuluo Xiao Terrace” and the “Upper Capital of Jade Mountain” correspond in the human body to the “Celestial Valley Spirit Palace”: it is the “Jade Chamber” in the brain (the place where blood gathers), the source of fluids, the dwelling-place of life for the hundred spirits, and one’s own “Great Lord of Long Life” resides within it. If one can, with spirit consciousness, inwardly observe this Heaven within Heaven, the embryonic immortal will naturally coalesce, the Heavenly Gate will open accordingly, and the myriad spirits will come and go through it; hence it is called “the gate of all wonders.”

Master Chai holds that the opening and closing of Heaven and Earth, and the outgoing and incoming of substance and function, all pass through this gate.

Master Liu holds that “mystery upon mystery” refers to the natural state at the very beginning of Yuanshi (the Original Beginning), and this is precisely the gate of all wonders. This chapter first discusses the Dao, then Heaven and Earth, and then the human heart-mind; one may say that it speaks exhaustively, and students should silently comprehend it.

Master Dong holds that all affairs and all principles emerge from here, and so it is called “the gate of all wonders.”

Chapter Two

The meaning of the scripture is this: when all under Heaven know beauty as beauty, ugliness thereupon arises; when all know goodness as goodness, non-goodness thereupon arises. Once the mind of discrimination arises, relative opposites come into being accordingly.

Master He holds that the Dao is “the shape of no shape, the image of no thing”; it fashions and transforms the ten thousand things, and all the beauty between Heaven and Earth is made complete through it. He also mentions “the Dao of one Yin and one Yang,” that is, the principle by which Yin and Yang generate each other.

Master He, a commentator, says: The Dao (the Way) is a form without fixed form, an image without concrete image. It creates and transforms all things and changes without cease; all that is beautiful between heaven and earth is brought to completion through it. The Dao’s movement of one Yin and one Yang continues goodness and completes nature (a phrase from the Commentaries on the Yi, meaning to continue the goodness of the heavenly Dao and to complete human nature). For one who understands the Dao, it is better to forget what he knows—how much more so when all under heaven know it? Thus, to know beauty as beauty is not as good as the beauty of not knowing it; that is the highest beauty. When everyone regards something as beautiful, ugliness is already hidden within that beauty, because such understanding is too shallow. To know good as good is not as good as the good of not knowing it; that is the highest good. When everyone regards something as good, not-good is already present within that good, because such understanding is too narrow.

Master Lü, a commentator, says: One who realizes the Dao and preserves De (Virtue/Power) is undifferentiatedly one with all things and accords with the natural character of all things. All under heaven know beautiful things as beautiful, yet he does not affirm them as beautiful; all know good things as good, yet he does not affirm them as good. He can make things and self equal and transcend all relative distinctions—where then could there still be oppositions of beauty and ugliness, good and not-good? People of the world do not understand that all things originally have no distinctions (“there has never been any thing”), and they drown in their own private views. Some take appearance, sounds, and colors as beauty, and merit, fame, wealth, and rank as good. Once deluded thoughts arise, what is clearly ugliness they take as beauty, and what is clearly not-good they take as good. What is discarded today may later be valued by someone; what was considered right in the past may now be considered wrong by someone. In this way, between beauty and ugliness, good and not-good, what is there to choose?

Master Wu, a commentator, says: The names beauty and ugliness, good and not-good, arise in mutual dependence. Only because there is ugliness does the concept of beauty exist; only because there is not-good does the concept of good exist. If one side is regarded as beautiful, the other becomes ugly; if one side is regarded as good, the other becomes not-good. If both are dissolved into emptiness, then there is no distinction between beauty and ugliness, good and not-good.

Master Lin, a commentator, says: This chapter is speaking of the principle of “having without claiming” (possessing without clinging or self-assertion). Once there is beauty, there is ugliness; once there is good, there is not-good. If one is beautiful yet does not consider oneself beautiful, and good yet does not consider oneself good, then there is no ugliness and no not-good.

The Laozi says: Therefore being and non-being generate each other; difficult and easy complete each other; long and short manifest each other; high and low depend on each other; sound and voice harmonize with each other; front and back follow each other. This is continuous with the principle above that “beauty and ugliness depend on each other”: all things exist in correlation and mutually complete one another; therefore, to cling to one extreme is to fall into the other.

This passage cites several commentaries to explain the meaning of the chapter in the Daodejing that says, “When all under heaven know beauty as beauty, ugliness is already there”: things all depend on and transform into one another within opposites.

Master He holds that being and non-being generate each other, difficult and easy complete each other, long and short are compared and so reveal their forms, and front and back follow each other. High banks can become deep valleys, and deep valleys can become mounds; high and low lean toward each other. Sound and voice, form and shadow, likewise follow and respond to one another. Beauty and ugliness, good and not-good, constantly exist in opposition. Therefore one who has only partial understanding and believes himself to possess beauty and goodness is not as good as one who does not know or discriminate and transcends distinctions; only the latter may be called perfectly good and perfectly beautiful.

Master Li says that being arises from non-being and non-being arises from being; difficult matters can become easy and easy matters can become difficult; long can become short and short can become long; where there is height there is lowliness; where there is sound there is harmony. Therefore being and non-being, difficult and easy, depend on each other; where there is beauty there is ugliness, and where there is good there is not-good.

Master Lü says that once heaven and earth are established, the myriad things each form pairs, and so “being and non-being generate each other, difficult and easy complete each other, long and short reveal each other’s forms, high and low lean toward each other, sound and voice harmonize, front and back follow each other” describes their relations. As soon as there is deliberate action, one falls into this opposition.

Master Lin says that the above six phrases are all analogies for the principle of beauty and ugliness, good and not-good, stated earlier.

Ouyang Xiu says that “front and back follow each other” and “long and short reveal each other’s forms,” extended broadly, express the principle of all things. Laozi’s book appears empty and void in its wording, yet it is profoundly deep in ordering human affairs.

The final sentence is the conclusion: the sage rests in the affair of Wuwei (non-action)—following nature without reckless fabrication—and practices the wordless teaching, demonstrating by example rather than relying on verbal instruction.

Master He says: The sage is able to know “nonbeing” and to understand where the key to the Great Dao lies. Thus ordinary people intervene in everything, while the sage rests in “having no affairs”; he lets external things follow their own nature and takes joy in dwelling with them—why would he concern himself with worldly matters? Ordinary people speak everywhere, while the sage practices “the wordless word.” Though he has not opened his mouth, he stands shoulder to shoulder with others and causes them naturally to be transformed—what need has he to concern himself with words?

Master Lü says: Being and nonbeing, difficult and easy, long and short, high and low, sound and echo, front and back—these are concepts that appear in pairs, and once paired they inevitably become entanglements. Therefore the sage discards external things, keeps far from the burdens of the world, and stands alone above the ten thousand things. He does not set himself in opposition to things; what the Classic means by “standing alone and unchanging, so that no thing can pair with it” is precisely this. Thus he can “act through non-action” and “attend to no affairs,” forget words and images, and silently accord with nature—what need has he to rely on sound and form? Nanhua (that is, Zhuangzi) says: “At the utmost, one discards ‘acting’; at the utmost, one discards ‘speaking.’ That is why it says, ‘dwell in the affair of non-action and practice the teaching without words.’”

Laozi says: When the ten thousand things arise and grow, he does not decline them; he nourishes them but does not claim them as his own; he acts but does not rely on his ability; when achievements are accomplished, he does not pride himself on them. It is precisely because he does not claim merit that merit never leaves him.

Master He says: As soon as the sage appears, the myriad things all become manifest. Since the myriad things have already grown, how could the sage decline to attend to them? Although he does not decline the responsibility of giving life and acting, he also does not take the myriad things as his own, does not rely on them, and does not dwell on his merit. Merit and achievement accrue to the sage; this is something that naturally cannot be pushed away, brought about by the times and circumstances, and not the sage’s original intention.

Master Lin says: Heaven and Earth give birth to and nourish the myriad things; through countless transformations they continue without interruption—when did they ever decline the labor? The myriad things fill the space between Heaven and Earth—when did Heaven and Earth ever regard them as their own? It is like growth in spring and withering in autumn: the work of creation never relies on its own capacity. Thus it says, “It gives birth but does not possess; it acts but does not rely [on its action]”—the meaning lies simply in accomplishing merit without dwelling on it. Therefore the three lines beginning “The myriad things arise, and it does not decline them” are used to clarify this. The word zuo is like the zuo in the Yijing’s Kun, “brings things to completion.” This is exactly the principle by which Shun and Yu possessed the world yet did not take it as their own. Those who possess what they possess, on the contrary, cannot truly possess it; those who do not cling to possession are instead able to possess. The Book of Documents says, “To claim goodness for oneself is to lose one’s goodness.” Therefore it says, “It is only because he does not dwell [in it] that it does not leave him.”

Master Li says: Not declining and not possessing, not relying and not dwelling on merit—self and other are both forgotten, and being and non-being no longer stand in opposition; therefore the Dao of True Oneness constantly abides and does not depart.

Master Lü says: The sage embodies the Dao within himself; he employs his mind without toil, and responds to the myriad things without a fixed direction. Therefore when the myriad things arise together, he responds according to each stimulus, like a valley echoing a sound; the beautiful and the ugly all come to him, and he declines none. Hence it says, “The myriad things arise together, and he does not decline them.” The myriad things each take form, each display their color, each generate and transform, each attain their own size and follow their own nature—who can possess them? Guan Yinzi says: “Things are not my things, yet I cannot but respond to them; I am not my self, yet I cannot but nourish it.” Thus he responds to things yet never thinks there are things; he nourishes himself yet never thinks there is a self; therefore it says, “It gives birth but does not possess.” His grace extends to ten thousand generations, yet he does not regard himself as benevolent; he covers and bears up Heaven and Earth, yet he does not regard himself as great; therefore it says, “It acts but does not rely.” His merit covers the world, yet it seems not to come from himself; if one clings to this, one becomes deluded; therefore it says, “It accomplishes merit but does not dwell in it.” Where there is dwelling, there is departure—this has been so from ancient times to the present; when the mind has nowhere to dwell, external things have no means to shift it. Precisely because he does not dwell in it, does not possess it, and does not rely on it, he can soar with the myriad things above the myriad things, free and at ease as always, never having departed.

Master Wu says: “Arise” refers to things being about to grow. Not declining, not possessing, not relying, and not dwelling on merit—these are the affairs of Heaven and Earth’s wuwei (non-action). Heaven and Earth do not dwell on the merit of completing things, and therefore their merit is long-lasting and does not disappear.

Master Dong says: This chapter guides learners into a realm in which both name and traces are forgotten.

Not exalting worthiness, the people will not contend with one another; not treasuring rare goods, the people will not steal; not letting people see things that arouse greed, the people’s hearts will not be disturbed.

Li’s commentary explains: not boasting of one’s own worthiness, the people will be simple and honest; not treasuring extraordinary goods, the people will be well-off; not displaying things that can arouse desire, people’s hearts will be settled. Wu’s commentary explains: “Exalt” means to honor, “treasure” means to value, and “display” means to show. Not honoring worthiness and not treasuring goods means not showing the people things that can provoke greed, so their hearts will not strive; not stealing means their hearts are already settled and no longer agitated. Lin’s commentary explains: “Exalt” means to boast. If a ruler takes his own worthiness as capital for boasting, he will inevitably provoke contention among all under Heaven. It was precisely because Great Yu did not boast of himself that no one under Heaven could contend with him in ability—this is what this means. If a ruler regards precious goods and wealth as precious, the people will all conceive the desire to obtain them, and this defect will lead to theft. If people do not see things that can arouse desire, their minds will naturally be calm.

Therefore, the sage makes people’s minds empty, tranquil, and free of selfishness, makes their bellies full (free from worry about food and warmth), makes their wills gentle, yielding, and humble, and makes their sinews and bones strong.

Mr. Li says: To make the heart-mind empty and still is to preserve one’s original nature; to fill the belly is to preserve life; to make the will soft and yielding is to preserve Shen (spirit); to strengthen the bones is to preserve the physical form.

Mr. Lü says: The preceding text says, “Do not prize goods that are hard to obtain; do not look at what can be desired”—this is emptying the heart-mind. “Do not exalt the worthy”—this is making the will soft and yielding. If one speaks only of emptying the heart-mind, there is a danger of falling into stubborn emptiness (sinking into withered stillness and voidness); if one speaks only of weakening the will, there is a danger of being unable to stand independently. Therefore the following text emphasizes again: in cultivating the self, the sage must both empty the heart-mind and fill the belly, both weaken the will and strengthen the bones. Empty and full stand in contrast; weak and strong are matched against each other. When the heart is bright, clear, and penetrating (the numinous terrace is luminous and clear), like an empty room giving birth to light (the empty room generates brightness), untouched by a single mote of dust—this is emptying the heart-mind. But once the heart is empty, if one cannot inhale and exhale the Great Harmony Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth (Great Harmony is the harmonizing Qi of Yin-Yang), chew Hangxie (the clear dew of night), drink the motherless water of Xuanying (the water Qi of the north), and eat the heavenly grain of Great Brahma (the heavenly immortal food spoken of in Daoism) to fill the belly, but instead only guards an empty, quiet nature, how can one transform the embryo and change the bones, spiritualize and ascend as an immortal, and fly up in broad daylight? From this it is clear that emptying the heart-mind and filling the belly cannot be neglected one for the other. To place oneself below through humility and cultivate oneself through lowliness—this is weakening the will. But once the will is weak, if one hears the Great Dao (the Way) yet cannot put it into vigorous practice, one cannot stand out independently; how then can one be like what the Yijing (Book of Changes) says: “Heaven moves vigorously; the noble person ceaselessly strengthens himself”? Among practitioners of internal cultivation, some reverse the flow and go upward, penetrating the Three Passes (three key junctures in cultivation) and replenishing the brain; when the brain is full, the bones are strong. Likewise, weakening the will and strengthening the bones cannot be neglected one for the other; this too is clear.

