《道德真经集义(危大有)》Vol. 4

At the end of the commentary on Chapter 48 it says: If a ruler recklessly engages in self-assertive action, the people will become disorderly and difficult to govern; therefore it says, “Such a one is not sufficient to win the world.”

Chapter 49

The sage has no fixed, unchanging private mind, but takes the mind of the people as his own mind.

Master Lü (a Song-dynasty scholar who annotated the Laozi) says: Heaven originally has no private mind toward the myriad things. It manifests its will in accordance with the conditions of the myriad things; thus, being empty and still, it can encompass, and being settled, it can respond. Like a mirror reflecting forms, it reflects beauty and ugliness as they are; like a valley echoing sounds, it echoes great and small alike. Originally there is no private mind at all—how could one speak of a fixed mind? Xunzi says: “The world does not have two Daos (Ways), and the sage does not have two minds; therefore he can infer others from himself.” The sage is profoundly deep and still, placid and Wuwei (non-action); he can accord with things and can also settle them, neither pandering nor rejecting. He tempers his own light and blends with the dust of the world, making things and self equal and one, yet does not stand in opposition to the myriad things. Therefore it says, “The sage has no constant mind; he takes the mind of the people as his mind.”

Li (a commentator) says: The preceding chapter speaks of “winning the world through no affairs,” and therefore this chapter follows with “The sage has no constant mind.” What is called having no constant mind is responding according to circumstances and not going against the true conditions of the people and the myriad things. Thus the people follow the sage’s words and teachings, emulate the sage’s conduct, and accept the sage’s transforming instruction; then all under heaven share one mind and one virtue.

He (a commentator) says: The sage’s mind is like the vast, empty Great Void—where could there be a fixed mind? What is called the “constant mind” is simply the mind of the people under heaven.

The Zhenghe Commentary (a commentary from the Zhenghe era of Emperor Huizong of Song) says: The sage’s mind is empty and able to receive, still and able to respond; like a mirror reflecting things, whether beautiful or ugly, it reflects them as they are; like a valley echoing sounds, whether great or small, it responds accordingly. Therefore the sage has no fixed mind.

The Scripture Continues

Good people, I treat with goodness; people who are not good, I also treat with goodness—this is the goodness of De (Virtue/Power). Trustworthy people, I trust; people who are not trustworthy, I also trust—this is the trust of De.

Master Lü says: People in the world accuse one another of right and wrong, good and bad, and mock one another for delusion and sincerity. [Distinctions between] good and not-good, trustworthy and untrustworthy all arise from worldly feelings, each person distinguishing sameness and difference according to their own likes and dislikes. Therefore, toward those whose hearts incline to goodness, the sage follows their nature and assists them with the highest way of goodness, enabling them surely to accomplish good conduct. Even when meeting those who are not good, the sage still treats them with goodness. Whether others are good or not good depends on themselves, but the heart with which the sage treats people with goodness never changes. The various virtues in the world are all goodness; no one in the world fails to be moved and won over by this transformation—this is the profundity of De (Virtue/Power).

Likewise, toward those whose hearts hold sincerity, the sage does not wrest away their resolve but assists them with great trust, enabling them surely to fulfill trustworthiness. Toward those who are not sincere, the sage still treats them with trust, and the heart with which he trusts others never changes. Among the myriad dispositions in the world, there is nothing that cannot be trusted; thus the common people all trust and submit with peace of mind—this is the utmost height of De. The Perfected Person (one who has reached the highest level in cultivating the Dao [the Way]) regards right and wrong with equal impartiality and forgets the distinction between true and false. Whether good or bad, he treats them with goodness; he constantly uses goodness to succor the myriad things, abandoning no thing. Whether trustworthy or untrustworthy, he trusts them; he constantly uses goodness to rescue the multitude, abandoning no person. This is precisely the state being described.

Master He says: Ordinary people only treat the good with goodness and do not consider the not-good good; they only trust the trustworthy and do not trust the untrustworthy. This is the mind of ordinary people, not the practice of a person of De who is good to goodness and trusts trustworthiness. The De of the sage stands equal with Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth cover and support all things without partiality; the light of sun and moon shines everywhere. The sage’s mind is undifferentiated and regards things and self as one body; therefore he can treat the not-good with goodness and trust those whom others do not trust. Those people mutually condemn one another’s good and bad and mock one another’s falsehood and sincerity, but I treat them all according to the natural Dao. The Book of Documents says: “Select those who are cultivated, and also select those who are not yet cultivated; advance the good to lead those who are not good.” It also says, “What is good, what is not?”—this is exactly the meaning. The ancients said, “Do not anticipate deceit, do not guess at untrustworthiness,” and also, “What is trustworthy, what is false?” What the Yi Jing, in the Guan hexagram, calls “possessing sincerity and dignity, those below observe and are transformed” is also this principle. Zhuangzi says: “That he likes it is one; that he does not like it is one. His oneness is one; his not-oneness is one. His oneness is a companion of Heaven; his not-oneness is a companion of humanity.” This too is the same meaning.

