《道德真经集义(危大有)》Vol. 3

Fragmentary Passage: Who can attain such a state in their mind? Compassion is why one can be brave; grief is why one can prevail; therein the great Dao is present. If one regards the use of arms as good, takes killing as pleasure, and takes victory as something beautiful, then one does not understand Dao and does not understand heavenly principle.

Chapter 32 Text: Dao eternally has no fixed name. It is plain and genuine, appearing small; no one in the world can make it submit as a subject. If lords and kings can guard it, the myriad things will naturally come to submit.

Lü's Commentary: Dao is hard to put into words. It encompasses all phenomena and can penetrate the most subtle places, so it cannot be described by a single name; one can only use “Pu” (the uncarved, original state) as a metaphor. Pu is the state of being true, pure, single, and unmixed; it is vast and boundless, present everywhere. When it is called “small,” this does not mean small in size. Rather, because it has no direction, form, action, or trace, and is subtle to the utmost, it cannot be touched, conjectured, or imitated, and so “small” is used to describe it. Once vessels in the world have names, they are enslaved by their names; only the Pu of Dao is the root on which the myriad things depend. Heaven and earth cannot encroach on it; sage wisdom cannot interfere with it. How then could the world make it submit?

If lords and kings can guard this Pu, there is nothing in the world that cannot be governed well. Applied to self-cultivation, the lord or king is the precelestial, pure and genuine nature of the “newborn child” within the human body. The “Formless Heavenly Lord” is the Yuan Shen (original spirit)—in Neidan cultivation, the formless true divinity. Guard it and do not let it be lost, and Shen and nature unite as one. Once the Yuan Shen is settled and congealed, all the various Qi in the body will come to pay court and return to the Central Palace. This is what cultivation calls “guarding the One.”

He's Commentary: The two characters “Dao chang” should be punctuated as a unit, like terms such as “heavenly constant” and “true constant”; “chang” means the constant Dao. The Great Dao is formless and nameless; we only reluctantly call it “Dao.” “Namelessness” is precisely Dao's constant nature, and so is “Pu.” Whatever can be named or spoken is not truly constant; it is merely a vessel. Heaven and earth, humans and things all fundamentally take Dao as their root and all emerge from “Taizu” (the most primordial substance), the starting point of vacuity and nonbeing. Pu is Taizu, the beginning of the nameless. It has not yet differentiated into the myriad forms of things and is still contained within the “Great Undifferentiated” (Dahun, the undivided whole of chaos). Pu is hidden and subtle, hard to see, and so it is called “small.” The sage understands the root, holds fast to the constant Dao, “displays plainness and embraces Pu”; his guiding principle is simple and easy to grasp, his affairs are few but his efficacy is great, and inwardly he is wuwei, thereby guarding the supremely correct Dao. Dao is empty yet real, nonbeing yet being. Using it to occupy a weighty position, one can rule the world; using it to abide in stillness and control movement, one can become master of the myriad things, and the myriad things will naturally come to submit.

Li's Commentary: “Dao is constant and nameless” refers to the state of vacuity and naturalness; “Pu, though small” means that it is extremely subtle; “the world dares not make it a subject” means that it is supremely honored; “the myriad things will naturally become its guests” means that there are none among the myriad things that do not obey.

Lin's Commentary: Dao is constant and nameless; what is called “nameable” is not a constant name. The nameless Pu is Dao itself. Though Dao appears extremely small, there is no one in the world who does not revere it—who would dare slight it? Hence it says “none dares make it a subject.” As lords and kings, if they can guard this Dao, the myriad things will naturally submit.

This passage comes from Wei Dayou’s compilation Collected Meanings of the True Scripture of the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), which gathers explanations by commentators such as Master Lü, Master He, and Master Li on Chapter 32 of the Daode jing.

Scriptural passage 1: Heaven and Earth come together and send down sweet dew; no one commands it, yet it naturally equalizes.

The Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth intermingles, and sweet dew descends. No one issues orders, yet the myriad things are naturally even and peaceful.

Master Lü holds that if Heaven and Earth can keep to this Dao, the myriad things will naturally submit and pay allegiance. When Heaven and Earth unite, the myriad things grow; when the human way is in accord, undertakings are accomplished. How much more so when a sage arises: all things can feel his transformation through De, and harmonious Qi silently resonates, reaching upward to Heaven and covering downward over Earth. Sweet dew falls, auspicious grain grows, and all things receive its grace. The sage’s Dao stands alongside Heaven and Earth, and his De accords with spiritual illumination; the common people submit joyfully without waiting for commands. These are all auspicious signs of peace in the world, not something produced by deliberate contrivance. The phrase in the text “Kan and Li intermingle and the two Qi combine” is Neidan (internal alchemy) terminology: Kan is water and Li is fire, referring to the confluence of Yin-Yang Qi within body and mind.

Master He holds that when the sage shares the same De as Heaven and Earth, timely rains descend and sweet springs gush forth, so sweet dew can also be obtained. When the sage is of one heart with the countless people, transformative teaching becomes excellent, customs change accordingly, and the world naturally becomes equal and peaceful without waiting for orders. Sweet dew is an auspicious sign of the true king; in form it is like a numinous liquid, in taste like syrup, and even pines and bamboos can receive it. The sage is plain, pure, tranquil, and free of desires; thus natural resonance is like this.

Master Li holds that Heaven and Earth come together because they only assist those who possess De; the descent of sweet dew is caused by harmonious Qi; and “self-equalizing” means natural peace.

Scriptural passage 2: When order was first established, names arose. Once names have arisen, one should also know to stop. Knowing to stop is how one avoids danger.

When the Dao first divided, names came into being. Once names have arisen, people should know to stop in good time. Knowing to stop is how one avoids falling into danger.

Master Lü’s commentary (fragmentary passage): As for “timeliness,” it is brought about by harmonious Qi. As for “self-equalizing,” it means natural peace. This is a supplementary explanation of the earlier “self-equalizing”: natural peace arises from the resonance of harmonious Qi.

At the outset, there were names. Once names had been established, people should know to stop in good time. Knowing to stop in good time, they will not fall into danger.

Master Lü (Lü Huiqing, a Song-dynasty Daoist scholar) says: Circumstances shift with the years, and the myriad things manifest through events. Raw, uncarved material is worked into vessels, and once vessels appear they are named according to the vessels. Once names and roles are established, hierarchies of noble and base are arranged accordingly, and people may not overstep the order of high and low. If one does not know to stop in good time but only pursues fame and position while losing the plain original nature, abandoning the root and chasing the branches, one turns away from one’s own foundation. One who knows to stop in good time is both wise and penetrating; complete within oneself and not seeking outwardly, how could there be danger?

Master Lin says: The Dao at first had no name; only after the myriad things were born did the name “Dao” exist. What is called “making” is the dispersal of the plain into vessels. Once names appear, then from the One comes the Two, from the Two comes the Three, and transformations become endless. One who understands the Dao should know to stop at this point. Knowing to stop, there will be no danger.

Master He says: From the nameless comes the named; from the primal beginning comes the mother of the myriad things. Whenever the plain is dispersed into vessels, therein is naturally the subtle principle that “the great fashioning does not cut.” Following the streams to trace the source, seeking the origin through the branch tips, one returns to the beginning and unites with it, finally dissolving into the formless, not letting oneself lose the great Dao or drift far from it and forget to return. In this way, as for the understanding of “stopping,” what danger or disgrace could there be? Therefore it is said, “when there are names, one returns to the Dao.” Merit and fame can endure, and one may go through life without fault—this is what is meant; hence it is said, “it cannot be named.” The initial stage of the great Dao can be named, while the remaining threads of the great Dao communicate with the beginning and accord with the Dao of the primal origin; and within those remaining threads, one further aligns with the pivot of Yin-Yang, blending the two into one, so that one can respond to Heaven and Earth.

Master Wu says: “Beginning” refers to the Dao; “fashioning” means making, equivalent to “acting”; “having names” refers to De. The Dao originally has no name; through the Dao’s transformation into De, names then arise. When the Dao transforms from the nameless state into De, the name has already appeared; therefore, when people employ this De, they should know to stop at De and not fall further downward. The meaning of this chapter is: from non-being to being, one should know to stop at De and not continue to fall. After De there are names; if one falls further downward from De, then one departs from the Dao—can this be permitted? Knowing to stop at De means one has not yet departed from the Dao.

Scripture (Chapter 32)

Dao (the Way) is present in the world, just as the streams in the valleys flow into the rivers and seas.

Lü says: Dao—the cosmic source and natural order spoken of by Laozi—is the root honored by all things. The water of streams and valleys divides from its source and flows out, while rivers and seas are where the waters gather. Dao is present in the world: above, it pervades Qingdu Ziwei (the high celestial realm where the Heavenly Emperor resides); below, it mingles with tiles and bricks, tares and weeds. Those who accord with Dao flourish; those who oppose it perish. It is like the great sea: used well, it moistens all things; opposed, it raises giant waves and becomes a disaster. People do not know that the lower Dao is placed, the more honored it becomes; the lower the sea lies, the more water gathers in it. The sage’s De (Virtue/Power) encompasses heaven and earth, and his grace reaches near and far, so none of the people fail to turn to him.

Wu says: The preceding text speaks of all things arising from nonbeing into being; here it speaks of returning from being to nonbeing, ultimately returning to Dao. Dao in the world is like rivers and seas; De is like the water of streams and valleys, which ultimately returns to the rivers and seas.

He says: Dao in the world is like rivers and seas receiving the hundred streams. Rivers and seas do not intentionally seek water; water naturally returns to them. If people can return to uncarved simplicity and true authenticity, and be Wuwei (non-action) and natural, they do not deliberately seek Dao; rather, Dao naturally returns to them. This is spontaneity, not force. In the initial state of empty stillness and wuwei, after the sage has freed himself from the entanglements of names and appearances, his Dao endures through ten thousand generations unchanged. Therefore to call it “True Constancy” is indeed apt.

Lin says: The water of streams and valleys must flow back to rivers and seas before it stops; all things in the world must return to Dao before they come to rest. Therefore it says, “Dao’s presence in the world is like that of streams and valleys to rivers and seas.”

Chapter 33 (Excerpt)

One who knows others is wise; one who knows himself is enlightened. One who overcomes others has strength; one who overcomes himself is truly strong.

Those who know others have wisdom; those who know themselves are truly enlightened. Those who defeat others merely have physical strength; those who defeat themselves are truly powerful.

Lü says: To understand others is merely to seek wisdom outwardly, wishing to control external things and destiny; in the end it is not as good as knowing oneself. To be able to let go of attachment to “knowing” and also let go of attachment to “clarity”—this alone is true self-knowledge and true self-clarity.

Those who devote themselves to the external suppress others by force; those who devote themselves to the internal conquer themselves through cultivating the Dao. As for establishing a dynastic name, seizing great authority, wielding majestic power, governing the world by decrees, and making the feudal lords submit—is this not overcoming others by force? One who can overcome himself honors the Dao and De, practices benevolence and righteousness, restrains private desires and returns to ritual propriety (“restrain the self and return to ritual propriety” comes from the Analects, “Yan Yuan”), and humbly yields and places himself below others; thus people naturally turn to him and submit, so that no one in the world can contend with him. How could this not be strength?

He says: It is human nature to be clear in understanding others but dim in understanding oneself, strong in overcoming others but timid in overcoming oneself. Thus to understand others is merely to distinguish right from wrong, benefit from harm; but to notice one’s own faults in a single moment of thought, so that the light of spiritual clarity constantly appears—this is the great point of “self-clarity.” To overcome others is merely a contest between firmness and softness, courage and timidity; but to overcome evil thoughts in a single moment of thought is the great courage of the world and the great point of “self-strengthening.” Compared with those who attend only to the external and not to the internal, the distance is far indeed.

Wu says: Wisdom that can understand others merely follows external cleverness; to be able to know oneself is inwardly to be able to fully develop one’s nature (jinxing), and so it is called “clarity.” Having the strength to overcome others depends on external force; being able to overcome oneself means inwardly restraining selfish desires, and so it is called “strength.”

The final line of the scripture says: Those who know contentment are rich; those who diligently put forth effort have purpose. Those who do not lose their fundamental home can endure; those whose bodies die but whose Dao and De endure may be called truly long-lived.

Master Lü says: To accomplish the great work of humanity, one must carry on the undertakings of former generations, extend kindness to the myriad people, not lose the position in which one stands, not forget the root, cause one’s achievements to be transmitted far and last long, and make it difficult for later ages to match them. As for self-cultivation, one must guard the true nature and embrace the Way of pure oneness, not be changed by external things, and not depart from it even for a moment. Only then can one enter the realm of the real and constant, unchanging through all ages, and become one with the Dao (the Way). Hence it is said, “One who does not lose their place endures.” The sage’s self-cultivation is likewise: guarding the true and embracing the One, not shifting because of external things, not departing even for a moment. The sage’s Way is transmitted to ten thousand generations and recorded in the classics; later people revere him and take him as their teacher. Though the person has died, his governance and teachings remain as if he were still present.

A person who has the Dao regards life as a temporary lodging and death as returning home. While alive, the mind and its aspirations are complete and luminous, united with the Dao in purity; at death, the mortal frame is shed, and the spirit transforms into an immortal, like a cicada casting off its shell. Though the physical body dies, the true body is not extinguished; its lifespan is as enduring as heaven and earth. Hence it is said, “One who dies yet does not perish is long-lived.”

Master He says: To know oneself and be clear is not enough; it must be the knowing of “knowing contentment.” Even possessing all under heaven, one does not feel it to be excessive; this contentment is the contentment of the Dao and the contentment of the spirit. Only this is called “knowing.” To strengthen oneself and overcome oneself is not enough; it must be the strength of “forcing oneself to practice.” One’s will is sufficient to subdue the myriad things, and one’s conduct is diligent effort and solitary perseverance. Only this is called “strength.” At this point, the two phrases “knowing contentment” and “forcing oneself to practice” continue the words “knowing” and “strength” in the preceding lines, and their meaning becomes clear.