Mr. He says: Emptying the heart-mind is the realm of the pure original source that transcends the primordial beginning; filling the belly is accumulating Jing (essence) and Qi and congealing original Qi (pre-heaven Qi). The Li trigram is empty and the Kan trigram is full; by cultivating the way of “Li empty, Kan full,” Shen is preserved. Weakening the will is focusing on original Qi and devoting oneself to softness; strengthening the bones is diligently cultivating the Dao and acting as soon as one hears it. By following the way of Kun’s yielding softness and Qian’s firm strength, De (Virtue/Power) is preserved.

Mr. Chai says: Not considering oneself worthy and capable, not valuing wealth and goods, and being without greed, the heart is naturally empty and numinous; the Qi in the belly is naturally full. When the heart is empty and without things, the will is naturally soft and gentle; when the belly is nourished, the bones are naturally strong.

Laozi says that the people should be kept constantly in a state of plain simplicity and lack of knowledge, without greedy desires, and that those with cunning, clever minds should not dare to act recklessly. When one governs the world by means of Wuwei (non-action)—not adding arbitrary contrivance but according with nature—there is no situation that cannot be well governed.

Master He explains that when a person’s spirit and De (Virtue/Power) are both complete, there will naturally be the effect of transformation without words, and the people will follow such governance without being aware of it. In former times the people had knowledge and desires; now they are made to be without knowledge and without desires. The Zhuangzi says: “Dwell with those without knowledge, and one’s De will not scatter; dwell with those without desire, and this is called plain simplicity.” Once there is plain simplicity (pure, genuine, and uncarved), the people’s original nature is preserved intact—how then would they dare to be selfish, use cleverness, or act recklessly? Those below do not dare to act recklessly, while those above practice Wuwei; the power of transformation is like a gentle breeze that suffuses all, and the atmosphere of perfect governance is so seamless that no trace can be found.

Master Lin says that in ancient times the people were simple and uncarved, without knowledge and without desires. Even if among them there were those with cunning minds, as soon as knowledge began to sprout in their hearts they did not dare to act. This is exactly how the sage governs the world: he himself has no selfish attachments or fixations regarding worldly affairs, and in governing he always proceeds by Wuwei, and therefore there is nothing that is not governed.

Master Lü says that Wuwei is the Dao. The sage advocates the Dao above, and the people respond to the Dao below; day and night it is so. Even in hardship and displacement, even in moments of urgency, they must rely on the Dao; they do not speak or act in ways contrary to the Dao, and all that they do follows the way of Wuwei. If one contrives intentionally, then the spirit is labored and the body is enslaved, and in the end one is exhausted. If one can act without acting, then even when taking herbal medicines, exhaling and inhaling the Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth, or cultivating Neidan (internal alchemy), body and mind will naturally be unobstructed; Shen (spirit) will be concentrated, and bodily traces will dissolve accordingly; all parts of the body will be harmonized and flow smoothly. Therefore it is said: “Act by Wuwei, and nothing is ungoverned.”

Master Dong says that this chapter speaks of forgetting thoughts of prizing and exalting, and extinguishing the deliberating mind; then one can return to Wuwei and accord with the ultimate principle.

Chapter Four

The body of the Dao is empty, yet its use is inexhaustible; at times it seems not to be full. It is deep and subtle, as though it were the source and ancestor of the myriad things.

The Daode Zhenjing Jiyi (Collected Meanings of the True Scripture of the Dao and De) is a Yuan-dynasty work compiled by Wei Dayou, which gathers annotations on the Daodejing from successive ages. The following interprets in order the main text of Laozi’s Chapter Four and the various commentaries.

Chapter Four, Main Text

The Dao is empty and void, yet when it is employed it seems never to overflow. How profound it is, as if it were the source of the ten thousand things.

Mr. Wu’s Commentary

“Perhaps” (huo) is a word expressing doubt, indicating that one does not dare to assert definitively. The substance of the Dao is empty; if a person employs the Dao, he should also preserve emptiness and not be self-full. To be self-full is not to accord with the Dao. “Profound” (yuan) describes something deep, distant, and immeasurable. “Ancestor” (zong) is the zong of zongzu, ancestral lineage, referring to the head of a clan. The Dao is the head of the ten thousand things, and so it is called “the ancestor of the ten thousand things.” “As if” (si) is likewise a tone of not daring to assert definitively.

Mr. He’s Commentary

“Chong” means emptiness. The Dao takes emptiness as its highest function. Zhuangzi said that only one who understands the useless can speak of use. If the mind is full within, it is no longer empty, and its function becomes small. “As if” means that the Dao is remote and difficult to describe directly; this is precisely the expression of emptiness taken to its utmost.

Mr. Lin’s Commentary

Although the substance of the Dao is empty, its function is inexhaustible. At times it seems full, at times it seems not full; it changes with the times and has no fixed measure. “As if” is a tone of doubt used in praise. “The ancestor of the ten thousand things” is what Zhuangzi calls the “Great Ancestral Master” (the title of a chapter of the Zhuangzi, referring to the root on which the ten thousand things depend, namely the Dao).

Mr. Li’s Commentary

“The Dao is chong, and when used it perhaps does not overflow” means not being self-full. One who is not self-full necessarily gains something. Blunting sharpness and dissolving disputes means emptying the mind and forgetting the self.

Mr. Lü’s Commentary

“Heaven’s One generates water”; the function of water is within it, and so it is called chong. The character chong is formed from water and middle, meaning that within primal Qi (yuanqi, the original Qi spoken of in Daoism) there is the water of the True One; this is what is called chong. Chong is Qi and also harmony.

The Commentaries of Jinhua Zhenren and Yan Junping

Jinhua Zhenren (a Daoist figure) said: When the Qi of chong and harmony enters the body, a person has vitality. If the Valley Spirit (the spirit of emptiness and stillness spoken of in Daoism, from Laozi, Chapter Six) can know the function of chong and emptiness, one can ascend to Kunlun (a mythical immortal mountain that Daoism regards as the dwelling place of immortals). This means that the Dao takes chong and emptiness as its function.

Yan Junping (a man of Shu commandery in the Western Han, a recluse, and author of the Laozi Zhigui) said: Chong takes emptiness as its dwelling, and harmony takes Wuwei (non-action) as its destination. Taking emptiness and nothingness as function, it naturally does not overflow. Precisely because it does not overflow, it can be “profound, as if it were the ancestor of the ten thousand things.” “Profound” is extremely deep and unfathomable, extremely still and unshaken. “The ancestor of the ten thousand things” is the ultimate Dao. “Ancestor” means ancestor. The Dao generates one; one generates two; two generates three; three generates the ten thousand things. Then is the Dao not the ancestor of the ten thousand things?

This passage in the Collected Exegeses on the Daode Zhenjing follows Chapter 4 of the Daodejing and explains that the function of Dao lies in not being full and not showing itself outwardly.

The scriptural line “blunt the sharpness, untie the tangles, harmonize the light, and merge with the dust” sets forth four principles for cultivating one’s conduct in the world: blunting the edge, resolving entanglement, withdrawing radiance, and blending in with the dust of ordinary life. “How deep and clear—it seems as if it might exist” describes the state of Dao as profound and limpid, as if present and yet not.

Mr. Wu says: Sharp things are inevitably apt to become dull, and bright things are inevitably apt to grow dim, just as anything full is bound to overflow. Dao does not wish to be full; therefore it blunts sharpness and does not reveal keenness, harmonizes radiance and does not display brilliance. These four lines show that the function of Dao lies in not being full.

Mr. Lin says: “Blunt the sharpness” means wearing away corners so that no edge shows; “untie the tangles” means remaining orderly even when amid confusion and disturbance; “harmonize the light” means having light without exposing it outwardly; “merge with the dust” means not being stained by dust, yet also not deliberately advertising one’s purity.

Mr. Li says: Blunting sharpness, untangling entanglements, harmonizing light, and merging with dust are the state in which the heart is empty and the self is forgotten.

Mr. Lü says: “Blunting the sharpness” means breaking the keen aura of fame and profit, dwelling in simplicity and not revealing an edge. “Untying the tangles” means dissolving the clamorous and disturbing thoughts of the mind, keeping silent and self-possessed, and not engaging with external things. “Light” refers to radiance, and “dust” refers to the worldly realm. He cites the Zhuangzi: “For one whose mind is serene and settled, heavenly light shines forth”; the Confucians also say, “To be full and yet radiate brilliance is called great.” If one takes chongxu—humble emptiness and spiritual clarity—as one’s function, then when Jing and Qi are full within, radiance naturally emanates outward and spirit and vitality shine. After the inner life has become full, outwardly one must still be gentle and easygoing, blending with the world and mixing with others without deliberate separation; otherwise people will think you are proudly standing apart from the world, an eccentric and unreasonable person.

Mr. He says: When these four things are done so thoroughly that no trace remains, the mind becomes like Taixu, the great void, like a valley responding to sound through its emptiness, and Dao acts through chongxu. This chapter twice uses the expression “as if it might be,” which belongs to what are called “living phrases” and requires careful savoring.

Chapter Four Commentary

Master Wu says that “zhan” means clear, still, and silent. The Dao’s original substance is empty and void, and so it is said to “be here.” “It seems perhaps to exist” means that the Dao appears to exist, but in fact it is not that some thing exists in a particular place. This passage speaks of the emptiness of the Dao’s original substance.

Master Lü says that “zhan” means clear and luminously bright. “It seems perhaps to exist” means that it seems to be there and yet also seems not to be there; it is a state of neither existence nor nonexistence. Laozi’s statement that “looking up to it, it grows higher; drilling into it, it grows harder; seeing it ahead, suddenly it is behind” means precisely this.

Master Lin says that the Dao seems to exist and seems to perish, appears to be and yet not to be, and so the text says, “Clear and still—it seems perhaps to exist.”

“I do not know whose child it is; it is the image of the ancestor of the Lord”: Master Wu holds that the former clause is a question and the latter a reply. “Xiang” refers to celestial phenomena, and “Di” to the lord who governs Heaven. Heaven too is born from the Dao, and so the text says that the Dao is prior to the Lord of Heaven.

Master Li says that “the ancestor of the Lord” refers to the time before Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate)—the state before Heaven and Earth had divided and before chaos had opened—had yet differentiated.

Master Lü cites the line “Whose child is it within my body?” from the Huangting Jing (a classic of Daoist cultivation) to explain that “I do not know whose child it is” refers to one’s own original nature and true primordial source. Since ancient times it has firmly existed, enduring through high antiquity without growing old, and so the text says, “the ancestor of the Lord.”

Master Dong concludes by saying that this chapter discusses how the Dao’s original substance is empty and void, while its function is unfathomably deep.

Chapter Five

“Heaven and Earth are not benevolent, and treat the myriad things as straw dogs”: “Not benevolent” here does not mean unkind, but rather selfless and without partiality. Heaven and Earth regard the myriad things with equal impartiality, allowing them to live and perish, just like the straw dogs used in sacrifice, which are discarded once they have been used.

“The sage is not benevolent, and treats the common people as straw dogs”: the sage likewise is without partiality, regarding the common people equally as members of nature and showing them no special favor.

Master Wu: The so-called "benevolence" means having the intention to love and protect all things. Straw dogs—figures made of straw in the shape of dogs, used in ancient sacrifices to pray for rain—were thrown away once the rain prayer was over, and people felt no attachment to them. Heaven and Earth do not deliberately care for the myriad things; they let all things grow naturally and reach completion naturally. The sage also does not deliberately care for the people, but lets the people labor and rest on their own. Hence the straw dog analogy: the sage's mind is empty and still, not clinging to any particular thing. If he had the intention to love the people, his mind would no longer be empty.

Master Lin: Heaven and Earth give birth to and nourish the myriad things, yet do not claim the merit as their own; they forget one another with the myriad things. The sage nourishes the people but does not consider himself to have bestowed a favor, and forgets one another with the people. "Not benevolent" means not appropriating the reputation of benevolence and love. Straw dogs were used in sacrifice and discarded after the sacrifice, illustrating that the mind does not cling to thoughts and that things simply forget one another. The scripture says, "The highest De does not [claim] De; thus it has De." "Not benevolent" is like "not taking Virtue as one's own." Zhuangzi says, "Great benevolence is not benevolent," and also says, "In the age of utmost Virtue, people loved one another but did not know it as benevolence." This is the same meaning.