Master Lin says: Good and not-good lie with the other person, while I always treat them with goodness, fundamentally having no discriminating mind. Confucius said, “If one sets one’s will on humaneness, there will be no evil.” This is also the meaning. Trustworthiness and untrustworthiness lie with the other, while I always treat them with trust, fundamentally having no doubting mind. Confucius’s saying “do not guess at untrustworthiness” has the same meaning. The scriptural text says, “I too am good to them; I too trust them.” This does not mean taking the not-good as good or the untrustworthy as trustworthy; it is simply responding in a state of no-mind.

Vernacular Explanation of the Scriptural Text

The sage, placed in the midst of the world, cautiously and carefully harmonizes his mind on behalf of the people of the world, so that his state of mind becomes fused and undifferentiated, making no distinction between self and other. The common people all focus their ears and eyes—their attention—upon the sage, and the sage treats them as one would treat infants, with equal regard, abandoning no one.

The commentator Mr. Lü (the annotator surnamed Lü) explains: The sage realizes the Great Dao, accords with transformation, and has no subjective intentions, obsessions, rigidity, or self-centered views. He comes into contact with the myriad things without partial attachment, follows the nature of the myriad things, and changes together with them. The minds of the people of the world return to unity, fused without discrimination; there is no so-called good or evil, no so-called true or false. He always preserves pure oneness and treats the world by means of the Dao.

The commentator Mr. Lin (the annotator surnamed Lin) says: “Anxious and unsettled” describes a state of not being content with self-satisfaction. The sage does not boast or consider himself sufficient, and therefore constantly harbors an unsettled mind. “Fusing his mind” means being undifferentiated and not revealing any sharp edges; his mental state is complete and harmonious, and therefore he does not distinguish between good and not good, trustworthy and untrustworthy. “Directing one’s ears and eyes” means that people concentrate their seeing and hearing upon the sage; the sage treats them with an infant-like mentality, and so it says “all are treated as children.” This shows the sage’s intention to abandon no one.

Chapter Fifty: From Birth to Death

This sentence comes from Chapter Fifty of the Laozi. Literally, it means moving from birth toward death, and it refers to the transition between life and death. The entire chapter unfolds around the preservation or loss of life and the nourishing of life, and this sentence is the starting point of the whole chapter.

Master Lü (the commentator) says: The Dao (the Way), the source of the universe, transforms and brings forth Qi (vital energy); Qi changes and becomes things with form; form changes and then there is life. “Birth” is the gathering of Qi: the myriad things come forth from this, all issuing from this mechanism of transformation. Life changes again, and then there is death. “Death” is the dispersal of Qi: the myriad things enter through this, all returning to this mechanism of transformation. Once there is form, there is again a return to formlessness; once there is life, there is again a return to no-birth.

The myriad things have birth and death, but their original nature neither increases nor decreases. Birth is the starting point of the transformation that produces the myriad things; death is the result of Yin-Yang change. Both still lie within Heaven and Earth (within the domain). If one can transcend the domain, then one is not delighted at birth and not afraid at entering death; coming forth from birth and entering death, coming forth from death and entering life, there is no “acceptable” and no “unacceptable.”

Cultivators call the clear, yang, and immaterial Qi “life Qi,” and the turbid, yin, and stagnant Qi “death Qi.” Humans receive the harmonious Qi of balance (chonghe), which is neither turbid nor clear. At birth, people inhale clear yang and exhale yin turbidity; when yang Qi is pure, one becomes an upper immortal; if one inhales yin dregs and exhales clear yang, when yin Qi is pure, one falls to become a lower ghost. As for ingesting the six Qi (the six primal energies between Heaven and Earth), nourishing the original Jing (essence), and drinking the clear dew of night (hangxie), these all borrow the Qi of Heaven and Earth to transform oneself. If one cannot reach the realm of formlessness, one cannot become an upper immortal; instead, one easily becomes stained by yin dregs.

Whether a person can attain long life depends crucially on whether one complies with nature and preserves and nourishes the root.

The scripture says that those who cultivate the Dao ingest the Six Qi (the pure and harmonious qi of heaven and earth), nurture original Jing (the pre-heaven essence, the fundamental vital essence of the human body), and absorb hangxie (the clear dew of midnight, regarded by Daoists as a celestial drink). All of these receive the qi of heaven and earth in order to transform and nourish body and mind; they are themselves formless and without substance, and so one can commune with spiritual clarity, and one’s lifespan can be equal to that of the sun and moon. This is called “emerging from death into life,” that is, moving from the realm of death toward the path of life.

