《道德真经集解(董思靖)》

Collected Explanations of the True Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue, also known as Collected Explanations of the Supreme Venerable Laozi’s Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue, was compiled and annotated by Dong Sijing during the Song dynasty. It comprises four volumes. The work is included in the Yujue category of the Dongshen Cavern in the Orthodox Daoist Canon. The edition printed by Lu Xinyuan in the third year of the Guangxu reign of the Qing dynasty, as part of the Collected Books from the Ten Thousand Volume Tower, is also used for comparison.

The title of this section is “Prefatory Remarks on the Collected Explanations of the True Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue.”

The Biographies in the Records of the Grand Historian state that Laozi was from Qurenli, Laixiang, in Ku County of the state of Chu. The character Ku is pronounced hu. Ku County originally belonged to Chen; after Chu conquered Chen, it became part of Chu. It was probably located where Zhenyuan County in today’s Bozhou now stands. Laixiang was also written as Lixiang. Du Yu says that the Lai River flowed past the western side of the county seat, and the village took its name from it. Laozi’s surname was Li, his personal name Er, his courtesy name Boyang, and his posthumous title Dan. He once served as an archivist in charge of the Zhou dynasty’s library. Confucius may have visited him to ask about ritual. Zheng Xuan’s commentary on “Zengzi Asks a Question” in the Book of Rites says that “Old Dan” was a form of address for someone advanced in age and long-lived, and that Laozi and Confucius lived at the same time. A later explanation adds that “Old Cong” refers to Laozi. The Shuowen Jiezi says that “Dan” means ears that hang low; a commentary on the Biography of Dou Zhang in the Book of the Later Han says that Laozi first served as keeper of the archives and later became a zhuxia shi, an archivist who managed documents beneath the pillars.

The Inner Biography of the Mysterious and Marvelous Jade Maiden in the Daoist Canon relates, in essence, that the Jade Maiden descended from the Nine Heavens and was born as the daughter of the Yin family of Tianshui. In the seventeenth year of Yin Yangjia’s reign, she married Li Lingfei, the Lord Lao. The Lord transformed himself into the essence of the sun and became a flowing pearl, which entered the Jade Maiden’s mouth. She conceived and, after eighty-one years, gave birth to him in the ninth year of King Wu Ding’s reign. When King Wen of Zhou was still the Earl of the West, he appointed Laozi as keeper of the archives. Zheng Xuan’s commentary on the Analects therefore says that “Lao Peng” was a worthy minister of the Shang dynasty; a later explanation holds that “Lao” refers to Lao Dan. Tradition says that in the time of King Wu, Laozi became an archivist beneath the pillars. He continued in this post during the reigns of Kings Cheng and Kang, and left office only in the time of King Zhao. A eulogy by Emperor Ming of Wei says that he served as a pillar archivist in Zhou for nine hundred years. Wu Yanghao, a Tang dynasty scholar, says that Laozi was born in the Shang dynasty and later served as an official in Zhou, spanning a thousand years altogether. These accounts give only approximate figures. The Veritable Record states that 996 years passed between the ninth year of Wu Ding’s reign and the ninth year of King Nan of Zhou, when Laozi ascended to Kunlun and returned to the Upper Palace of Purple Tenuity.

The Records of the Grand Historian say that some believed Laozi lived to the age of 160, while others said he spent more than two hundred years in the Zhou dynasty before entering the shifting sands of the western desert. These estimates of his age were based on the belief that Confucius and Laozi were contemporaries; the truth is unknown. For this reason, historical accounts often use phrases such as “it is said” and “perhaps,” and also say that “no one knows what became of him.” The Family Sayings of Confucius records Confucius telling Nangong Jingshu: “I have heard that Lao Dan is learned in the ways of past and present, understands the foundations of ritual and music, and knows where virtue finds its ultimate end. He can be my teacher. I intend to go and see him.” Laozi also said that a skilled merchant stores his goods away carefully and appears to have nothing, while a virtuous gentleman is humble in appearance and seems foolish. After hearing Laozi, Confucius exclaimed that he was “like a dragon,” whose depths could not be fathomed and whose transformations were beyond prediction.

The Veritable Record of Primordial Unity says that Laozi passed through the frontier in the time of King Zhao and returned to the Central Plain in the first year of King Mu. When King Ping moved the capital east, Laozi again passed through the frontier, traveling to the Western Sea to seek immortals, and later returned to the Central Plain. Confucius’s questions about ritual and the Five Phases took place in the seventeenth year of King Jing of Zhou. Laozi had lived in Zhou for a long time, but could not put his Dao into practice. He therefore left Zhou, intending to spread his teachings in lands beyond the western frontier. When he reached Hangu Pass, the commandant Yin Xi said, “You are about to withdraw from the world. Please leave me a written work.” Laozi then composed two sections explaining the principles of the Dao and De, totaling more than five thousand characters. He departed, and no one ever learned where he went.

Yin Xi, whose courtesy name was Gongwen, came from Wenxianli in Shenlong Township, Zhuzhi County. As a young man, he delighted in ancient texts and was skilled in astronomy and the secret apocryphal writings. He once built a thatched tower from which to watch the heavens. During the reign of King Kang, he served as a senior official; later, he was summoned to become a companion to the heir apparent. In the time of King Zhao, he saw purple Qi stretching westward. He understood this celestial sign to mean that a sage would pass through Hangu Pass on his way west, and asked to be appointed commandant of the pass. King Zhao agreed.

After Yin Xi arrived at the pass, he said, “Nine is the limit of yang numbers. The constellations correspond to Metal, and the forces of the year and month are strong at the same time. According to the celestial signs, a great sage will pass through the capital in ninety days.” He first instructed the gate officer Sun Jing not to let anyone through if their appearance or clothing seemed unusual. He then undertook purification, ordered people to clear the road and burn incense, and waited.

Tradition says that on the renwu day of the fifth month in the twenty-third year of King Zhao’s reign, the Lord Lao traveled west in a cart drawn by a green ox. The cart had a domed canopy, and Xu Jia drove it as they set out to spread the Dao in the Western Regions. On the jiazi day, the twelfth of the seventh month, an old man with white hair and long ears arrived at the pass in a white cart drawn by a green ox. The gate officer said, “There are orders from above. Please wait here a moment, elder.” He then went in to inform Yin Xi. Yin Xi put on his court robes, came out to greet the old man, and bowed, earnestly asking him to stay. The Lord Lao refused three times. Yin Xi then said, “Last year, in the tenth month, the celestial principle star passed westward through the Pleiades. At the beginning of this month, the Rong wind rose three times, and the true Qi of the east moved west like dragons and snakes. These are all signs that a great sage is arriving.”

Yin Xi arranged for the Lord Lao to stay in the official residence, set out a seat for him, and served him as a disciple. Later, Yin Xi resigned from office on the grounds of illness. On the twenty-fifth day of the twelfth month, he invited the Lord Lao to his home. On the twenty-eighth, the Lord Lao transmitted the Five Thousand Words to him. On the twenty-eighth day of the fourth month of the following year, the Lord Lao took leave on a high place on South Mountain and ascended to heaven, instructing Yin Xi to seek him at the Market of the Green Ram a thousand days later. In the twenty-seventh year of King Zhao’s reign, Yin Xi met the Lord Lao there. The immortals of the heavens descended through the air, and the Lord Lao commanded the Five Elders, the Supreme Emperor, and others to present Yin Xi with jade tablets inscribed in golden script. They bestowed on him the title “Master of the Beginning of Writing,” conferred on him the rank of Supreme Perfected One, and gave him purple robes, a lotus crown, and other gifts. He was thus able to accompany the Lord Lao and travel beyond the eight directions.

Laozi was called “Laozi” either because his hair was already white when he was born, or, some say, because he cultivated the Dao and cared for his life, attaining great longevity.

The Dao De Jing records the central teachings of the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power). It is a classic that people can follow throughout their lives. The Bibliographical Treatise of the Tang dynasty records that during the Tianbao era, the text was given the title Laozi’s Mysterious Communication with the Dao and De. In his preface, Ge Xuan says that the Five Thousand Characters explains the roots of Dao and De. It is vast enough to encompass everything and subtle enough to penetrate everywhere, and is a classic that expounds the natural principles of Heaven, Earth, and humanity.

The Biography of Laozi recorded by Ban Gu mentions that the Fu recension had thirty-seven sections, the Lin recension four, the Xu recension six, and the Liu recension four. Du Guangting also lists commentators on the Laozi from successive generations, including Yin Xi, Zhang Daoling, Heshang Gong, Yan Zun, Wang Bi, He Yan, Guo Xiang, Tao Hongjing, Emperor Wu of Liang, and Cheng Xuanying. Tang commentators included Wei Zheng, Fu Yi, Yang Shangshan, and Du Guangting. The Tang Bibliographical Treatise records many other commentators, forty in all. Yet the Daoist Canon preserves commentaries by Li Yue, Jia Qingyi, Wang Gu, Du Guangting, and others that are Tang works but were not included in the Bibliographical Treatise. This shows that its records are still incomplete. It is regrettable that although the names of many commentators have survived, their works have been lost—perhaps eight or nine out of every ten.

Different schools offer different accounts of how the Dao De Jing is divided into chapters. Heshang Gong divided the text into eighty-one chapters, believing this corresponded to the sun’s ultimate number. The Upper Classic has thirty-seven chapters, taking the odd number as the number of Heaven; the Lower Classic has forty-four, taking the even number as the number of Earth. The recension collated by Liu Xiang, by contrast, is divided into two parts and eighty-one chapters: thirty-four in the Upper Classic and forty-seven in the Lower. Ge Hong and others altered the chapter count, explaining that Heaven is formed by the four seasons, so the Upper Classic has thirty-six chapters, while Earth is formed by the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), so the Lower Classic has forty-five. Together, these correspond to the number ninety-nine. Qingyuanzi Liu Ji considered such explanations mere offhand speculation, since the text was not originally divided into chapters by nines. Yan Zun multiplied Yang Nine by Yin Eight to arrive at seventy-two chapters, with forty in the first part and thirty-two in the second. Wang Bi combined the two parts into one and did not divide the text into chapters.

Most editions in circulation today follow Heshang Gong’s chapter divisions, though some are divided only into upper and lower parts. Dong You of Guangchuan says that it was only after Emperor Xuanzong of Tang wrote a commentary on the Laozi that the chapters and sentences were reorganized: passages discussing the Dao were placed in the upper volume, and those discussing De in the lower volume, and the text was carved at the temple at Wokou. In explaining the title, Emperor Xuanzong said that the Dao is the substance of De, and De is the function of the Dao; the text is divided into upper and lower volumes because it discusses the Dao first and De afterward. He also observed, however, that the substance and function of Dao and De illuminate one another’s essentials, so there is no need to be bound by the labels “upper” and “lower.” Jiang Mao says that he once saw an ancient copy of the Laozi in a collector’s library whose order of sections differed greatly from that of the current text. He therefore suspected that later readers had divided it into upper and lower parts.

The copy that Emperor Xuanzong ordered Sima Ziquan to transcribe in three scripts contained 5,380 characters. After collating various copies, Fu Yi recorded that the text unearthed from the tomb of Xiang Yu’s concubine, the Anqiu Wangzhi copy, and the Heshang Zhangren copy each contained 5,722 characters. The official Luoyang edition had 5,635; the Wang Bi edition had 5,683; and other editions also differed in character count. The Records of the Grand Historian says that the Laozi contains more than five thousand words but fewer than six thousand characters, which roughly accords with the evidence. The phrase “Five Thousand Characters” is simply a rounded name.