Master Lü: Heaven and Earth do not deliberately bestow favors, yet great favor arises from this; the sage does not claim benevolence for himself, yet great benevolence is accomplished through this. Because they are selfless, this is called "not benevolent." Heaven covers all without partiality, Earth bears all without partiality, and the sage teaches without partiality: when it is time to live, they live; when it is time to die, they die. All is entirely according to the movement of Yuanqi (original Qi), and neither Heaven and Earth nor the sage retain any private intention in this—just like the straw dog. Chu means grass. Grass is bound into the shape of a dog and used in sacrifice; when it is to be used, it is placed in a box and covered with fine embroidered cloth, and the sacrificial officiant (shizhu) fasts and waits in attendance—this may be called the utmost reverence. After the sacrifice is finished, passersby trample it and the fire-tender burns it; it is merely useless discarded stuff. When Heaven and Earth are in the time of spring birth and summer growth, they seem deep in benevolence and love; when plants and trees wither, Heaven and Earth cannot make them live again. When the sage pities and nurtures the people, he seems deep in benevolence and love; when the people die, the sage cannot save them either. This is like respecting the straw dog before the sacrifice and discarding it afterward: what should be revered before the sacrifice should be abandoned after it. Thus the straw dog is used to illustrate the life and death of the myriad things and the people; without this, the selflessness of Heaven, Earth, and the sage could not be revealed. It is precisely because Heaven and Earth are "not benevolent" that the greatness of Heaven and Earth is revealed.

Master Li: Heaven covers and Earth bears; they transform and nurture the people and cultivate the myriad things, which may be called the utmost benevolence. To say "not benevolent" means forgetting the source of benevolence. The sage's loving the people and governing the state is also like this; cultivating the body and nurturing life—cultivating body and mind and preserving life—is also like this.

Between Heaven and Earth, it is perhaps like a bellows. Its center is empty, yet it does not collapse on that account; once it is worked, wind is sent out continuously. The more words are spoken, the more easily one runs into dead ends; better to guard the inner emptiness and stillness. (Tuoyue is an ancient device for blowing air onto fire—that is, a bellows.)

Master Wu holds that the bellows is a metaphor for Heaven and Earth because Heaven and Earth discard fixed, tangible forms and, like the Great Void, embrace and pervade everything; the “yue” (the bellows tube) symbolizes the function of primordial Qi (the fundamental Qi of Heaven and Earth) as it swirls and circulates. “Not bent” means that when it moves it is straight and does not bend; “the more it comes out” means that its generation and transformation are inexhaustible. Precisely because the bellows is hollow within, primordial Qi can be transported and transformed; as it is transported and transformed it constantly extends, so a single movement can generate the myriad things, and generation continues without end. Applied to the human being, it is the same: when the heart-mind is empty and without things, the pathways of Qi are not blocked, the movement of Qi has its proper measure, and what is generated from emptiness becomes all the more abundant. “Shu” means “speed,” and “qiong” means Qi exhausted. Much speech consumes primordial Qi, which is tantamount to hastening one’s own exhaustion. Better to empty the mind and firmly guard its Shen, so that external things do not enter and internal thoughts do not emerge; then the emptiness within is boundless, and the Qi generated is inexhaustible.

Master Lin says: when the bellows moves, wind is produced; although its substance is empty, its use is inexhaustible—the more it moves, the more it produces. Heaven and Earth give birth to the myriad things in the same way, not through deliberate intention, and so the bellows is used as a metaphor. “Many words quickly exhaust; it is better to guard the center” means that the Dao of Heaven and Earth cannot be exhausted through words; when words multiply, one instead drives oneself into a dead end, and it is better to be silent and forget words. Confucius said, “I wish to speak no more,” and also said, “What has Heaven ever said? The four seasons proceed as usual, and the myriad things grow as usual.” This is precisely the same principle.

Master Li says: this chapter carries forward the meaning of the previous chapter’s “the Dao is empty, yet its use…” Heaven and Earth being like a bellows refers to the emptiness within them; “empty yet not bent” refers to no-mind; “moving and the more it comes out” refers to responding to changes inexhaustibly; “it is better to guard the center” simply means preserving the inner empty center.

Master Lu explained that the character qu (“bend”) should be read as jie (“exhaust”). Wenshi Miaodao Zhenren asked Laozi: In cultivating the body and practicing the Dao, what can keep one’s vital energy from being exhausted? Laozi replied: If one does not cling to thoughts in the mind, one will not be exhausted. To follow things and constantly seek outwardly will instead lead to more and more, but this is an endless way of responding to change. It is better to guard centeredness and uprightness and make the mind empty and still—nothing more than this.

Wenshi Miaodao Zhenren asked again: In cultivating the body through Dao and De (Virtue/Power), which chapter is most essential? Laozi answered: It lies in “guarding the middle and embracing the One,” like a tree whose roots are deeply set and whose stem is firmly secured.

He asked: What is “guarding the middle”? Laozi said: “Middle” refers to the Middle Palace (Zhonggong). When a fetus is in its mother’s womb, the umbilical cord connects it to the mother, and it secretly draws primordial qi from her. When the mother exhales, it exhales along with her; when the mother inhales, it inhales along with her. After ten months, when its qi is full and its spirit complete, it separates from the umbilical cord and is born, just as a fruit, having fully received qi, drops when its stem falls away. The place about three cun below the navel and inward is called the Middle Palace, also called Huangting (Yellow Court). In men it is called the Qihai (Sea of Qi); in women, the uterus.

Laozi said: In the past I received an oral formula from the Supreme Lord of the Dao (Taishang Daojun): diligently guard the middle; do not indulge or relax; do not let the outside enter; do not let the inside go out; return to the primordial source; then all affairs are complete. “Diligently guard the middle” means single-mindedly and attentively guarding the Yuanhai (Sea of Origin), the fundamental sea of primordial qi, that is, the Qihai. “Not going out or entering” means causing the incoming and outgoing breath to be quietly concentrated in the Middle Palace Qihai, not allowing the breath to go out or enter. “Return to the primordial source” is because the navel area is the source of the twelve thousand five hundred breaths and the root of the generative qi of the five viscera and six bowels. One should make the breath return to its source and then govern it with spirit and intention, so that the breath becomes calm and stops. The above is what is recorded in Master Lü’s original text.

Chapter Six: “The valley spirit (gushen) does not die; this is called the mysterious female (xuanpin).” Master Lü explained: “Valley” refers to the heavenly valley; “spirit” refers to the primordial spirit (yuanshen) of the whole body. The valley of Heaven contains creation and transformation and holds the void; the valley of Earth contains the myriad things and bears mountains and rivers. Humans share the same endowed nature as Heaven and Earth, and the body also has a “valley.” Within this valley is stored the qi of True Oneness (zhenyi zhi qi); it is the place where the primordial spirit resides.

Master Lü says: “Valley” refers to the valley of Heaven, while “Shen” refers to the primordial Shen of the human body (the Shen that is the root of the person). The valley of Heaven encompasses creation and transformation and contains the void; the valley of Earth holds the myriad things and bears the mountains and rivers. Since humans receive the same endowment as Heaven and Earth, the body too has a “valley.” In this valley is stored the Qi of True Unity, and it is the dwelling place of the primordial Shen. Thus the human head has nine palaces, which correspond above to the Nine Heavens. The central palace is called Niwan (the upper Dantian (energy center) at the center of the crown), also known as the Purple Mansion. Beyond the nine palaces there is another palace, which likewise has several names: one is Liaotian; it is also called the Heavenly Gate, Jade Capital Mountain, Kunlun Summit, Taiyuan Pool, and the Heavenly Valley. This is the chamber where the primordial Shen dwells. It is empty like a valley, and Shen resides within it; therefore it is called the “Valley Spirit.”

When Shen is present, the person lives; when Shen departs, the person dies. By day Shen comes into contact with external things, and by night it communicates with dreams, which shows that Shen is not at peace in its dwelling. If Shen leaves and does not return, wanders and does not come back, then the passage between life and death is cut off. From this we can see that people cannot make themselves live—it is Shen that makes them live; people cannot make themselves die—it is when Shen departs that they die.

The reason the Valley Spirit can be deathless is that there is “Xuanpin” (the Daoist term for the root of Yin-Yang in Heaven and Earth and the source that generates and transforms the myriad things). Xuan is Yang, Heaven; Pin is Yin, Earth. Xuan is the color of Heaven, the Qi of pure Yang and empty nonbeing, light and clear, floating in the sky. This character is composed of “nonbeing” (wu) and “fire” (huo); it arises from nonbeing and dwells in the Palace of Mysterious Origin, and so is called Xuan. Pin is the nature of Earth, pure...

The substantial turbid Qi in the Yin Valley (referring to the heavy, sinking Yin Jing within the human body) is muddy in nature and settles down into the earth. The character gu (valley) is composed of “Qi” and “rice”; it is naturally produced after the human body has taken form. It resides in the storehouse of Pin Yuan (the root source of generation), and so it is called “pin” (the female). The two Qi of Yin and Yang (the “two Qi”) rise and descend, circulate and turn, between one exhalation and one inhalation; they must be regulated by a definite method: reverse their downward-following tendency so that Yin turbidity cannot grow, and make them return to the source so that Yang Qi does not decline. This is the cultivation of taking non-being as being and transforming being into non-being. With the valley’s substantial Qi of Kun Yuan (the origin of Earth, referring to the lower burner) ascending upward, and the empty, non-existent pre-heaven Qi of Tian Yuan (the origin of Heaven) descending and returning inward. Once the Qi of Heaven has returned into the body, the dregs of Yin turbidity are naturally cleansed away, and the person again becomes a pure Yang being. Therefore it is said: “One should also take the Qi of Heaven above to control the hun-souls of the Nine Heavens.”

The two Qi of Xuanpin (the Mysterious Female) each have profound meaning; unless one meets a perfected person who personally transmits the oral instructions, one cannot truly understand them. If one understands the origin of the two Qi, one can comprehend the mystery of Xuanpin. Absorbing Taihe (the harmonious Qi between Heaven and Earth), inheriting the Qi Mother (the root of pre-heaven primordial Qi), so as to nourish the primordial Shen, and causing Shen to rely on “black” (referring to kidney water and pre-heaven essence), one can make Jing and Shen return to the valley and not die—is this not the function of Xuanpin? Therefore it is said: “The valley spirit does not die; this is called Xuanpin.” The Lingshu Shenjing Neijing says: “The primordial Shen in the heavenly valley—guard it, and it becomes true of itself; above and below are Xuanpin; mother and child are intimate.” It also says: “Xuanpin is the vessel of Heaven and Earth; seize it with Shen, obtain it with the true—this is the way of ascent and descent.”

Master He says: The valley is empty; it is where Shen dwells. People go from maturity to old age and from old age to death because Jing and Shen are dissipated and they do not know how to be still and nurture them. Even if one sits quietly every day, if the mind gallops outward, the valley is not empty and Shen does not remain; how then can one avoid death? Only by seeking Jing and Qi within the deep and obscure (yaoming), and seeking the body of the Dao within the indistinct and vague (huanghu), so that form and Shen penetrate each other and accord with the Dao, can one attain long life. Xuan is Heaven, is emptiness; Pin is Earth, is stillness. If a person can accumulate emptiness to communicate with Shen and attain stillness to nourish the true, then the way of Xuanpin’s non-death is obtained.

Master Li says: “The valley spirit does not die” means that the nature of empty spirituality is not obscured. Xuanpin is simply one Yin and one Yang.

The gate of Xuanpin (the Mysterious Female—xuan denotes yang, Qian, and heaven; pin denotes yin, Kun, and earth; together they refer to the root of the union of Yin-Yang and the generation of the myriad things) is the root of heaven and earth.

Master Lü holds that since Xuanpin can be compared to rising and descending, coming and going, the “gate” is the passage through which these two, xuan and pin, exit and enter. In front of the Niwan Palace (the cultivation site at the crown of the head) is the Mingtang (Hall of Light); the Mingtang descends and connects to the nose, so the nose is the gate of xuan. The nose connects with the six fu organs, and through it the light and clear Qi (vital energy) ascends to heaven; therefore it is called the “Heavenly Root.” Above the Pinyuan Palace (the region of the lower Dantian, energy center) is the Huangting (Yellow Court, the region of the middle Dantian); from the Huangting it passes through Chonglou (the throat) directly to the mouth, so the mouth is the gate of pin. The mouth connects with the five zang organs, and through it the heavy and turbid Qi descends to earth; therefore it is called the “Earthly Root.” People of the world do not investigate the root; they take only the nose as xuan and the mouth as pin. Then how should the gate of Xuanpin be named? This is because they have not explored its wonder.

Master He says: By attaining “the utmost of emptiness and guarding stillness firmly,” one enters this gate, and the root of heaven and earth is entirely within it. Heaven bestows Qi upon humans, earth bestows Jing (essence); Jing and Qi gather and become Shen (spirit)—this is the root. If the root is not pulled out, life can be long-lasting; hence it is said, “My life is in me, not in heaven and earth.”