The people of the world are different. They eat the five grains and greedily seek the five flavors; these have form and substance, so they deplete the true Qi they originally possess, scatter the light and pure qi, and cause turbid and impure qi (yin dregs) to settle within the body. This is called “emerging from life into death,” that is, moving from the path of life toward the realm of death.

Wu’s commentary says: “Emerging” is appearing from nonbeing into being; “entering” is returning from being into nonbeing. Zhuangzi says, “All things emerge from the mechanism and enter the mechanism”; in both cases, “emerging” means life and “entering” means death.

Lin’s commentary says: “Emerging from life into death” is the guiding principle of the entire chapter. “Emerging” is to detach transcendentally from the burden of material desires; “entering” is to be deluded and sink into oneself. Only one who possesses the Dao can “enter and then emerge.”

Now look at the following passage. Those who belong to the category of long life make up about three in ten; those who belong to the category of death also make up about three in ten; and there is another category of people who could have lived but, through reckless and willful action, move toward the realm of death—they too make up about three in ten. Why is this so? Because they are overly indulgent toward their own bodies and greedily seek an abundance of things for nourishing life, and thereby instead injure their vitality.

Master Lü’s passage here is a commentary on Chapter 50 of the Daodejing, “Emerging into Life and Entering Death.”

Yin and Yang both do not depart from the Great Dao, and the transformation and generation of the myriad things likewise do not depart from the Five Phases. Yin and Yang, being and nonbeing, intermingle with one another, and thus Heaven and Earth are brought to completion. When a person emerges from the Dao’s causal nexus, they attain life; when they return to that nexus, they die. Those who accord with the Great Dao are few; those who contravene it are many. Therefore, one who understands nourishing life does not look recklessly, listen recklessly, speak recklessly, or act recklessly. In movement and stillness alike, such a person is calm and peaceful, nourishing and cultivating themselves—this belongs to the category of “life.” Those who pursue death have their eyes confused by the five colors, their ears filled with licentious sounds, their mouths praising words contrary to the Dao, and their feet walking onto deviant bypaths. In movement and stillness alike they are submerged in these things, harming themselves—this belongs to the category of “death.”

Since the Dao of life and death has already divided into two paths, people also often know only action and not stopping, only speaking and not silence, only thinking and not letting go, only advancing and not retreating, until they exhaust their vitality. This is what is meant by “moving into the land of death.” This scriptural passage uses “ten and three” to summarize it: the three categories—life, death, and moving into the land of death—each account for three tenths, while the Dao of neither life nor death lies in emptiness, stillness, and single-minded focus. The reason the text does not speak exhaustively is to make people realize it for themselves. Investigating the expression “ten and three,” although earlier commentaries are numerous, there is ultimately no settled conclusion; among them, only one or two are somewhat credible.

The ancient immortals said: “Within Yang, thirteen—words have form; within Yin, six and seven—seek the traceless.” This refers to the completion numbers of water and fire. Heaven generates water with One, and Earth completes it with Six; Earth generates fire with Two, and Heaven completes it with Seven. “Seven” and “six” correspond respectively to the heart and kidneys—that is, Kan and Li, water and fire—and are the root of the human body. Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit) are lodged herein: the heart stores Shen, the kidneys store Jing. Whether ordinary people or sages, in their daily handling of affairs and contact with things, none can do without the functioning of Jing and Shen. The Huangting Jing says: “The Jing and Shen of the whole body must not be lost.” When Jing and Shen remain in the body, this belongs to the category of life; when Jing and Shen leave the body, this belongs to the category of death. Water and fire can both nourish people and kill people—are these not precisely the two categories of life and death? The “Red Snake” is a Neidan (internal alchemy) term, a metaphor for the reckless movement of heart-fire or conscious spirit. As soon as it moves, it rises in response; its effect is faster than a valley echo, and its onset is more urgent than a mechanical trigger. Is this not “moving into the land of death”?

Laozi says: In a person’s life, those who belong to the category of long life are three in ten; those who belong to the category of short life are three in ten; and those who in the course of life move toward the road of death because of excessive pursuit are also three in ten.

Liezi (a Daoist figure of the Warring States period, to whom the book Liezi is attributed) pointed at a skull (a dried human skull) and said: “Was it because of excessive indulgence in pleasure? Or because of excessive cultivation of life?” Wearing warm clothes, living in warm rooms, drinking fine wine, eating rich meat, and consuming minerals and metals (i.e., elixirs) were originally intended to nourish the body better, but instead harm life. It would be better to make the mind like dead ashes, stop thought and deliberation, eat a plain diet, and cultivate the Valley Spirit (Gushen, referring to the empty, still, and gentle Qi—vital energy—and spirit); this may seem to slight life, yet one can live long.