The Collected Commentaries of the Great Song, compiled by Peng Si, includes the imperial commentary from the Zhenghe era, as well as commentaries by Chen Jingyuan, Sima Guang, Su Zhe, Wang Anshi, Wang Pang, Lu Dian, Liu Gai, Liu Jing, Cao Daochong, and others. It also includes commentaries by Ye Mengde, Liu Ji, Zhu Xi, Huang Maocai, Cheng Dachang, and Shao Ruoyu. Commentaries by Ni Si, Xu Zhichang, and others are included too, though they are not all listed here.

In general, Laozi’s Dao rests on stillness, non-contention, and following nature. Its function lies in a mind that is empty, still, and clear, able to respond to the myriad things without becoming constrained by them. Its guiding principles for conduct are compassion, frugality, humility, and non-contention. In governing the state, it advocates few desires and few affairs, and warns against imposing actions on the people by rushing ahead of them. In this way, the people are guided to develop of their own accord. These principles are highly effective both for self-cultivation and for governing the state. If put into practice, they could restore the simple style of governance of ancient times.

The “Treatise on Arts and Letters” in the Former Han History (Book of Han) says that the Daoist school grasps the root, preserves itself through stillness and emptiness, and maintains itself through humility and gentleness; these are methods by which a ruler may govern the world. Ouyang Xiu’s General Catalogue of the Chongwen Library likewise says that Daoism takes stillness and emptiness as its foundation, discards forcefulness and greed, and remains detached and self-contained. Thus Laozi says, “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform themselves; when I love stillness, the people set themselves right.” The principles by which sages govern the world cannot easily be changed.

In Laozi’s time, worldly customs favored artifice, and simplicity had already disappeared. Laozi held fast to the Dao of unadorned authenticity, acted in accordance with the times, and responded only when circumstances called forth a response. As a result, he did not attain the throne and could not put his principles into practice throughout the world. He knew that circumstances change of their own accord, yet could never bear to let his Dao lose its transmission. So he taught widely, without distinction, and took special concern for people in the west whose customs differed from those around him. His compassion for his own age and concern for later generations were truly profound. Fortunately, his teachings were not lost: when he traveled west through the Hangu Pass, the pass official Yin Xi welcomed him; and in eastern Lu, Confucius compared Laozi to a “dragon.” These records and sayings have therefore been preserved.

The elders of the Yellow River, the Yellow Stone Elder, Le Chenggong, Gai Gong, and others probably understood and practiced Laozi’s central teaching, drawing its effects inward into their own cultivation. In this way, one’s personal circumstances could become like those of the time of Fuxi, a legendary age of ancient simplicity and good governance. Later, these teachings were passed on to different people: Emperor Wen of Han used them to govern the state, Zhang Liang, courtesy name Zifang, used them to support the Han dynasty, and Cao Can used them to govern Qi. They truly helped Laozi’s school of thought endure after the harsh rule of the Qin. This shows that Laozi’s Dao was effective.

Yet if someone could go further and put these principles fully into practice, their own age, too, could attain the condition of the time of Fuxi. Some see only the expansive depth of the wording in the Laozi, without recognizing the profound concentration and rigorous self-discipline required by “reaching the utmost in emptiness and holding firmly to stillness.” Such cultivation should be the foundation for handling all kinds of government affairs. If one merely imitates the outward appearance of leniency and inaction, one can easily lapse into permissiveness and indulgence. Then people mock the Way of stillness as unfit for governing the world, and some cease to regard it as serious learning, even treating it as worthless. This is truly regrettable.

Wenzi, the Sui dynasty thinker Wang Tong, said, “The ethos of stillness and emptiness flourished, yet the Jin dynasty fell into chaos. This was not Laozi’s fault.” Zhu Xi also said that the celebrated men of the Jin dynasty merely used Laozi’s words to disguise their abandonment of ritual and law. Their minds were corrupt and chaotic; how could they truly have understood Laozi’s meaning?

The Records of Emperor Xianzong in the Old Book of Tang recounts that Li Fan replied, “The Meaning of the Laozi is no different from the Six Classics.” Li Yue, a Tang dynasty official in the Ministry of War, also said that people portray the Laozi as a teaching about immortals and the Way of emptiness, without realizing that the Six Classics are, in fact, branches of the learning of Huang-Lao, the teachings of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi. Thus, when Sima Qian discussed the Great Way, he spoke first of Huang-Lao and then of the Six Classics; there was good reason for this.

Earlier scholars have offered many interpretations of this scripture’s central ideas, though some believe their views lack a balanced judgment. My abilities are limited, and I came to the subject late, yet I have presumptuously gathered these different opinions and occasionally added my own, hoping to contribute something further. At times I explain the wording; at others, I clarify its meaning. I have also included notes on pronunciation and corrections of variant editions to help readers consult the text. I hope that, through steady study over time, readers may gain something, gradually loosen their attachments, and eventually grasp the intent beyond words, reaching a state beyond ordinary learning, free from inner worry.

Some believe that subtle, hidden formulas for cultivation lie within the scripture. They therefore interpret “being” and “nonbeing” in the opening chapter as two methods of alchemy—that is, different levels of Neidan cultivation—and identify them with such elements of practice as Shen, Qi, water, and fire. They take “empty the heart and fill the belly” to express the essential principle of refining lead, and “use troops and fight well” to describe the method of gathering lead. Some also believe that the character “chong” is formed from the elements for water and center, and thus alludes to the truly real, unified water within Qi. They read “thirty spokes converge on one hub” as symbolizing the six Qi within each of the five viscera, and as corresponding to the month-long schedule of firing times—the method of adjusting the alchemical fire according to the seasons. For now, I will set these interpretations aside.

Some people hold that “Nonbeing” is the fire of Earth Two, while “Being” is the water of Heaven One. They therefore cite the Gangtong Jue (a text on alchemical cultivation): “Two ‘Nonbeings’ take one ‘Being’ as their root; its wondrous transformations are difficult to fathom.” They also interpret “Know the white, preserve the black” in terms of Metal and Water.

But this account concerns the Great Elixir, an alchemical method centered on internal refinement and modeled on the transformations of Yin-Yang in Heaven and Earth. It does not express the original meaning of the Dao De Jing. Based on the images and numbers of the Yi, it models itself on Heaven and Earth and takes the sun’s hun-soul and the moon’s po-soul as its ingredients. The thirty-six characters of the ancient Longhu Shang Jing attributed to Shennong, the Jinbi Yaozhi Jing composed by the Prince of Huaiyang in the Western Han, Wei Boyang’s Cantong Qi of the Eastern Han, and Yuan Yangzi’s Tang-era Jinbi Qiantong Jue all belong to this kind of alchemical practice. The Hunyuan Shilu says that Lord Lao first taught Yin Zhen methods of cultivating both Neidan (internal alchemy) and Waidan (external alchemy), and only afterward explained the meaning of the Dao De Jing. This shows that alchemical arts were not mixed into the scripture itself.

Another view holds that the Nine Reflections on the Three Ones are an important method of internal cultivation, while the Nine Elixirs and Golden Liquid are the highest methods of external refinement. The scriptures of the Great Purity therefore deal specifically with refining Golden Liquid externally, though this differs somewhat from the Great Elixir practice described above. Later readers saw that these texts set out an altar, furnace, cauldron, and stove, and understood them as instructions for refining external elixirs from cinnabar and minerals. They did not realize that such acquired, tangible, and impure substances would make people agitated and blind if ingested. They still failed to recognize the error in this practice.

Some also say that “Nonbeing” is Shen (spirit), while “Being” is Qi (vital energy); the union of Being and Nonbeing is the foundation of alchemical refinement, and the joining of the hidden and the manifest is Metal and Water. White contained within black is the mother of the Elixir. They also use phrases from the Dao De Jing, such as “Empty the heart and fill the belly” and “Thirty spokes converge at one hub,” as evidence. Although these interpretations quote the scripture as formulas, they form a school of their own and in fact describe Neidan practice.

As for the methods such as the Nine Reflections on the Three Ones that Yin Zhen received, although they too belong to internal cultivation, their line of transmission is different from that of Neidan. Daoist methods and scriptural teachings each have their own purpose; one cannot expect a single book to encompass every teaching of every school. To force different views together is to make unwarranted connections. Why? One must realize one’s nature for oneself, while methods of cultivation must be received from a teacher. If they truly contain subtle and hidden teachings, a practitioner who has attained mastery must explain them fully in person to prevent misunderstanding. How could the words on a page alone make them clear? Moreover, the Dao De Jing expounds the foundations of Dao and De and sets forth the principle of Wuwei (non-action). Its vision is exalted and profound. How could other teachings be casually mixed into it?

Bai Juyi said: “The five thousand words of the Primordial Emperor do not speak of medicines, becoming an immortal, or ascending bodily in daylight.” This is precisely right. Su Shi, commissioned by imperial order to write the Stele of the Palace of Auspicious Preservation, wrote in substance that the Daoist lineage originates with the Yellow Emperor and Laozi. Its guiding principle is clarity and stillness with Wuwei; its function is emptiness and lucidity in responding to things; and its conduct is governed by frugality, compassion, and non-contention. This accords with the Book of Changes on having neither thought nor worry, and with the Analects on the benevolent being still and long-lived. Only from the Han dynasty onward did people begin to adopt the claims of the practitioners of esoteric arts. Thus arose techniques of flying immortals and transformation, the methods of the Huangting and Dadong, the titles Duke of Wood and Queen Mother of Metal, and rites to the Great One and the Purple Tenuity. Later came elixirs, extraordinary techniques, Fulu (talismans and registers), and other practices, all of which were subsumed under Daoism.

Su Shi considered the Dao of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi fundamental, and the claims of esoteric practitioners secondary. Once one grasps the root, the branches can follow of their own accord. Cultivate oneself so that one’s De (Virtue/Power) becomes genuine and pure, then extend it throughout the world, and De will become widespread; these are not two different foundations. If students of the Dao can grasp the One and understand its principle throughout, then the subtle depths that are hard to fathom, and the elusive, mysterious realm, will become clear through holding to the center and embracing the One. The workings of the Mysterious Female—the subtle gateway through which all things come into being—and the function of the bellows, a metaphor for the Dao’s operation, are also expressions of the Dao. Only those who practice deeply and attain understanding for themselves can know this.

Written by the later student Guishan Dong Sijing at Qingyuan Tianqing Abbey on the fifteenth day of the twelfth month of the Bingwu year of the Chunyou era.

Collected Explanations of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue, Volume One

Compiled and explained by the later student Dong Sijing

“If the Dao (the Way) can be put clearly into words, it is not the constant Dao; if a name can be fixed and defined, it is not a constant name.” These are the opening words of the entire text, setting out the purpose of its argument.

“Dao” is the general name for the principle that encompasses all principles; “name” is what we use to refer to the myriad things. But the Dao cannot be confined by a name, nor can words explain it completely. We can only make use of words and provisionally call it “Dao.” Thus, once the Dao can be fully expressed or a name fixed, they are no longer the constant Dao and the constant name. The constant Dao and name are what the scripture calls “the Dao that is constantly nameless”: from ancient times to the present, its true existence has never vanished. “Constant” means that it endures naturally, existing at all times and in all places.

The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

This means that the Dao is the source of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. Because the Dao has no trace or sign, it cannot be named. This is the constant Dao, belonging to the metaphysical realm: existence beyond concrete forms.

The named is the mother of the myriad things.

Once Heaven and Earth and Yin-Yang (the Two Modes) have taken shape, things can be referred to by names, and the myriad things come into being. This belongs to the physical realm, the realm of concrete forms and things.

By constantly remaining free of desire, one can observe the Dao’s subtlety.

This passage says that when sages embody the Dao, they can remain utterly still while preserving an inner spiritual awareness. From this, we can see that the substance of the Dao is subtle and mysterious.