Master Ni says: What the Zhouyi calls “Qian and Kun are the gate of Changes” is precisely this meaning. Qian and Kun open and close once, and this is the root by which heaven and earth are generated.

Master Liu says: The gate is the pivot of the mutual opening and closing of the two Qi of Yin-Yang, like what Laozi calls “the gate of all wonders” and what the common saying means by “Who can go out without passing through the door?”

Master Li says: One closing and one opening can generate heaven and generate earth.

The preceding chapter speaks of “the gate of all wonders,” just as the saying goes, “Who can go out without passing through a door?” All principles come from this Dao. Before heaven and earth were formed, primordial Qi already existed (the original vital energy of the universe), and it is the root of heaven and earth.

The scriptural passage (Jing), “Continuous, as if existing; use it without toil,” means that the breath is long, continuous, and unbroken, as if always present, and that using it does not feel laborious.

Master Lü says: “Continuous” means uninterrupted like a fine thread. During cultivation, the two Qi of Xuanpin (the Mysterious Female, referring to the gateway of inhalation and exhalation, the place where the two Qi of Yin-Yang meet) enter the root of the Dantian (energy center). Retaining the breath too urgently errs on the side of haste; letting it go unchecked errs on the side of laxity. Neither is the correct way. One should make the breath continuous and unbroken, as if present and as if not, so that true breath naturally arrives and settles into Taiding (a state of utmost stability), like a turtle hiding away or a snake hibernating, never becoming laborious or urgent. Zhuangzi says: “The true persons of antiquity breathed deeply; they breathed from their heels.” The Lingshu Neijing (the Lingshu of the medical classic Huangdi Neijing) says: “Undifferentiated numinous inspiration, rising clouds refine the root; continuous and unceasing, what toil is there in using it?”

Master He says: “Continuous” means enduring forever; “endless” means inexhaustible. Although Qi is “deep, as if it might exist” (a phrase from Laozi describing what is profound and as if present or absent), and although using it has no limit, one may go a lifetime without feeling toil, because overexertion exhausts it. Sima Qian (the Grand Historian) says: what gives people life is Shen (spirit); what lodges it is form. If Shen is used excessively, it is exhausted; if the form is too labored, it becomes worn out; when Shen and form separate, that is death.

Master Wu says: “Continuous” means lasting without break; “existing” refers to Shen’s remaining; “toil” means labor. When Qi is used with ease, it is nourished and daily increases; when used restlessly, it is depleted and daily decreases. This means that when Shen remains long within the body, Qi will not scatter.

Master Li says: One closing and one opening, coming and going without cease, its end is unknown; in movement and stillness one is not confused, and no effort is expended; generation and transformation continue without end.

The Liezi quotes this chapter in full, but says, “The Yellow Emperor’s book says.” According to the Neizhuan (Inner Biography) of Ge Xuan (Ge Xiangang, “Immortal Duke Ge”), during the time of the Yellow Emperor, Lord Lao transformed into Guangchengzi and expounded this scripture to the Yellow Emperor; therefore, when the Yellow Emperor composed his book, he quoted this chapter.

Heaven and Earth endure long and do not come to an end.

The reason Heaven and Earth can endure long is that they do not live for themselves; therefore they can endure.

Mr. He says: Heaven and Earth single-mindedly give birth to and nourish the myriad things, yet they do not live for themselves. The scripture says, “They give birth to and nourish the myriad things but do not claim them as their own; they foster and nourish the myriad things but do not lord over them.” This is called “mysterious De (xuan De).” All these passages show that only because Heaven and Earth do not live for themselves can they endure. Therefore the scripture says, “Great De carries all things; sublime brightness covers all things; enduring duration completes all things.” All three statements describe Heaven and Earth giving birth to and nourishing the myriad things; none says that Heaven and Earth live for themselves.

Mr. Li says: Heaven does not exist for itself, and Earth does not exist for itself; therefore the process of giving birth to and nourishing the myriad things is ceaselessly generative.

Mr. Lin says: This chapter uses Heaven and Earth as a metaphor for the sage’s state of non-attachment and non-deliberation. Heaven and Earth generate and nourish the myriad things by following their natural course, without deliberate intentions; thus even after millions of years, it is as if only a single day has passed.

Therefore the sage puts his own body behind, yet his body comes to the fore; he sets his body aside, yet his body is preserved. Is this not because the sage is selfless? That is why he can accomplish his “private self”—that is, his own fulfillment.

Mr. He says: The sage is paired with Heaven and Earth and endures without end; he follows the principle by which Heaven covers and Earth bears, without a selfish mind, and labors on behalf of the people of the world. Is this not because Heaven and Earth and I share the same source, and the myriad things and I are fundamentally one body? The people of the world all wish to strive to be first, but the sage is content to place himself behind others and is instead pushed to the front; the people all wish to grasp the substantial, but the sage keeps to emptiness and stillness and is instead able to preserve himself beyond the things external to the body. He also says: The sage takes the Dao (the Way) as his body, and therefore does not cling to private thoughts of himself; this is precisely why he can stand alongside Heaven and Earth and endure without decline.

Mr. Wu annotates: “Behind” means occupying a lowly position; “front” means occupying an exalted position; “outside” means pure stillness and Wuwei (non-action); “preserve” means long life and lasting abiding. “Without self-interest” means placing oneself behind and setting oneself outside consideration; “accomplishing his private ends” means that one’s own self instead attains precedence and long endurance. The sage does not wish to accomplish his own private advantage; rather, the effect of “the self being first and the self enduring” arises naturally. If the multitude deliberately seek private advantage, then the one who speaks in this way can also attain the goal of accomplishing private advantage.

Mr. Li annotates: The sage does not regard himself as a sage, and therefore can accord with the De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven and Earth.

Mr. Lin annotates: When the sage cultivates himself, his mind neither reckons precedence nor distinguishes inner and outer, and therefore no one can place himself before him; for this reason he also endures long. Thus he is “without self-interest,” yet can “accomplish his private ends.” The word “private” here is not “private” in the sense of public versus private; if one understands it as public versus private, then—

The highest good is like water. Water is good at benefiting the myriad things and does not contend; it dwells in places that people detest, and so it is close to the Dao (the Way).

The highest good is just like water. Water nourishes the myriad things, yet it never contends with them; it willingly settles in the low places that people dislike, and therefore it is closest to the Dao.

(Master Lin) This chapter once again uses water as a metaphor for the principle of “not lodging the mind.” “The highest good” means the supreme good. The highest principle of goodness in the world is akin to water: water’s goodness lies in its ability to benefit the myriad things, yet it never considers itself to have merit. Water flows according to the lay of the land and does not run backward—this is “not contending.” It tends toward low-lying, damp places and does not regard what people detest as detestable. Observing water in this way, one comes close to the Dao. “Ji” means “close to.”

(Master Wu) “The highest good” is the utmost good, the goodness of one who possesses the Dao. Water is like this because it irrigates and washes, benefiting the myriad things; it does not contend for the clean places on high but willingly dwells in the low, polluted places that people detest, and so it is close to the goodness of those who possess the Dao. “Ji” likewise means “close to.”

(Master Lü) This is to have attained the subtlety of the “One” of Heaven and Earth and to have realized a clue to the Dao. Among things that can fully possess the merit of the highest good, none is better than water. Water can be held in a square vessel and can gather into a round shape; whether it congeals or disperses, it can adapt to circumstances, and each state is fitting. The sage investigates the Dao and emulates goodness, responding to change according to the time, just like water’s nature: sometimes hard, sometimes soft, sometimes square, sometimes round, without fixed attachment, and with nothing that is unacceptable. Therefore it is said, “The highest good is like water.” The perfected person uses the “One” to penetrate the Dao—that is, through the Dao to unite with the “One.” Thus water is used as a metaphor for the mind, and the mind is used to bring forth the Dao. The Cantong qi (The Seal of the Unity of the Three) says, “The One is the pivot of the Dao; know the white and guard the black,” and Perfected Peng’s (Peng Zhenren) commentary also revolves around this “One.” Golden Liquid and Jade Liquid are the pivot of the Golden Elixir path; they irrigate the five viscera and moisten the three Dantians (upper, middle, and lower Dantian). When held in the mouth, rinsed, and swallowed, they flow downward; when circulated and turned, they are like water following its course. The Huangting Jing (Scripture of the Yellow Court) says, “Rinsing and swallowing the numinous liquid, calamity does not encroach.” Within original Qi there is the water of the True One, and within water there is again the Qi of the True One; therefore the Huachi (Flower Pool, the saliva in the mouth) is the beneficial source of the water of the highest good.

Laozi uses water as a metaphor to explain the seven ways in which a person of “supreme goodness” conducts himself in the world: in dwelling, he is good at choosing a suitable place; in keeping his heart, he is calm and inclusive like a deep abyss; in relations with others, he is good at extending benevolence; in speech, he values trustworthiness; in governing, he is good at ordering affairs; in action, he is good at bringing his abilities into play; and in movement, he is good at seizing the right time.

Mr. He’s commentary says that the opening line of the scripture, “The highest good is like water,” is not merely praise of water’s benefits; it hopes even more that people will all possess these virtues like water. “Like water” also means “like the Dao,” that is, emulating the fundamental principle by which nature operates.

In dwelling, water flows wherever it meets land, and the land becomes soft and receptive when moistened by water. Water does not stubbornly occupy one place, and people should not be bound by their surroundings. In keeping the heart, one should be as calm as a deep abyss. One should not see oneself only in flowing water; rather, like still water, one should reflect one’s original mind, so that one does not lose it. In relations with others, water scoops from the high and pours into the low, distributing fairly and without bias toward private desire. When people associate with one another, they too should not show partiality because of private desire. In speech, water’s rise and fall has constancy, like tides that arrive on time. People should also keep their word and not break promises. In governing, the water’s surface is level and straight as a measuring line, without leaning or partiality, and it does not arbitrarily rise or fall. Governing should likewise be impartial and without selfishness. In action, water placed in a square vessel becomes square, and in a round vessel becomes round; it can adapt to any form. In doing things, one should also be flexible and know how to weigh circumstances. In movement, water sometimes stops and sometimes flows, always according with the time. People’s actions should also accord with the times and follow nature.

Mr. Li further links the seven goods to the myriad things: dwelling in a good place benefits the myriad things; keeping the heart like an abyss encompasses the myriad things; treating others with benevolence nourishes the myriad things; keeping one’s word trustworthy responds to and harmonizes with the myriad things; governing well transforms and nurtures the myriad things; being capable in affairs brings the myriad things to completion; and acting in accord with the time complies with the myriad things.

The final line of the scripture, “It is only because he does not contend that he incurs no blame,” means: precisely because one is like water and does not contend with the myriad things, one does not invite resentment or reproach.

Lin: The good deeds spoken of in the seven lines above all refer to the good deeds of those who possess the Dao (the Way). They do not regard themselves as capable, and so no one in the world contends with them, nor does anyone resent them. This is what is meant by “precisely because he does not contend, no one in the world can contend with him.” Some commentators interpret these as seven merits of water, and thus their explanations are often strained and do not accord with Laozi’s original meaning.

He: These good deeds combine several virtues, and from beginning to end they are pervaded by “non-contention”; one may call them the good among good. Who can be compared to such a person? Hence there is no resentment or blame. Only the ungood attract resentment; those who are good yet still cannot avoid contending with others will also attract resentment. If one is good and does not contend, where would resentment and blame come from? This is just like the good nature of water, which is closest to the Dao.

Li: Water adopts the qualities of softness and dwelling low; it benefits the myriad things without contending with them, and therefore there is no resentment or blame.

Wu: Only the “highest good” of one who has the Dao does not contend to be above but is willing to dwell below; therefore no one resents him. “You” means resentment and blame. Those who wish to rise above others inevitably harbor a contentious mind, and a contentious mind will attract resentment and blame.

Chapter Nine: Holding a vessel and trying to fill it completely is not as good as stopping in time; sharpening a blade to excess makes it impossible to preserve it for long. Laozi uses this to warn people that in all matters, excessive fullness and overabundance are difficult to sustain; one should know contentment and hold to the mean.

Holding Fullness and Sharpening Keenness: This phrase comes from Chapter 9 of the Dao De Jing. It means that when a vessel is filled to the brim it will overflow, and when the edge of a blade is ground too sharp it will easily snap.

Lin (a commentator) says: This chapter sets forth only one principle—advancing is not as good as retreating. That is why it uses “holding fullness” and “sharpening keenness” as analogies. When a vessel is filled too full, it must overflow; it is hard to keep it full, and it would be better not to fill it from the start, for then it is easier to maintain. “Yi” means not allowing it to become full. “Chuai” means to grind or polish; “rui” means sharp. If an object is ground to extreme sharpness, there is none that will not break; it is better not to sharpen it to such a degree, for only then can it be preserved for long.

Wu (a commentator) says: “Holding” means cupping or carrying something in both hands; “yi” means to stop. This chapter says that the Dao does not delight in fullness: when full, things easily overflow, so it is better to stop and not let them become full. A sharp thing must not be too keen; if it is too keen it easily suffers damage (the original text has “dao” [to arrive], which should be a scribal error), and its edge cannot be preserved for long. Fullness is the same: one cannot long maintain fullness, and the principle is identical.