In “enduring by not losing one’s place,” “place” refers to the destination. The Zhouyi says: “Gen means stopping; one stops in one’s place.” It means stopping where one ought to stop. Being able to stop is because, when stopping, one has already attained one’s own place. All things and affairs each have their place; when they attain their place they are secure, and thus can endure; when they lose their place they fall into disorder—how could they endure?

The length of one’s lifespan depends on whether one can preserve the root of one’s own self, not on whether one dies. Death is merely the end of one span of life and is not equivalent to annihilation. The Liezi statement “That which constantly lives without relying on anything is the Dao” means that the Dao depends on nothing and yet endures forever; human beings are born from the Dao, so although the physical form ends, the Dao is not extinguished—this is what is meant by “constant.” Zhuangzi’s words “After a thousand years, weary of the world, one departs and becomes an ascended immortal, rides that white cloud, and reaches the realm of the Heavenly Emperor” speak precisely of this transcendent state: after a thousand years, weary of the dust of the world, one leaves and becomes a superior immortal, rides a white cloud, and arrives at the place where the Heavenly Emperor dwells. The ancients said that “establishing virtue, establishing merit, and establishing words are the three immortalities”; this too refers to those who do not perish.

Mr. Li, a commentator (as are those named below), says: Those who know contentment can be happy and at ease even in poverty; those who always exert themselves without slackening, and who firmly guard their original nature, will not fall into danger; those whose inner mind is clear can transcend life and death. To die but not perish means that the Dao of True Oneness endures forever.

Mr. Wu, a commentator, says: Laozi’s Dao takes dimness and obscurity as clear discernment, and takes softness and weakness as hardness and strength. What does this chapter mean by “clarity” and “strength”? Laozi is not inwardly unclear, yet outwardly he appears dim; he is not inwardly weak, yet outwardly he displays softness and weakness. “Dimness” and “weakness” are methods for handling external affairs; “clarity” and “strength” are the foundation for cultivating the inner self. The two run parallel and do not conflict.

Mr. Dong, a commentator, says: “Place” is like the “place” in the Gen hexagram’s “stopping at its place,” referring to a person’s proper portion and destination. As long as one knows the Dao and can practice it, one can find one’s place and dwell securely. Therefore, though external things are numerous and changing, the mind does not lose what it guards; in whatever circumstance one finds oneself, one can be self-possessed, and thus one can last long. To know oneself and strengthen oneself without losing one’s root—this is the substance of longevity. This is precisely the state that does not change with life and death and stands alone in transcendence; how could it be calculated in years?

Chapter 34: The great Dao flows everywhere and is omnipresent; it can go left and can go right, without partiality or attachment.

Mr. Lü, a commentator, says: The Dao is supremely high with nothing above it, and profoundly deep with nothing below it; its boundaries cannot be measured and its source cannot be traced—perhaps only the Dao is like this. It encompasses the universe,

Master Lü says: The Dao (the Way) is supremely high and exalted; nothing is higher. It is the deepest and lowest; nothing is deeper. Its depth cannot be fathomed, its boundaries cannot be found, and its source cannot be traced—perhaps only the Dao is like this. It encompasses the universe yet makes no distinction between inner and outer; it fills the vast Taixu (the Great Void, the formless sky and space), and in both movement and stillness it never deviates from its own law. Its coming and going and its transformations are endless. It floats and flows without any entanglement or obstruction, roaming among the myriad things; it can proceed to the left or to the right, and its effects are exceedingly vast. When it descends into a person, the primordial Qi of the great Dao (the original Jing and Qi of life) spreads through the hundred bones—that is, the entire skeleton—and every joint of the body; each joint is filled, and it is present everywhere.

Master Chai says: The Dao is the most profound root of all things and is omnipresent. The scripture’s syntax often uses the particle “xi” to connect with other characters, as in “huang xi, qi wei yang zai” and “pa xi, qi wei zhao” and the like. Many chapters throughout the book use “xi” as a connective; this is Laozi’s writing habit.

Master Lin says: “Pan xi, qi ke zuo you” means that the Dao floats and flows, without any ties or attachments.

Master He says: How great is the Dao of the sage! It transforms and nurtures the myriad things, and its height equals heaven. The word “pan” here is like the profound depth of the vast sea, and like a movement that cycles on without end, returning to its beginning. “Zuo zhi zuo zhi” means it is fitting to go left; “you zhi you zhi” means it is fitting to go right. The scripture says, “Hold fast to the Great Image, and all under heaven will come.” This means that when one grasps this great image of the Dao, all under heaven will turn to him, showing that there is nowhere the Dao cannot go.

“The myriad things rely on it for growth and it does not refuse; when achievements are accomplished, it does not claim possession.” This means that the myriad things depend on the Dao for growth, yet the Dao does not decline them; when the work is accomplished, it does not take possession of it as its own.

Master Lü says: The power by which the myriad things grow and transform originally arises simply from naturalness itself. When did the Dao (the Way; the source and operating principle of the universe) ever show off skill or boast of ability? Heaven and Earth are exceedingly vast, yet even they must rely on it to operate. Toward the myriad things, the Dao provides for those that come seeking help and grants to those that have requests. Though Heaven and Earth and the four directions are broad, none lies beyond the Dao’s scope; though the tip of an autumn hair (the fine down that birds and beasts grow in autumn, a metaphor for something extremely minute) is tiny, it too must rely on the Dao to take form—how could the Dao be declining the labor? The Dao stands transcendently independent; it gives life to and nurtures the myriad things without violating their natures, and brings them to completion without claiming them as its own or taking credit and putting on airs. This is precisely to emulate the essential substance of the Dao.

Master He says: The myriad things are all conceived by relying on it, and everywhere they become manifest in accordance with it; the sage dwells in their midst, calm and self-possessed.

Master Lin says: The myriad things are all born of the Dao; when did the Dao ever decline? Once they have been born, when did the Dao ever claim credit or exalt itself?

The second paragraph quotes a passage from the Daodejing and repeats Master Lin’s words. The meaning is: the Dao covers and nurtures the myriad things as clothing does, yet does not set itself up as their ruler; it is constantly without desire or demand, so it may be called “small.” The myriad things return and attach to it, yet it does not regard itself as the master that gives them life; having given birth to the myriad things, it does not claim credit.

The third paragraph is a summary: the Dao has no desires and makes no demands and does not set itself up as ruler, so it can be called “small”; the myriad things return and attach to it while it does not make itself their master, so it can also be called “great.” The names “great” and “small” both arise from its nature of not contending and not claiming a place.

Master Lü (a commentator cited in the Jiyi) says: The Dao lies hidden in the most subtle and recondite depths, yet manifests itself through the myriad transformations. It gives birth to and rears the myriad things, and though it seems to have no clear thread, it covers and nurtures them so that each thing fulfills its own nature. This is like a newborn infant: by day it depends on milk, by night it sleeps in swaddling clothes. The Dao broadly bestows the De (Virtue/Power) of loving nurture, yet does not claim merit for itself. It lets the myriad things grow without acting as their master, allowing them to follow their own nature, and from beginning to end it has no craving. When one observes the Dao’s mystery from within, there is no thing it does not embrace; the myriad things stir and change in profusion, yet no one can glimpse the traces of their return. Such a condition may be called “small,” and so it is said: “The myriad things return to it, yet it does not consider itself their master.” “Constantly without desire, it may be named small”; and again, “The Dao is hidden and nameless.” What is called “nameless” means that the Dao is vast and all-embracing, profound and unfathomable, and has never become any particular thing. Precisely because it is not any one thing, the myriad things return to it without distinction; it transforms all things alike yet does not act as master, and therefore it may also be called “great.”

Master He (a commentator) says: “To clothe and cover” means to cover and moisten. The Daoist classic Zhuangzi says: When the sage encounters things, he does not go against them; when they have passed, he does not cling to them. To respond in accord with things is De; to respond spontaneously as occasion arises is the Dao. If one can refrain from rejecting, possessing, and lording over, then the meaning of “it may be called great” becomes clear. “Constantly without desire” is the state of stillness. The sage is single-minded in Wuwei (non-action) and desirelessness; his mind is originally without attachment. Gathered in, it is no more than a handful; though this plainness seems small, all things come to return to it. Because it does not act as master, all things each find their place; when things spread out, they fill the six directions—how vast! Hence it is said: Heaven and earth have their constancy, the sun and moon their brightness, birds and beasts their flocking, trees and forests their uprightness. To walk in accord with De and advance according to the Dao is already to have arrived. From this we see that the spirit man has no merit to speak of, and the sage has no name to claim. How could there still be a mind that acts as master? Therefore it is said: His achievements cover the world, yet they seem not to come from himself; his transforming influence is bestowed upon the myriad things, yet the people do not feel dependent on it. No one can point to his name; he causes the myriad things to rejoice spontaneously, takes his stand in the unfathomable, and roams in the realm of non-being—this is precisely so.

Master Li (a commentator) says: To cover and nurture the myriad things without acting as master is to forget one’s own source; when the myriad things return and one does not act as master, this is to let them proceed and follow their own nature.

This passage from the Daode Zhenjing Jiyi (Collected Meanings of the Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue) continues the preceding idea that “the sage never regards himself as great” and leads into the beginning of Chapter Thirty-Five.

Vernacular Explanation:

It is precisely because the sage never considers himself great that he can accomplish his great work.

Lin Xiyi (Master Lin) says: It is precisely because one can keep to the small that one can become great. The reason the sage does not claim greatness for himself is precisely that only in this way can he accomplish his work. This is consistent with Laozi’s teaching, “Keep to the feminine and become the stream of the world” — willingly dwelling in a weak, soft, and lowly place, like the valleys and streams of the world.

Master He says: The sage never regards himself as great, and yet “greatness” is thereby accomplished. The substance of Dao is originally without form or name; at first it does not manifest, but in the end its great renown cannot be concealed. This is roughly the principle.

Master Wu says: This chapter begins by discussing the Dao of Heaven and Earth and ends by turning to the sage, because the sage and Heaven and Earth are one body. When the year’s agricultural work is completed and all things return to it, this is the utmost greatness of Dao; yet Heaven and Earth do not claim the merit, and the myriad things do not know who is their master. Although the Dao of Heaven and Earth is vast and great, it does not consider itself great; the sage is likewise, and thus can accomplish his “greatness.”

Master Lü says: Between Heaven and Earth there are four great things, and the ruler is only one of them. The sage takes humility and yielding as his handle, willingly dwelling in a position of diminution and restraint; dwelling in a low position, the multitude look up to him; placing himself beneath others, people honor him. If one can forget the majesty of his high and honored position and discard the demeanor of self-praise and self-importance, then he can accomplish the complete greatness of Dao.

Chapter Thirty-Five

“Hold fast to the Great Image, and all under Heaven will come. Coming without mutual harm, there is peace, tranquility, and security.”

This sentence (the original is the chapter heading and the opening of the main text; only a brief interpretation is offered based on the existing text): Hold fast to the image of the great Dao, and all people under Heaven will return to it. Returning without harming one another, they attain stability and peace.

Commentary by Mr. He

The Great Dao (the Way) has no concrete form. Precisely because it is “without image,” its “image” is the broadest of all. The Dao is so great that it can encompass Heaven and Earth, and so fine that it can penetrate to the tip of a downy hair. Its form cannot be described in words, and so it is called the “Great Image.” What is called “holding” means upholding this Dao and setting forth. If a person can realize the nameless and formless Great Dao and accord with the spontaneous and constant transformations of nature, then in cultivating the self and governing the state, penetrating past and present, such a one will be unobstructed wherever they go. The people of the world turn to them; not only are they unharmed in coming and going, but they can also peacefully follow their original nature and preserve their lives. Their mind is calm, blessings come of themselves, and they remain composed and at ease, with nothing further to do. This is the realm of harmony and communion between Heaven and humanity. The Zhuangzi says: “If one has attained the Dao, one can go anywhere.”

Commentary by Mr. Lin

The “Great Image” is the image of no-image. “The world turns to it” means that when one holds fast to the Great Dao and acts, all under Heaven turn to this. If one acts by the Dao, who in the world can harm one? When nothing in the world can harm one, one is settled, peaceful, and smoothly at ease.

Zhenghe Commentary

(“Zhenghe” was the reign title of Emperor Huizong of the Song; this is a commentary composed at that time.) “An” means without danger; “ping” means without bias; “tai” means great order throughout the world.

The Classic Text

Music and fine food can make passing travelers stop. When the Dao is uttered from the mouth, it is bland and flavorless; looked at, it has no visible form; listened to, it has no audible sound; yet when used, it cannot be exhausted.

The five notes and six pitch standards can satisfy the ear, and the delicacies of the Eight Delicacies and Nine Tripods can satisfy the mouth and belly. Here it speaks of the two aspects of sound and flavor that most stir people. They are merely momentary pleasures of ear and mouth for guests at a banquet, not the foundation by which one can nourish the spirit and prolong life. When the banquet disperses, what remains of such enjoyments? All material desires that can disturb the human heart belong to this category.

The great Dao is not like this. If one cultivates the self with clarity and stillness, sounds and colors cannot lead one into addiction; if one nourishes life with frugality and restraint, flavors are not worth craving. Let the mind and spirit roam in plainness and indifference, and cause Jing and Qi to unite with the realm of empty vastness. Nurture that formless image, and it endures; guard that nature which has no fixed form, and it preserves the true nature. The flavor of Dao is “the flavor of no flavor,” so the more one tastes it, the sweeter it becomes; the light of Dao is “the seeing of nothing visible,” so the more one looks, the clearer it becomes; the sound of Dao is “hearing the soundless,” so the more one listens, the more perceptive one becomes; the function of Dao is “the use of the useless,” so the more one uses it, the vaster it becomes. The workings of Dao are inexhaustible; here “exhausted” means used up. It is not that its function itself is inexhaustible, but that the substance of Dao is inherently incapable of being exhausted.