“Constant” refers to the wondrous source that is truly constant and unchanging. Without desire, one returns to stillness—this is the enduring aspect of the Dao’s substance. When desire arises, the Dao is set in motion—this is the operation of the Dao. Movement and stillness differ, as do substance and function, yet the wondrous source remains clear and luminous throughout. It is always responsive in stillness, and remains still even as it responds; it never ceases, and so remains constant as before. “Constantly observe” means to view all things with an open, impartial, and tranquil mind, leaving nothing unseen.

In “constant desire, to observe its limits,” “limits” is pronounced jiào and means boundaries. This refers to the moment when the Dao responds to things and acts upon them. Through this visible activity, one can observe the Dao’s function. Chen Jingyuan says that a small path beside the Great Dao is called a “limit.”

These two ways of observing, “without desire” and “with desire,” both arise from the Dao; they differ only in name. Both point toward the Dao’s profound mystery. Within mystery lies a deeper mystery: the gateway through which all wonders come into being.

This summarizes the meaning of the preceding passage. “The two” refers to the nameless and the named—that is, the “subtle” and the “manifest” (the hidden, subtle aspect of things and their visible boundaries and signs). Substance and function arise from the same source, so they are called “the same.” “Emerging” implies movement and stillness: sometimes in motion, sometimes at rest, substance and function appear distinct, so they are said to have “different names.” Though their names differ, their root is one; thus they are also called “the same.”

Because they arise from one source, human nature and principle accord with the Dao in a profound way that cannot be traced to its end. This is called “the mysterious.” “Mysterious” originally means far-reaching and without end; applied to the human mind, it describes a still, deep state without any concrete form. Though the mysterious changes without limit and cannot be fathomed, clinging to the idea of “the mysterious” remains a kind of constraint. To speak further of “the mysterious within the mysterious” is to let go even of attachment to the mysterious, leaving the mind clear and without trace. In this way, one can set Yin-Yang transformations in motion and bring forth the myriad things without end.

The subtlest principles in all things arise from this, which is why it is called “the gateway to all mysteries.”

The first chapter is titled “Understanding the Dao” in the Heshanggong Commentary; most other commentators name chapters after their opening words. Dong Sijing considers this chapter a summary and explanation of the central principles of the entire text.

Someone asked: How should “nameless” and “named” be punctuated and understood? Earlier commentators usually read each together with the following word, “nameless” with “beginning” and “named” with “mother.” Why is the reading different here? Dong Sijing explained: “Nameless” refers to the Dao, while “named” refers to Qi—the primordial energy that constitutes all things. The Dao has no form, whereas Qi has already shown signs of manifestation; hence the distinction between “nameless” and “named.” To say “the nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth” means that the Dao precedes Heaven and Earth, yet has no fixed name by which it can be identified. The Dao De Jing says, “The Dao is constantly nameless” and “The Dao is hidden and nameless”; these express the same idea.

The Dao is everywhere: it exists beyond all things and also runs through them. The Dao abides in non-action and formlessness, yet is not confined to “nonbeing.” It manifests as being, yet is not confined by “being.” The Dao cannot be given a fixed name, but its name has endured unchanged since ancient times; hence it is called the “constant Dao” and the “constant name.”

If the Dao is simply called “nonbeing,” one might suppose that it belongs only to nonbeing. But once nonbeing transforms into being, it can no longer be called nonbeing. Being and nonbeing depend on each other and continually change, and their names change along with them. How, then, could they be called the constant Dao and the constant name? Neither being nor nonbeing, in itself, is enough to explain the Dao. Insisting that the Dao is nonbeing risks leaning toward emptiness and stillness. Where, then, would Heaven, Earth, and all things come from? To call it “nameless” here means only that the Dao is still and profound, with no form that can be depicted and no name that can identify it. Yet the principles of Heaven, Earth, and all things are contained within it, so the Dao cannot simply be called “nonbeing.”

The Dao cannot be fully expressed in words. If a sage remained silent, there would naturally be no need to give it a name. But once the sage uses words to make the Dao clear, it becomes necessary to name it. The sage also fears that those who study the Dao may cling to words and mistake the name for the Dao itself. Thus the text begins: “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name.” Dong Sijing considers the meaning of this statement profound.

Someone else asked how to punctuate “always without desire” and “always with desire.” Earlier commentators usually read “always without” and “always with” as separate phrases. Why not read them that way here? If the text means “without desire, one can therefore…,” how should “with desire, one can therefore…” be understood? Dong Sijing replied: The sage’s heart has no selfish desires. “With desire” here refers only to the point at which the Dao begins to function. When still and inactive, it is called “without desire”; when it responds to things and acts, its function becomes visible, yet it has not departed from the Dao…

“Boundary” (jiao) refers to an edge or limit: the aspect of the myriad things that they present to us and through which we can encounter them. Thus, “having desire” here means the directed longing of a mind that pursues things, not desire in general.

When Zhu Xi replied to Shen Zhuangzhong, he likewise said that “boundary” is like an edge, referring to the point where one meets things. Some in the past read “always without” and “always with” as separate phrases. It is better to understand them directly as “always without desire” and “always with desire.” If one insists on treating “always without” and “always with” as complete phrases in themselves, then “always without” may be taken to mean annihilating emptiness, while “always with” may fall into the common view that clings to worldly appearances. Neither reading is sufficient to know the substance and function of the wondrous Dao. Moreover, if “always without” is made a phrase on its own, the text later says, “desiring to observe its mystery.” That would mean that one has desires even in the state of “always without”—does that make sense?

Someone asked, “In the phrase ‘These two emerge together but have different names,’ most people read ‘these’ with the preceding sentence, while some connect ‘together’ with the sentence before it. Why?” The reply was: At the beginning of this chapter, “nameless” and “named” explain the Dao and Qi, the vital energy that forms and moves through the myriad things. Then “without desire” and “with desire” explain substance and function. At the end of the chapter, these should naturally be brought together in a summary.

The Dao and Qi, and substance and function, are indeed distinct, but they are not separate from one another or independent things in their own right. Without the aspect called “boundary,” the Dao could not appear in Qi; without Qi, the Dao would have nowhere to abide. Without substance, function could not operate; without function, substance could not become manifest. The Dao governs Qi but is not confined by it. Function appears within substance and has its source in substance. The Dao is substance, and Qi is function; substance and function emerge from one source, and principle and things are never cut off from one another. That is why the text says, “these two.”

Even within substance that is profound and still, with no visible trace, the clear and visible functions of the myriad things are already present. And even when those functions appear as all kinds of things, the deep, formless substance has not departed. It is only that stillness and movement have different names, and that matters of principle and things are distinguished: stillness, namelessness, and the absence of desire refer to substance; movement, name, and desire refer to function. Hence the text continues, “have different names.” This does not make stillness and movement into two separate foundations, nor does it blur substance and function until they are indistinguishable. It says that they emerge from one source but have different names.

Because their root is the same while their names differ, substance and function, stillness and movement, are all included within them and flow together as a whole, leaving no fixed trace that can be pointed to. Hence the text says, “together they are called mystery.” Guan Yinzi said that the Dao cannot be glimpsed from the side or divided apart; therefore it may be called “Heaven,” “destiny,” “spirit,” or “mystery,” and taken together these are called the Dao. He meant the same thing. Yet “mystery,” too, is only a provisional name. To cling to the name “mystery” would also become a constraint, so that attachment must be broken as well, allowing transformation to continue without end. How profound this principle is.

When everyone knows what is beautiful and takes it to be beautiful, the idea of ugliness arises along with it. When everyone knows what is good and takes it to be good, the idea of what is not good arises along with it.

Once fixed names and standards are assigned to things, relative distinctions take shape. These distinctions are only expressions carried by words. One must therefore also cast off the burden of clinging to mysterious formulations, so that understanding can change without constraint. This is indeed profound.

When everyone knows what is beautiful and takes it to be beautiful, the idea of ugliness arises along with it. When everyone knows what is good and takes it to be good, the idea of what is not good arises along with it.

Once fixed names are assigned to things, opposing distinctions appear. They depend on and constrain one another, forming a chain in which each gives rise to the next in a continuous cycle.

Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficulty and ease bring each other about; long and short show themselves through comparison; high and low depend on each other; sounds harmonize with one another; and what comes before is followed by what comes after.

Here, “harmonize” is pronounced with a falling tone. These six pairs of opposites exist only through their mutual dependence.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without relying on words.

Here, “handles” is pronounced with a rising tone. This is Wuwei: by clinging to neither side, one is no longer bound by the six pairs of opposites.

All things arise and grow; the sage does not reject them.

That is to say, there is nothing the sage fails to do.

The sage nurtures all things without claiming them as their own; acts without relying on their own ability; and completes their work without taking credit.

This is a state of great breadth, able to nurture and transform all things.

Precisely because the sage takes no credit, their achievements do not disappear.

Here, “for” is pronounced “fu.” This is what makes the sage a sage. When one follows nature and practices Wuwei, what achievement is there to claim, and what can depart?

The Heshang Gong commentary gives the title “Nurturing the Self” to the two chapters above. This chapter guides students toward forgetting fame and outward traces, and toward not clinging to external names and appearances.

Do not exalt those deemed worthy and capable, so that the people will not compete with one another. Do not prize rare and precious goods, so that the people will not steal. Do not display things that stir up desire, so that people’s minds will not be disturbed.

Esteeming the worthy and pursuing fame are ways of gaining renown; valuing wealth is a way of seeking profit. Only when we are not drawn along by such things does the mind cease to race outward in pursuit of them. To “not look at things that can stir desire” does not mean shutting one’s eyes and seeing nothing. It means that even when countless sights appear before us, we do not regard them as things worth pursuing. Then our feelings do not attach themselves to external things, and the heart can grow calm and clear. In that case, what desire could remain? High office and rank seem as light as a single zhu, and gold, jade, and other treasures seem like dirt.

Thus, when the sage governs the people, he makes their hearts empty and still and their lives full. He weakens their will to compete and grasp, and strengthens their bodies. He constantly ensures that the people have fewer clever schemes and fewer desires.

Here, “emptying the heart” means forgetting the distinction between things and oneself; “filling the belly” means keeping the spirit within. When the distinction between things and oneself is forgotten, thoughts do not arise, and the will to compete and grasp naturally weakens. When the spirit is kept within, the breath does not grow weak, and the body naturally becomes strong. Emptying the heart and weakening the will leaves the people with fewer clever schemes; filling the belly and strengthening the bones leaves them with fewer desires.

Make those who rely on their cleverness and delight in reckless action afraid to act rashly. Govern by following the Way of Wuwei (non-action), and nothing will be left ungoverned.

The sage’s Way is the same whether used for cultivating oneself inwardly or governing others outwardly. Zhuangzi’s words, “The mind and spirit roam at ease in a realm of simplicity; the breath joins with stillness; one follows the natural course of things without mixing in private intent, and so the world is governed,” express this same principle.

The above is Chapter Three, titled “Pacifying the People” in the Heshanggong commentary edition. This chapter teaches that by letting go of esteem for rank and wealth and dispelling thought, one can return to Wuwei and accord with the ultimate principle.

The Great Dao is empty and without form, yet in its activity it seems never to be exhausted. Deep and elusive, it seems to be the source of all things.