Liu (a commentator) says: After fullness there must come a turn toward emptiness, so one should be vigilant when full; after keenness there must come dullness, so one should be vigilant while relentlessly pressing forward.

Scriptural text: When gold and jade fill the hall, no one can keep them. To be rich and noble and then arrogant and self-important is to leave oneself a calamity. To be able to withdraw in good time once achievements are accomplished and fame is attained—this accords with the Dao of Heaven.

Collected Meanings of the Dao De Zhen Jing (Wei Dayou): A Vernacular Interpretation

Mr. Lin says: When wealth and honor reach the point of gold and jade filling the hall, they certainly cannot be preserved for long. To occupy the position of a king or duke and become arrogant and self-satisfied will bring disaster upon oneself. Therefore, one who wishes to preserve achievements and maintain reputation must know to withdraw early; only this accords with the Dao of Heaven (the way of natural operation). Achievement made and name established—one must consider each person’s scale and capacity for self-preservation; hence it speaks of “achieved” and “fulfilled.” If one does not know contentment, then when can it count as “achieved,” and when as “fulfilled”? These four characters—“achievement made and name fulfilled”—should be carefully savored.

Mr. Wu says: In the world there are those whose halls are filled with gold and jade yet who cannot keep them—why? It is because in wealth and honor they become arrogant, leaving themselves a root of disaster. Therefore, to withdraw after achievement is made and name established is what accords with the Dao of Heaven; this means one must not be self-satisfied. “Gold and jade filling the hall” refers to wealth; “arrogance” refers to self-satisfaction. Disaster is brought about by oneself, not imposed by others. “Achievement made and name fulfilled” refers to high position and honor; “withdrawing the body” refers to not being self-satisfied. The Dao of Heaven is empty and still and does not become full, and so the four seasons alternate; after their work is accomplished, they depart.

Mr. Li says: “To withdraw after achievement is made and name fulfilled” is a teaching that warns people to guard against self-satisfaction and encourages them in humility and yielding.

Mr. Lü says: The Yijing says, “One who knows advance and retreat, survival and destruction, and does not lose what is correct—perhaps only the sage!” Lu Xisheng says: To hold a great vessel and fill it to overflowing, even if one is fearful, is not as good as stopping early; to occupy a high position and reach its extreme, even if one is anxious, is not as good as withdrawing early. As for someone like Zhang Liang, who followed Chisong (Chisongzi, a legendary immortal) and roamed beyond the world, departing in a small boat—he too understood the way of “holding fullness” (preserving fullness without overflowing).

Mr. Liu says: Gold and jade inevitably bring entanglements, so one must guard against greed; wealth and honor inevitably lead to indulgence, so one must guard against arrogance; achievement and fame inevitably bring danger, so one must guard against not knowing when to stop. Laozi’s words are deeply intended to rescue the people of the world; he does not mean that one must cut off human affairs and retreat to the mountains and forests before one can enter the Dao. Even amid wealth, honor, achievement, and fame, one can diligently put these teachings into practice.

Chapter Ten

“Carrying the hun and po souls and embracing the One, can you keep them from separating? Concentrating Qi and attaining softness, can you be like an infant?”

Vernacular: Let the hun and po souls unite and hold fast to the “One” (that is, maintaining single-minded adherence to the original Dao), can they remain without scattering? With single-minded regulation of breath, causing Qi to return to softness, can you be as pure and desireless as an infant? “Yingpo” means the hun and po souls; “infant” is a metaphor for the state of simplicity and selflessness.

Mr. He says: Those who embrace the great Dao can diligently practice it even when they find themselves in the realms of wealth, honor, fame, and achievement.

Chapter Ten

Laozi says: In carrying the hun-soul and po-soul and embracing the One (the great Dao) without departing from it, can one do so? In focusing Jing and Qi into oneness and attaining softness, can one be like an infant?

Mr. He explains: “Embracing the One without departing from it” means that if you can guard the One, the One will also guard you. “Focusing Qi and attaining softness, can one be like an infant?” The Laozi says, “One whose De is thick may be compared to a newborn child.” The infant’s bones are weak and its tendons soft, yet its clenched fist is very strong. “Focusing Qi” means guarding pure original Qi; “attaining softness” means reaching the utmost harmonious softness and not changing with external things. One who can maintain this state is a great person who does not lose the heart of the newborn child.

Mr. Lin explains: “Carrying” is like a cart carrying things. The infant has not yet seen or heard the world, so its Qi is focused and undivided. “Attaining” means reaching the utmost; “softness” means compliant yielding. If one can focus Qi and attain softness like an infant, one can embrace the One. Therefore it says, “Focusing Qi and attaining softness, can one be like an infant?” This is Laozi’s rhetorical manner of questioning, meaning: Can people do this? The following lines all have this meaning.

Mr. Lü explains: Those with a strong hun-soul belong to the category of life; those with a vigorous po-soul belong to the category of death. The hun-soul is yang and delights in purity, emptiness, and nonbeing; the po-soul is yin and delights in striving, seeking, and disturbance. The po-soul is what robs and harms yang Qi. This thing called the po-soul likes people to become addicted to sounds and sights, to admire ostentation, to fall into stupor and sleep, to run about and wander, to deplete Jing and Qi, and to bring people to the place of death. Only after the physical form has perished can it enjoy sacrificial offerings.

Therefore the sage uses Shen to drive Qi and uses the physical form to restrain the po-soul. He emulates the earth, which quietly and heavily bears all things, and uses “non-movement” to stabilize himself. Even if the yin po-soul wishes to stir restlessly and shake his thoughts, it cannot succeed. This is what is meant by “carrying the po-soul.” If we investigate the method of “carrying,” it is simply embracing the One without separation. Embracing the One is like a mirror containing light—how could the light leave the mirror? Even so, one still worries that the carrying may not be complete, so one must be purely one without mixture and quietly one without change; this is called non-duality. In this way Shen can be preserved without being diminished, and Jing can be used without being exhausted, never departing for even a moment. Therefore it says, “In embracing the One, can one be without separation?”

If Shen is not regulated, Qi will become disordered; if Shen is regulated, Qi will not move wildly. The perfected person is skilled at regulating and controlling it. He concentrates on pure sincerity, nourishes with emptiness and stillness, and rests through heel-breathing. Pure and soft, he nourishes Qi like a spiritual turtle and nourishes Shen like an infant. The infant’s containment of De is deep: when dwelling, it does not know to act; when walking, it does not know where it is going. Therefore it says, “In focusing Qi and attaining softness, can one be like an infant?”

Mr. Li explains: “Carrying the po-soul” is a metaphor like a cart carrying things. The po-soul delights in movement, galloping, and sharpness; therefore it is called yingpo, the striving po-soul. The po-soul is yin; when yin is excessive it harms yang, and when emotions and desires are excessive they enslave one’s original nature. One who can subdue it embraces the One without departing, attains softness without blemish, practices Wuwei and guards the feminine, remains without [clever] knowing and does not act recklessly, so that the yin po-soul cannot recklessly indulge emotions and desires. When the po-soul is subdued and yin dissolves, the Shen becomes utterly still and clear. It need not be restrained; it naturally does not move, as if returning fully laden with treasures. From “embracing the One” onward, all the phrases convey the meaning of “carrying the po-soul.”

Scripture Passage One: “Cleansing away the mysterious mirror—can one leave no blemish?”

Washing clean that deep and luminous mirror in the mind—the mysterious mirror (xuanjian), that is, the mind’s illuminating awareness—can one leave not the slightest blemish?

Master He holds: Guan Yinzi says that when there is nothing in the mind, one can understand that external things have no substantial reality; understanding that external things are fundamentally without substance, one can understand that the Dao also has no form to grasp. Therefore one should not become intoxicated by mysterious words and repeatedly ponder profound principles in the mind, for this instead damages the spirit. “Cleansing away the mysterious mirror” means washing away the blemishes and defilements in the mind, and only then can there be no blemish.

Master Lü holds: Not being drawn along by the agitation of the body and the hun and po souls, with the mind not driven by Qi (vital energy), cleansing thoughts and cutting off desires—this is “mysterious observation” (xuanlan). Mysterious observation is using the mind to contemplate subtle realms, not using the eyes to look. One must exclude everything other than the Dao of utmost truth, so that inside and outside are empty, bright, and clear, and the spirit is settled and still; only then can one accomplish mysterious observation. But if one clings to mysterious observation, mysterious observation itself becomes an obstacle, and even it must be removed before one can be said to be without blemish.

Master Li holds: Not seeing and not hearing, with dust and defilement completely purified, only then is the mirror of the mind bright.

Master Dong holds: If subtle insights are not removed, they become bonds; if traces of cleansing still remain, they become another kind of obstacle. Only when there is no blemish can clinging and desire be forgotten together, both extinguished at once.

Scripture Passage Two: “In loving the state and governing the people, can one practice Wuwei (non-action)?”

In governing the state and managing the people, can one accord with nature and refrain from reckless action?

Master He (referring to the Song-dynasty commentator He Daoquan) says: The Book of the Yellow Emperor discusses the principles of enriching the state and pacifying the people, but this is in fact also a method of refining Qi (vital energy). The sage regards his own body as a state: the mind is the ruler, and Jing (essence) and Qi are the people. When the people are settled, the state flourishes; when the people scatter, the state is empty. If the mind does not move recklessly, Qi is harmonious and smooth; when Qi is harmonious and smooth, the various essences coalesce. If the mind engages in reckless action, Qi becomes disordered; once Qi is disordered, the essences disperse.

Master Lü (referring to Lü Huiqing, a Northern Song commentator) says: The principles by which one cultivates the body are connected with those by which one governs the state. Only by cherishing the people can the state be stable; only by treasuring one’s own Qi can the body be preserved. One who is skilled in cherishing the body takes the mind as ruler, blood as minister, and Qi as the people; he focuses and unifies his original nature, nourishes his Qi, and causes it to fill the passes and apertures throughout the body. He treasures it and harmonizes it, following naturalness—what need is there for deliberate action? Governing the state and cultivating the body are fundamentally one and the same in principle.

Master Li says: When Shen (spirit) and mind are unmoved and the breath is unshaken, the Qi of the Dao (the Way) flows freely and peacefully, and the state of mind is naturally clear and bright.

“When the Heavenly Gate opens and closes, can one be without the female?” This comes from Chapter 10 of the Daodejing. The “Heavenly Gate” refers to the gates of the senses—ears, eyes, mouth, nose, and so on—while “opening and closing” refers to the opening, closing, coming, and going of the senses. The sentence asks: when the senses are active, can one maintain softness, compliance, emptiness, and stillness, keep to the state of the “female,” and not move recklessly with a rigid and agitated mind? The “female” symbolizes softness, stillness, and non-contention; it is the way of conduct and self-cultivation praised by Laozi.

Mr. He, citing the Zhuangzi, says: “The Dao has that which goes out and that which enters; yet between going out and entering, its form cannot be seen. This is what is called the ‘Heavenly Gate’ (Tianmen).” He also says: “If the mind regards it as not so, the Heavenly Gate will not open.” This means that the Heavenly Gate is the Gate of Mystery, the portal leading to the mysterious Dao. The opening and closing of the gate are natural transformations. To guard clarity, stillness, suppleness, and weakness is to guard the “female.” The female refers to the yielding and lowly side, as opposed to the “male,” which is hard, strong, and high.

Mr. Lin says: “The Heavenly Gate is the natural principle between Heaven and Earth.”

Mr. Ni says: “The Heavenly Gate is Qian; Qian is Heaven and Yang, and the Yijing calls it a ‘door.’ If a gate opens, it must also close; opening and closing depend on each other for their function.” He holds that Laozi’s text here should read “can it be without the female?” rather than “can it be the female?” as various commentators have it. Judging by the sentence pattern above, “can it be without action?” means not wishing it to act, while “can it be without the female?” means not wishing it to be deficient. Laozi takes softness as supreme and should by rights advocate guarding the female; yet he says “without the female,” because if one only guards the female and has no male, one can only close and cannot open, and that is not the Heavenly Gate. Therefore he sets forth the principle of “without the female,” using Yang to assist Yin.

Most editions read “can it be the female,” and only Mr. Ni reads “can it be without the female.” But from the context, the meaning of “without the female” is smoother. Some also explain that the female is stillness, but one must not remain stagnant in stillness; this is “without the female.” Others say that “without the female” means that no Yin evil Qi obstructs from within, and this explanation also makes sense.

The final sentence cites Laozi, chapter 10: “Understanding and penetrating in all four directions, can one be without knowledge?” It means: when the mind is clear and comprehends all around, can one refrain from using calculating thoughts and not cling to knowledge?

Master He (one of the commentators) says: To be clear and penetrating, to see clearly in all four directions, is “awakening,” is “illumination.” But if one can be as though knowing nothing—awakened yet not deliberately illuminating or inspecting—and remain constantly calm even when things are seen, this is what is meant by “not knowing is true knowledge.”