Master Li says: Music and fine food, sounds and flavors, are all delightful, but if one loses that formless image, how can they last? The Dao that comes from the mouth is without flavor or image, without sound or color. Precisely because it has no fixed form, its application is inexhaustible. Master Lin says: “Music” refers to the music of bells and drums, and “bait” refers to food and drink. One sets up music and prepares food to entertain guests; when the music ends and the food is finished, the guests leave and that is all. “Pass by” means to leave. Although the flavor of Dao is extremely bland, when looked at it cannot be seen, and when listened to it cannot be heard; it is said to be insufficient to delight the ears and eyes. Yet its use from ancient times to the present is never exhausted. This is precisely the meaning of “things have ends, but Dao has no end.” “The Dao comes out of the mouth” means that Dao becomes manifest through words, just as one says “the Dao being put into words.”

If one wishes to contract it, one must first expand it; if one wishes to weaken it, one must first strengthen it; if one wishes to abolish it, one must first cause it to flourish; if one wishes to take it, one must first give it. This is what is called “Weiming” (subtle clarity).

Li says: One who can grasp the “Great Image” (that is, the great Dao, from Laozi, chapter 35) can clearly see the subtle changes in affairs. At the first sign of expansion, one knows that contraction will follow; before a matter has even sprouted, one already perceives its omens. If one were not the most subtle and discerning person under Heaven, who could do this?

Lin says: These eight lines are all metaphors, speaking of how “the place where advantage is gained is precisely the moment when advantage is lost.” Xi means contraction; zhang means expansion. After expansion there must be contraction; after strength there must be weakness; after rising there must be abolition; whenever there is gain there must be loss. To give is to gain; to seize is to lose. People do not understand this principle. They rejoice, thinking they have profited, unaware of the pattern involved. The principle seems obscure but is in fact clear; hence it is called “Weiming.”

He says: The Way of Heaven is not something to rely on as fixed, and principle has no unchanging right and wrong. Qi has contraction and release; circumstances have strength and weakness; fate has rise and fall; the myriad things have giving and taking. All these are manifestations of the fact that things cannot remain forever unchanged. They belong to natural principle and are not done with intention. Laozi says, “A whirlwind does not last the morning; a sudden rainstorm does not last the day.” Even Heaven and Earth cannot endure forever—how much less can humans? From the perspective of Qi, when Yang Qi reaches its extreme, Yin Qi is born; from the perspective of circumstance, when things reach the peak of vigor they decline; from the perspective of fate, extreme prosperity must wane; from the perspective of things, what is prized often becomes cheapened. These are all ways of using human affairs to explain the principle of Heaven; they are merely the natural patterns of fullness and emptiness, waxing and waning. Heaven has no selfish intention, and the sage has no selfish intention either. People of later generations did not understand this and used it as a technique of power and strategy. Thus cunning affairs arose, and a cunning mind was inevitably produced, taking them far from the sage’s Dao. Therefore the great meaning of this chapter cannot be understood in terms of “conscious intention and deliberate action.”

Zhuangzi says: When the eyes are about to go blind, they first can see the autumn hair—a fine down; when the ears are about to go deaf, they first can hear the flight of mosquitoes and gnats; when the body is about to become stiff, it first rushes about; when the mind is about to become confused, it first distinguishes right and wrong. Thus before things arrive, one can already perceive them in advance. Commentators hold that this is a principle that penetrates above and below and operates naturally; the sage stays centered and guards harmony, preserving this capacity throughout life. How subtle and profound this Dao is, and how difficult it is to understand.

Liu says: Expansion necessarily leads to contraction; strength to weakness; rise to abolition; giving to taking. This is the natural principle of things. What is called “Weiming” is subtle and yet plainly visible. Some also explain this chapter through power tactics, but the Way of Heaven benefits the myriad things and does no harm—how could it be so?

Dong says: Waxing and waning, fullness and emptiness, are mutually causal. Although the mechanism within is extremely subtle and hidden, the principle is quite evident. Only one who peacefully abides in clarity and stillness, softness and weakness, will not fall into such cunning.

The soft can overcome the hard; the weak can overcome the strong. Just as fish must not leave the deep pool, the sharp tools of governing a state—referring to stratagems and techniques of power—must not be lightly shown to others.

Mr. Li (a commentator) says: Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) should keep to the formless and imageless Dao, hold fast to ultimate softness, and not contend with external things; naturally they can discern the subtle changes in the principles of affairs. If they use fierce and violent methods and exalt power schemes and clever techniques to overcome external things, this is not the Dao. Fish are creatures of water by nature; if they wanted to leave the shoal and escape the deep pool, could they? Since they cannot, humans too must not exalt power techniques. To exalt power techniques is to go against the constant Dao, just as a fish that leaves the deep pool is certain to die. The saying “the state’s sharp tools must not be shown to people” has the same meaning as “one may take a stand with him, but not yet weigh exigencies with him” in the Analects. When the sage employs expedient adaptation, it runs counter to ordinary norms yet accords with Dao; even this must not be done lightly—how much less by ordinary people? How can one fail to be vigilant?

Mr. He (a commentator) says: In all the world there is nothing softer or weaker than Dao. Dao is soft and weak because it enfolds heaven and earth and runs through the ten thousand things; this precisely shows that softness and weakness can overcome hardness and strength. People are within Dao, and Dao is also within people, just as fish are within water and water within fish. If one departs from Dao, the person dies; if a fish loses water, it perishes. This means fish rely on the deep pool to hide, and people rely on Dao to be nurtured; to rashly separate from it will inevitably fail. “Sharp tools” refers to the expedient arts of opening and closing and adapting to circumstances. Compare Cook Ding (the ox butcher in Zhuangzi) carving an ox: his spirit moved through the intersections of bones, joints, sinews, and flesh; he was skilled at keeping his blade, and after nineteen years the edge was still as if newly sharpened. How could such a technique be lightly shown to others?

The Old Master (Laozi) says: Expedient adaptation is an insight unique to the sage. Zhuangzi once quoted the two lines from this chapter—“fish do not escape from the deep pool”—and then said: The sage is the sharp tool of the world, not something by which to enlighten the world. By wondrously employing it, one can endlessly remedy the vicissitudes of worldly affairs. Is not showing it to others meant to fool the common people? This arises from a profound sense of concern.

Master Lü says: Fish live in water and can preserve themselves only by hiding in the deep pool, where others have no way to harm them. If they leave the deep pool, people can catch them; if they are washed out of the water and lose it, even ants can trap them. The sharp instrument is a metaphor for authority. If the common people have an opportunity to glimpse the state’s strategies, it is like handing the Taie—an ancient famous sword—to someone else; and if the power of the state is wielded rashly, the state will inevitably be in danger.

From the perspective of self-cultivation: fish are in water, and water is also within the fish’s body; people are in Qi (vital energy), and Qi is also within the human body. If a fish leaves water, it dies; if a person loses Qi, they perish. If a fish can draw in its scales, hide among the water plants, and take in and release the water around it, it would not die in the first place; if a person can retreat to a pure and quiet place—a blessed land—and regulate and nourish their Qi through breathing, they would not perish in the first place either. The sharp instrument of the state corresponds to the heavenly mechanism of the Great Dao—the secret of how the Great Dao operates. If it is lightly leaked to others, heavenly retribution will descend at once. The Dadong Tianxian Jing says: To speak it without its having been transmitted by another—that is what is called leaking. The heavenly treasure is exceedingly precious; how can the heavenly mechanism be divulged at will? The Nanhua Jing (that is, the Zhuangzi) says: There is a Gan-Yue sword—a famous sword of the Wu-Yue region—kept stored in a box, not daring to be used lightly; this is the best way to preserve it. This is roughly the meaning.

Heshang Gong says: The sharp instrument refers to the way of expediency and adaptation. The strategies of governing the state cannot be displayed to ministers who handle concrete affairs; the way of self-cultivation cannot be displayed to unsuitable people.

Master Lin says: The deep pool is a metaphor for the Great Dao, and the fish is a metaphor for the human being. A person cannot depart from the Great Dao, just as a fish cannot leave the deep pool.

The meaning of Chapter 37 is this: The Great Dao is forever Wuwei (non-action), and yet nothing is left undone. If lords and kings can hold fast to this, the myriad things will naturally transform, nurture, and grow.

Laozi says, “Constantly without desire, one observes its subtlety; constantly with desire, one observes its boundary.” The “constancy” in “the Dao’s constancy” refers to the constant and unchanging substance. Master He, quoting Zhuangzi, says: although the myriad things are infinitely diverse, the principle within them is not monopolized by any one thing; therefore the Dao is “nameless.” Being nameless, it does not deliberately fabricate, and so it is wuwei (non-action); yet wuwei is precisely what enables nothing to be left undone. The previous chapter prefixed the two-character phrase “the Dao’s constancy” to “nameless,” and the present chapter does the same.

The scripture says that only by constantly abiding in the state of no desire can one observe the subtle essence of the Dao (miao); by constantly abiding in the state of desire, one sees only the Dao’s boundary (jiao, its visible edge). Only through constant non-being can there be wuwei; through constant being, naturally nothing is left undone. The two are in fact the same Dao. Within wuwei there is again wuwei; wuwei yet nothing left undone—this is precisely the fundamental constant condition of the Dao. The phrase “the Dao’s constancy” should be punctuated as a unit; it is the heading that governs the whole chapter. “Wuwei and nothing left undone” are set side by side to explain the function of the Dao.

Zhuangzi says, “When empty, then full; when full, then ordered; when still, then moving; when moving, then attaining.” The wuwei spoken of here is the constant Dao of emptiness, stillness, and naturalness. Would the sage drown himself in blank emptiness and do nothing at all? It is like “dwelling like a corpse” while a dragon appears; “deeply silent” while thunder resounds. When the mind stirs, heaven and earth respond accordingly. The sage is relaxed and acts through wuwei, yet the myriad things are born and transformed through this. Why? Because wuwei yet nothing left undone is the very way of heaven and earth, and the sage takes heaven and earth as his root. Therefore, what can attain its own nature is this true constancy; what can respond to the myriad things is also this true constancy. Movement and stillness have no fixed starting point; substance and function arise from the same source. Wuwei is the constant condition of the Dao, and nothing left undone is also the constant condition of the Dao. The Dao is everywhere. If the feudal lords and kings can guard this Dao, the Dao will flow among the myriad things; there will be no need for deliberate teaching, and the myriad things will naturally transform and nourish.

Master Lin says: This chapter is broadly the same in meaning as the chapter “The Dao’s constancy is nameless.” “Wuwei yet nothing left undone” is a natural outcome. If the feudal lords and kings can guard this Dao of wuwei, they need not deliberately transform the myriad things; the myriad things will naturally transform and complete themselves.

Master Lü says: With respect to the external things corresponding to body and mind, when one responds to them the mind should cling to nothing; concentrating the Shen (spirit) in utmost stability—this is wuwei. If the feudal lords and kings can guard “Niwan and Diyi” (the Niwan and Diyi refer to the divine palace within the body and the one Qi that are guarded in inner cultivation), holding to them without loss, then Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and bodily fluids will transform into refined essence; refined essence will transform into marrow; marrow will again transform into Jing; Jing will transform into the “Primordial Pearl” (the pearl of primordial Qi condensed when Neidan, internal alchemy, first takes form); and the Primordial Pearl will ultimately transform into the “Golden Elixir” (the completed internal elixir). Is this not precisely the “transformation” within the transformation of the myriad things?

Interpretation of the Scripture Text

In the process of the evolution of all things, if a desire begins to stir, I use “the nameless uncarved simplicity” (wuming zhi pu)—referring to the original, unhewn state that has not yet differentiated and cannot be named, namely the root of Dao (the Way)—to suppress it. When desire is suppressed by the nameless uncarved simplicity, desire naturally no longer moves recklessly; when the mind returns to quietude, the world naturally tends toward rectitude. Is this not precisely the fundamental principle of the transformation of all things?

Master He’s Interpretation

Although transformation is a matter of the upper acting and the lower responding, the moment when desire is about to arise is the most critical, and the sage is especially cautious about it. The sage complies with transformation and enables the common people to each attain what is fitting: he does not stir before the proper time, nor does he withdraw after it. Even so, the sage does not take it as his own merit. “Suppressing it” means pressing the mind of human carving back into simplicity, so that the original nature naturally stands alone. Within the unobstructed flow of stimulus and response, there is a state of silent unmovingness; this is what is called “the nameless uncarved simplicity.” At the beginning, Dao cannot be described or named; the sage does not even give rise to desire—how much less those vessels that have already lost their simplicity and acquired specific names? Dao itself is without mind—how much less things that are not Dao? In this way, the sage’s mind becomes quiet. Once one mind is settled, the myriad things submit; how could the world not be rectified?

Master Wu’s Interpretation

“Desire” means having the mind to act; “arise” means to stir. Those who have not yet fully accord with the Dao of Wuwei (non-action) should wait for things to transform on their own, yet suddenly have the intention to hasten them; once desire arises, it is no longer the Dao of Wuwei. “Suppress” means to press down and settle it so that it does not arise. “The nameless uncarved simplicity” is precisely the Dao of Wuwei. When desire is about to arise, one must use this nameless uncarved simplicity to press down intentional desire—that is, to use Dao to regulate oneself. Since desire has been suppressed by the nameless uncarved simplicity, desire no longer covets. “Quietude” is returning to the original beginning; once desire has been suppressed by Dao, the one who desired no longer seeks, and the one who stirred returns to quiet. Therefore, although there is no intentional rectifying of the world, the world naturally becomes rectified.

Master Lü’s Interpretation

As for the individual, when a thought stirs, it is called “feeling”; when feeling stirs, ten thousand transformations arise accordingly. Once a thought has already become exposed, one must immediately reflect inwardly, eliminate the stirred mind, and return to pure, undyed simplicity. Only by using simplicity to suppress it can one make the original nature unified. Dao is originally formless; “simplicity” is merely borrowed to explain it. The sage further worried that people would linger over external traces and cling to “simplicity,” applying it recklessly, and he was concerned that its harmful effects could not be remedied. Therefore he said: to make the minds of the many actual things in the world settle, nothing is as good as emptiness and quietude; to respond to the world’s multifarious changes, nothing in the mind is as good as quietude and stability. Only by blocking desire to empty one’s nature and cutting off external learning to empty one’s mind. Using this method to cultivate the person, there is nowhere one cannot attain something; using this method to cultivate the original nature, there is nowhere one does not penetrate. In this way, the world becomes peacefully rectified and settled.