The Dao’s essential nature is empty and still, without form or trace, yet it can act and encompass everything. Heaven and earth are vast, and living things abound, all within the Dao’s embrace; yet they still cannot fill its scope. Physical forms have boundaries, but principle has no end. Thus the Dao is said to be vast, with nothing beyond it, as though no amount of filling could make it full. The Dao’s subtlety, too, has no boundaries, so each thing and each affair contains the Dao in its entirety, with nothing left out. To understand the Dao, one must observe concrete things closely, but must not let the mind wander only toward the empty, still, and mysterious, pursuing what is called limitless vastness. That is why the word “perhaps” is used here: it expresses uncertainty. The text then says, “Deep, it seems to be the ancestor of all things.” “Deep” describes something empty and clear, profound and still, beyond measurement. The Dao seems to be the source of all things, yet cannot be defined by any fixed name; hence the word “seems.” From the perspective of the myriad things, there appears to be a fundamental ruler, but the Dao itself has no fixed form.

“Blunt its sharpness, untangle its knots, soften its radiance, and mingle with its dust. Deep and clear, it seems to exist.” All things contain the Dao, and human beings can embody it fully. Therefore, the highest sages teach people to cultivate themselves so that their Dao nature can be fully revealed. “Sharpness” refers to the forceful, keen edge that shows itself in a person. To blunt it is to restrain that edge; to untangle its knots is to set disorder right; to soften its radiance is to temper one’s brilliance and make it gentle; to mingle with its dust is to blend into the world without seeming out of place. “Deep and clear, it seems to exist” describes the Dao as profound, still, and clear: it seems to be present, yet is difficult to grasp.

Nothing among the myriad things is without the Dao, yet only human beings can preserve it in its fullness. Thus the sages of antiquity taught people to cultivate themselves, so that the fullness of the Dao might be fully revealed.

“Blunt its sharpness” means wearing away the edge that shows when one’s intelligence is displayed, so that one’s originally complete nature remains as it is. “Untangle its knots” means cutting through disorder by following the natural lines of things, as Cook Ding—the skilled butcher—does. The disorder is like the interwoven sinews and bones of an ox. Once the knots are undone, the mind remains calm and focused, undisturbed. This is a way of cultivating the inner mind through the refinement of outward conduct.

“Temper its brightness” means having radiance without showing it off; “mingle with its dust” means blending as one with all things in the world. “Vast and blended” in “mingle with its dust” describes something broad and undifferentiated. The foregoing describes how, once the mind is focused, one responds to external things. When cultivation reaches its utmost, inner and outer become one seamless whole, and the complete nature returns to oneself, clear, tranquil, and constant.

The phrase “as if” is used because one dares not identify the Dao as any particular thing. The Dao has no fixed form; as soon as one clings to a definition of what it is, one loses it.

I do not know whose descendant the Dao is, but it existed before the Lord of Heaven.

The Dao is the source of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things; hence it is said that we do not know whose descendant it is. “Image” refers to the beginning of things with form; “Lord” refers to the ruler of the myriad things; and “before” means before images and the myriad things appeared.

The Dao is the source of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things; hence it is said that we do not know whose descendant it is. “Image” is the beginning of things with form, while “Lord” is the ruler of the myriad things. “Before” means before forms and the myriad things appeared.

Heshang Gong, the commentator on the Dao De Jing, calls the four chapters above “The Source-less.” This chapter explains that the Dao’s essence is profound and still, while its workings are beyond measure.

Heaven and Earth are not partial in their benevolence; they treat the myriad things as straw dogs used in sacrifice. The sage is not partial in benevolence; he treats the people as straw dogs used in sacrifice.

Benevolence is the root of life and the principle of love; it is an important virtue of the Three Powers: Heaven, Earth, and humanity. “Not benevolent” here does not mean having no love. It means not being bound by benevolence, as expressed in the phrase “highest De does not cling to De.” In their operation, Heaven and Earth nurture all things universally, without any thought of favoritism. In handling affairs, the sage responds to each one without being entangled in private feelings.

Thus they are not burdened by what is happening in the present, nor do they cling to what has already passed. This is like the straw dogs made for a sacrifice: they are brought out at the appointed time during the ritual, then set aside afterward, without anyone harboring private attachment to them. This is the utmost in impartiality, and the highest expression of benevolence.

Isn’t the space between Heaven and Earth just like a bellows?

“Tuō” refers to a bellows. Here, “yuè” also refers to a tubular instrument that can hold breath and stir up wind. Another commentator says that “yuè” is read as “yào” and refers to a grass dog used in sacrifice: a dog fashioned from straw, used at the appointed time during the rite and discarded once it is over, without anyone showing it special affection. The movement of breath between Heaven and Earth, its bending and extending, is like the working of a bellows. It has no private interests. It is empty, and so can hold breath; it responds to things as they arise, but does not keep the breath within it.

It is empty yet never exhausted; the more it works, the more breath it produces.

Both the Lu edition and the Heshang Gong Commentary explain “bending” as “being exhausted.” Zhu Xi says that if something cannot contain what comes to it, emptiness will be depleted; if it cannot respond to anything, it will produce nothing as it moves.

Too many words often carry the principle to its limit. Better to keep the heart-mind centered.

“Shù” is read as “shuò,” meaning repeatedly or frequently. Sima Guang says that one who can keep the heart-mind centered and sincere will be trusted even without speaking. Su Shi, meanwhile, says that people see how the more the bellows move, the more breath they produce, but do not realize this is because the space within them is empty. He therefore urges people to speak little and keep to the center.

This is Chapter Five of the Dao De Jing. The Heshang Gong Commentary titles it “The Use of Emptiness.” The chapter first takes Heaven and Earth and the sage as examples, then draws comparisons with the bellows and other things to show that they are without self-interest and seek no reward.

In the first five chapters, Heshang Gong titled this chapter “The Use of Emptiness.” It begins by drawing on the actions of Heaven and Earth and the sage, then offers comparisons with various things at a distance, to show that Heaven and Earth and the sage act without selfishness or force. Once the empty and tranquil substance is established, its function naturally operates without end. Yet one must not pursue function alone without returning to seek its root. This is why the chapter teaches people to speak with care and hold to the center, as a way into the gate of De.

“The center” is the Dao. In its substance, it is perfectly integrated and vast, like the Great Void, without bias in any direction. In its function, it flows on without ceasing; as it takes shape in particular things, it means having neither excess nor deficiency. “Holding to” means the effort of study and cultivation by which one strives to reach this state. Once this effort is fully mature, even the thought of deliberately holding to it suddenly falls away, the substance naturally becomes clear, and “the center” is established.

Some also interpret “the center” as the Central Palace and Yellow Court, places within the body used in cultivation, or as the Northern Pole and Great Abyss, terms from Daoist Neidan (internal alchemy). They hold that preserving Shen in the Central Palace nurtures the embryonic origin and receives the source of Qi. This explains “the center” in terms of the tangible body, just as the Northern Pole lies at the center of the heavens, resting in its place and serving as the pivot of Heaven and Earth’s movement. Thus “the spirit in the center, in the Central Palace” becomes the key to nurturing the embryonic origin and receiving the mother of Qi. Yet the pivot’s stability and the ceaseless transformation of primordial Qi ultimately still depend on “the center.” Whoever fully understands this will find that, however one approaches it, nothing lies outside it.

“The Valley Spirit never dies; this is called the Mysterious Female.”

“The Valley Spirit” means that the substance is empty and tranquil, able to contain all things, while its function responds to each circumstance in ways that are difficult to fathom. It governs creation and transformation, runs through past and present, and brings forth and nurtures all things, so that the impulse of life never ceases. Hence it is said to “never die.” It is the “essence of the True One” and the master of Yin-Yang transformation; therefore it is called the “Mysterious Female.” The point here is that principle is embodied in Qi: “mysterious” refers to Yang, whose transformations are subtle and unfathomable; “female” refers to Yin, which joins with Yang and brings forth life without end. Zhu Xi said that this passage speaks of the meaning of ceaseless generation contained within the most subtle principle, and Cheng Yi likewise accepted this interpretation.

“The gate of the Mysterious Female is called the root of Heaven and Earth.”

The “Gate of the Mysterious Female” is like a gateway through which many wondrous things emerge. The “Root of Heaven and Earth” is like the root of a plant: though invisible to the human eye, it is the foundation from which all things grow and change. These phrases refer to the opening and closing, and the transformations, of Yin-Yang, which form the foundation of Heaven and Earth. In the human body, this corresponds to the “Palace of Origin and Abode of the Female,” an important place where Shen (spirit) and Qi (vital energy) gather. Thus, Heaven, Earth, and humanity are said to share the same root. Cao Daochong explains: “‘Mysterious’ refers to a place that is deep and unfathomable, where Shen is hidden; ‘female’ refers to a place that is empty, quiet, and peaceful, where Qi is hidden.”

“Continuous and seemingly present; use it without strain” means that the Dao’s activity is subtle and enduring: it seems to be there, yet leaves no visible trace. Cao Daochong says that “continuous” means a calm and peaceful Qi that flows without interruption. The Dao should not be deliberately augmented. To say that it exists is to bind it; to say that it does not exist is to fall into rigid thinking. Thus, one can only say that it is “seemingly present.” Wen Ding explains that “continuous” means subtle and never-ending, while “seemingly present” means that it is there, though invisible. Those who can experience and follow this state can put it to use throughout the day without feeling weary.

Heshang Gong titled this chapter “Forming Images.” The chapter discusses the Dao’s substance and function: Qi continues to be present, yet does not show itself. Those who understand and experience this can put it to use all day without toil.

This chapter discusses the substance and workings of the Dao (the Way), the Yin-Yang changes of Qi (vital energy), and the movement and stillness of the body. It also points out that human beings embody these same principles. The Mysterious Female, the source from which Yin and Yang bring forth all things, gives rise to life without end; from this we can understand that the Valley Spirit, the Dao’s wondrous efficacy, does not perish. Heaven and Earth move and rest according to their own enduring patterns; from this we can understand the workings of the Mysterious Female. Here, the Valley Spirit is discussed in terms of principle, the Mysterious Female in terms of Qi, and Heaven and Earth in terms of form. The Dao’s wondrous workings never depart from Yin and Yang, yet the Dao itself does not depend on Yin and Yang. It governs Qi and form and runs through them both.

Someone asked: “The Ling Shu Jing says that if the Original Spirit of the Celestial Valley is guarded and never lost, one can return to the Real. Above is the Mysterious; below is the Female, and the two are as close as mother and child. It also says that the nose is the Mysterious: inhaled breath rises through it to connect with Heaven. The mouth is the Female: fluids are received through it and descend to connect with Earth. Why does this chapter not use those explanations?” The answer is: “Those explanations speak only of the human body, whereas this chapter begins with the source of the transformations of all things. The Dao governs Yin and Yang and brings forth Heaven and Earth. As the ruler of Yin and Yang, it is a person’s nature; when the Qi of Heaven and Earth gathers and forms, it becomes a person’s body. So although the discussion may begin with bodily parts such as the mouth and nose, the underlying principle is the same.”

Later, some took the explanations about the mouth and nose and developed them into formulas for alchemical practice. Their successors built on these in turn, making the interpretations ever more elaborate. Zhang Ping-shu said that few people in the world truly understand the Gate of the Mysterious Female; they merely act on their own notions, relying on the mouth and nose. Even if they practice breathing exercises a thousand times, they may still fail to achieve the union of the Golden Crow and Jade Rabbit. Xue Dao-guang said that the Gate of the Mysterious Female is of the utmost importance, yet few dare to undertake the work. If you doubt the principle of longevity, look at the Jie Li among the frost. Master Zhu said that the Gate of the Mysterious Female is also called the Golden Mother, and that it contains the True Earth that existed before Heaven and Earth. It holds the Origin and embraces the breath; all things arise from it. A single Qi, empty and undifferentiated, runs through past and present. He also said that the true Mysterious Female is neither in the heart nor in the kidneys: one must trace it back to the very beginning, when a person first received Qi and came into being. Lü Chun-yang said that the Gate of the Mysterious Female is difficult to describe. It is where the Yin and Yang of Heaven and Earth meet, and is also called the Jade Chamber or the Golden Pit. The interaction of Yin and Yang is like the Qi of the sun and moon coming together, or the surging of the tides. Once one understands its mechanism, one can use it freely.