Master Lü says: Human nature is like a clear sky: its light covers the four quarters and illumines the remote regions of the eight directions. It is full yet seems empty; it possesses yet seems not to possess. Its wisdom pervades all things, yet it returns cleverness to simple uncarved simplicity. Its brightness can stand alongside the sun, moon, and stars, yet it returns to the dark and unmanifest. People use it every day, yet do not feel that they are using it. Therefore it is said: “To be clear and penetrating in all four directions—can one be without knowledge?”

Master Lin says: To be clear and penetrating, so that nothing is not penetrated, and yet to take non-knowing as knowing—this enables one to embrace and hold fast to the “One” (the Dao).

Master Li says: Remove cleverness, discard cunning, withdraw radiance, and merge with the dust of the world (that is, “harmonizing radiance and merging with dust,” from Daodejing, chapter 56).

The original text of this chapter of the Daodejing is: It gives life to and nourishes the myriad things; it brings them forth but does not take possession of them; it acts but does not presume upon its ability; it causes them to grow but does not dominate them. This is called “mysterious De” (profound and wondrous virtue).

Mr. He says: If the myriad things can be single-minded and undivided, their growth and transformation are unfathomable. The sage models Heaven and Earth, cherishing and nurturing the myriad things. What causes them to grow is the Dao (the Way), the source and operative pattern of all things; what causes them to be nourished and brought to completion is De (Virtue/Power), the inherent nature and function that things receive from the Dao. Whether it generates or does not generate, the result is the same; whether it acts or does not act, the result is likewise the same; whether it serves as chief of the myriad things or does not, the result remains the same. To be empty to the utmost and still to the extreme—this is the mysterious Heavenly De. How then could it still possess, rely upon, or dominate the myriad things, and thereby encumber its unobstructed and mysterious De?

Mr. Li says: To generate and nourish the myriad things without possessing, relying upon, or dominating them is because one forgets whence the myriad things arise—that is, one forgets one’s own root.

Mr. Wu says: In generating and nourishing the myriad things, although there is generation, in reality the mind holds no thought of generating them; hence it is said, “not possessing.” In raising and nurturing the myriad things, although there is action, in reality the mind holds no thought of acting for them; hence it is said, “not relying.” It is like a person who holds the position of an official leader: although governing the people, in reality the mind holds no thought of governing; hence it is said, “not dominating.” This is the mysterious and unfathomable De.

Mr. Lin says: “To generate them and nourish them” speaks of creative transformation generating and nourishing the myriad things between Heaven and Earth. When has creative transformation ever relied on the myriad things to prove its own existence, or relied on the myriad things to display its own power? Although it is the master of the myriad things, when has it ever had the intention to dominate or control them? Only thus can it be called mysterious De. The main purport of this chapter lies, broadly, in acting by means of Wuwei (non-action) and in natural spontaneity.

Chapter Eleven: Thirty spokes converge at a single hub; precisely because the center is empty, the cart has the function of carrying. Kneading clay to make vessels; precisely because the vessel’s interior is empty, the vessel has the function of holding. Cutting out doors and windows to build a house; precisely because its interior is empty, the house has the function of dwelling. Therefore, “Being” provides benefit, while “Non-being” provides use.

Master Li says: When the spokes of a wheel converge at the hub, only then does the wheel have its function; this is the principle by which all the laws of the myriad things are returned to the mind and the wonder of Shen (spirit) is brought to completion. (Fu: the spokes that connect the hub and the rim; gu: the round wooden block at the center of the wheel through which the axle passes.) If the spokes do not converge at the hub, how can it be called a wheel? If the laws do not return to the mind, they cannot communicate with Shen. The hub is hollow, and only then can the wheel turn; when the mind is empty within, only then can Shen transform and penetrate. Thus emptiness can serve as the benefit of practical use, and solid things can rely on emptiness to perform their functions. Emptiness and solidity interpenetrate, and coming and going encounter no obstruction. This is precisely the meaning of “Zai yingpo” (carrying the Hun and Po souls) in the previous chapter. As for reaching the point where there is nothing to carry, when both spokes and hub are forgotten, the cart too returns to nothingness—just as when both mental methods and Shen are forgotten, Shen returns to empty stillness. The principles of vessels and rooms are likewise the same.

Master Wu says: Fu are the spokes of a wheel, and gu is the center of the wheel. “Nonbeing” refers to the empty space. Shan is the kneading and blending of earth; zhi is sticky clay. The existence of carts, vessels, and rooms all brings convenience to the people of the world, and so it is said, “Being provides benefit.” Carts, vessels, and rooms all take central emptiness as their function, and so it is said, “Nonbeing provides use.” In a person, when the abdomen is filled with Qi, it is used to nourish the body—this is what is meant by “benefit”; when the mind is empty and without things, only then can true Qi be generated—this is what is meant by “use.” Therefore these two things—the belly and the mind—are taken as analogies.

Master Lin says: These three are all metaphors. The function of emptiness is the benefit obtained by solid things such as carts, vessels, and rooms; yet the reason they can become carts, vessels, and rooms is actually the function within emptiness. To use these three to describe the word “nonbeing” may be called a wondrous stroke of writing.

Master Lü says: The cart moves because it is hollow; the vessel can contain the myriad things because it is hollow; the room is open on all four sides because it is hollow. Citing these three for detailed explanation, the value lies in using external things to illustrate the self. Preserve its nonbeing and guard its being: when there is being, its function resides in vessels and objects; when there is nonbeing, its function resides in the Great Dao.

I. Collected Interpretations and Commentary

Those who have cultivated the Dao to an extremely high level live by means of a physical body, yet what they cultivate is the spirit of Wuwei (non-action). Without “being,” its benefit cannot be exerted; without “nonbeing,” its function cannot be brought into play. One uses the physical form to preserve life and bring benefit, and through emptiness one relies on the form; one cultivates the spirit of Wuwei and through emptiness attains the function of spiritual illumination. Youwei (deliberate action) benefits external things; Wuwei benefits the inner function.

Master He’s commentary states: What is able to employ “being” is the form; what is able to rely on “nonbeing” to employ “being” is the spirit. In the hub of a wheel there is an empty hole; only then can the thirty spokes gather and turn. This is not because the cart is itself a cart, but because the empty place within it allows it to be used as a cart. If a clay vessel had no hollow interior, things would have nowhere to be contained. Even if a palace is magnificent, what use is it if all its walls are sealed up? To enter the hall one must pass through doors and windows; this too is not because the room is itself a room, but because the empty space within it allows it to be used as a room.

The body and external things are like the cart, vessel, and room: all are implements with form and substance. Dao (the Way) and mind are like the hub-hole, doors, and windows: they possess the mystery of spiritual illumination. The Yijing says: “What is above form is called Dao; what is below form is called a vessel.” This does not merely mean that Dao comes first and vessels come afterward; rather, the formless contains the formed, and within a single vessel there is inherently a Dao—this Dao is the mystery that operates the vessel. Worldly people see only that vessels exist concretely, but I see that the marvel of Dao is formless. Thus within empty openness and penetration, there is naturally a place not limited by vessels.

II. Scripture Text of Chapter Twelve

The five colors make the eyes dizzy and unable to see clearly; the five tones make the ear dull and unable to hear distinctly; the five flavors corrupt the taste and cause one to lose the normal flavor; indulging in hunting and galloping in pursuit drives the mind and spirit wild; rare and hard-to-obtain goods harm one’s conduct.

Mr. Li says: This passage continues the principle from the previous chapter, “emptying its use.” If the mind is empty and still, and is not deluded by the beauty of external things, then it will not be dragged along by sensory pleasures. Therefore the text next says, “The five colors make one blind”: external things such as colors, sounds, and flavors all belong to “the roots and dusts” (the disturbances produced when the sense faculties contact external things; “roots” refers to the six roots—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind—and “dusts” refers to the six dusts—colors, sounds, smells, tastes, tactile sensations, and mental objects). Ordinary people are all plundered by them. Only the person who has the Dao is not obscured by them; seeing, hearing, speaking, and acting all accord with ritual propriety and righteousness, without reckless action. Then the “six thieves” that originally plunder people (the six roots, enslaved by external things, plunder the true nature like thieves) will be transformed into the “six penetrations” (the six wondrous capacities attained through cultivation).

Mr. Lin says: Blindness means that the power of sight is deluded by external colors; deafness means that hearing is deluded by sounds; the mouth’s going astray means that taste loses its normal discrimination; the mind going mad means that the spirit-mind is unsettled; and obstructed conduct means that virtue and conduct are harmed. These five all involve pursuing only the external and losing the inner root.

Mr. Lü says: Looking at colors, listening to sounds, and tasting flavors all entangle and burden one’s original nature. Before an infant understands things, how could it distinguish what colors and sounds are, or what flavors are? Once the apertures of desire open, it then knows there are blue-black colors and gorgeous brocades, and so it races and competes after things, unable to see penetratingly the “colorless color.” How is this different from being blind?

What is called “penetrating sight” is not simply looking outward at things and seeing only some particular scene. Only the Perfected Person (one of the highest cultivation) introspects his eyes and can, like the sun and moon formed by Taiyi (Supreme Unity), withdraw his gaze in emptiness and stillness and turn it back to illuminate himself. His spiritual light is crystalline and penetrating, and in the obscure depths he alone understands. How then could he become blind through the five colors?

What are the five tones? They are the five notes gong, shang, jiao, zhi, and yu. The music of Zheng and Wei (regarded by the ancients as licentious and decadent) is sonorous and pleasing, making people indulge in pleasure, dissipate their true nature, and diminish their spiritual clarity. If a person cannot turn hearing back to that soundless sound, how is he different from one who is deaf? What is called “returning hearing” is not listening outward to the sounds of others; it is simply hearing inner harmony alone. Only the Sage (one who has reached the highest level) introspects his ears and can enter the “hearing gate of the Sovereign Lord” (the inner wondrous gate of hearing), listening to sound with Qi in great samadhi. Then the heavenly pipes (sounds of nature) will spontaneously resound and heavenly music will spontaneously play, sometimes like the sound of gold and jade, sometimes like the tones of qin and se. Once he hears this sound, even if outside great winds stir up ocean waves and crashing thunder splits mountains and peaks, he hears none of them. How could he be deafened by the five tones?

What are the five flavors? They are pungent, salty, sweet, bitter, and sour.

Cooking qilin and roasting phoenix, spreading before one a table a zhang square and exhausting every luxury, causing the tongue to sink into greed and never be satisfied—this pollutes the Shen (spirit) and muddles the true nature. What are called “flavors” are no more than the five tastes: pungent, salty, sweet, bitter, and sour.

Since cooking qilin and butchering phoenix and placing food a zhang before one brings such harm, then if one cannot taste the taste of the flavorless within the mind, how is that different from the mouth and tongue greedily seeking the “shuang” of delicious flavors? “Shuang” means losing one’s original authenticity. “Inner tasting” does not mean craving external deliciousness; it means turning inward to observe and reflect, and to realize one’s original nature.

Only the perfected person who has awakened to the Dao understands the wondrous function of the mouth: the mouth is the Vermilion Abyss of the Crimson Palace (the heart palace in the chest in Daoist physiology; the Vermilion Abyss is the source of saliva in the mouth). Therefore the perfected person draws in hangxie (the pure dew of night, regarded by Daoists as the food of immortals), chews yuying (the flowers of immortal herbs), drinks jinli (the golden liquid refined in Daoist practice), and takes in qiongli (the fine wine of the immortals), using them to irrigate the linggen (the fundamental vitality of the human body). Hence it is said: “Bland and without flavor—this is the food of heaven and man.” The repast offered by Zidan (the immortal elixir produced by alchemy) in Daoism is correct in color and yellow; and when it speaks of “langgao” and “yushuang” (both names of immortal medicines in Daoist texts), could delicacies such as rich meat and fine grain take away their value?

Hunting is a regular institution of the state: the spring sou, summer miao, autumn xian, and winter shou are all carried out according to the seasons, without violating their proper times. But if one becomes addicted to the pleasure of roaming hunts, indulges without restraint, and wastes day and night without cease, how can one fail to impair one’s true nature?

The perfected person is inwardly tranquil and unmoved, cuts off the harms of sounds, colors, fame, and profit, does not indulge his nature, does not boast of benevolence and righteousness; Taiyi (the pure original source and primordial spirit) is clear and still—from where could a wild and dissipated mind arise? Alas, the pearl that illuminates a carriage and the jade disk worth many cities are treasures that the world values and prizes. If one greedily seeks them without satisfaction and exceeds one’s proper station, then even a single thought’s fault will cause one’s entire cultivation to perish in secret. The perfected person looks upon benevolence and righteousness, yet inwardly still preserves the clarity and stillness of Taiyi.

The perfected person regards the ten thousand things as light as cicada wings and Mount Song as useless as a wart or tumor; he is not troubled by cravings and desires, and uses the Dao to cultivate himself in emptiness and stillness. Even if he possessed goods that people of the world rarely obtain, how could they harm his cultivation?

The commentator He cites the words of Zhuangzi: “The five colors confuse the eyes and make them unclear; the five tones confuse the ears and make them deaf; the five flavors muddy the mouth and injure it with shuang; pursuits and rejections disturb the mind and make one’s nature flighty.” Its meaning is the same as this chapter.