The commentator Li says: The completion number of water is six, and the completion number of fire is seven. The soft and weak belong to “the class of life”; the hard and strong belong to “the class of death.” A soft and weak person can restrain anger and block desires: by restraining anger, the heart-fire can descend; by blocking desires, the kidney-water can rise. When water and fire are harmonized, the vitality of life arises from this; therefore it is called “the class of life.” If one becomes angry, one becomes lost in “ignorance” (wuming, a Buddhist term referring to deluded and confused thoughts), and the fire blazes fiercely; if one indulges desires, the sea of desire surges with waves. When water and fire are at odds, one heads toward death; therefore it is called “the class of death.” Human survival depends entirely on water and fire; “moving to the place of death” means water and fire being at odds. From the perspective of the Dao of the elixir (the way of Neidan—internal alchemy—cultivation), when water and fire are mutually completed, the sacred embryo (the spiritual embryo formed through Neidan cultivation) can congeal.

The commentator Lin says: If one attains the Dao in nourishing life, one can achieve “long life and lasting vision” (a phrase from Laozi, meaning to live long); if one does not attain the Dao, one perishes together with the ten thousand things. “Tu” means the same kind. In “moving to the place of death,” “moving” (dong) is not the “movement” of movement and stillness, but the “dong” of “dongzhe” (at every turn, readily). “Zhi” means “to go to,” and “place of death” is the place where one dies. The phrase “for what reason” (fu he gu) has an interrogative tone. “Life” (sheng) is the root by which I live; “generating life” (sheng sheng) is what I rely on to protect and nourish this life. When protection and nourishment are excessive and exceed proper measure, one’s actions tend toward the place of death.

“By placing the self outside, the self is preserved” means that by first setting oneself aside, one can instead preserve oneself; only by first maintaining emptiness can one then become full.

Master He holds that human life and death each occupy “three-tenths of ten.” Longevity (a hundred years), middle lifespan, and lower lifespan each differ; together with wealth, sufficiency, peace, and health, all are blessings and belong to “the class of life” (those who belong to life). Premature death, illness, sorrow, poverty, and weakness are all extremes and belong to “the class of death” (those who belong to death). Both kinds of people receive their mandate from Heaven, and no one can change it; therefore these are not the most critical calamities. The true calamity lies in those who are ignorant and unworthy, who covet life and violate ordinary principles, who create agitation and unrest for themselves, and thus hasten their own death. They not only belong to “the class of death” but also move toward the “place of death” (a state of wallowing in evil conduct and having no love for virtue). The calamity comes from the people themselves.

Master He also says that, speaking generally of people in the world, the three categories above each account for three-tenths, and there is no need to force the numbers as earlier commentators did. Those who belong to death already make up three-tenths, and those who move toward the place of death make up another three-tenths; thus the proportion of death is six-tenths, while those who belong to life are only three-tenths—truly frightening. If one can nourish life and avoid death, could virtuous people account for one tenth?

The Zhuangzi says: “Human life is the gathering of Qi (vital energy); when Qi gathers, there is life; when it scatters, there is death. If life and death are fundamentally of the same kind, what do I have to worry about?” This shows that what truly ought to be worried about is the “place of death,” not “the class of death.”

Master Wu comments: “Zhi means ‘to go toward’ or ‘to tend toward.’ ‘Sheng sheng’ means trying every means to keep oneself alive. ‘Hou’ means using the mind too heavily: some use immortal arts to extend their years but lose proper measure; some refine medicines to nourish life but take them in excess. Their original intention is to seek life, yet the result is instead to move toward the place of death. The reason is that the mind seeking life is too intense and cannot accord with naturalness.”

The final sentence repeats Master Wu’s meaning: when the thought of seeking life is too heavy, it instead leads people toward the place of death, because such attachment goes against the principle of naturalness.

This passage says that one who is skilled in nourishing life will not encounter fierce beasts when walking in mountains and forests, nor be wounded by blades and spears when amid military formations. The si (wild ox, a thousand jin in weight and single-horned) has nowhere to thrust its horns, the tiger nowhere to use its claws, and weapons nowhere to pierce. The reason is that he has no “death-ground”—that is, no fatal vulnerability in his person.

Master Lin says this is because the person can empty his mind and practice Wuwei (non-action), without selfish thoughts or distracting notions, so external things cannot harm him. The Zhuangzi’s statement that one “enters water and does not drown, enters fire and is not burned” is the same principle. “What is the reason?” is the author’s further question, and the answer lies precisely in being able to be empty and without substance, so that there is no place where death can occur.

Master Wu says that she is like the she in shezheng, “to act as regent,” and sheguan, “to manage on behalf of another”: it means not treating life as one’s own private possession, but merely managing it temporarily on its behalf. With emptiness and stillness as the inner essence and softness and weakness as the outward expression, such a person is wholly unknowing like wood and stone, plain and pure like an infant without desires. Even if he meets fierce beasts or wicked people, they cannot harm him. The dregs and impurities in him have already dissolved; his Jing (essence), Shen (spirit), and primordial Qi (vital energy) are tranquil and harmonious, like wind and shadow, impossible to grasp. He has no substantial entity that could be killed; even if someone wished to harm him, where could they strike?