Master Li’s Interpretation

Heaven and Earth are Wuwei, and the myriad things naturally arise; the sage is Wuwei, and the myriad people are secure and peaceful. From the perspective of cultivation, in times of quietness one preserves and nurtures that formless body; even if there is only a movement as slight as a hair, one must first detect it. Once detected, one suppresses it with the nameless uncarved simplicity. Simplicity is originally without form and is also called “nameless”; it means emptiness and stillness.

Title and Explanatory Notes

Daode Zhenjing Jiyi (Collected Interpretations of the True Scripture of the Dao and De) was compiled by Wei Dayou of Xujiang, in the present-day Fuzhou area of Jiangxi. It gathers earlier commentaries on the Daodejing. “Pu” originally refers to uncarved wood; in Daoism it metaphorically denotes the original state of the Dao. Here it is said that “pu” originally has no form and may also be called “the nameless,” meaning that it is empty and without anything, and cannot be indicated by names or attributes.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The highest De does not deliberately display its own De, and so it is true De. Lower De clings to the reputation of not losing De, and thereby loses true De.

The highest De follows nature, engages in no artificial construction, and has no deliberate intention to act. Lower De acts, and still harbors the thought of seeking to gain something.

The highest ren is a benevolent action that acts, but does not seek return. The highest yi is a right principle that acts, yet the mind has something it aims at. The highest li is an elaborate and meticulous ritual norm; if others do not respond, one rolls up one’s sleeves and forcibly imposes it.

This passage comes from Master He’s commentary on the chapter “Highest De is not De” in the Daode Zhenjing (Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue), citing a formulation from the Zhuangzi.

The ancients lived in primordial undifferentiated obscurity (hunmang), plain and tranquil together with the myriad things. Even if people possessed wisdom, they had no occasion to use it. This state is called “Ultimate Oneness” (attaining purity and undividedness); people did not act deliberately, and everything followed spontaneity. Later, De gradually declined. Only in the eras of Tang Yao and Yu Shun did various measures for governing the world first appear. These measures pared away the original simplicity, departed from the great Dao to pursue so-called “goodness,” and violated true De by acting willfully. Thus people abandoned their original nature and followed their mental impulses. Once mental impulses arose, consciousness and discriminating views arose; but these alone were not enough to settle the world, so ornamentation was added and erudition increased. Ornamentation overwhelmed the essential, erudition disturbed the spirit, and the common people became deluded and disordered, no longer able to return to their original nature and feelings or recover their initial state. The main purport of this chapter lies entirely here.

The phrase “Highest De is not De” means that the highest De does not regard itself as De; hence it is undifferentiated and plain, wholly without traces. When the one who “does not lose De” is shown to be without De, it means that intentional actors will fail and those who cling will lose the great Dao. Highest De is wuwei (non-action) and has no doing-for; this is “Ultimate Oneness” and spontaneity. Lower De acts and has ulterior aims; this is what the Daodejing calls “beginning to act for the world,” namely, beginning to take the governance of the world as one’s task. Highest benevolence acts but has no ulterior aims; the perfectly benevolent person has no partiality and is not yet far from De. Highest righteousness acts and has ulterior aims; judging affairs by righteousness, it is one grade lower than the highest benevolence. If one measures Dao and De by benevolence and righteousness, that is what is called “departing from the Dao to pursue goodness, and imperiling De in order to act.”

The expressions “not De” and “no doing-for”—that is, “acting without doing-for”—both refer to acting without a calculating mind and without acting for anything; this is called “Heaven” (nature/spontaneity). The expressions “not losing De” and “having doing-for” both refer to acting with a calculating mind and with purposeful action; this is called “human” (human artifice).

The highest level of rites, when practiced, meets with no response; thus one descends a level and uses the ceremonial forms of rites to make up for it. But this is already a thinning of faithfulness and sincerity; adding extensive cleverness to compensate makes it an ornate superficiality that turns away from the Dao (the Way) and grows ever more distant from the original beginning of nature. What is called the “highest rites” is ritual propriety at its most flourishing. The more generously the performer of rites treats others, the more generous the return ought to be; if the return fails to match what was given, contention arises from this. “Rolling up the sleeves” (rangbi) is the appearance of pushing up one’s sleeves and extending one’s arms, and it refers to those who corrupt the rites. “Reng” means to pull or drag; the character written with the person radical is incorrect.

Master Lin says: “To act, yet none responds” means forcing the people; when the people do not comply, one then “rolls up the sleeves and drags them”—that is, pulling and dragging them by force—describing the coercion of the people by main force. Master Li says: The preceding chapter speaks of “constant Wuwei (non-action),” and so this chapter follows with “the highest De (Virtue/Power) does not [display] De.” The highest De is Wuwei, and therefore accords with the Dao; the lower De is action, and therefore does not accord with the Dao. Benevolence and righteousness are still close to De and may serve as steps for entering the Dao; rites are purely human fabrication. To use rites to make all things uniform instead makes the uneven still more uneven, because action in the end has failure. Returning from benevolence to De, and from De to Dao, one goes directly to Wuwei. Qin Huaihai says: Dao and De are the general framework of benevolence, righteousness, and rites; take Dao as the root and benevolence and righteousness as function.

Therefore, only after losing the Dao is there De; only after losing De is there benevolence; only after losing benevolence is there righteousness; only after losing righteousness is there rites. Rites are the thinning of faithfulness and sincerity and the beginning of disorder; “foreknowledge”—that is, preconceived views and self-opinionated so-called foreknowledge—is the ornate superficiality of the Dao and the starting point of folly.

Master He says that “the head of disorder and the beginning of folly” is an extreme statement of the extent to which the abuses of ritual and wisdom reach. Zhuangzi enumerates one by one the five levels below “when Dao is lost, then De comes,” and also says: “Now if people take this as the art of Dao and wish to return to the root, is it not very difficult? Perhaps the one who can do it easily is only the great man.” Even so, it may also be said: what is hidden and subtle but must be done is affairs; what is deep and far but must be guarded is rightness; what is near and intimate but must be extended is benevolence; what is measured and regulated but must be accumulated is ritual; what is centered but must be honored is De; what is unified yet cannot but change is Dao. Although these have an order of higher and lower, earlier and later, the sage uses them all together; then which of them is not Dao? Formerly a certain Tongxuanzi—referring to the author of the Tongxuan Zhenjing, that is, the Wenzi—said: “Dao is the root that makes the myriad things subtle and wonderful; that which integrates Heaven and Earth is called De. Those who attain the highest level of Dao are [called] Dao; those who attain the middle level are benevolence and rightness; those who attain the lower level are ritual and wisdom. If one is shallow and loses it, one does not count as human.” This statement is the most concise and to the point.

Master Lü says: Dao is the substance of De, and De is the function of Dao. Benevolence and rightness issue from the inner heart and deserve to be esteemed. As for ritual, it is even farther from original nature; outwardly splendid but inwardly deficient, it labors only over tedious ceremonial minutiae and does not seek the root, so loyalty and trust daily grow thin. Although ritual is practiced in daily life, outwardly brilliant, inwardly it is utterly empty. Follow it and the world is well governed; oppose it and the world is in great disorder—there is no gap even of a hair between them. Is this not the beginning of calamity and disorder? Therefore it is said: the Three August Ones had Dao but did not know it would transform into the De of the Five Emperors; the Five Emperors had De but did not know De would transform into the benevolence and rightness of the Three Kings; the Three Kings had benevolence and rightness but did not know they would transform into the wars of Qin and Han. This is what is meant. People of the world take wisdom to be forced cleverness and devote themselves to flashy, superficial affairs; though they consider themselves insightful, they do not know that extreme folly begins precisely here. Therefore it is said: “Foreknowledge is the ornament of Dao and the beginning of folly.”

Master Wu says: loyalty and trust are the thickness of De; as they gradually become thin, the first decline produces benevolence, the second produces rightness, the third produces ritual, and the thick De of loyalty and trust fades. Ritual was originally meant to give people order and prevent confusion, yet for this very reason it produces confusion; thus it is called “the head of disorder.” “Foreknowledge” means knowing beforehand and refers to wisdom. Dao may be compared to the fruit of a tree: before it is born, the vital impulse is stored within it, and the embryo has not yet emerged; after it is born, De is its root, benevolence its trunk, rightness its branches, ritual its leaves, and wisdom its flower. Root, trunk, branches, leaves, and flower all arise from Dao. Wisdom was intended to make people wise and not foolish, but instead it opens the way to folly; hence it is called “the beginning of folly.”

Master Li says: “Foreknowledge” is precisely wisdom-knowledge. Wisdom-knowledge is the beginning of departure from Dao; therefore it is called the “flower” of Dao, and one who possesses Dao does not dwell in it.

This passage is an annotation on Chapter 38 of the Dao De Jing (Classic of the Way and Its Virtue/Power), on the line “Therefore the great man dwells in thickness and not in thinness, abides in substance and not in ornament; thus he discards that and takes this.” Its main thrust is to abandon the superficial, the thin, and empty ostentation, and to return to the root of honest thickness and plain substance.

General Meaning of the Passage: The great man who possesses De (Virtue/Power)—meaning a person of noble character who can realize the Dao (the Way)—dwells securely in what is thick and genuine and does not remain in what is thin and shallow; he establishes himself in the plain root and does not indulge in ornate exterior display. Therefore he discards the former and chooses the latter.

Commentary of Mr. He: “Dwelling in thickness and not in thinness” means extending the fundamental emphasis on loyalty and trustworthiness to ritual propriety, so as to settle disputes arising from ritual. “Dwelling in substance and not in ornament” means using true wisdom to realize the Dao, so as to remedy the harms brought by cunning. Hence it says: “Those who value embellishment corrupt the real; those who adorn the exterior injure the inner.” “Discarding that and taking this” is the path of abandoning the shallow and returning to simplicity.

Another Commentary (Mr. Wu): Continuing the preceding, “dwelling in thickness and not in thinness” means valuing De and not exalting ritual propriety; “dwelling in substance and not in ornament” means realizing the Dao and not employing cunning. “That” refers to thinness and ornament; “this” refers to thickness and substance. This commentary further proposes that this chapter discusses six levels in turn: Dao, De, benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom. Dao is nameless; De is named. From De it descends to benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom, and with each descent it becomes more declined and thin. Thus the order is: Dao first, De second, benevolence third, righteousness fourth, ritual propriety fifth, and wisdom sixth.

Yet Another Commentary (Mr. Lü): The sage sees the presence of the Dao at a glance, and so exalts its honest thickness, discards its shallowness, rests in sincerity, and removes ornate adornment. By discarding the superficial, ostentatious branches of ritual and taking up the fundamental substance of the Dao, the world can be at peace. This is like a person who cultivates life returning to unadorned simplicity and dwelling securely in the thick and substantial; walking without a path to follow and roaming without traces to seek, he stays far from the thin and superficial; coming and going without a gate yet in accord with the Dao, he dwells in the real. He withdraws his spirit, stops the pursuit of sights and sounds, and removes empty ostentation. If one discards thinness and ornament and takes up thickness and original truth, what is there that cannot be done?

On the sentence “How does one recognize the beginning of losing the Dao?”: This means recognizing that the ostentation of ritual propriety and wisdom is precisely the beginning of losing the Dao; hence it says, “This is the flower of the Dao; one who has the Dao does not dwell in it”: these are merely surface ornaments of the Dao, and those who have the Dao will not linger in them.

From ancient times, those who obtained the One: Heaven obtained the One and thereby became clear and bright; Earth obtained the One and thereby became tranquil and stable; the spirits (referring to the divine powers that govern the workings of all things) obtained the One and thereby became efficacious; the valleys obtained the One and thereby became full; the myriad things obtained the One and thereby grew; lords and kings (referring to rulers who govern the world) obtained the One and thereby became the standard for the world. All this is because their minds were single-minded and undivided.

The following passage discusses methods of cultivation: gather in the spirit and focus it inward; stop pursuing sights and sounds outwardly and cease the demands of the ears and eyes; cast off flashy outward adornment, abandon what is frivolous and shallow, and take up what is sincere, solid, and plain. If one does this, what could fail to work?

Master He, citing the Zhuangzi, says: At the beginning of the cosmos there was first “Taichu” (the Grand Beginning, the inception of cosmic genesis), and afterward “non-being” and “non-non-being.” What is called “having no name” means that in the nameless state the “One” had already been conceived. The “One” is the starting point from which the myriad things arise; at this point the One already exists, but form does not yet exist. The Jing (scripture) opens with “those of old who obtained the One,” meaning that the One has existed since ancient times. Here it says “obtained the One” rather than “obtained the Dao (the Way)” in order to highlight the nobility of the Dao: the Dao is unique and without anything set over against it. The Liezi says, “That which does not generate appears alone”; the “alone” in this is precisely the meaning of the One. Hence it speaks of “appearing alone”; this Dao is endless and inexhaustible.

Master Lin says: The One is the Dao. Heaven becomes clear and bright through obtaining the One, and therefore can display the images of sun, moon, and stars; Earth becomes stable and tranquil through obtaining the One, and therefore can carry the myriad things; Shen (spirit) becomes empty and numinous through obtaining the One; valleys become hollow and empty through obtaining the One, and only then can they receive and contain fullness. The myriad things are able to live because they obtain this Dao; lords and kings are able to keep their proper position and stabilize the ten thousand states likewise because they obtain this Dao. When the Jing says “it brings them about,” this means that the effects of clarity, tranquility, spirituality, fullness, life, and steadfastness are all obtained by relying on this Dao.