In ancient times there was a man fond of hunting who claimed that the joy of hunting could make people forget life and death. How could this be joy? It was plainly a manifestation of a disordered mind and spirit. Another man went at dawn to the marketplace to seize gold; when he was caught and asked why he had done so, he said, “When I was taking the gold, I saw only gold and could not see people.” Is not this greed for wealth and goods precisely what obstructs normal conduct?

This chapter uses the word ling, while Zhuangzi uses shi; the meanings are close. Both are saying: external things appear important, while the human will becomes frivolous; the enticement is deep, but what is gained is shallow. People are driven by external things without realizing it and lose their own mastery; it is because they do not understand the Dao that they fall into such a state.

The word shuang means “error, mistake,” not “refreshing” or “pleasant.”

Master Chao said: If people do not indulge in the pleasures of the ears and eyes, and do not give free rein to the mouth and belly’s craving for fine flavors, then whether or not they obtain anything, they will certainly suffer no loss. Therefore the sage seeks only to satisfy the belly’s basic needs and does not pursue the pleasures of the ears and eyes; thus he rejects the latter and chooses the former.

Master Li says: In self-cultivation, one attends only to the “belly” and not to the “eyes.” The inner mind does not gallop outward, and external temptations cannot enter; one withdraws the gaze and stills the hearing. Master Lin says: The belly belongs to the inner, the eyes to the outer. The sage devotes himself to inner cultivation and does not chase after the external, and so it is said, “Reject that and take this.” “That” refers to the five external desires mentioned earlier; “this” refers to the Dao.

Master Lü says: The Kun trigram symbolizes the belly, which can contain and bear all things; the Li trigram symbolizes the eyes, which look outward. The belly has the capacity to contain; inwardly it receives and nurtures its essence and substance, and so Dao-qi becomes full and replete, able to preserve the inner spirit. The eyes, however, peer outward and cling to various forms and appearances, disturbing the true dwelling of the mind-spirit—the place where original nature resides. Therefore the sage cultivates the inner and does not cultivate the outer; he seeks within himself and does not seek from others. He withdraws the gaze and returns the hearing, restoring the original beginning of life and returning to the source: he removes the spirit-thought that the “eyes” chase outward, and preserves the essence-qi gathered in the “belly.” Thus it is said, “Reject that and take this.”

Master He says: Those who indulge their desires deplete their spirit; those who adorn the exterior harm the interior. Therefore, when one focuses on the belly, the inner spirit becomes unified; when one focuses on the eyes, one gallops outward and the mind is stirred upon seeing things. There are far too many things that can draw a person toward external objects. If one is not moved by external things, the gaze becomes clear and boundless; if one fills the belly, the mind has something to master it. What is taken is the Dao; what is discarded is things.

Favor and disgrace are like being startled; value great calamity as you value your own body.

Receiving favor and receiving disgrace both unsettle the mind, as if startled; to take great calamity seriously is like taking one’s own body seriously, treating it as a matter close to oneself.

Master Lü says: Favor and disgrace are the ordinary pattern of gain and loss; but to let one’s own person be harmed is the great calamity to one’s true nature. After favor, disgrace often follows; after disgrace, favor sometimes arises. High office and generous stipends, brocade garments and fine food, may indeed be called “favor,” but when they arrive people rejoice and when they depart people grieve; the disgrace that comes from this is also great—is this not alarming? Therefore it is said, “Favor and disgrace are like alarm.” The body is originally not what is valuable; what is truly valuable is nature and life (that is, the inborn nature and life endowed by Heaven). People originally have no calamity; what is fearful is only gain and loss. Living in the world, one must endure the assault of cold and heat, become entangled in disputes of right and wrong, be troubled by fear and coercion, and be caught in a dilemma between advancing and withdrawing. If one worries only about gain and loss in external things, that is to leave one’s own calamity upon one’s true nature; therefore it is said, “Value great calamity as the body.”

Master Wu says: “Gui” means to value. When goods and wealth are abundant, people regard them as great profit; viewed the other way, however, they are precisely great calamity. Thus those who understand the Dao (the Way) do not value them; those who do value them become mired in them, unable to break free, and are instead dragged down by them.

Look again at the scriptural text itself: the matter of receiving favor occupies a lowly position; when it is obtained one is startled with joy, and when it is lost one is alarmed—this is what is meant by “Favor and disgrace are like alarm.”

Master Lü (a commentator on the Daodejing) says: What exactly are “favor” and “disgrace”? Those who hold power, if they are willing to lower themselves, put on smiling faces, make their words pleasing, take advantage of another’s leisure and wait for a suitable moment, hoping to receive that person’s promotion and praise, their spirits commune and their temperaments agree; they may even be like someone eating another’s leftover distiller’s grains and drinking another’s thin wine, listening to whatever the other says and carrying out whatever the other plans. Is what is obtained in this way called “favor”? Once one accepts this favor, one is effectively beneath the other, occupying the position of an attendant, fearing only to lose this favor—how could one not be willing to remain in a low position? Therefore it says: “Favor and disgrace are startling; favor is lower.”

Yet favor is precisely the root of disgrace, and blessing is the cause of calamity. When favor descends, there are high carriages and teams of four horses, tall houses and carved walls, jade ornaments worn at the waist that tinkle, official rank rising straight to the highest grade, and grace extending to descendants, so that nothing is impossible. Those who obtain it are joyful, yet also as if startled. And when disgrace arrives, once favor slackens and trust diminishes, slander gradually seeps in: in the morning one is still lifted up and flattered, in the evening one is driven out; punishment is heavy and calamity arrives in an instant, so that one suddenly loses everything and is again stricken with awe and fear. Thus favor and disgrace are like a shadow following the body; both are to be guarded against.

Only the sage is not enslaved by the body. The sage regards favor as disgrace, shuns fame, discards the world, preserves himself, and keeps harm at a distance. He regards slander and praise as equal and sees life and death as one; he does not scheme outwardly, nor is he restless within. He does not let his mind run wild because he has become a high official, nor does he cater to the world because he is in hardship. Looking back on favor and disgrace, gain and loss, how could he be startled?

Master He (a commentator) says: What are “favor and disgrace”? “Favor is lower” means that as soon as a reputation arises, slander follows; this reputation is “low.” When official position is high, one’s person and family are endangered; this office is “low.” Favor itself is lowly, and obtaining it also means losing it. This shows that one need not wait until disgrace comes to know that it is lowly.

Master Lin says: This is exactly the meaning of worrying about gain and loss.

Laozi says: What does it mean to value great calamity as one values one’s own body? The reason I have great calamity is that I have this body. If I had no body, what calamity would there be?

Master Lü explains: The reason people of the world regard the body as a great calamity is that human beings are born between Heaven and Earth and share the same root with them; the ten thousand things all rely on Heaven and Earth for nurture. Petty people give up their lives for profit, and scholars give up their lives for reputation; although their power and status differ, as long as they have a body, they are the same. People of the world think that if there were no body there would be no calamity—this is a misunderstanding of Laozi’s original intent. What the perfected person calls “the great calamity of having a body” does not mean that people should forget bodily form, lose their physical frame, and fall into benighted emptiness and silence. It means that people chase external things, take external things as themselves, and do not realize the great Dao; therefore there is great calamity. Thus those who cultivate the Dao must make the heart like dead ashes and the form like a withered tree: though they occupy an honored position, they do not thereby suffer disgrace; though they receive humiliation, they do not regard it as calamity. They place the body outside the body and regard the body as no-body; they forget the mind and regard the mind as no-mind. They cast off illusory and deluded thoughts, realize the true and constant nature, forget all illumination, and attain “zuowang (sitting in forgetfulness)”—the state Zhuangzi describes as forgetting bodily form and mental intelligence. Then, with the Jade Talisman (yufu, the Neidan technique for guarding the original Shen), they preserve the original Shen (spirit), and with the Golden Liquid (jinye, a Neidan term for the Jing and Qi obtained through cultivation), they refine and nourish the body, causing both form and Shen to reach a subtle and wondrous realm and to become one with the great Dao. In this way, they are no longer troubled by having a body—how could it still become a great calamity?

Master He explains: “What does it mean to value great calamity as the body?” “Value” means to take seriously. The body is a great calamity, and one should take it seriously and not neglect it. The body is originally small, but calamity is great; when the body is forgotten, calamity also subsides—this makes sense. Therefore it is said that ears and eyes, sounds and colors, leave faults for people; the nose and mouth greedily seek fragrances and flavors, and delicious tastes in turn become resentment and harm; the body becomes the root of affliction, and pain, itching, cold, and heat all arise from it. We are constrained by the body and know that the body is a great calamity. Yet once we have received this physical form, we cannot immediately escape its entanglements; merely worrying in vain—what benefit is that? The sage sums it up in one phrase: “Put the body outside, and the body survives.” Why not reflect: this physical form is not something I possess, and reputation is not something I can retain. The body I have received at birth comes from empty, spontaneous nature and is formed by the congealing of primordial Qi. Therefore, although I have received this form, the form does not truly belong to me. The form is only lodged and becomes a shape; it appears and becomes an appearance. Hence the person who attains the Dao forgets bodily form, restrains the self by principle, transforms temperament, diligently cultivates the way of purity and emptiness, and transcends into the realm of formlessness. In this way, the various calamities that people worry about are no longer things I worry about.

The Liezi says: The body is not mine; since it has already been born, one cannot but preserve it. External things are not mine; since one possesses them, one cannot but let go of attachment to them. The body is the master of life, and external things are also the master of its nourishment. Although one must preserve the body, one must not possess this body; although one should not reject external things, one must not possess these external things either. If one possesses external things and the body, one privately monopolizes the bodies and external things of the world. Could this be what the sage does? The sage regards the bodies and external things of the world as common property. The meaning of this passage is: if one can refrain from taking body and external things as one’s own and enable all people under Heaven to possess them together, then the body can be forgotten, and calamity can likewise be forgotten along with it.

Those who value themselves more than the world can be entrusted with the world; those who cherish themselves and do not lightly harm themselves for the sake of the world can be entrusted with the world.

Mr. Wu says that the dignity of the Son of Heaven and the wealth of the four seas are the result of trading one’s self for the world. One who understands the Dao cherishes his own body and would rather not possess the world than lightly expend himself; only such a person can have the world entrusted to him. “Ji” is like “entrusting the mandate of a hundred li” (delegating the government of a region); “tuo” is like “entrusting a six-chi orphan” (assisting a young orphaned ruler). Shun and Yu possessed the world without regarding it as their own, and thus came the abdications of Yao and Shun. Those who treat disgrace as honor and great calamity as great profit are merely vulgar people—how could the world be handed over to them?

Mr. He says that one who treasures himself more than the world will not be moved by the profits of the world, and only such a person can receive the entrustment of the world. Zhuangzi says: the essence of the Dao is used to cultivate the self, while its dregs are used to govern the world. Nowadays worldly gentlemen mostly harm their bodies and cast away their lives in pursuit of external things—is this not lamentable? This is exactly the image of “shooting a sparrow with the Sui pearl”: using a pearl worth many cities to strike a small bird, the loss outweighs the gain.

Mr. Lin holds that the two characters ji and tuo inherently contain the meaning that the world is not one’s own possession.

Mr. Dong holds that this chapter wants people to remove delusive thoughts and recover their original nature. If one does not cling to honor and favor, disgrace will not descend; if one forgets the self, misfortune will not arrive. The world is the greatest thing, and yet one does not regard it as a burden—how much less other things.

This passage in Chapter Fourteen says that the Dao, when looked at, is not seen and is called Yi (formless); when listened to, is not heard and is called Xi (soundless); when grasped, is not obtained and is called Wei (without substance). These three cannot be pursued to the end, and so they are understood as merged into one.

This passage is a commentary on the line from Chapter 14 of the Daodejing, “Looked at but not seen, it is called yi; listened for but not heard, it is called xi; grasped at but not obtained, it is called wei,” explaining that the Dao cannot be grasped by the senses.

Lin Xiyi takes “bo” to mean seizing or grabbing. Yi, xi, and wei were never strictly distinct in the first place; all describe the Dao as invisible, inaudible, and unobtainable, and are therefore combined and called one.

Wu Cheng explains the three characters separately: yi means flat, flat to the point of leaving no trace, and so it is invisible; xi means sparse and open, without sound, and so it is inaudible; wei means remote and indistinct, without form, and so it cannot be grasped. All three are difficult to state fully, so they are merged into one and collectively called “Dao.”

Lü Huiqing offers a further analogy: even if Li Zhu (a legendary figure of extraordinary eyesight) polished his eyes and looked in broad daylight, he could not see the “color without color”; even if a person skilled at listening strained to hear, he could not hear the “sound without sound”; even if a strongman like Ben Yu or Wuding summoned all the strength of his arms to seize it, he could not grasp the “form without form.” When the eyes have no way to exercise sight, the ears no way to exercise hearing, and the body no way to exert strength, one can only call it “yi,” “xi,” and “wei.” Although the three names differ, with respect to the substance of the Dao they are the same. It is like ten thousand sounds all issued by the same gust of wind, though their timbres differ; or like a person’s seven apertures all arising from one qi, though their functions differ. Thus the three are joined into one, an undifferentiated whole; even if one again tries to look, listen, and grope, one cannot separate them.

“Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark” comes from the original text of the Daodejing. It means that above, the Dao does not appear bright and dazzling; below, it does not appear dim and obscure. “Shengsheng” refers to an endless, continuous, hard-to-describe appearance; all of this says that the Dao can neither be seized nor exhausted in words.

Laozi says, “When Dao (the Way) is above, it does not appear bright; when it is below, it does not appear dark. It is continuous and unbroken, so abundant that it cannot be named, and ultimately all returns to the state of no-thing.” Therefore it has no concrete shape, yet it is the root of all shapes; it has no concrete image, yet it is the support of all images. It seems to exist and yet not exist, elusive and hard to grasp, and so it is called huanghu (indistinct).

Commentators through the ages have elaborated on this in many ways. Lin Xiyi of the Southern Song held that jiao means bright and mei means dark, and that “above and below” need not be confined to spatial position: no matter where one seeks it, Dao is neither bright nor dark, and therefore cannot be seen. Shengsheng means numerous.

Wu Cheng of the Yuan dynasty compared “above and below” to what the Yizhuan calls “above form” and “below form”: what is above form is Dao, and what is below form is vessels. Shengsheng means continuing without interruption, and fu means returning. No-thing refers to Dao itself; returning to the original beginning is returning to the Dao of no-thing. The Zhuangzi’s statement that “when De (Virtue/Power) reaches its utmost, it is the same as the beginning” means precisely this. Dao is originally without thing, and so it has no shape or image; but its “shape” and “image” are also different from the shapes and images of ordinary formed things. Therefore it is called “the shape of no shape, the image of no image,” seeming to exist and yet not exist, and so it is called huanghu.

The annotation by Lü Huiqing of the Northern Song is more detailed. He says that things with shape and color all have boundaries, whereas Dao exists before heaven and earth, penetrates past and present, and when it disperses transforms into harmonious and balanced Qi (vital energy); when it spreads out, it becomes Taixu (the Great Void), the vast and boundless space, and it coexists with heaven and earth and Yin-Yang. Its brightness is not dazzling; suddenly it conceals itself in the depths of the earth and hides together with tiles and pebbles, and its profundity is not dark. It circulates and turns, forming an integrated whole, continuous and unbroken, unable to be named and unable to be seen through its traces. Its De is complete yet unrevealed; even if one wishes to use things as analogies, no suitable object can be found. Therefore it is said: “Above, it is not jiao; below, it is not mei.”

Within the formless, it has “the shape of no shape”; within no-thing, it has “the image of no image.” If one says it has shape, where is a shape that can be pointed to? If one says it has no image, it nevertheless seems not to be entirely absent. Therefore it is said that “marvelous existence is not existence, and true nonexistence is not nonexistence,” huanghuang huhu, ethereal and misty, dense and swirling, so that existence and nonexistence are both difficult to determine. This is “the shape of no shape, the image of no image, which is called huanghu.”

Scripture One:

Looking at it head-on, one cannot see its beginning; following behind it, one cannot see its end. Grasp the Dao of antiquity in order to steer the myriad things of today. To be able to know the origin of the universe—this is called “Daoji.” (“Daoji” refers to the fundamental guiding principle of the Dao; ji means guiding principle or standard.)

The Dao has no form and no fixed location, so it cannot be measured in terms of “front” and “back.” It is the source of all things; everything comes from it, and therefore it can be used to govern all things in the actual world.

Beginning of Chapter Fifteen:

Those in ancient times who were skilled at cultivating the Dao were subtle and profound, mysterious and penetrating, so deep that they could not be fully known. Precisely because they were difficult to know, one can only roughly sketch their outward appearance.

Mr. Wu says: The term shi here refers to a person who possesses the Dao. Their cultivation penetrates in all directions, and they can comprehend the profound subtleties of the ten thousand things. But this penetration is dark, subtle, hidden, and secret, difficult to discern, and so deep that it is like unfathomable deep water. Thus one can only with effort sketch them for people by means of outward appearance. The seven forms listed below are just such sketches.

Mr. Lin says: This chapter describes how the person of the Dao comprehends the mysterious, subtle, and refined principle; one may say such a person has a profound realization of the Dao. In their mind there is no attachment to the distinctions made by knowledge; inwardly they are empty and clear, without discrimination and without deluded cognition. Therefore their outward appearance and bearing all arise from natural non-deliberation, and so it says that one “with effort describes their appearance.” From “Hesitant—” onward, it describes the appearance and bearing of the person of the Dao, and the writing is extremely apt and precise.

Mr. He says: The person of the Dao cultivates the Dao; it is subtle and difficult to peer into, mysterious and penetrating without stagnation or obstruction—who can fathom them? Since this is not a realm that can be reached by ordinary feeling and cognition, even if one uses names to describe it, one can only do so with effort. Therefore analogies are borrowed to explain it, as written below.

A vernacular paraphrase of the scripture reads: Hesitant—as if crossing a stream in winter: cautious and careful, lingering rather than acting rashly. Alert—as if fearing neighbors on all four sides: constantly watchful and on guard. Solemn—as if a guest: reserved and courteous in bearing. Relaxed and expansive—as if ice about to melt: no longer frozen and obstructed. Simple and honest—as if uncarved wood. Broad and empty—as if a valley: vast and boundless, able to contain the ten thousand things. Undifferentiated and inclusive—as if muddy water: not displaying its own clarity.

(Note: The Daode Zhenjing is the Laozi; this passage is chapter fifteen. The Daode Zhenjing Jiyi is a compilation of commentaries collected by Wei Dayou of the Song dynasty.)

This passage consists of the Wu and He commentaries on Chapter 15 of the Daodejing, portraying the demeanor of the ancients who were skilled in cultivating the Dao (the Way).

The Wu commentary says that “Yu” and “You” were originally both names of animals. Yu belongs to the elephant kind and is said to be skilled at foreseeing danger, so it hesitates uncertainly as it walks; You is a kind of dog that first walks ahead and then immediately turns back. Both display hesitation, and so they are combined in the compound youyu, meaning “hesitation.” It is like a person crossing a river in winter who fears the cold, fears the neighbors on all sides, and fears enemies, and therefore hesitates and does not go forward. One who has the Dao does not dare to take precedence in the world, and his demeanor is likewise like this.

“Yan” means a solemn and serious appearance, and “as if a guest” means being reserved like a guest, following others and not taking the initiative to welcome them. “Huan” means the appearance of ice and snow dispersing, and “as if ice is about to thaw” means being like ice that is about to melt and, once melted, no longer freezes again. “Dun” means sincere and generous, while “Pu” is uncarved wood not yet made into a vessel, a metaphor for plain simplicity. “Kuang” means broad and empty, and “as if a valley” means being humble and receptive like a valley, able to respond to the myriad things. “Hun” means turbid, and “as if turbid” means being like muddy water that embraces dirt and filth, does not proclaim its own purity, and blends beauty and ugliness into a single body.

The He commentary further elaborates: when bridges are completed in the twelfth month, the common people no longer suffer the hardship of wading. The difficulty of wading in winter corresponds to the scholar’s steadiness and restraint, namely “Yu”; not speaking lightly because someone beyond the wall might be eavesdropping corresponds to the caution and thoroughness represented by “You”; when the host does not ask, the guest does not speak first, which corresponds to “Yan” and its not rushing ahead; water freezing into ice and ice melting back into water, with the scholar having no obstruction in relation to the myriad things, corresponds to “Huan.” Sincere and generous like uncarved wood, broad and open like an empty valley that is not full, turbid like muddy water that accommodates dirt and filth—these descriptions all portray the way of the good scholar; their similarities are many and difficult to exhaust in words.

The last two lines of the scripture are: “Who can, amid turbidity, hold to stillness and make it gradually clear? Who can, amid stability, hold fast for long, wait for the moment and then move, making the myriad things gradually grow?”

Master Wu says: This passage takes up the word "muddy" from the preceding text and asks: Who can, amid muddiness, rely on stillness and stability to make it gradually clear? "Muddy" refers to the time of movement; after movement turns into stillness, it gradually becomes clear. It also takes up the word "stillness" and asks: Who can, amid stability, rely on activity to make it gradually grow and emerge? "Stability" is stillness and stability; "emerging" is activity. Presumably it is precisely because there is muddiness that there can be clarity, and precisely because there is stillness that there can be movement. By analogy: an empty thing, though not full, can nevertheless become full; a thick and solid thing, though not yet a vessel, can nevertheless become a vessel; a scattered thing, though not yet gathered, can nevertheless become gathered; a solemn thing, though not yet taking charge, can nevertheless take charge; a hesitant thing, though not rushing ahead, can nevertheless go first.

Master He says: The Dao is not empty talk; it contains both essence (ti, fundamental substance) and function (yong, operation), and it runs through both movement and stillness. "Harmonize its light and merge with its dust": to blend with the world while preserving a calm and pure heart—this is clarity residing within muddiness. "Close the openings and block the gates": although one quietly keeps to rest and cessation, there is a vigorous power of growth and emergence—this is movement arising from stillness. In both places the word "gradually" is used, meaning slowly and naturally, not hurriedly. The meaning of this passage is: stillness can make the muddy gradually clear, and movement can make the stable gradually grow and emerge; movement and stillness are mutually dependent and mutually useful.

Master Lin says: These two lines simply mean that within muddiness there is clarity, and within movement there is stillness.

"One who preserves this Dao does not desire fullness" means that one who holds fast to this Dao does not seek fullness. It is precisely because one does not seek fullness that one can be content with incompleteness and not be anxious to pursue a new completion. Master Wu explains that "completion" (cheng) means completeness.

Wu Shi (the commentator) says: “Cheng” means complete and fulfilled. All things become worn and flawed when used over time; only what is brand-new counts as intact. A flawed thing cannot be filled, while only an intact thing can be filled to fullness. Those who keep to this Dao do not wish to be full; therefore they can remain worn and plain, and do not seek new accomplishments. The seven descriptions in this chapter all refer to this state of being worn and not seeking new completion.

He Shi says: Those who keep to this Dao do not seek fullness, in order to make their minds empty. Laozi says, “The Dao is empty, yet when used it seems never to become full” (the Dao is empty, and when used it seems it will never be full). It is precisely because it is not full that it runs contrary to the world. People all pursue novelty and achievement, while those who guard the Dao are content to preserve the old form and are in no hurry to seek the new or strive for success.

Lin Shi says: “Not desiring fullness” means emptiness; “worn” means old. To guard the old without seeking renewal, even after a thousand years is like a single day. Only one who can do this attains the great accomplishment of the Dao; hence it says one can preserve the worn and not seek the new.

Li Shi says: This passage continues the meaning of “the Dao’s guiding principle” (the fundamental outline for governing and self-cultivation) in the previous chapter, explaining that later learners should preserve sincerity, maintain reverence, always be cautious when alone, not cling to outward appearances, and take embracing and guarding original oneness and concealing themselves in emptiness and stillness as their daily practice. When cultivation reaches the point of cutting off all clinging and distracting thoughts and dissolving all illusions, so that when stirred it is not turbid and when settled it is not clear—this is what is called “subtle, wondrous, and mysteriously penetrating,” that is, the state of being deep and hidden, mysterious and penetrating.

Chapter 16

Attain the utmost emptiness; guard stillness firmly.

Make the mind reach the utmost emptiness, and maintain tranquility with depth and solidity. This is the basic discipline of cultivating the Dao: eliminate distracting thoughts and let the mind be empty and clear; maintain purity and quietude, and persist over the long term, so that the spirit becomes settled.

Master Wu explains: “Zhi” means pushing something to its utmost point. “Xu” means that there are no external things in the mind and that external things do not enter the mind. “Ji” means exhausting its limit. “Shou” means firmly guarding what is within and resisting what is without, as if defending a city. “Jing” means the mind is unmoved and the mind-spirit does not race outward. “Du” means exerting effort without becoming weary.

Master Lü says: Emptying again and again, the mind-spirit then has a place of secure dwelling; stilling again and again, the mind-spirit returns to its proper place. The Liezi (a pre-Qin Daoist classic, traditionally attributed to Lie Yukou) says: “Still, indeed; empty, indeed—the mind-spirit attains a place of secure dwelling.” The Xisheng Jing (a Daoist classic) says: When a person can be empty and wuwei (non-action), it is not that he seeks anything from the Dao; rather, the Dao naturally attaches itself to him.

Master He quotes a question and answer from the Liezi: Someone asks, why is emptiness valued? The answer is that emptiness itself has no nobility or baseness; it is simply that it cannot be precisely defined by names, and no terms are more fitting than “stillness” and “emptiness.” Therefore it says, “Emptiness is the constant state of the Dao.” If emptiness reaches its utmost, human nature will become excessively empty and quiescent; therefore it says, “Stillness is the root of the myriad things.” If stillness reaches the point of solidity, the mind will be forever quiescent and extinguished. When nature is empty and the mind is quiescent, the Dao naturally arises. When emptiness reaches its utmost, it can give rise to spiritual clarity; when stillness reaches its utmost, it can give rise to