Master Li says that “no death-ground” means forgetting the thought of life and death.

Master He says that the scripture takes the si and the tiger as examples because it selects the fiercest among fierce beasts to speak of.

Chapter Fifty-One (that is, chapter 51 of the Daodejing) says: Dao (the Way) generates all things, De (Virtue/Power) nourishes them, all things are given form, and circumstances bring their potential to completion. Therefore among all things there are none that do not honor the Dao and value De. The reason the Dao is honored and De is valued is not that anyone commands it, but that it is inherently so and naturally thus.

Mr. He holds that Heaven covers all things by means of Dao (the Way), and only then can they grow, because all things receive Qi (vital energy) from Heaven. Earth supports them by means of “things,” and only then can they be nurtured, because all things receive form and substance from Earth. Thus, as all things grow, each takes its own form and color without needing external things to carve and polish it. Yin-Yang reflect one another, the four seasons alternate, and they generate and restrain one another; their momentum takes shape naturally—who can control it? Bodies sometimes decay and situations sometimes overturn, yet only Dao and De (Virtue/Power) exist between Heaven and Earth, lofty and far-reaching, deep and substantial, enduring and long-lasting, neither destroyed nor extinguished. The Zhouyi (Book of Changes) says, “Qian rules them, Kun stores them.” Therefore Dao is the most honored, unique and without counterpart; De is the most noble, unsurpassably high. Though the myriad things are infinitely varied, who can be like them?

Dao and De transcend the situations and forms of the myriad things, yet they operate within the Qi of the formed and the formless. They are present everywhere and at all times, fill the space between Heaven and Earth, shelter and nurture all things, and are jointly revered as the root of roots and the origin of origins. They do not proceed from repeated commands, nor do they rely on human force; their generating and nurturing of all things are entirely natural. Their being worthy of honor and nobility is likewise natural. Although generation and nurturing have a sequence of before and after, and although Dao and De and the circumstances of things may separate and unite, in the final analysis there is only one Dao.

Mr. Lin (the commentator) says: Dao is naturalness and is “nonbeing.” All things arise by following “nonbeing,” and so it is said that “Dao generates them.” De then has the function described above, and so it is said that it “nurtures them”; “nurture” means “to have.” When things possess form, it is said that “things give them form.” When circumstances have counterparts, it is said that “circumstances complete them.” Yin-Yang coordinating with one another and the four seasons succeeding one another are all circumstances. Those who do not understand this “mandate” speak as if “no one acts, yet it is done”—that is, no one causes it to be so, yet it is so of itself. This is constant naturalness. “Honored and noble” means that it stands above the myriad things.

Mr. Li (the commentator) says: Dao is originally without form; because it transforms and gives birth to Heaven and Earth, form first becomes manifest. Dao is originally without name; because it nurtures all things, names first become established. All things that have appearances receive their mandate from Heaven, take form on Earth, and obtain the Qi of central harmony; all are sheltered by Dao. Therefore there is no thing among the myriad things that does not honor Dao and value De.

The Dao gives birth to the ten thousand things, nourishes and rears them, causes them to grow, cultivates them, brings them to maturity and completion, maintains them, and shelters them. The Dao gives them life and nourishes them, yet does not take them as its own; it acts, yet does not rely on its merit; it causes them to grow, yet does not master them. This is called “xuan De” (profound and mysterious virtue).

He [the commentator] cites the Zhuangzi: “The Dao is what all things follow in common; when creatures lose it they die, when they obtain it they live.” Thus “the Dao gives them life and nourishes them” is like the Dao of spring; “causes them to grow and rears them” is like the Dao of summer; “brings them to maturity and completion” is like the Dao of autumn; “maintains and shelters them” is like the Dao of winter. The Gengsangzi (that is, the “Gengsang Chu” chapter of the Zhuangzi, in which Gengsangzi is a figure) says: When the spring Qi stirs, the hundred grasses grow; when autumn comes, the ten thousand things mature—could this be so spontaneously without anything on which to rely? The Great Dao has already been put into practice; it is precisely here. What Dao is this? It is the Dao of emptiness, non-being, and naturalness: it can give birth to the ten thousand things at the beginning and gather them in at the end. In heaven and earth, movement and stillness, opening and closing—without gathering, there can be no dispersal. Thus in the birth of spring and the completion of autumn the Great Dao can be seen; Laozi joins “generation” and “covering and storing” into a single Dao. The Yi says, “It manifests in benevolence and conceals itself in use”—this is exactly the meaning.

Heaven and earth have no selfish mind; therefore they give birth to and nourish the ten thousand things without harming them, and do not claim to possess them. They act without shirking, and do not rely on their merit; they grow and nourish the ten thousand things without exhausting them, and do not set themselves up as masters. The four seasons run their course, and when the work is accomplished they withdraw. The Great Void is deep, distant, dark, and obscure—who can force a name upon it? “Xuan De” is heavenly De; it is also the Dao.