Master Lü says: “Those of old who obtained the One” refers to the fact that in remote antiquity Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the source before the undifferentiated chaotic state) had already differentiated. The reason Heaven, Earth, valleys, Shen, the myriad things, and lords and kings could be clear, tranquil, numinous, alive, full, and steadfast was none other than that they obtained the wondrous function of the “one Qi (vital energy).” The one Qi has no match; it penetrates the whole world. It is the child of the great Dao and the mother of divine luminosity, the root before Hunyuan (chaotic primordial Qi) and the first ancestor of the ten thousand transformations. Above and below, it is not fixed in place, yet from antiquity to the present it remains ever the same. Therefore the sage takes his model from his own body: Heaven is the image of the roundness of the human head; if one obtains this one Qi, then the hair is black, the eyes are clear and bright, the ears and eyes are acute, and all manner of spiritual faculties are fresh and clear. Earth is the true earth of the Yellow Court in the human body, referring to the central earth palace in the Dantian (energy center) area of the body; obtaining this one Qi, it can carry and transform the myriad things, generating all manner of flourishing, stable and unmoving. When Shen obtains this one Qi, it can absorb the six Qi—the vital energies of yin, yang, wind, rain, darkness, and brightness between heaven and earth—congeal them into the embryonic immortal within the Neidan (internal alchemy), and then transform and become numinous.

When the Valley Spirit attains this “One,” the body becomes full and replete: the brain and marrow are replenished, and at the center of the body a purple true primordial Qi is generated. Here “the myriad things” refers to the human body, including the six viscera and five organs, the nine openings, and all the bones. When it attains the “One,” the fluids of the whole body—the seven fluids, meaning the various bodily fluids—flow freely and smoothly, the five organs become firm, and they are moistened by harmonious Qi; thus vitality can be maintained for a long time.

“Lords and kings” refers to the ruler within the human body, namely the Primordial Spirit, the heart sovereign (the Shen within the heart). When it attains the “One,” it can immediately ascend to the station of a sage, and the physical form naturally becomes upright. There is no other reason for all this; it is entirely brought about by the “One Qi” (pure unified Qi).

Master Wu says: “The One” is the De of vacuous emptiness—that is, the “embracing the One” mentioned in the previous chapter and the “Dao produces the One” mentioned in later chapters both refer to it. Zhuangzi calls it “Taiyi” (the Great One), and sometimes simply “the One”; it is the manifestation of the Dao of spontaneity. Its function is to be empty without overflowing, to remain behind and not strive to be first, to be soft and not rigid. Previous chapters have discussed this many times, and this chapter reveals all of its profound mystery. “Attaining” means attaining this “One” as one’s own De; “thereby” means that only by having it can one be so. Therefore Heaven is clear because of it, Earth is peaceful because of it, Shen is numinous because of it, valleys are full because of it, the myriad things endlessly generate because of it, and lords and kings can stand above the world because of it—all because they have attained the One.

The following passage is from Chapter 39 of the Daodejing. It means: If Heaven did not have this “One” and thereby remain clear, it would likely crack; if Earth did not have it and thereby remain stable, it would likely shake and overturn; if Shen did not have it and thereby remain numinous, it would likely fade away; if valleys did not have it and thereby remain full, they would likely dry up; if the myriad things did not have it and thereby grow, they would likely perish; if lords and kings could not hold fast to the right Way and thereby remain honored and exalted, they would likely stumble and fall.

When Heaven obtains “the One”—that is, the pure, undifferentiated, and unmixed original substance of Dao (the Way)—it can be clear and bright. If it loses the One, day will grow dim and night, by contrast, bright, and its clarity will fracture. When Earth obtains the One, it can be stable and secure. If it loses the One, mountains will collapse, rivers will dry up, and its stability will disperse outward. When Shen (spirit)—referring to unfathomable numinous responsiveness—obtains the One, it can manifest its numinous efficacy. If it loses the One, it will no longer be efficacious and will ultimately disappear. When valleys obtain the One, they can be full. If they lose the One, the valleys will dry up. When the myriad things obtain the One, they can grow and transform. If they lose the One, their vitality cannot take root and they move toward decline and destruction.

Rulers, feudal lords, and others who stand above ministers and subjects—if they can obtain the One and single-mindedly hold to it, they can become models for all under Heaven, that is, zhen (the standard of uprightness and rectitude). If they cannot do so, the higher their position, the greater the danger; if their De (Virtue/Power) scatters into two or three, it will invite peril and ruin—how could this not serve as a warning?

Master Lü’s commentary says: Heaven is a De formed by the accumulation of yang Qi (yang vital energy) and symbolizes the ruler. If heaven is not clear and bright, Yin-Yang will fall into disorder, and the bonds and standards of order will slacken and break; the One’s unifying and governing function will cease to operate, and the signs of heaven and earth splitting open will appear. Earth is a De formed by accumulated yin Qi and symbolizes the minister and subject. If earth is not peaceful and secure, hardness and softness will curl, twist, and break; mountains and rivers will collapse; the One’s sustaining and guarding function will fail, and the image of dispersal will become evident. The unfathomable Shen is that whose Yin-Yang transformations cannot be conjectured. If it cannot manifest its numinous efficacy, blessings and misfortunes will lose their order, anomalies will proliferate, and omens of good and ill fortune will arise in profusion; when the One no longer dwells and keeps guard, the time of extinction will have arrived. Valleys contain the myriad things through emptiness; if they cannot be full, they will lose their moistening power and give rise to the affliction of collapse; if the One cannot fill them, the calamity of drying up will appear.

Among all things with form, if they lose their vitality, they wither and become rigid; once the original Qi (vital energy) is entirely dispersed, the time of their destruction arrives. The ruler governs the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—and presides over the myriad things. If he cannot rectify himself through the Dao (the Way) of purity and stillness, but merely pursues nobility and high rank, the hundred officials will not fulfill their duties, the people of the four seas will not submit, and the calamity of overthrow and ruin will follow.

In the human body, the place of utmost Yang, radiant and illustrious, is above. From the Tianzhu bone to the Yujing Pass (referring to the inner-vision aperture at the crown of the head, namely the Niwan Palace), all belongs to “Heaven.” If this place is not pure and clean, the brain marrow will diminish, the teeth will fall out, the eyes will grow dim, and the bodily form will decay and split apart.

If the “Earth” belonging to the spleen and stomach (called “Zhentu” [True Earth] in cultivation) is not peaceful and settled, the True Earth will dry up, the Yellow Sprout (a Neidan [internal alchemy] term for the essence transformed from prenatal true Qi) cannot grow, and the Numinous Fluid (saliva in the mouth) will also leak away.

If the mind-spirit is not numinous and clear, the Infant (referring to the primordial spirit in Neidan cultivation, also called the “Red Child”) will become weary and haggard, the fetal immortal (the divine fetus formed through Neidan) will disperse, the Seven Fluids (the various fluids of the human body) will no longer circulate, and in time they will be exhausted.

If Jing (essence) and Qi cannot be generated and nourished, the joints will lose their nourishment, the viscera will become weak and debilitated, and ultimately return to quiescent extinction.

If princes and kings rely on their own nobility, the Danyuan (the root of Neidan) will not be upright; the true origin of original nature will lose its normal condition, the mind’s intentions will become skewed, and they will likely stumble and fall.

Master Lin’s commentary: “Lie” means splitting apart; “fa” means being agitated and unsettled; “xie” means dying away and losing its numinous dynamism; “jie” means being exhausted. When empty, it can contain; when not empty, it is full and cannot receive anything more. “Jue” means stumbling and falling; to occupy a noble position without these foundations is to be overthrown thereby.

Therefore, the noble takes the lowly as its root, and the high takes the low as its foundation. That is why princes and kings call themselves “the orphaned,” “the widowed,” and “the unworthy.” Is this not precisely an expression of taking the lowly as one’s root?

Noble and base, high and low, are originally interdependent: without the lowly, nobility cannot be spoken of; without the low, there is no high. The low and the base are precisely the foundation of the noble and the exalted. When lords and kings call themselves “the orphan,” “the solitary one,” or “the unworthy one,” these are all self-humbling expressions, used to show an attitude of emptiness and lack of self-satisfaction. The two characters fei hu (“is it not so?”) form a rhetorical question, meaning “If I say this, is it not correct?” This too is a subtle point in the text.

Mr. Wu (an earlier commentator) holds that the first six lines of this chapter are parallel statements, and that the latter part speaks specifically of lords and kings. Lords and kings occupy a noble and exalted position, and therefore should all the more conduct themselves with the virtue of emptiness and humility, not being self-satisfied, and willingly dwelling in a low position. “Orphan” is like a child who has lost his father; “solitary” is like a widow who has lost her husband; “unworthy” means not good. All are inauspicious designations that people naturally do not wish to have. That lords and kings use these terms to refer to themselves is precisely to place themselves in a lowly and humble position. The original text first says “the low is the foundation, the base is the root,” and later says only “the base is the root.” This names one and at the same time encompasses both; it is an ellipsis in composition.

Mr. Li holds that fei hu simply means “is it not so?”

Mr. He holds that nobility takes the lowly and base as its root, and the exalted takes the low as its foundation. Therefore when lords and kings call themselves orphan, solitary, helpless, and without virtue, this is precisely a return to the root, so that they do not lose the Dao. The Yijing says: “Constancy in one virtue; humility to regulate ritual propriety.” Constantly guarding the one virtue is the firm foundation of De; humility and yielding are the handle of De. This is what the Daoists call the “Dao of the Female One” (taking softness and weakness as function and maintaining single-minded focus), that is, guarding simplicity while yet being able to apply it broadly.

The final sentence, “Therefore, to bring about many carriages is to have no carriage; one does not wish to be lustrous like jade, nor solitary and hard like stone,” means: to pursue an excessive number of carriages is, on the contrary, to be equal to having no carriage at all. Do not be like fine jade, dazzling and contended for by others, nor like stubborn stone, aloof and hard with exposed edges. True cultivation lies in not displaying or revealing oneself, in being soft and compliant and keeping to the low.

Mr. Lin says: “Counting the cart, there is no cart” is written in some editions as “Counting praise, there is no praise”; the character “praise” there is a mistaken writing. These two lines were originally a metaphor. If the character “praise” is used, then the following phrase “like jade, like stone” no longer connects coherently with the preceding text.

Mr. Li says: Count the individual parts of a cart, and none of them can be called a “cart”; count the parts of one’s own body, and no part can be called “I.” Only when the hub and spokes of a wheel are fitted together is it called a “cart”; only when earth, water, fire, and wind—the four elements, that is, the “Four Great Elements,” the basic constituents of the human body—come together is it called “I.” “Not wishing to be like jade or like stone” means forgetting both noble and base, and guarding only the root, the One.

Mr. He says: If, like counting a cart, one splits things apart according to differences of name and number; or, like jade and stone, clings to distinctions of noble and base, then one departs from the One and the fundamental Dao (the Way). Zhuangzi says: “The myriad things are equal and one—who is short, who is long? To look at things from the perspective of Dao, what is noble, what is base?” This is what that means. Therefore this chapter uses a metaphor at the end to warn people.

Mr. Chai says: Wheels, spokes, and other parts are all insignificant components of a cart, but without them the cart cannot take form. Count all the parts one by one, and none can be called a “cart”; hence “counting the cart, there is no cart.” Jade comes forth from stone; one should not therefore prize jade and disdain stone, for the longer something endures, the more it should not forget its source.

Chapter Forty: “Reversal is the movement of Dao; weakness is the function of Dao.” Things turning toward their opposites is the way Dao moves; yielding weakness is how Dao functions.

Laozi says: “Returning is the movement of the Dao; weakness is the function of the Dao.”

Master Lin says: “‘Return’ means to revert, that is, to return to stillness and stability. Stillness is the root of movement, as the Yijing (Classic of Changes) says the Gen trigram enables the ten thousand things to have a beginning and an end. Only by preserving weakness can one truly be strong; to insist on forcing strength will lead to breaking. Therefore movement must take stillness as its root, and strength must take weakness as its function.”

Master Wu says: The utmost of the Dao is stillness; when the ten thousand things return to the Dao, movement then arises. The Dao is originally nonbeing; when the ten thousand things return to the Dao, being then arises. Voidness and indistinctness are the root of the ten thousand things and the common source of all things. It operates between exit and entry and changes amid movement and stillness; these are the essence and function of the Dao. To exhaust the true nature of things, one must guard their root; to grasp the transformations of things, one must guard their cardinal principle. Thus things are born through movement; if one does not follow their changes, one can know that what goes out must have an entry; if one does not follow their migrations, one can know that movement must return to stillness. By observing the arising of things, one sees that they must return; by observing the movement of things, one sees that they must become still; in this way the original mind of Heaven and Earth can be seen.

In spring and summer, the ten thousand things flourish and grow, all issuing outward—is this not a return to movement? In autumn and winter, the ten thousand things strip away ornament and form fruit, each gathering inward and returning to the dwelling of its original nature, compliant and without disorder—is this not the function of weakness?

Using the human body as an analogy: one who wishes to cultivate long life must recognize the root of life; one who wishes to attain deathlessness must understand the mechanism of exit and entry. This is called “returning and reverting,” and also called “movement and stillness.” “Returning” is returning to one’s true origin; “movement” is arousing one’s heavenly mechanism. Beginning from the first arising of one yang (the Fu hexagram of the Zhouyi, referring to the initial generation of yang qi), one circulates the vital juncture within stillness and stability, causing the Qi mechanism to cycle and flow, obtaining the meaning of the “seven returns” (qifan, the return process in Neidan cultivation), and guarding the three Dantian (the three vital cultivation centers in the body), so that the hundred vessels of the whole body become unobstructed. Without movement, one cannot return to life-destiny; thus it is said, “Returning is the movement of the Dao.”

The Dao is formless and soundless. If it did not use softness to overcome hardness, it could not subdue the hard; if it did not use weakness to overcome strength, it could not subdue the strong. Therefore one should single-mindedly guard the feminine and stillness, like an infant’s softness. Of all things under Heaven, none is softer or weaker than water; above water is Qi, and above Qi is the Dao. The weak and soft nature possessed by Dao, Qi, Shen, and water can penetrate metal and stone, wear down the hard and sharp, and enter everywhere. Therefore it is said, “Weakness is the function of the Dao.”

Master Li says: “‘Returning is the movement of the Dao’ means that as soon as Shen goes out, it must be gathered back; ‘weakness is the function of the Dao’ means to concentrate one’s Qi and attain softness.”