These explanations are regarded as profound in the arts of cultivation, but the fundamental purpose of this book has already been set out in its preface. The Liezi records that this chapter appears in full in the writings of the Yellow Emperor. This shows that such a book existed in ancient times, and that Laozi transmitted it rather than composed it. The Inner Tradition of Ge Xiangong further says that in the time of the Yellow Emperor, the Lord Lao manifested as Guang Chengzi and taught him this scripture. That is why the Yellow Emperor quoted this chapter in his writings.

Heaven and Earth can endure because they do not live solely for themselves; thus they last. Anything with a definite form and limited quantity has an end. The phrase “Heaven lasts long and Earth endures” refers to what people can observe.

Therefore, the sage places himself behind others and so comes to stand before them; he does not regard himself as most important and so preserves himself. This means yielding and forgetting the self, not calculating for private gain. It is the result of following the natural development of things. Humility can bring a person into the light, while letting go of attachment to bodily form can help one endure.

Is this not precisely because there is no selfishness? Thus the sage achieves his own fulfillment. Heaven and Earth do not contend with the myriad things for survival, and the sage does not contend with others for advantage; therefore, they can surpass ordinary people. The principle of utmost impartiality does not perish, and so it endures.

The above is Chapter Seven of the Dao De Jing (Classic of the Dao and De), which Heshang Gong titled “Concealing One’s Radiance.” This chapter explains the principle of selflessness, showing that it is the way to longevity.

The highest goodness is like water. Water is good at nourishing the myriad things, yet does not contend with them. It dwells in low places that people dislike, and so is close to the Dao (the Way). “Close” does not mean identical to the Dao: water still has form, so it is only near to the Dao.

In one’s dwelling, be like water and rest content in low places, maintaining oneself through humility. These qualities must first take root within before they can be put into practice.

Let the mind be still and clear like a deep pool. This, too, means cultivating the inner foundations first.

In dealing with others, be generous and benevolent: when giving, remain open and humble, without becoming self-satisfied; spread blessings widely without seeking repayment, simply harboring no selfish intent.

In speech, be truthful and trustworthy.

Trustworthy words need no promise to prove them; they are as reliable as a contract. Like the tides, they arrive on time without fail: when they meet a blocked bank, they stop; when they meet a breach, they rush through. They reflect beauty and ugliness without distortion, and pass through dangerous places without losing their way.

Those skilled in governing affairs of state put themselves in order, and all things are thereby transformed; they remain calm and still, and the people naturally come to follow them. This is like a level rule that can wash away many kinds of grime.

Those skilled in handling affairs can adapt to change and take on all kinds of tasks, making each one fitting and appropriate. They take the shape of a vessel as their guide, making things square or round accordingly, and arrange what they carry according to its weight. When they meet an obstacle, they avoid it and turn toward an open path, without clinging to a single method.

Those skilled in action know how to seize the right moment: they act when it is time to act and stop when it is time to stop, like snow and ice melting in spring and freezing in winter, each changing with the season.

Because they do not contend, they make no mistakes and invite no resentment. To possess De and achieve merit without contending with others is the highest form of De; this is the highest good. If one can do this, what fault or resentment could there be? “Fault” means error or resentment.

In the Heshanggong commentary, the preceding eight chapters are titled “Easy Nature.” This chapter uses water as a metaphor for the highest good and explains the way of living without contention.

Holding on to a state of fullness is not as good as stopping at what is sufficient. If something is sharpened too keenly, it is difficult to keep it that way for long. Here, “yi” is read as “yi,” meaning to stop; “chuai” is read as “chuweiqie,” meaning to grind or polish. Wending says: knowing that what is full will inevitably overflow, yet forcing it to remain full, is not as good as seeking no fullness and being content with what is enough. Knowing that what is too sharp will eventually break, yet continuing to sharpen it, means one should not rely on sharpness as something dependable. The sage does not accumulate private possessions, so where could there be fullness? They follow the course of things, so where could there be deliberate striving for sharpness? With no fullness, there is no need to struggle to maintain it; with no sharpness, there is no need to fear it will be damaged.

When gold and jade fill the hall, no one can guard them forever. Arrogance after attaining wealth and status brings calamity upon oneself. To withdraw once one’s achievements are complete and one’s reputation established—this accords with the Way of Heaven.

“Yi” is pronounced “Wei Ji Qie” and means “to give” or “to leave something to someone.” If one can understand the order of the seasons’ turning and the cycles of change among the myriad things, one can thereby come to know the Dao of Heaven—the patterns by which nature operates. Master Liu says: What is full will become empty, so beware of complacency; what is too sharp will eventually grow dull, so beware of pressing ahead too aggressively. Gold and jade can invite calamity, so do not covet them; wealth and rank can lead to indulgence, so beware of arrogance. Success and fame often bring danger in their wake. The key is to know when enough is enough and never stray from the right path. These words earnestly urge people to understand that cultivating the Dao does not necessarily mean living in the mountains and forests, cut off from human affairs. Even amid wealth, rank, and fame, one can still cultivate diligently.

The above is Chapter Nine, titled “Moving Along the Level Way.” This chapter explains that self-cultivation should understand and follow the principles of nature.

“Can you carry the body and embrace the One without letting them part?”

“Part” is pronounced with a level tone. “Carry” means to mount or bear, a usage common in ancient texts. “Po” refers to the corporeal Po, the essence of the body. “Carrying the Po and embracing the One” is like protecting the body and nurturing Jing and Qi. It also means letting the Hun govern the Po, so that body and mind hold fast to the One—the state of undivided purity—without separating. This is close in meaning to the Jing on Bestowing Blessings and Extending Life, which speaks of guarding and refining the Po essence until it naturally becomes full and harmonious.

“By concentrating Qi and attaining softness, can you be like an infant?”

This means keeping Qi focused and making body and mind gentle. Master Wen says: “Concentrating” does not mean holding on deliberately; it means remaining single-minded without interruption, whole and unmixed. Like an infant, one has no deliberately cultivated desire for knowledge, and so softness can naturally reach its utmost. The moment even a trace of sharpness shows, one has already turned toward hardness.

“By cleansing and clearing the dark mirror, can you be free of flaws?”

This means washing away thoughts and keeping inner insight deeply concealed. “Cleansing” means washing clean; “clearing” means letting go. The “dark mirror” refers to the mind’s perception of profound, mysterious principles. “Flaws” are faults. If one does not let go of attachment to subtle insights, one becomes bound by one’s own understanding. If one remains attached to the practice of “cleansing,” one is obstructed by the traces of cultivation. Free of these faults, one can forget attachment to the principles of the teaching, and the perceiving mind and the object perceived can dissolve together.

“Can you care for the people and govern the state through Wuwei (non-action)?”

This passage means that when the principle of Wuwei (non-action) is extended to others, even when caring for the people and governing the state, one can regard them like straw dogs used in ritual offerings, without favoring or clinging to them out of personal preference.

“Gate of Heaven” refers to the portal through which nature’s movements and transformations unfold; “opening and closing” refers to the coming and going of change. “Can you remain the female?” asks whether one can preserve softness and stillness, and remain in the receptive position. Here, “feminine stillness” is the virtue of nurturing all things: though soft and still, it does not remain fixed in stillness. Another interpretation holds that “without the female” means that no baleful Yin energy disrupts things from within.

“To be clear and perceptive in every direction, yet remain free of knowing” means that the mind is still and responds without limit: it can see clearly and understand fully, yet does not cling to the thought “I am knowing.” Wending says that the mind knows everything but does not give rise to a mind that takes itself to be capable of knowing. If it then clings to “I am knowing,” the mind seems to split in two.

The first three questions concern Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), and describe the work of cultivating oneself: hold fast to the root so its function can unfold, nurture one’s nature, and thereby understand one’s heavenly mandate. The final three questions concern how this work manifests in its effects on governing others: return from practical action to the root, allow the nature of people and all things to be fully realized, and put this into practice through one’s undertakings. In this way, one can accord with the Dao of Heaven, with spirit flowing freely between above and below, taking part in the creative transformation of Heaven and Earth without claiming credit. With a selfless heart, one brings about the common good. This is the realm a sage can attain, and the profound, mysterious operation of the Dao of Heaven; the passage that follows therefore explains it further.

“To give life and nurture” means to bring all things to life and nourish them. “To give life yet not possess” means to bring forth and nourish all things without claiming ownership of them. “To act yet not rely on one’s achievements” means to accomplish things without depending on the credit for them. “To help things grow yet not rule over them” means to enable all things to mature without dominating them. This is called “profound De,” a deep and hidden virtue. Here, “grow” is pronounced with the falling-rising tone, and “nurture” means to nourish. Profound De remains concealed, silently connecting all things; it does not display itself, forgets its achievements and external things, and penetrates into the depths of mystery.

This chapter is titled "Neng Wei" (Capability) in the Heshanggong Zhangju (Heshanggong's Annotated Commentary). Interpretations of it have long varied.

Liu Jing says that the Yellow Emperor's phrase "moving to sustain life" (dong yi ying sheng) means that human activity is what keeps life going. Bi Xu, however, holds that ying refers to the hun (ethereal soul). The Baihutong (Comprehensive Discussions in the White Tiger Hall) says that yingying describes a restless heart-mind. Zai (to carry) means to bear a load. On this reading, the body is made to carry the hun and po (corporeal soul), so that they keep to the pure unity of Taihe (Great Harmony) qi and do not scatter or separate.

Wending explains that the sage's heart-mind is settled and his shen (spirit) concentrated, so he is not drawn along by external things. Although the body is the dwelling place of the po, when the shen wants to act, the po follows, so it is the shen that carries the po. The ordinary person, by contrast, is governed by external things, and his heart-mind is in disorder. The ears and eyes chase sounds and colors, the mouth and nose labor over fragrances and flavors, and whatever the po wants, the shen follows, so the po ends up leading the shen. Hence the teaching to "embrace the shen and carry the po," so that the two are never separated.

Wengong points out that "using a vehicle to carry a person" is a common expression both in ancient and modern usage, and that older books also describe a person boarding a carriage as zai. He then examines in detail the meanings of ying and hun-po, and criticizes the earlier commentators.

The author holds that ying is interchangeable with ying (the homophone meaning "glowing"), and so carries the sense of bright, radiant light. The hun belongs to yang and governs movement; the po belongs to yin and governs stillness. The hun is like fire and the po is like water. Zai should therefore be understood as attaching the hun to the po, using movement to guard stillness, fire relying on water, and holding the two as one, so that they do not separate, just as a person who has boarded a carriage sits settled within it. In this way the hun becomes calm, the po becomes clear and perceptive, the fire does not blaze fiercely, and the water does not run dry. The author regards this as the essential principle of long life and enduring vitality.

The author argues that Heshanggong's reading of ying as hun is not appropriate in terms of the word's meaning, and that his explanation of the passage as the body carrying the hun and po in order to nourish life does not fit the original text. Wang Bi reads zai as "dwelling place," taking yingpo to mean the place where a person normally resides, and the author considers this close to Heshanggong's interpretation. As for Su Ziyou, Wang Yuanzhi, Hong Qingshan and others, who all read zai as using a carriage to carry a person, the author holds that they too depart from the sense of the text. If the shen is kept in constant active operation, the po cannot find rest. Even if one avoids being immersed in desire, the subtle and pure shen may be swept along by an overpowering yang energy, driven about in confusion and agitation, and in the end one injures one's life without realizing it.