Lin says: From “causes them to grow and rears them” through “brings them to maturity and completion, maintains and shelters them,” all of this means that after the ten thousand things have already been generated and have taken form, their unceasing generation and reproduction between heaven and earth is entirely the work of creative transformation. Creative transformation does not take generation as its own possession, does not regard accomplishment as merit; although it grows and nourishes the ten thousand things, it has no mind to master them. Therefore this is mysterious De. Xuan De is creative transformation.

Laozi says: “The world has a beginning, and it is taken as the mother of the world.” The myriad things in the world have a beginning; this beginning is the root and mother of the myriad things. Once this mother is known, one can thereby know the children born of her; having known the children, one must turn back and guard the mother, and in this way one will not fall into danger throughout life.

Master Lü, citing the Liezi, divides the evolution of the cosmos into four stages: Taiyi (Great Change), Taichu (Great Beginning), Taishi (Great Commencement), and Taisu (Great Simplicity). Taiyi is the state in which Qi has not yet manifested; Taichu is the time when Qi first appears. Tracing back to Dao, it has never had a beginning. Dao outwardly envelops heaven and earth and inwardly fills the universe; it is formless and nameless, and it is the root on which the myriad things depend for their beginning. Only when Dao came to have concrete existence could the myriad things grow. The saying “There is a thing formed in chaos, born before heaven and earth” means that Dao existed before heaven and earth, and so it is the beginning of the world. It transforms and gives birth to heaven and earth, nurtures the myriad things, and so it is the mother of the world; the myriad things are also brought to completion through it.

Applied to a single person, the human body, this “small world,” also has its own beginning and mother. First, the Three Primes (referring to Jing, Qi, and Shen) nurture and transform the virtuous nature; next, the various primordial Qi (jiuqi, the nine Qi) congeal to form the physical body. If it were not nurtured by the Three Primes and guided by the various primordial Qi, the human being could not come into being; therefore Qi is the originating mother of the whole body. Once Qi is obtained, Qi is the mother of all the bones and joints of the body. Next one must know its child; the child is Shen. Shen is taken as original Shen, and Qi as original Qi (pre-heaven Qi): when Qi is present, Shen remains; when Qi departs, Shen grieves and weeps. This is because Qi can generate Shen, and Shen can govern Qi. The alchemical scriptures (classics of Daoist Neidan, internal alchemy, cultivation) compare the two to ruler and minister and also call them mother and child. An ancient Perfected One (zhenren) said in a poem: “When mother and child first meet, their feelings are tenderly attached; when ruler and minister come together, they rejoice in reunion.” Within the body, mother and child depend on each other; Qi guards Shen, and Shen guards Qi. They are attached and keep watch over each other, blending into one and forming the sacred embryo (the inner sacred embryo formed through cultivation), and then one can share the lifespan of heaven and earth. Therefore it is said: “Having obtained the mother, one further knows the child; having known the child, one further guards the mother; to the end of one’s life there is no danger.”

The commentator Lin says: “The world has a beginning, and it is taken as the mother of the world” refers to the named mother of the myriad things. The mother is the root of creation and transformation; the child is the myriad things. Knowing that there is creation and transformation, one must also know that there are myriad things; knowing that there are myriad things, one should also know the source of their creation and transformation. This means that non-being can generate being, and being emerges from non-being. One who understands “being” must not fail to understand “non-being”; therefore Laozi says, “Constantly without desire, one observes its mystery; constantly with desire, one observes its manifestations,” which has the same meaning. “To the end of one’s life there is no danger” means that by doing so one will be free from danger throughout life.

The commentator Dong Sijing says: Human beings are born by receiving Qi; Qi is the mother, and Shen resides within Qi, so Shen is the child. When the child guards the mother, Qi becomes concentrated and Shen becomes stable.

The commentator He says: The scriptural saying “The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth; the named is the mother of the myriad things” is precisely the central meaning of this chapter’s discussion of beginning and mother. The state of Taishi is nothing more than the two modes of being and non-being. From non-being to being is the mother, as in “Dao produces one”; from being to being is the child, as in “one produces two, two produces three, three produce the myriad things.”

This passage comes from Laozi, Chapter 52, and discusses the essential self-cultivation practice of conserving spirit and settling the mind. The original text says: Block the openings of the senses and close the doors of outward pursuit, and one may go through life without toil; open the senses, indulge them, and foster desires, and one will go through life beyond rescue.