All things under Heaven arise from “being” (you), and “being” arises from “non-being” (wu).

Mr. Lin says: Only after heaven and earth exist do the myriad things exist; therefore it is said that the myriad things arise from “being.” But who gives birth to heaven and earth? The beginning of heaven and earth arises from the Great Void (Taixu), the vast and formless emptiness—this is arising from “non-being.” This passage reasons from the changes of movement and stillness, strength and weakness, in order to explain the origin of being and non-being.

Mr. Lü says: In the things of the world, being and non-being generate each other, alternately emerging and withdrawing without end. Without “being,” “non-being” cannot be manifest; without “non-being,” “being” cannot be produced. The myriad things are born within heaven and earth and live by means of “being”; heaven and earth take form within the Great Void and become “being” by means of “non-being.” What is born returns to the unborn; what has form returns to the formless. Being and non-being generate each other like a cycle, and the principle of their coming and going is profoundly important. The sage penetrates this principle: when observing water, he does not look at its forward flow but at its returning flow; when observing trees, he does not look at their blossoms but at where the fallen blossoms go. In this way, although the myriad things are infinitely varied, a single glance reveals that the Dao is within them.

Heaven and earth are the parents of the myriad things, and human beings are the most spiritually refined among them. What one possesses is bodily form; what one lacks is spirit. The womb conceives and nurtures it into form—this is “being” arising from “non-being”; the hundred kinds of spiritual nature arise in the body—this is “non-being” arising from “being.” Therefore true “being” is not “being,” and true “non-being” is not “non-being.” One who penetrates this meaning naturally accords with true being and true non-being.

Mr. He says: “The myriad things under Heaven arise from being, and being arises from non-being” means tracing them back to their original beginning. Only after heaven and earth exist do the myriad things exist; heaven and earth are the beginning of the myriad things. What existed before heaven and earth was a single undifferentiated whole, and this undifferentiated whole is in turn the beginning of heaven and earth. Non-being gives birth to being; the formless gives birth to form. What is born returns to the unborn; what has form returns to the formless. The Dao spreads from non-being into being and ultimately returns from being to non-being. If the uncarved simplicity of the Dao is in the end dispersed among vessels and things, those who drift with the current and forget to return will inevitably lose their original truth amid strength and vigor, becoming ever farther from the Dao.

Mr. Li says: The myriad things under Heaven arise from “being”; “being” is the mother of the myriad things and can give names to them. “Being” arises from “non-being”; “non-being” is the beginning of heaven and earth.

The highest type of person hears of the great Dao (the Way: the fundamental order and source of all things) and diligently puts it into practice. The middling type hears it and is half-believing, half-doubting, as if they have grasped it and as if they have lost it. The lowest type hears it and laughs out loud. But precisely because they laugh, it is clear that this Dao cannot be understood by ordinary views.

Master Lin (an earlier scholar who annotated this chapter) said: “Diligently putting it into practice” means that after hearing it one believes deeply and without doubt; “as if present, as if lost” means that one both believes and doubts, sometimes thinking it exists and sometimes thinking it does not. The most vulgar and lowly merely laugh it off. Only when the lowest type laughs at it does the loftiness of the Dao we seek become evident. Han Yu, a Tang dynasty man of letters, said when discussing literature: “When others laugh, one takes it as a cause for joy—how much more so when it is the Dao that is being discussed?”

Master He said: The Dao is spontaneous and natural. Those who can practice it gain something; those who can speak of it can explain it. To hear it and then diligently practice it is the mark of the highest type. The middling type seek the Dao neither broadly nor single-mindedly; sometimes they feel it exists, sometimes they feel it does not; their minds now hold it and now forget it. Among ten thousand people, scarcely one truly achieves anything. As for shallow worldly people, even if they appear humble, it is merely weakness; they laugh at emptiness and dismiss it as absurd. The ridicule of such people is not enough to make the world take heed, nor to display the grandeur of this Dao, for those who truly understand the Dao have always been rare.

Master Lü said: People of the highest type have a pure and substantial nature and comprehend subtle principles. Upon hearing it, they immediately understand, believe without doubt, resolve to practice, and fear only that they will not reach the goal; hence it is said, “diligently put it into practice.” People of the middle type have a middling nature and can advance or retreat. They like it at first and then grow weary; they are diligent at first and later slack. After hearing the great Dao, they hesitate and doubt, unable to decide whether to accept or reject: they want to advance but cannot exert themselves fully; they want to retreat but are reluctant. Hence it is said, “as if present, as if lost.” People of the lowest type have a turbid nature and do not comprehend the ultimate principle. When they hear the great Dao, they regard it as remote and absurd; not only do they not believe it, they laugh loudly and criticize it. Yet if it were not laughed at by the lowest type, how could it deserve to be called the Dao of purity and stillness?

Interpretation of the Scripture

When the ancients set forth their words, they had sayings such as these: the truly clear Dao (the Way) appears obscure; the Dao that advances appears to retreat; the level great Dao appears rugged; the highest De (Virtue/Power) appears like a valley; the purest white appears soiled; expansive De appears insufficient; firmly established De appears remiss; simple and true nature appears changing; the greatest square has no corners; the greatest vessel is completed late; the greatest sound cannot be heard; the greatest image has no fixed form.

Master Lin (one of the commentators) explains that “jian yan” means establishing words; these sayings have existed since ancient times and were not invented by the author. “Ming Dao ruo mei” means that by not displaying oneself, one instead sees clearly; “jin Dao ruo tui” means that knowing how to yield is true advance. “Yi Dao” is the great Dao; the great Dao makes no distinctions, just as the Daoists speak of “harmonizing the light and merging with the dust” (heguang tongchen), that is, withdrawing one’s brilliance and blending with the world. “Tou” means acting quietly and yet without display. “Zhi zhen ruo yu” means that the fundamental nature is pure and unchanging, yet appears to change; this also means being content and not self-satisfied. “Dafang” refers to the Great Void, boundless and limitless, so that no corner or edge can be seen. “Daqi wancheng” is like casting a great cauldron—how could it be completed quickly? “Dayin xisheng” refers to the greatest sounds between heaven and earth, such as wind and thunder, but they do not occur constantly. “Daxiang” is heaven and earth; the forms of heaven and earth are vast, and no one can see them all.

Master He holds that these sayings all describe the forms of the great Dao. One who is greatly awakened appears unawakened; the greatly brave appears to have no courage; the Dao of equality appears without distinction; solid De appears empty; the pure appears turbid. De is established between heaven and earth, yet it appears like one who merely gets by from day to day, without revealing itself. Its substance is as firm as metal and stone, yet it appears perpetually changing. “The greatest square has no corners” refers to having no gate or chamber; “the greatest vessel is completed late” refers to not being carved or polished; “the greatest sound is soundless” refers to having no tones of pitch pipes; “the greatest image has no form” refers to departing from shape, color, and name. Undifferentiated and empty, it cannot be described in words; one may call it broad and subtle. These are all extreme descriptions of the great Dao: it is vast and excludes nothing, profound and unfathomable.

Master Lü holds that faults should be exposed outwardly (Yang), while merits should be hidden inwardly (Yin). Too much outward exposure makes them easy to dissipate; merits hidden within can be preserved. What popular custom calls “hidden virtue” (yinde) is not seeking to be known by others, complying with the naturalness of things, acting without display even when one does act, and withdrawing to hide in deep secrecy. Therefore it says, “Jian De ruo yu”: one who establishes De appears to be changing, but in reality retreats and keeps inward.

The great Dao is hidden and subtle, formless and nameless, and cannot be precisely designated in words. Precisely for this reason, the Dao is able to give freely and skillfully.

Master He says: Emptiness and nonbeing give rise to naturalness; naturalness gives rise to the Dao (the Way); the Dao gives rise to the One; the One gives rise to Heaven and Earth; Heaven and Earth give rise to the myriad things. All myriad things embrace the “One” and take form, receiving the transformative nurturing of subtle Qi (vital energy). All people and things turn their backs on cold and move toward warmth, turn away from darkness and toward light, and turn away from evil and toward good; this is the meaning of “carrying Yin on the back and embracing Yang.” To embrace Yang is to embrace the One; it is the transformative nurturing of the Qi produced by the Dao. Humans, together with Heaven and Earth, are collectively called the “Three,” and among the myriad things they are the most spiritually refined. Therefore Heaven endows them with Shen (spirit), Earth with Jing (essence), and the Qi of harmony and balance with their Qi. People should cherish and nourish Qi, guard and preserve Jing, and care for Shen, standing alongside Heaven and Earth, thereby maintaining the Qi of harmony and balance, taking humility and freedom from self-satisfaction as essential. The Book of Documents says: “Self-satisfaction invites harm; humility receives benefit—this is the constant principle of the Dao of Heaven.”

Master Lin says: “One” is Taiji (Supreme Ultimate); “two” is Heaven and Earth; “three” is the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity). All of these arise from nonbeing; the Dao is the beginning of the myriad things and the principle of naturalness. Only after the Three Powers are established can the myriad things be generated. In the generation of the myriad things, all carry Yin Qi on their backs and embrace Yang Qi; the principle of empty harmony operates within them, and thus they are able to be harmonious.

Master Lü says: The Dao produces one Qi; one Qi produces Heaven and Earth; Heaven and Earth produce the myriad things. What is called “the Dao produces the One” refers to the time before Taiji has divided, when there is a mass of chaotic primal Qi. “The One produces the Two” refers to when clear Qi and turbid Qi have already separated, and Heaven and Earth each occupy their places. This is the meaning of the Yijing’s statement “In Change there is Taiji, which produces the two modes.” Yang Qi manifests in Heaven, Yin Qi congeals in Earth; the two blend to form harmonious Qi, and only then do human relations take form. “One Yin and one Yang—this is called the Dao”; what is meant by “carrying on the back and embracing” cannot be departed from for even a moment. If it could be departed from, it would not be the Dao. Those who cultivate and nourish life regard the moon as the mother of all Yin and the sun as the father of all Yang; therefore, in the way of carrying and embracing, they must constantly absorb heavenly light and savor harmonious Qi. In this way, within the human body the Qi of emptiness and fullness generates and supports one another, the light of sun and moon intertwines and joins, the various spirits are at peace, and one enters and exits within natural transformation, able to ascend to the Jade Clarity (Yuqing) paradise.

Master Dong says: In all animals, the back is located behind and belongs to Yin and stillness; the mouth, nose, ears, and eyes are located in front and belong to Yang and movement. Therefore it is said, “carry Yin on the back and embrace Yang.” In the case of plants, they turn their backs to cold and face warmth. The harmonious Qi operates within them. Taken together, Shen belongs to Yang and substance belongs to Yin; when Shen operates within, this is called “embracing”; when substance manifests outwardly, this is called “carrying on the back.” As for Qi, movement belongs to Yang and stillness to Yin; supported by the Qi of central harmony, it fills the physical form and is the pivot on which Shen relies.

The appellations people detest most are “the orphaned,” “the widowed,” and “the unworthy” (humble self-designations of princes and dukes, meaning meager in virtue and scanty in talent), yet princes and dukes use them for themselves. This shows that things sometimes benefit through diminishment and sometimes suffer through increase.

The commentator He says: When princes and dukes call themselves “the orphaned,” “the widowed,” and “the unworthy,” they borrow phrases meaning that no one assists them and that no goodness can be claimed for them, thereby lowering their position and humbling themselves. These three appellations are what people most detest, yet they are also words by which people carry out transformative teaching. Those whose position is too high easily fall; those who recklessly display their prowess easily perish—this is the ordinary principle. But within diminishment there is increase, and within increase there is diminishment; this again is the transformation of things. Therefore the sage, as the sovereign of the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity), holds fast to empty harmony (chong means empty and harmonious), harmonizes the Qi of Yin-Yang, prefers to dwell in the place people detest, and prefers to accept diminishment from external things. Who can guarantee that one who dwells below will not be honored, or that one who stays behind will not be pushed to the front? What is detested is not necessarily not excellent; what is diminished is not necessarily not increased. The Laozi says, “The Dao (the Way) is empty; when used, it is never filled.” Fullness is precisely the opposite of empty harmony. The Zhouyi says, “One who possesses greatness must not be full; therefore it is followed by Modesty.” Modesty and fullness are exact opposites.

The commentator Lin says: Among what people detest, nothing is greater than “the orphaned,” “the widowed,” and “the unworthy,” yet princes and dukes use them for themselves. This too is a metaphor for the person of the Dao humbling and lowering himself. Heaven, Earth, and Humanity all arise from non-being into being; the ten thousand things take Yin-Yang as their essential nature, and what causes them to be generated is always the empty, harmonious, and free-flowing Qi. Those who study the Dao should realize this and value the capacity to be empty and to practice Wuwei (non-action). Among things under Heaven, if one wishes to diminish them, one may instead increase them; if one wishes to increase them, one may instead diminish them. The principle of decrease and increase cannot be rigidly bound to ordinary rules. For example, after the moon is full it must turn to waning: this is increase leading instead to decrease. After the moon wanes it must become full again: this is decrease leading instead to increase.

What others teach, I also teach: the overbearing and violent (qiangliang) do not meet a good end. I will take this as the foundation of teaching.

Master He, citing the Jinbei Ming, says: “Those who are overbearing and violent do not meet a good end.” He also says: “Those who love to win will surely meet their match.” This shows that the ancients used these principles to teach the world, and I do not set up any new doctrine but teach according to them. These principles are called the “father of teaching” (the root of edification) because their essential meaning is concise and easy to grasp. The root of edification is the source of Dao (the Way). The growth of all things between Heaven and Earth follows the same Dao and takes chong—empty without being full, humble and yielding—as its root.

Master Li says: The edification people practice is nothing other than to lead people toward goodness; I too teach people in this way.