The Jiuge Bianzheng (Examination of the Nine Songs), in discussing the hun and po, cites Zi Chan, Confucius, Zheng Xuan and the Huainanzi. Zi Chan says that when things first come into being, the po comes first, and only after the po is formed does yang energy arise; the spiritual intelligence within that yang energy is called the hun. Confucius says that qi is the potency of the shen, and the po is the gathering of the ghostly. Zheng Xuan explains that the breath moving in and out is qi, the clear perception of the ears and eyes is the po, and qi refers to the hun. The Huainanzi says that the qi of Heaven is the hun and the qi of Earth is the po. Gao You's commentary explains that the hun is the yang shen of a person and the po is the yin shen of a person.

On this basis, the author explains that when life first takes shape, the essence and blood gather, and the part within them that possesses spiritual intelligence is called the po. Once the po is formed, it produces warm yang energy, and the part within that which possesses shen is called the hun. Only when the hun and po are joined does a living bodily form come into being. The saying in the Yijing (Book of Changes) that "the essence and qi make up things" refers to this same principle. When life disperses, the hun drifts away and becomes shen, and the po sinks down and becomes a ghost.

The author holds that some commentators who identify the movement of breathing with the po are mistaken. To call the spirit that attaches to the form the po, and the shen that attaches to the qi the hun, comes somewhat closer to the truth. Yet to say that the po has little perception and the hun has much is also not right. The difference between hun and po lies in their functions and in the ways they are stored.

Yang Xiong uses the light and darkness of the sun and moon to illustrate the hun and po. The body of the moon is the po, and the brilliance of the sun is the hun. When the sunlight falls on the lunar po, the moon shows its brightness, just as a person who has boarded a carriage is carried by it. Before the moon is full, it gradually receives sunlight. After the full moon, the sunlight shines on the other side of the lunar po, and the face of the moon gradually wanes until it is entirely gone at the end of the month. The moon receives its light by approaching the sun: before the full moon, the sun is on the moon's right, and after it, the sun is on the left. So the moon takes its light according to the sun's position, just as the common people receive the instruction of their ruler and are thereby brought to accomplishment.

The term "su" (common, popular) refers to the popular belief in the hun and po souls.

Thirty spokes converge on a single hub. It is precisely because the center of the hub is hollow that the wheel can be fitted onto the axle and turn, and so fulfill its function as a cart.

"Fu" (spoke) is one of the spokes of a wheel, and "gu" (hub) is the central part of the wheel that receives the spokes and holds the axle within it. "Dang" means "in," "at," or "precisely because." The passage says that the spokes and hub together form the wheel, and that the hollow space at the center of the hub is the key to the cart's movement. Wen Gong explains that because the center of the hub is empty, it can receive the axle, allowing the wheel to turn without cease. Zhuangzi's saying, that "when the pivot finds its center, it can respond to the endless changes," expresses the same idea.

Kneading clay to make vessels works because the inside of the vessel is empty, so that it can hold things and become a useful implement.

"Shan" means kneading earth, and "zhi" means clay; both are steps in pottery making. The hollow interior of a vessel is what allows it to contain objects, and this is why it can be used.

Cutting doors and windows to build a house works because the interior of the house has space, which gives it the function of dwelling.

"Hu" refers to a door, and "you" refers to a window.

Therefore, solid, physical things provide convenience, but it is the empty space within them that makes them function.

These three things all depend on external conditions to take shape, yet their interior is empty and can contain all things. The external form brings convenience that can be used at any time, while the inner emptiness brings a function that never ceases. Without external form, that convenience has no means of being exercised. Without inner emptiness, the function cannot be realized. Therefore form and spirit depend on each other, and having and non-having complete each other. What governs the form and drives the qi (vital energy) flow is always wu (non-being). For this reason it can bring about wondrous transformations in all things, and its functions are inexhaustible. The Yijing (Classic of Changes) says: "When Qian and Kun are destroyed, the Yi cannot be manifested; when the Yi cannot be seen, Qian and Kun are almost at an end." This also speaks to the same principle.

The above is chapter eleven of the Daodejing, which He Shanggong titled "Wuyong" (The Usefulness of Non-Being). This chapter clarifies the principle that having and non-having depend on each other and together perform their function. It is meant to dispel the confusion of clinging to one side and favoring acceptance over rejection.

"Five colors blind the eye, five tones deafen the ear, and five flavors dull the palate."

"Ling" (to cause), read in the level tone, means "to make." "Shuang" means to lose, referring to the loss of the plain and unadorned authentic flavor.

Galloping horses and hunting for pleasure drive the mind to frenzy.

These are all external things, yet they turn around and disturb the inner heart. Although human intention can often influence the qi flow, what this chapter describes is the way external things confuse the mind. It therefore warns people to restrain outward desires in order to settle the inner heart.

"Goods that are hard to obtain obstruct conduct."

"Xing" (conduct) is read in the departing tone. Rare goods are all external things. "Fang" means to harm or impede. When the heart is attached to external things, it obstructs the practice of goodness.

Therefore the sage attends to satisfying inner needs and does not chase external sensory pleasures. He discards the latter and chooses the former.

"Qu" is read as "kou ju qie," meaning to cast off or remove, not the "qu" of "coming and going." "Fu" (belly) refers to the inner capacity to contain without craving. "Mu" (eye) refers to chasing external scenes and letting outside things stir the heart. "Wei fu" is similar to the Yijing's "gen qi bei" (keeping the back still, so that the mind is not drawn by external things). "Bu wei mu" relates to the Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Accord), which says "ji zai mu" (the mechanism lies in the eye). Both are meant to warn that what the eyes see may stir the mechanisms of the heart.

The previous chapter explained that once a person is drawn out by external things and follows their circumstances, they lose the proper Way (Dao). The previous chapter described how the inner emptiness and stillness of the heart give rise to limitless subtle function, and this chapter warns against letting external, improper desires fill the heart. The key lies in the eyes, so this chapter centers on them throughout. When the six roots (liugen), the faculties of perception and cognition, which include the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind, encounter the six dusts (liuchen), the objects of perception, which include form, sound, smell, taste, touch, and phenomena, the eyes and the realm of form are often placed first. Confucius's "Four Refrainings" (siwu), which state that one should not look at, listen to, speak, or move in ways contrary to ritual propriety, also begin with "looking," and the underlying meaning is the same.

The eyes see, the ears hear, the mouth tastes flavors, the body labors, and the heart is stirred by things. These activities cannot be stopped entirely. The key is to remain constantly tranquil within activity. In this way, although one engages with things, one is not led about by them, and the heart can remain clear, settled, and free of greed.

"Favor and disgrace cause alarm; regard great calamity as though it were your own body." To receive favor is to be startled; to lose favor is to suffer shame, and in both cases the mind is unsettled. Honor and great calamity both seem to happen to oneself, and they are difficult to refuse.

What does it mean by favor and disgrace? Favor itself plants the root of disgrace: because one is first favored, there later arises the shame of losing that favor.

To be unsettled when receiving favor and equally unsettled when losing it is what is meant by "favor and disgrace cause alarm." If one cannot deal with the world according to the proper Way, gain and loss will burden the heart and make a person anxious and fearful.

What does it mean to regard honor and great calamity as though they were one's own body? I have great calamity because I cling to this body and this self. If one can forget the self, what calamity could there be? Here the text indicates that the body and the sense of self become the source of calamity. "Without body" (wushen) refers to forgetting the attachment to the self. The preceding passage does not mention "disgrace," and this passage does not mention "honor," so the two halves complement each other in expressing a single idea. People generally like honor and dislike hardship, yet this passage speaks only of calamity, because the fundamental problem lies in clinging to the "I." If one is free of the self, then in wealth and honor one walks through them at ease, and in hardship one faces it calmly. Whether the path is smooth or perilous, bitter or sweet, no distinction remains, and one is no longer governed by honor or calamity.

Therefore, one who can cherish the world as dearly as he cherishes his own body may be entrusted with it, and one who can love the world as he loves his own body may be given charge of governing it.

Guo Xiang said: If a person regards bitterness and pleasure as equal, who would still rejoice in honor or fear hardship and worry?

One who values the world as he values his own self may be entrusted with governing it. One who cherishes the world as he cherishes his own self may be entrusted with its care.

Guo Xiang said: If a person disregards himself in pursuit of profit and abandons himself to cater to external things, and cannot even settle his own body and mind, how could he govern the world? This means that only one who truly values and cherishes himself may be given the weighty charge of the world. To value oneself is still less profound than to cherish oneself, and to entrust the world to him for a time is less than to entrust it to him for good. Some also say that one who knows how to cherish himself can place the world outside himself and not be burdened by it.

The above is Chapter Thirteen. Heshang Gong titled this chapter "Yanchi" (Aversion to Disgrace). It speaks of removing false desires and restoring one's original, true nature. Forget favor, and you will not be humiliated; forget the self, and calamity has no way to arrive. The world is the most weighty of things, yet one does not treat it as a burden, so how much less would one burden oneself with other things? Forgetting the self is the cultivation that transcends the mundane. One who can cherish himself without being encumbered by the world is like one who sits on the throne yet holds no thought of the throne in his heart.

Look at it and it cannot be seen. It is called yi (flat, leaving no trace).

The "great image" (da xiang) is flat and formless, with no color that can be seen.

Listen to it and it cannot be heard. It is called xi (silent, without sound).

The greatest sound is heard as silence, so still that it cannot be perceived.

Try to grasp it and it cannot be caught. It is called wei (subtle and hidden).

The reading of bo is given by the classical fanqie formula "bo-ge-qie." The Dao is subtle and formless, empty and elusive, and cannot be grasped.

These three cannot be pursued to a final answer, so they are blended into one.

The reading of qi is given by the classical fanqie formula "qi-ji-qie." The Dao cannot be reached by sight, hearing, or intellect. It must be returned to a single, undivided whole before it can be realized.

Above, it does not appear bright; below, it does not appear dark.

The reading of jiao is given by the classical fanqie formula "gu-xiao-qie," meaning brightness. This says that the Dao, above, is not made more clear by this, and, below, is not made more obscure by it.

The Dao stretches on without end and cannot be named. In the end it returns to non-being.

It seems to have order and to move without rest, yet in the end there is no concrete thing to which a name can be given.

This is called a shape without shape and an image without image, and it is also called huang hu (a state of seeming to exist and not exist, hard to grasp).

Commentator Wending says: "zhuang" (appearance) describes the manifest side of the Dao's body, and "xiang" (image) compares its subtle, hidden side. The Dao cannot be called existent, nor can it be called nonexistent, so "you" (being) and "wu" (non-being) cannot settle what it is. For this reason it is called "huanghu" (elusive and indistinct).

Facing it, one does not see its front; following it, one does not see its back.

The Dao is not a thing with form or color, and it moves without limit or boundary. For this reason one cannot face it or follow it and so grasp it.

To hold the Dao of antiquity in order to govern the existence of the myriad things of the present, and to know the origin of heaven, earth, and the myriad things, is called "Daoji" (the guiding thread of the Dao), that is, the principle that orders the Dao.

The ages divide into past and present, but the Dao has no end and no beginning. The sage teaches people to cultivate themselves and respond to things by following the Dao. Starting from the existence of concrete things before one's eyes, one traces them back to their original state, formless and traceless. In this way one grasps the root and governs the myriad things through it.

The above is chapter fourteen of the Daodejing. Heshang Gong titled this chapter "Zanxuan" (Praising the Mysterious). The chapter describes how the body of the Dao is empty, profound, and subtle. As for those who hear only audible sounds and see only visible colors, if they cannot trace formed things back to their formless origin, they cannot master the root or govern the myriad things.