Master Lü: Qian and Kun are the gates of the Yijing (Book of Changes), and the generation and transformation of the myriad things issue forth from them. Dui is joy and outward dispersion; it refers to the pathways by which the sense organs—ears, eyes, mouth, and so on—come into contact with sounds and sights. If one blocks greedy attachment to and gazing upon sounds and sights, the gate of misfortune and fortune is closed, and body and mind are naturally without toil. If one opens the gate of love and delight without blocking it, the feelings of craving and desire grow day by day, and in the end one will face danger and death beyond rescue. In terms of the body, Dui refers to the mouth and the door refers to the eyes: if one constantly closes the mouth, the Qi of the five viscera is internally secured and Yuanjing (prenatal essence) is not depleted; if one constantly closes the eyes, the inner and outer realms do not intersect, and the mind becomes still and settled, united with the Dao. The Cantong qi (a classic of alchemical Daoism by Wei Boyang of the Eastern Han) says: “The ears and eyes are one’s own treasures; one should close and store them and not expose them outwardly; the mouth and tongue should speak little, and by the way of softness and compliance one maintains generosity.” This is what is meant by “block its openings, close its doors, and throughout life be without toil.” If one opens the gate of joy and further indulges the affairs of desire, external things entice from without and emotions stir within; Qi leaks and fluids drain, spirit is dissipated, vitality is cut short, and one cannot be saved. Therefore it says, “throughout life beyond rescue.”

Master Lin: Dui is the mouth; the door is the mouth or the eyes. The human body has a mouth as a house has a door, and both are used as metaphors for the places from which the myriad things arise. Blocking Dui and closing the door means storing the existent within the nonexistent, not allowing it to be exposed outwardly. “Without toil” means succeeding without labor. “Opening its openings” means employing them outwardly; “furthering its affairs” means using them to seek increase. In this way one falls into danger and cannot be rescued.

Master He: The door should not be rigidly restricted to the mouth; wherever there is exit and entry may be called a door. Closing the door means quietly guarding the Great Dao, so that external thoughts do not enter and internal thoughts do not go out, just as Zhuangzi speaks of “the heavenly gate not being opened.” Blocking Dui and closing the door is returning from the existent to the nonexistent, from the child seeking the mother, returning to the original beginning; using it for a lifetime is not laborious. If one opens Dui and furthers affairs, then every thought and every movement deludes one’s original nature, like a mother giving birth: the children take myriad forms, and as the children grow the mother declines; birth and death flow on, cycling without cease, and throughout life it is difficult to recover.

Master Li: Blocking Dui and closing the door, the inner realm does not go out and the outer realm does not enter; thus without toil one obtains order. Opening Dui and furthering affairs, the inner realm overflows outward and the outer realm invades inward; throughout life it is difficult to rescue, and one forever loses the true Dao.

The scripture says: To see the subtle is clarity; to guard the soft and weak is strength. To use this light and again return to inner clarity—thus one will not leave disaster for oneself. This is called following the constant Dao (the Way).

Mr. Lin (a Song dynasty commentator) says: If what one sees is vast, yet one can draw it in and perceive the minute—this is the highest clarity. If what one holds is strength, yet one can yield and guard the soft and weak—this is the highest strength. Because one does not display oneself, one is clear; because one does not boast, one endures. Light is the function of clarity; clarity is the substance of light. To use light and return to clarity, then there is no disaster. To know only how to use and not how to store is the path that leaves calamity behind. “Xi” means to store; “chang” means unchanging; “xi chang” means to store its function so that it is not exhausted.

Mr. He (a commentator) says: Whoever can accomplish great things but cannot guard the small, can maintain strength but cannot show weakness, can reveal light but cannot conceal it—such a person abandons the root and pursues the branch tips. This is like a child begetting a child, wandering abroad and forgetting to return; “what then of the mother?”—it amounts to leaving disaster for oneself. Here “beginning” refers to the Dao of constant non-being, and “mother” to the Dao of constant being (a phrase from the first chapter of the Laozi). From non-being, being arises; from being, one returns to non-being—this is the great Dao that is constant and unchanging.

He also said: To employ light and return to clarity is the sage’s light without display. The Laozi also says, “He who scrutinizes the fish in the abyss is ill-omened”; this means that excessively peering at the tiny fish in the deep is inauspicious.

Mr. Lü (a commentator) says: Water and a mirror reflect all things; this outward-shining function is called “light”; the substance on which light relies is called “clarity.” To draw back the outwardly shining light, reflect it inward, and return it to be stored within oneself is the clarity of the substance. If Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit) are overused, they will be depleted; “to see the fish in the abyss is inauspicious” speaks precisely of directing light toward external things and leaving disaster for oneself. If one can conceal the light and blend one’s brilliance with the dust of the world, one will not invite disaster. This is to conceal the outward function of light and return to the constantly clear substance; therefore it is called “xi chang” (storing the constant).

Laozi says: If I had even a little understanding and walked on the great Dao, what I would fear most is going astray and indulging in exaggeration and display. The great Dao is originally level and broad, yet people in the world insist on preferring shortcuts.