Master Wu says: This passage speaks about applying the principle of softness and weakness. Liang means strength. Wood laid across water to make a bridge, and wood that supports the roof ridge, are both called liang; the term is taken from their strength and firmness. “Not obtaining one’s death” means not obtaining a good end. Confucius (the Master) said that Zilu, being bold, brave, and fond of victory, would not obtain a good death; later Zilu indeed died in the internal disorder of the household of Kong Kui, a grandee of Wei. The fu in “father of teaching” means noble, occupying a superior position, and unsurpassable. What people are taught is to handle matters with softness and weakness; I also teach people by this principle. One who is overbearing and does not know softness and weakness will surely be unable to preserve himself. To prevail over others by overbearing force brings a temporary advantage but exchanges it for the loss of a good end; this is what is called “benefiting it yet harming it.” This is the first essential of teaching people, and so it is called the “father of teaching.”

Master Ni says: When Laozi speaks of Dao, he often uses “mother” as a metaphor; here he specifically calls it “father” because “mother” is chiefly concerned with nurturing and “father” with teaching. One who acts as a teacher must be grave and dignified like a father; only then is it appropriate.

Chapter 43: The softest and weakest thing under Heaven can gallop through the hardest thing under Heaven. Formless Qi (vital energy) can enter where there is no gap. Thus I know that the benefit of Wuwei (non-action) is great.

Master Lin says: Hard things are easily broken, while soft things instead endure. When the softest moves among the hardest, it is like water penetrating stone. “Wujian” means having no crack and no opening; “Wuyou” means formless. For example, where Yingqi and Weiqi (nutritive and defensive Qi) circulate in the human body, one may say there is no interval, yet the Qi channels use precisely this to flow. Into a gap that has no gap, even the light of the sun and moon can shine—these all illustrate the principle of the formless entering the gapless.

Master He says: In the world nothing is softer than Qi, and within Qi nothing is softer than Dao (the Way). The reason Dao is soft and weak is that it wraps heaven and earth and penetrates the ten thousand things. Laozi (the founder of Daoism) once explained this principle to Guan Yin (traditionally the keeper of Hangu Pass, for whom Laozi wrote his book as he journeyed west); from this one can know that the softness of Dao and Qi is precisely for this reason. The Qi between heaven and earth, even when hard as metal and stone, has nothing it cannot penetrate; Dao is likewise: it begins subtle and simple, but in the end is broad and firm. Therefore the utmost soft is not weakness, and the utmost hard is not strength—just as drops on Mount Tai can pierce stone, and the rope at the well can wear through the wooden frame, these belong to the same principle.

“Galloping” is what the Zhuangzi (a Daoist classic) means by “riding heaven and earth and galloping through the ten thousand things.” One who can hold fast to Dao and harness things with form traces back from the utmost hard to the utmost soft, and from the utmost soft to original Qi. The Liezi (a Daoist classic) says: form unites with mind, mind unites with Qi, Qi unites with Shen (spirit), and Shen unites with non-being. From this it is clear that even within the most minute interval, Dao has reached its utmost. Only then can one understand the benefit of Wuwei (non-action): with Wuwei, Shen and Qi return to unity; without movement, breath becomes still and vanishes; one returns to the root and enters the realm of no-gap, which can only be silently realized.

Master Lü says: In the world nothing is softer than water, yet water still has not escaped having form. If there is something that seems formless yet can enter into things that have form, that is Qi.

The nature of Qi (vital energy) is soft and weak, but when it is cultivated to the utmost and becomes supremely great and supremely firm, no one can withstand it. When hardness is used to resist hardness, if it does not break it will shatter; when softness is used to resist hardness, the soft side is not worn away, and the hard side is not injured. What can attain this supreme softness is the Qi of the Dao (the Way). That it can move freely through the hardest things means that Qi can penetrate the passes and apertures and thread through the joints. Hence it is said: “The softest thing under Heaven can gallop through the hardest thing under Heaven.”

When Qi that has form enters things that have form, even if it meets resistance it is not harmed; when formless Qi enters things that have form, the formless does not exert effort, and the formed does not perceive it. Only the Qi of Great Brahma (Da Fan Qi—the primordial Qi spoken of in Daoism, the undifferentiated original Qi of the cosmos before differentiation) has no fixed form; therefore it can enfold Heaven and Earth without leaving anything outside, and can also penetrate finely into the tip of an autumn hair without leaving any inner gap. When the sage realizes this Qi, he brings De (Virtue/Power) to completion.

One who understands the great Dao and is unobstructed can pass freely wherever he goes; therefore, when he governs the four seas, he manifests a wondrous civilizing transformation. This is a metaphor for the Zhiren (the Ultimate Person, one of the highest cultivation) attaining the root of Qi, cultivating the harmonized Qi (Taihe, the primordial Qi in which Yin-Yang is harmonized), and causing Shen (spirit) to dwell within the body, entering and exiting freely, so profound as to be unfathomable. Hence it is said: “The formless enters where there is no gap.”

The one who practices Wuwei (non-action) dwells before Xiangdi (the noumenon above Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, more primordial than the emperor) and abides within Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the undifferentiated ultimate noumenon of the cosmos). The wondrous function of the Dao is lodged precisely in this state. The sage models it: he does not establish verbal teachings, does not engage in empty talk and argument; he goes forth with an empty heart and returns full, and there is nothing unsuitable—how could this be merely a small benefit?

When the Ultimate Person is without action and without affairs, his body is not wearied; forgetting self and forgetting others, his Jing (essence) and Qi are not depleted. He does not deliberately pursue the Dao; rather, the Dao naturally attaches to him. Hence it is said: “Thus I know that Wuwei is beneficial.”

The teaching without words and the benefit of Wuwei—few in the world can achieve them.

Master Lin (Lin Xiyi of the Southern Song) holds that the first two lines are both metaphors. From this it can be seen that “wuwei (non-action) and yet nothing left undone” is the ultimate principle. Teaching without speech, one naturally practices wuwei in one’s own conduct, and the effect is accomplished naturally; all these are subtle workings of the Dao (the Way). Yet people in the world find it hard to grasp, and so it is said, “Few in the world can attain it.” “Beneficial” means having efficacy or utility.

Master He holds: What is “teaching without words”? Heaven and Earth possess great beauty but do not speak; the four seasons have clear laws of movement but do not debate; the myriad things each have their own principles but do not explain. If one resonates with all things through a heart of utmost sincerity, why should I use words? What is the “benefit of wuwei”? It is like traveling by boat on water routes, using a sled on mountain paths, opening fields on high ground, and digging ponds in low places: following the principle of the simple and easy to nurture and transform the myriad things, why should I act? All this is because one concentrates the Qi (vital energy), brings it to softness and compliance, attains extreme emptiness and stillness, and transforms through the Dao. Thus few people in the world can attain it. Without speaking, one inspires trust; without seeking, one obtains. Preserving one’s true nature and embracing the mind of the Dao, the people of the world naturally return and follow—who then could possibly attain it?

Chapter Forty-Four

The three questions at the opening directly address the relative weight of fame, profit, and life: Which is more intimate, fame or one’s own person? Which is more precious, one’s own person or goods and wealth? Which is more harmful, gain or loss? Laozi uses this to remind people to see clearly what to choose and what to discard, to cherish their own persons, and not to be burdened by fame, profit, goods, and wealth.

Master Lin says: Reputation and wealth are external to the body and bring no benefit to oneself. Therefore, whether one gains or loses them, they are not worth worrying or becoming ill over. Yet people who do not understand the Dao (the Way) often make themselves suffer on their account.

Master He says: Zhuangzi related that Boyi (son of the lord of Guzhu at the end of the Shang dynasty, who starved to death at the foot of Shouyang Mountain in order to uphold his reputation for integrity) died for fame, while Robber Zhi (a legendary great robber) died for profit on Dongling Mountain. The reasons for their deaths differed, but the harm to their remaining life and original nature was the same. Men of fierce integrity die for fame, and greedy men die for profit; even in death they do not regret it, never realizing that their own persons are more precious than the whole world—how much less should they die for fame or profit?

Those who understand the Dao do not even regard their own persons as their own possession, let alone fine reputation and abundant profit, which are merely external to the body. If those who do not understand the Dao compare reputation with their own persons: reputation may be illustrious, but the body is what originally exists; the higher the reputation, the more endangered the body—is reputation not then farther removed from one than the body? If they compare goods with their own persons: goods were originally meant to nourish the body, but too much wealth instead harms the body—are goods not then even less worthy of mention than the body? Therefore Laozi says: “To live for fame is to kill oneself; to increase goods is to consume one’s spirit.”

Before gain or loss has yet occurred, the mind is like still water without waves; after loss has occurred, worries arise for no reason, painful as if one were being burned. How can this compare with having originally no such pursuits, with being free of affairs and disturbance? Who can, after a loss, still console and relieve themselves?

Master Lü says: To put the body first and reputation afterward, to value oneself and make light of goods—this is still not forgetting the self. One who can forget the self does not cling even to the self, let alone to fame and goods. Fame is originally without substance, and substance is originally without name. Those who are prominent toil day and night, pondering good and evil, gain and loss, and their bodies are thereby damaged; the wealthy labor bodily, competing to pursue reputation and accumulate goods without ever using them up, and their bodies are thereby enslaved by external things. The sage, taking the person as the root of the world, values his own person; were he not self-forgetful, he could not do this. The sage wants all under heaven to know that reputation is not worth drawing close to and goods are not worth seeking in abundance. Thus Boyi starved to death at the foot of Shouyang Mountain because he died for fame; Robber Zhi died on Dongling Mountain because he died for profit. In the two cases, when it comes to the person and goods, which counted for more and which for less? To die for fame, the world will surely call one a gentleman; to die for profit, the world will surely condemn one as a petty person. To rejoice on gaining and grieve on losing, to be greedy for gain and forgetful of loss, to see profit and forget righteousness—this is like using the Marquis of Sui’s pearl (a legendary treasure) to shoot at a bird a thousand ren high: even if the bird is brought down, the pearl is already lost. This is a heavy loss for a light gain; is it not lamentable?

Generally, those whose minds are set on obtaining but who cannot obtain regard loss as a disease; once they obtain, they then worry about losing it, and that affliction is even worse than loss. Only by equalizing being and nonbeing, and by viewing gain and loss equally, is one truly free of affliction.

This passage says: To be excessively attached to fame inevitably consumes a great deal of mental and spiritual energy; to hoard too much wealth and goods ultimately brings severe loss. Therefore, those who know contentment will not bring humiliation upon themselves, and those who know when to stop will not fall into danger; only in this way can one attain lasting peace and security.

Master Lin holds that once people become attached to something, they must expend mental effort in pursuing it; the deeper their love for it, the greater the expenditure. If they greedily hoard, then once they lose it, the loss will be severe; if they do not hoard, there is nothing to lose, and if they hoard little, the loss is small. Thus “much hoarding” is precisely the cause of “heavy loss.”

Master He interprets “love” as the pursuit of a fine reputation. Reputation is an adjunct of actuality (“the name is the guest of the substance,” that is, the name is the guest of the substance); the greater the reputation, the more mental and spiritual effort is spent on it. He interprets “storing” as hoarding rare goods (precious and rare things), and “profit” as a medium that incites disorder; the richer the profit, the more one loses.

Master Wu, by contrast, compares the self with reputation and goods: however great one’s reputation, it is not as important as one’s own person. If one excessively loves reputation and does not love one’s person, then instead, by consuming mental and spiritual energy, one damages one’s lifespan; hence “great expenditure.” However much wealth and goods one has, they are not as precious as one’s own person. If one greedily accumulates goods in excess and does not value one’s life, then instead one loses one’s life; hence “heavy loss.”

The final line concludes: knowing contentment prevents humiliation, and knowing when to stop prevents falling into peril; only thus can one endure.

This passage first quotes several commentators’ explanations of the line from Chapter 44, “Those who know contentment are not disgraced; those who know when to stop are not endangered,” and then continues with the original text of Chapter 45.

Commentators’ Explanations (Masters Lin, He, Lü, Wu, and Li were scholars who annotated the Daodejing through the ages)

One who knows contentment will not invite disgrace; one who knows when to stop will not fall into danger. Only thus can one endure long. Master Lin holds that these three statements contain a teaching whose benefit is inexhaustible through all ages. Master He says: when one knows contentment, one can withdraw early once fame and gain have been obtained—how could disgrace arise? When one knows when to stop, one seeks not the slightest fame or gain that ought not be obtained, and so one can retire—how could danger arise? Master Lü says: when the mind is inwardly satisfied, it does not seek outwardly, and therefore there is no disgrace; when thoughts come to rest, all conditions become still, and therefore there is no peril. Only thus can one endure long. Master Wu says: one who understands that one’s own lot has a fixed measure will be content and not greedy, and will not lose virtue and incur disgrace by overstepping bounds; one who understands that external things bring no benefit will stop pursuing them, and will not thereby shorten life or lose one’s life. Master Li points out that fame and gain, success and loss, are all products of deliberate contrivance and in the end cannot last; only knowing contentment and knowing when to stop can endure.

Original Text of Chapter 45

The most complete seems deficient, yet its use never decays; the most full seems empty, yet its use is never exhausted. The straightest seems bent, the most skillful seems clumsy, and the most eloquent seems inarticulate. With these paradoxical formulations, Laozi shows that the great Dao does not cling to outward traces, and therefore its use is inexhaustible.

What is truly accomplished and excellent appears as though deficient, yet its effect does not decay. What is truly full appears as though empty, yet its effect is inexhaustible. The previous chapter’s statement, “What is low becomes full; what is worn out becomes new,” expresses the same principle. The most upright appears bent. The sayings “The bent becomes straight” (being bent or yielding can in fact straighten) and “The crooked is preserved whole” (bending can in fact preserve) convey this meaning. The highest skill appears clumsy, because it never boasts of itself. The highest eloquence appears halting, because it does not rely on words to win.

Mr. Li holds: Since the previous chapter speaks of “knowing contentment prevents disgrace,” it is followed by “great accomplishment seems incomplete.” Only one whose De (Virtue/Power) is abundant but who displays insufficiency can attain long life; only one whose wealth is abundant but who displays insufficiency will not be regarded as base. “Great accomplishment seems incomplete,” “great fullness seems empty,” and even “seems bent, seems clumsy, seems halting” are all expressions of abundant Virtue with insufficient outward display; therefore their effect is inexhaustible.