Those of old who were skilled at cultivating the Dao were subtle and mysterious, penetrating and far-reaching, so deep that others could hardly comprehend them.

Wending says: when the coarse surface is exhausted, one enters the fine; when the fine reaches its limit, it becomes subtle; when the subtle reaches its limit, it becomes mysterious and remote. Once one arrives at the mysterious and remote, nothing is unpenetrated, and the depth cannot be fathomed.

Because they cannot be fathomed, they are described with effort: cautious, as one who wades across a river in winter.

"Yu" (hesitation) means to take precautions in advance against calamity. They hesitate and proceed carefully, as though they act only when forced to. This is caution carried to its extreme.

They are also like one who fears the neighbors on every side.

"You" (apprehension) refers to repeated deliberation after events have occurred. They establish virtue yet seem to take no action, withdrawing into quiet and hidden places. This is vigilance carried to its deepest degree.

They are dignified, like a guest.

Wen Gong says: "yan ruo ke" (dignified as a guest) is the phrase that best conveys the original meaning. Some present-day editions mistakenly write "rong" (countenance), which loses the original sense. Among the first seven lines, three rhyme, and "ke" (guest) rhymes with "shi" (release), which reads very harmoniously. Wherever this passage uses "like something," a concrete thing serves as the comparison. To be "like a guest" means not daring to act as the master, not presuming to intervene in affairs, and therefore carrying oneself with a dignified and reverent bearing.

"Huan ruo bing jiang shi" describes an outward bearing that is dignified while the inner heart is open and relaxed, like ice about to melt, unconfined by external things. "Dun xi qi ruo pu" means plain and substantial, without showing sharp edges. "Kuang xi qi ruo gu" means a breadth of heart that can contain all things and can also respond to the outside world with humility. "Hun xi qi ruo zhuo" means blending with the common world without displaying one's own brilliance, as if mixed into mud and water and hidden within the Great Dao.

Who can make what is turbid become still, so that it gradually clears? Who can make what is at rest begin to move, so that it gradually comes alive? When external things disturb the original nature, one need only become quiet and clarify it, and the originally clear nature will gradually return. If one dwells in stillness without motion, then transformation must occur within the stillness, so that one does not cling to a single place but gradually brings forth vitality. Only then can life flow freely, no longer bound to either motion or stillness.

One who holds fast to this Dao does not seek to be complete and self-sufficient. Because one is not self-satisfied, one can remain in a state that appears worn and unrenewed, and does not claim new achievements as one's own. The Imperial Commentary (Yuzhu) says: "Great whiteness seems sullied; abundant De seems deficient." True whiteness appears as though it has been stained, and great virtue appears as though it falls short. To remain humble and self-effacing in this way, always, is difficult for people to achieve, so the text here warns again against arrogance and self-satisfaction. Only by not being self-satisfied can one keep to a state that seems worn, and refrain from treating new accomplishments as one's own merit.

The above is Chapter Fifteen, which the Heshang Gong version calls "Revealing De" (Xiande). The sentences of this chapter proceed in orderly layers, and its central idea is that even when one has achieved something, one should still appear to be lacking. Liezi lived in Putian of the State of Zheng for forty years without being recognized by anyone, which is an instance of this state. If the customs of the Western Jin had truly prevailed, how could such a bearing have existed?

Clearing the mind of miscellaneous thoughts to the utmost limit, one holds fast to stillness (jìng) without wavering.

When the mind lets go of both emptiness (xū) and stillness, no longer clinging to either, one has reached complete emptiness and stillness.

The myriad things grow and change together, and I observe from among them how they return to their origin. Though the myriad things flourish in their multiplicity, in the end each returns to its own root.

"Teeming" (yúnyún) describes the myriad things in their abundance and constant activity. Emptiness is the source of fullness, and stillness is the source of activity. All things arise from their original nature and also return to it.

Returning to the root is called stillness, and stillness is the state of life bestowed by returning to one's original nature.

Stillness is one's innate nature, that is, the mandate of Heaven that a person receives from birth. When a person responds to external things, they begin to move. Movement and stillness are distinct, yet activity never departs from the root of stillness. By returning to the origin, one restores one's original nature. Wen Ding said: "If one has not yet returned to one's nature, then even forcibly halting activity and suppressing thoughts in pursuit of stillness is not true stillness. Only by returning to the root can it be called stillness." The "mandate" here is the subtle manifestation of one's nature. The phrase in the Book of Changes (Yìjīng), "exhaust the principles and fully realize one's nature, so as to reach the mandate," expresses this very meaning.

When one returns to the state of life bestowed by one's nature, one attains constancy.

Nothing among the myriad things can remain unchanged forever. Only by returning to the root of life bestowed by one's nature can one become clear, settled, and enduring.

To know constancy is called clarity (míng).

Having grasped this principle, one's understanding reaches full clarity.

Not knowing constancy leads to reckless movement and brings calamity.

If one does not understand this principle, one is drawn along by external things and acts accordingly. All such conduct arises from reckless movement, and the resulting misfortune can be readily imagined.

To know constancy is to have a spacious and tolerant heart.

When one thoroughly perceives the origin, one can penetrate all differences and is not bound by either success or obstruction. Therefore nothing is beyond one's embrace.

One who can embrace all things is impartial.

What partiality could remain?

One who is impartial can become a king.

Wen Ding said: "The people of the world will turn to him."

To become a king is to be in accord with Heaven.

Huang Maocai said: "The king is a companion of Heaven."

To be in accord with Heaven is to be in accord with the Dao.

Yet Heaven itself follows the Dao. Wen Ding said: "Heaven still has form; only the Dao is the ultimate root."

To be in accord with the Dao is to endure long, and to use oneself without coming to peril.

Liu Jing said: "This is what is meant by 'existing since ancient times without cease.'"

The above is Chapter 16 of the Daode Zhenjing (Scripture of the Way and Its De), which Heshang Gong titled "Returning to the Root" (Guī Gēn). This chapter teaches that by grasping this principle, one can attain emptiness and stillness and become one with the Dao.

The highest form of governance is when the people know only that there is a ruler, and do not feel that he interferes in their lives at every moment. Tai Pu Jing says this is the natural state that has held since ancient times.

In remote antiquity, Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue) were rich and sincere. The ruler was like the high branches at the top of a tree, while the people were like deer in the mountain wilds, each living at ease. This is the scene described by "the highest governance: the people know only that he exists."

The next level of governance is when the people draw close to the ruler and praise him. This uses benevolence and righteousness to gather the hearts of the people.

The level after that is when the people fear the ruler and even treat him with contempt and ridicule. This uses cleverness and force to make people obey.

Therefore, when the ruler's own sincerity is insufficient, the people will not trust him. If he can truly have confidence in the Dao, governing the realm by the Dao is enough. Only when sincerity is lacking does one resort to rewards to entice the people and to penal decrees to restrain them, and the people then develop a mind of distrust.

The ruler is cautious and seldom issues commands. When affairs are accomplished, the people say, "We did it ourselves; this is simply how it was done." By using few words of instruction and letting the people naturally submit to the teaching of wuwei (non-action), the governance of remote antiquity may be restored. Therefore, using sounds, colors, and words to instruct the people is the last resort.

The Heshang Gong Commentary titles chapter seventeen "Pure Wind" (Chunfeng). This chapter praises the style of non-action governance in remote antiquity and also reminds people that the customs of the world have gradually declined.

When the great Dao has fallen into decay, benevolence and righteousness are especially emphasized. When wisdom appears, great pretense arises. When relatives are not in harmony, filial piety and kindness are stressed. When the state is in chaos, loyal ministers become visible.

When the great Dao flourishes, the substance of benevolence and righteousness is naturally contained within it, yet the people do not notice it. It is like raw wood that has not been carved: there is no need to deliberately shape it into a sacrificial wine vessel (xizun, a vessel carved in the form of an ox) to display its worth. The xizun does not separate from the raw wood to become something else. Only when wisdom is revealed does falsehood grow along with it. Wending says: Yao was not unfilial, but because of Gusou and others, Shun's filial piety stood out. Yi Yin and the Duke of Zhou were not disloyal, but because of Jie and Zhou, the loyalty of Guan Longfeng and Bi Gan stood out.

The Heshang Gong Commentary titles chapter eighteen "Thinning Customs" (Subo). This chapter laments deeply that the world no longer has the simplicity of ancient times.

Cut off self-proclaimed sagacity and abandon cleverness and scheming, and the people will receive a hundredfold benefit.

Once one no longer occupies the rank and name of a sage, no thought of regarding oneself as a sage will arise. Discard cleverness and petty wisdom, and great wisdom will become manifest. In this way the common people will each keep to the natural condition of their own nature and life, and the benefits they receive will be wide-reaching.

Abandon the names of benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi), and the people will return to the original heart of filial devotion to their parents and compassion toward their children.

The root of benevolence and righteousness is in fact filial piety and compassion (xiao ci). If one merely borrows the names of benevolence and righteousness while forgetting their actual content, one will inevitably lose the way. Therefore, if one can abandon practices that remain at the level of surface appearance and restore the innate good knowing and good ability that people originally possess, the real substance of benevolence and righteousness will arise naturally, with no need to deliberately raise them up.

Abandon skill and private profit, and bandits will have no way to arise.

Wen Ding says: Skill was originally meant to make affairs more convenient, and profit was originally meant to nourish the myriad things. Neither was originally meant for the work of bandits. Yet if bandits could not obtain these conveniences and profits, they would have no means of carrying out theft.

The three notions of sage wisdom (sheng zhi), benevolence and righteousness (ren yi), and skillful profit (qiao li) cannot be governed merely as surface ornaments, so they must be given a proper place of belonging and be unified. Here the character ling is read in the level tone, and the character shu is read by the fanqie "zhi yu qie."

Sage wisdom, benevolence and righteousness, and skillful profit were all originally contained within the Dao. Later people chase only these names and treat them as decoration, while their hearts lack sincerity, so they rely only on schemes and force to govern the world. How could this be considered good governance? As such practices develop, calamities that cannot be borne will certainly follow. Therefore one should return to the root and bring these things under unifying governance, and the people of the world will each recover their nature. What is meant by "deliberate action is not enough to gain the world," and "I do nothing and the people transform themselves," speaks to this very principle.

Reveal simplicity, hold to genuineness, lessen selfishness, and reduce desire.

The character jian is read as "xian bian qie." This is precisely where sage wisdom, benevolence and righteousness, and skillful profit return to their root, and it is the crux of abandoning surface names.

The above is chapter nineteen of the Daode Zhenjing (Dao De Zhen Jing, the True Scripture of the Way and Its Power), which Heshang Gong titled "Returning to Simplicity" (Huan Chun). This chapter esteems an atmosphere of plainness and advocates removing the fetters that selfish desire creates, holding that only in this way can the common people broadly benefit. The Yinfu Jing (Yin Fu Jing, the Scripture of the Hidden Accord) says: "Cut off profit at its single source," meaning to sever the root of the pursuit of gain.

The passage speaks of esteeming simplicity and reducing selfish desire. The phrase "jue li" (cutting off profit) means severing the entanglements of personal gain. Some readers instead take it to mean carrying a principle to its extreme so that others cannot reach it. Only when one sets aside the self-regarding mind of clever calculation can one abandon partial scheming and deal with the world with a humble heart.

"Jue xue wu you" (abandoning learning, there is no worry) means that once one has grasped the Dao, one no longer clings to words and names (the terms and formulations used to explain principles), and so the mind becomes at ease and free of concern.

"Wei" and "e" are both responses. "Wei" is deferential in tone, while "e" is haughty. How much do they differ? How much separates good from evil? What people fear is something one cannot help but fear seriously.