Wu Cheng, a Yuan-dynasty scholar, holds that “I” refers generally to ordinary people and is not Laozi’s self-reference. “Jie” has the same sound as “jia” and means suddenly, in an instant. “Shi” takes its sense from the Analects’ “wu shi lao” (do not boast of one’s labors) and the Mencius’ “shi shi cong wai lai” (coming swaggeringly from outside), referring to self-importance and showing off. People like Yan Hui (“Yanzi of the Sage’s school,” a disciple of Confucius) were full of learning yet seemed empty, and did not boast of their merits; what Laozi calls “use” is probably also this sort of state. Those who do not understand the Dao merely devote themselves to display and boasting. If such a person suddenly had some realization and wished to walk the great Dao, he would certainly take boasting as a warning and not dare to act recklessly.

Mr. Li says: “Only shi is to be feared” is what those who understand proper measure and rule are on guard against. Mr. Chai says: all the various paths outside the great Dao are worthy of caution.

Laozi uses the “Great Dao (the Way)” and “bypaths” as a comparison. The Great Dao is level and broad, easy to walk, yet it is often overlooked; bypaths are rugged and winding, but precisely because they look imposing and showy on the outside, people are instead glad to take them.

Master Lü (the commentator) says: The Great Dao is a great road extending in all directions, level and open; wherever one goes, it can be reached. Even if the journey is a thousand or ten thousand li, one must still begin step by step from beneath one’s feet. The sage worries that people in the world are too impatient, so he acts cautiously and deliberates calmly; he does not value speed or pursue immediate results. People in the world crave quick arrival, so they take shortcuts. But shortcuts are rugged and misleading, and one does not know where they lead; the more one reverses the proper order and acts contrary, the farther one is from the Dao, and one simply cannot reach upward. The way of cultivation and nurturing nature is originally as level as a whetstone, extremely easy to know and extremely easy to practice. But those who see only the principle of one corner are confined in a corner; wishing to attain the Dao quickly, they turn to heterodox side doors and left-hand paths, and stray onto evil roads without realizing it. Therefore it is said: “The Great Dao is very level, but people prefer bypaths.”

Master He says: The Great Dao is level and is originally like a great road. If one abandons it and walks a crooked path, one’s confusion becomes even deeper.

Master Wu says: This passage speaks of ostentatious and flashy matters. The court is outwardly clean and orderly, yet the fields are overgrown and the granaries are empty; people wear gorgeous patterned clothes, carry sharp swords at their waists, are glutted with food and drink, and still have surplus wealth and goods. This is called “robbery and ostentation,” that is, having stolen the people’s wealth and yet boasting of it. How could this be conduct in accord with the Dao!

Master Wu says: This passage speaks of a situation that is outwardly extravagant but inwardly empty. Within the court, sweeping is carried to an extreme; even corners where no one lives are not left unsprinkled or unswept—this frugal and sparing atmosphere is just like what is written in the “Tang Feng” of Tang. The court is ordered in this way, and from this one can see how lavish the palace chambers must be. That the fields are overgrown and the granaries empty means that the ruler has taken away the people’s seasons for farming, exhausted their strength, and left them unable to cultivate the land or accumulate anything. To adorn oneself with fine ornaments and clothing, to provide abundantly for wine and meat, and to appropriate the treasuries for oneself in pursuit of wealth—this is like robbers: the more they seize, the more they show off to others. Jie of Xia and King Zhou of Shang, Di Xin, were exactly such examples. How could one who understands the Dao do such things?

Master Lin says: The great Dao is originally extremely level, but when people in the world seek the Dao they do not walk the proper road; they prefer to take deviant side paths. This is like a ruler who puts the court in meticulous order, builds palaces, towers, and pavilions, so that the court appears beautiful, while the fields are overgrown and the granaries are empty. He also makes clothing of gorgeous patterned finery, wears sharp swords, indulges to the fullest in food and drink, accumulates goods and wealth, and single-mindedly pursues wealth and power. This is like robbers boasting of their prowess—how could such a situation last long? These are words spoken as an analogy: they mean that people who do not understand the great Dao but are self-conceited about their cleverness and boast of their own knowledge and experience are those who walk the side paths. They do not understand the supreme Dao, and so the scripture says, “This is not the Dao!”

Master He says: In the scriptural phrase “the court is very much chu,” the word chu means to repair and put in order. Ancient books say, “to sweep and clean the humble hut of one’s forebears,” and also speak of “repairing the road”; both carry the sense of putting things in order.

Chapter Fifty-Four: One who is good at establishing a foundation will not have it pulled up; one who is good at holding fast will not let it slip away. Thus descendants will continue sacrifices from generation to generation without interruption. Here a tree is used as an analogy to explain that in establishing oneself and cultivating the Dao, one must have firm roots and not lose one’s hold, so that it may endure and continue.