Mr. Wu holds: If one takes accomplishment only as accomplishment, fullness only as fullness, uprightness only as uprightness, skill only as skill, and eloquence only as eloquence, one’s scope is too narrow. Only by appearing somewhat deficient is it more than mere success; only by appearing empty is it more than mere fullness; only by appearing bent is it more than mere uprightness; only by appearing clumsy is it more than mere skill; only by appearing halting is it more than mere eloquence. This is the highest realm among accomplishment, fullness, uprightness, skill, and eloquence.

The final sentence of the Laozi, “Agitation overcomes cold, stillness overcomes heat; purity and stillness are the standard for the world”: movement can overcome cold, and quietness can overcome heat. Only purity, stillness, and stability can become the standard for the world.

Master Lin holds that excessive agitation will inevitably turn to cold, and excessive quietude will inevitably turn to dry heat. Agitation and quietude, in the final analysis, are the principle of the two qi of Yin-Yang: whenever the qi of Yin-Yang is one-sidedly stagnant at either extreme, illness arises. Only the clarity and quietude of Dao—not clinging to being, nor clinging to nonbeing, neither moving nor still—can serve as the correct way for the world.

Master He further says that Dao takes clarity and quietude as its correctness, and only clarity and quietude is the most vast. Excessive agitation turning to cold is yang at its extreme giving rise to yin; excessive quietude turning to heat is yin at its extreme giving rise to yang—both are one-sided dominance carried to its limit. When heaven and earth are clear, tranquil, and stable, this is the most correct Dao for the world, without one-sided dominance and without extremes; therefore it can be both vast and enduring. The Jing says, “If a person can constantly preserve clarity and quietude, heaven and earth will all return to him”—this is precisely the meaning.

The two lines of Chapter 46 mean that when the world has Dao, warhorses are sent back to the fields and used for plowing and fertilizing (“fen” here is a verb, meaning to fertilize fields with horse manure); when the world lacks Dao, warhorses breed continuously outside the city outskirts, and warfare never ceases.

When rulers possess the Dao (the Way) and the world is at peace, the people flourish and multiply, the four seas are settled, and warfare ceases. Most people devote themselves to the fundamental work of farming; household after household vies to cultivate mulberry and hemp and to fertilize and tend the fields. At such a time, even fine horses have no use. If this is not called having the Dao, what else could it be called?

When the times decline and the world is closed off, all affairs are stalled and calamities and anomalies occur frequently. The strong bully the weak; each sets its own borders and struggles without cease, and warfare arises from this. Warhorses gallop back and forth and gather on the battlefield. The Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang is thereby blocked, and the myriad things thereby suffer premature death and obstruction. If this is not called lacking the Dao, what else could it be called?

A single body is just like a world. In the Nanhua Jing (i.e., the Zhuangzi), “wild horses” and “dust” use the horse as a metaphor for Qi. Yang Ziyun (i.e., Yang Xiong) says: “Qi is the horse that can distinguish good and evil.” Qi is Dao, and Dao is Qi (vital energy, the primordial Qi). From the one Qi all things are generated: when Qi comes, all things are soft and live; when Qi departs, all things are hard and die. “Que” means to turn back, and “zou” means to move. To circulate the Jing (essence) and Qi within the body, causing them to flow upward against the current, to replenish the blood and Qi in the brain and nourish the root of the body—hence it is said, “When the world has the Dao, one turns back the galloping horse to fertilize the fields.” When the world lacks the Dao, people forget the root and chase external things; the mind and Shen (spirit) become restless, and the Qi runs wild: above, there is the Chonglou (referring to the head), and the Qi pours outward in a vast flood; below, there is the Jingui (Golden Tortoise, referring to the lower jiao and the orifice of reproduction), and the Qi leaks out continuously. All day long the mind and Shen contend with external things, and the Six Thieves (the greed born of the six roots—eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind; that is, the six harmful thoughts that injure one’s nature) breed in the suburbs and borderlands.

The commentary of Master He states: when the world has a ruler who possesses the Dao, he does not flaunt military force before the world but takes farming and the valuing of the five grains as fundamental. Therefore he turns back swift horses and uses them only to fertilize the fields, not abandoning what is within himself to seek outward. The transmitted commentary says: “Fenchu means to sweep and repair the old dwellings handed down from one’s forebears; both fen and chu carry the sense of cleaning and repairing.” In an age without the Dao, warhorses are born in the suburbs; fine steeds, strong and powerful, gallop across the broad plains. Jiao originally refers to places where horses are raised; those who hinder agriculture are to be guarded against.

In the edition annotated by Wu Cheng (Master Wu), beneath the word fen there is the word che (cart), that is, “turn back the galloping horse to a dung cart.” This means: in an age with the Dao, the states do not invade one another, so swift fine horses are no longer used to draw war chariots; instead they are turned back and put to lowly use, pulling dung carts to fertilize the fields. All other commentators lack the word che; only Zhu Xi (Hui’an) in the Zhuzi Yulei has it. Zhang Heng’s Dongjing Fu says, “turn back the galloping horse to a dung cart,” which is precisely a quotation of Laozi’s original line. Master Wu’s edition has its own justification; scholars must not be unaware of it.

There is no greater transgression than greedy craving, no greater calamity than wanting to obtain, and no greater misfortune than not knowing contentment. Therefore the contentment that comes from knowing contentment is lasting contentment.

Master Lin (the commentator) says: The affairs of war all arise from a mind of desire. Once the mind of desire sprouts, when is there ever a time of satisfaction? People only pursue what they can gain, and thereby create transgression, misfortune, and calamity. Only the one who knows contentment treats insufficiency as sufficiency and can therefore always be content. This further expounds the principle from the previous chapter, “knowing contentment brings no disgrace.”

Master Wu says: “Zui” refers to faults and evil conduct; both “jiu” and “huo” refer to disasters, but “huo” is more severe than “jiu.” When a person has obtained Long (a place name) and still wants Shu (a place name), this is precisely a manifestation of not knowing contentment; it is a metaphor for insatiable greed.

Master Li says: Transgression, calamity, and misfortune are all brought about by the mind of desire; hence the concluding statement, “knowing contentment is constant contentment.” Even if poor, one who knows contentment can be peaceful and happy.

Chapter 47: Without going out of the door, one can know the affairs of the world; without looking out the window, one can clearly see the Dao of Heaven (the natural patterns of its operation). The farther one travels, the less one knows.

Master He says: Laozi told Wenzi, “The spirit arises from within the mind, and Shenqi (spirit-qi) follows it and circulates between heaven and earth. If one focuses solely on the spirit, one can know the future in advance.”

Master Li says: “Without going out the door, one knows the world” means that a person who possesses the Dao (the Way) knows how to contemplate inwardly. If one can know what is within, there is nothing one does not know; if one can see what is within, there is nothing one does not see. To seek knowledge only outside and look only at external things, forgetting what is within oneself, makes one’s knowledge and vision shallow and narrow.

Master Wu says: The principles of all things and affairs in the world are already present in my own person; therefore, even without going out the door, one can know the whole world. The Dao of Heaven is the fundamental source of all principles, and it must be attained through inner contemplation. It is not like tangible things in the external world, which must be seen through a window. Those who do not understand that all principles are complete within themselves must go somewhere before they can know a particular matter; thus the farther they go, the less they know. How, then, could they know the world without going out the door?

Master Lin says: Although the world is vast, human feelings and the principles of things are ultimately consistent. Without going out the door one can know them; the transformations of Yin-Yang and the unchanging constant principles of the ages can be understood without peering outside the window. If one insists on going out to seek, then wherever one’s steps reach, one’s knowledge is limited; wherever one’s personal strength reaches, one’s vision is limited. The more effort one uses, the more darkened one’s mind becomes; hence it is said, “The farther one goes, the less one knows.”

Conclusion: Therefore the sage knows without traveling in person, understands without seeing with his own eyes, and accomplishes without deliberate action.

Master He says: Knowing others does not depend on conjecture but on knowing them through the Dao; seeing the Dao of Heaven clearly does not depend on speculation but on seeing it through the Dao. Other people and I are originally one body, and I and Heaven are also originally one body. If one must go out the door and peer through the window in order to understand the outside world, then one is abandoning one’s own original mind and rushing outward. If the spirit is not sufficient, knowledge and insight cannot even be discussed.

The Yijing (Book of Changes) says: “Without thinking, without deliberating; without acting, without contriving; silent and unmoving—once there is a stimulus, it penetrates all affairs under Heaven.” If not for the most numinously wondrous person under Heaven, who could be like this? It also says: “Only through numinous wondrousness is it swift without haste and arrives without walking.” This means that without acting, without looking, and without contriving, one can yet know, be clear, and accomplish—this is the Dao of natural spontaneity.

Master Lin says: To arrive without walking, to understand naturally without seeking to see, to accomplish naturally without contriving—such is the function of the sage’s Dao. The Yijing’s statement “swift without haste, arriving without walking” means exactly this.

Master Wu says: Without going in person, one is as though universally present everywhere, and therefore can fully understand the affairs of the world; without having to see a particular thing before understanding its principle, one can know the Dao of Heaven without peering through doors and windows. “Accomplishing without acting” follows as the effect of the preceding two statements: precisely because one can know all things without walking and can see the source without peering, one need not deliberately do anything, and yet nothing is left unaccomplished.

Chapter Forty-Eight: Those who pursue learning increase knowledge day by day; those who cultivate the Dao decrease private desires and attachments day by day. Decreasing and again decreasing, one reaches the state of no contrivance and accordance with natural spontaneity. When one attains Wuwei (non-action), there is nothing that cannot be done.

Master He says: Accumulating a thousand days of learning and wisdom is not as good as truly awakening to the Dao (the Way; the cosmic source and principle of operation) in a single day. Learning is acquired from outside and built up bit by bit through knowledge and experience; the Dao, however, requires forgetting such knowledge and returning to the original undifferentiated whole. Learning is for seeking the Dao; breadth is for returning to simplicity. Practitioners diligently practice Wuwei (non-action, following nature without forcing), and once they awaken to the true Dao they attain fulfillment. First increase, then decrease, passing from “being” into “non-being”; having decreased, decrease again, until even “non-being” is forgotten—only then does one accord with the true Dao. This is the wondrous state of Wuwei.

Laozi said to Wenzi: What is called “Wuwei” does not mean that when external things press upon one there is no response, that when moved one remains unmoved, or that one is rigidly dull and does not know how to adapt. Rather, it means acting in accord with the nature of things, establishing merit according to the times, employing subordinates and holding them responsible for their duties, and not entangling oneself when faults occur. This is the wondrous state of “Wuwei yet nothing left undone.” (This passage appears repeatedly in the original; it is combined here.)

Master Li says: To know the affairs of the world without going out the door is inner awareness; the farther one travels, the more what one knows is external. That is why this passage follows “the pursuit of learning.” Those who speak of “the pursuit of learning” seek increase; those who speak of “the pursuit of the Dao” decrease in everything. The Yi (that is, the Zhouyi) says: “Below the mountain there is a marsh: Decrease. The noble person thereby restrains anger and blocks desire.” This is exactly the principle. When there is no anger left to restrain and no desire left to block, so that one reaches “Wuwei,” the myriad people are naturally transformed and all under heaven turn to one.

Master Lü says: The perfected person decreases and again decreases, until thoughts of right and wrong are all dissolved, the mind is still and unmoving, and one reaches “Wuwei.” Such a person guards the truth of original nature, realizes the root of the Dao, unites in virtue with heaven and earth, and shares in the work of creation. Then one cultivates the “Great Brahma Ancestral Qi” (prenatal vital energy), causes the “Golden Essence” (inner Jing) to rise to behind the elbows (a path in Neidan cultivation), practices breath retention and embryonic breathing, lets the returning wind mix with it, and rinses the “Primordial Spring” (saliva in the mouth; a Neidan term). All these are “Wuwei yet nothing left undone.”

Master Ni says: In pursuing learning one increases daily, and breadth is valued; in pursuing the Dao one decreases daily, and simplicity is valued. First breadth, then simplicity; first increase, then decrease. If one does not first increase, what simplicity is there to take? If one only increases without decreasing, breadth instead leads people astray. Therefore learning is the “trap and snare” (tools for catching fish and rabbits, a metaphor for the means to an end) that leads to the Dao, while the Dao is the final home of learning.

Confucius says: “To learn much and remember it is the increase of learning; to be threaded through by the one is the decrease of the Dao.” Having decreased, decrease again—this is decrease taken to its utmost. When decrease reaches its utmost, there is no need to deliberately do anything. Though one is Wuwei, in fact there is nothing one does not do; this is precisely what is valuable about “Wuwei.” If one merely remains in Wuwei without being able to leave nothing undone, one falls into emptiness and nothingness, and that is not what is called the “Dao.”

Gist of the Scripture: To govern the world, one should constantly accord with nature and not deliberately contrive action. Once one intentionally fabricates and stirs up many complications, one cannot obtain the world.

Master He: When worldly affairs are not hung in the mind, and worldly affairs do not entwine the heart, even though the world is vast, why should I set my mind within it? If the ancient sage deliberately engaged in action, he would fall into delusion, and it would not be the so-called Dao (the Way) (the fundamental principle of the universe and nature).

Master Lin: Obtaining the world must be without intentional mind; those who strive for it with intentional mind instead lose it. The kings of the Three Dynasties obtained the world all by according with the times—how could they have deliberately set their minds on it? This passage uses the prevailing climate of war and contention of the time as a metaphor to admonish the people of the world. “Having no affairs” and “having affairs” are precisely the difference between “no-mind” and “having a mind.”

Master Wu: “Having no affairs” means nothing is fabricated, which is also Wuwei (non-action) (not recklessly imposing action, but following what is natural). The so-called taking of the world likewise relies only on Wuwei, because when De (Virtue/Power) is abundant, the world naturally submits. If one insists on exhausting mind and effort and engaging in grandiose action, how could one obtain the world?

Master Li: If one recklessly acts at will, the hearts of the people will fall into confusion.