If one has not yet reached the state of "jue xue," one should understand that when the mind has not yet stirred with thoughts of good or evil, it is still and non-acting (Wuwei), preserving an undivided and complete original nature. Once it inclines toward good or evil, the mind begins to move. Yet because a person has a body, it is inevitable that external things will affect it, so one must carefully observe the moment when the mind is moved by things it encounters. Reverence and goodness have their root in conforming to righteousness, whereas haughtiness and evil are disturbed by the temperament of the body and by selfish desire. The difference between the two is extremely fine; Tianli (Heavenly Principle) and renyu (human desire) separate at this single thought. The human mind easily drifts along with desire, which is why one cannot but be vigilant. If one discerns finely, chooses prudently, holds firmly to this, and nourishes it continuously, until in action the mind is not carried away by activity and in stillness it does not cling to quietude, then even when responding to the endless changes of external things, the mind remains clear, empty, and at peace as before. In this way one fully accords with Tianli, no longer falls into opposition and distinction, and haughtiness and evil naturally have no way to arise.

"Huang xi qi wei yang zai" (vast indeed, and without end) describes a state of mind that is boundless and has no fixed limits, and therefore does not cling to one extreme of deference or haughtiness.

The multitude is elated, as though attending a lavish banquet or ascending a terrace on a spring day. I alone am calm and placid, as though my thoughts have not yet appeared, like an infant who does not yet know how to laugh.

Although in my heart I can see the outside world setting out abundant offerings, bustling and flourishing, as if I had climbed a spring terrace to gaze at the scenery, I remain quiet and serene, as though nothing has yet shown any sign, like an infant who has not yet grown old enough to laugh and play.

People often follow the times and chase after external things, without knowing that anything is amiss in doing so. Only the sage (shèngrén) sees through all of this as illusory. When encountering external things, the sage remains calm and unmoved, like an infant who cannot yet laugh and play, with no attachment in the heart.

I drift along as the myriad things roam freely, as if I have no fixed place to return to, and I am not burdened by entanglements.

The multitude all think they possess a great deal, while I seem to have nothing, as if I had forgotten everything.

My heart is truly like that of a fool, simple and unadorned. My innate spiritual clarity does not show itself outwardly, yet in silent stillness it accords with the Dao (Dào, the Way). This is true great wisdom.

Other people appear brilliant and dazzling, while I seem dim and dark. Others are sharp and scrutinizing, while I am generous and tranquil. The term "chá chá" describes the appearance of being so keen and exacting as to tolerate no ambiguity, while "mèn mèn" describes the appearance of being spacious, easy, and calm.

My state of mind is deep and tranquil, like the sea, yet it is also like a long wind drifting on, not knowing where it will come to rest. Deep stillness can embrace the myriad things; this is the Dao in its undivided oneness. Change and flow without fixed rest are the vast functioning of the Dao.

The multitude all think they are useful, while I seem dull and crude. "Useful" refers to visible function. People recognize only tangible use, and do not realize that what is formless and seemingly useless also has its own function.

I am different from the crowd. What I treasure is nourishment drawn from the root Dao. The Dao is the mother of the myriad things. The crowd chase external things and forget the Dao, while the sage sets aside attachment to the myriad things and takes the Dao as the root, just as an infant relies on its mother to be nurtured.

“Kong De” refers to a profound and abundant De (Virtue/Power). De is the aspect in which Dao (the Way) manifests. Extending this, the forms taken by all things are all manifestations of Dao within things, and all come from Dao.

Dao, as a kind of existence, is elusive and difficult to grasp; it cannot be clearly defined as either “being” or “non-being.” Though it is elusive and indeterminate, within it there are images; though it seems indistinct, within it there are actual things. It is deep and obscure, and within it is contained subtle Qi (vital energy); this subtle Qi is real and not illusory, and within it there is its own trustworthy ground.

It has a shape that cannot be described and an image that cannot be identified by any trace. In the dark and profound depths, only the Dao (the Way) appears alone; in silence, only the Dao responds alone. In the most empty place, the true-one essence, meaning the pure and subtle substance of the Dao, exists alone in clarity, and once it senses something, it responds at once. Is this not true?

From antiquity to the present, the name of the Dao has never disappeared, so it can run through and observe the beginnings of all things. How do I know the circumstances at the beginning of the myriad things? It is through this very Dao.

Commentator Wen Ding says: Though past and present differ, the Dao has never departed, so it is called "bu qu" (not departing). Precisely because the Dao has never departed, it can pass through and observe the transformations of all things. "Fu" means fine and good. Though the myriad things keep changing and passing away without rest, the real and subtle Dao remains constant and does not perish. The sage knows why things are as they are, and this too is because he is able to realize this Dao.

The above is Chapter Twenty-One of the Daodejing (Classic of the Way and Its Power), which the Heshang Gong commentary calls "Xuxin" (Emptying the Heart). This chapter clarifies that the supreme Dao is real and not empty, and that one can thereby perceive the constant root of the myriad things.

Yielding leads instead to wholeness.

The highest sage follows his original heart and also follows the Dao. Sometimes he yields, sometimes he goes straight, and as long as it accords with righteousness, both are a complete embodiment of the Dao. Within the shifts of circumstance, one should yield in order to preserve the Dao. One who can yield will not clash with external things. Inwardly one preserves oneself, and outwardly one preserves things.

Bending leads instead to straightening.

Bending is precisely for the sake of extending, like the inchworm, which first bends its body and then stretches forward.

Hollowness leads instead to fullness.

"Wa" (hollow) refers to a low-lying place. When the land is low, water gathers in it. This is the principle that humility receives benefit.

Worn leads instead to renewal.

It appears dim and unremarkable, yet it grows clearer day by day.

Taking little leads instead to gaining.

The Dao is one. Once one obtains this root, nothing is left unobtained. Therefore, within extreme simplicity, the completeness of the Dao's body and the subtlety of its function are already present.

Having much leads instead to confusion.

Too many affairs at once will confuse people.

Therefore the sage holds fast to "baoyi" (embracing the One), that is, keeping to pure unity, and makes it the standard that all people under heaven follow.

The sage follows the changing of circumstances in practicing the Dao (the Way), but takes humility and simplicity as the foundation. Therefore the sage holds only to "baoyi" and treats it as the measure for all ages. What "baoyi" means is bringing the body and mind as a whole into accord with the Dao.

Not displaying oneself, one becomes clear-sighted. Not regarding oneself as right, one's reputation shines. Not boasting of one's merit, one can accomplish great work. Not being arrogant, one can endure. It is precisely because one does not contend with others that no one under heaven can contend with him.

"Xian" is read here as "xian," meaning to show or reveal. This teaches the method of cultivating De (Virtue). Holding to "baoyi" brings freedom from the self. If one still deliberately displays oneself, regards oneself as right, boasts of merit, and is proud, this shows that private views of the self have not been removed, and then how could it be called pure unity? When one reaches the state of no-self, the heart naturally becomes bright and open, and De can be renewed over time. When the heart merges with the Dao and the distinction between self and others disappears, there is no contention at all.

The ancient saying that "yielding preserves wholeness" is not empty talk. Indeed, one who can preserve oneself and return to the root will find that the Dao returns to dwell within oneself.

Sayings such as "yielding preserves wholeness" are words from antiquity. This passage further affirms that they are not false, and it sincerely encourages those who study: if one can truly yield and bend humbly, the complete virtue of the Dao will return to oneself. The Dao is inherent in people from the start, so the text says "return," meaning to restore one's original state. When this is achieved, what is called uprightness and fullness can truly be realized.

The above is chapter 22 of the Daodejing (Classic of the Dao and De). Heshang Gong titled this chapter "yiqian" (Increasing Humility). This chapter shows that through a gentle, yielding, and humble attitude, one can accomplish a complete and harmonious De.

Speaking little accords with nature.

The scripture says, "What cannot be heard is called xi." The sage's words arise from xi, follow nature, and therefore can last without exhaustion. Sima Guang said that a person of the Dao does not rely on many words, and others are convinced nonetheless, so this is called nature.

A strong wind cannot blow through a whole morning, and a downpour cannot last through a whole day.

A gale is a violent, swift wind, and a downpour is a hurried, fierce rain. These are sudden changes produced by the clash of Yin-Yang, but in the end they cannot overcome the tranquil, settled norm of nature, and so they do not last. What lasts from dawn to noon is called a morning (yi zhao), and what lasts from dawn to dusk is called a day.

Who causes such changes? Heaven and Earth. If Heaven and Earth cannot sustain abnormal change, how much less can humans? To go against the constant way is to fall out of accord with nature. Even Heaven and Earth have their aberrant moments, but these likewise do not endure. How, then, could a person entirely avoid error?

Therefore, one who acts in accordance with the Dao (the Way) will be in harmony with the Dao. Dong Sijing explains that only those who follow the natural Way have a constant standard in their hearts and can act in the manner of the Dao. Such people delight in being with others and are skilled at guiding them, and they do not reject those who differ from themselves.

One who is in harmony with the Dao is also nourished by the Dao. Dong Sijing points out that even sages born with an understanding of the principles still rely on learning to accomplish their Dao. Those of virtue are never isolated; in time they will find like-minded companions, and this is how they come to be in harmony with the Dao.

One who is in harmony with De (Virtue) is brought to completion by De. Dong Sijing says this refers to those who gain through practice: after they study, they strive to make what they have learned truly their own attainment.

One who is in harmony with error also receives the consequences of error. Dong Sijing interprets this as referring to those who exert themselves in cultivation. Human endowments may be somewhat deficient, but original nature is not thereby entirely different, so one should associate with such people and guide them to change gradually.

Those who are in harmony with the Dao are accomplished by the Dao; those who are in harmony with De are accomplished by De; and those who are in harmony with error receive the corresponding results of error.

Although each person's innate endowment differs, so the paths into the Dao (Dao, the Way) inevitably vary, if people can communicate with one another and integrate their understandings, and ultimately arrive at realization, what they accomplish is in fact the same thing.

"If trust is insufficient, there will be those who do not believe."

It is only because the sincerity of one's self-confidence is not firm enough that one doubts when encountering setbacks, and so the anxiety of disbelief arises. Once one no longer believes, even when walking alongside others, one cannot be guided or transformed. One must cultivate deeply and attain realization before one can rest peacefully in a state free from doubt.

The above is Chapter Twenty-Three, which He Shanggong titled "Emptiness and Nothingness" (Xuwu). This chapter explains that the Way of naturalness can endure for a long time, yet although it appears easy, truly preserving it is very difficult. Therefore, even though Heaven and Earth are vast, once they lose their constant regularity they cannot endure for long, and how much less so humans.

Human nature is originally the same, but temperament and endowment differ. Some people are bound by the desires that arise from their physical form and temperament, and so they lose their natural nature. Yet the nature itself has never truly been lost. The key lies in the enlightened ones among us, who must use skillful methods to awaken others, work alongside them, and guide them in accordance with their circumstances, so that they recover their original natural state. The Zhuangzi says: "If he pursues the boundless, I will accompany him toward the boundless." To lead someone into a state without deficiency is what this means. It embodies the sage's broad and selfless virtue and transforming influence: accord with people's natural nature, guide them by following the momentum of their situation, and leave no one out. Only those who persistently abandon themselves are excluded.

"Standing on tiptoe, one cannot stand firm; striding with wide steps, one cannot walk far."

The character for "stride" here (kua), read as qu zhi qie, is synonymous with qi, meaning to stand on tiptoe. A "kua-er" refers to a person who spreads their legs very wide. Sima Guang explains: to go against the original normal state of one's nature, with the heart inclined to one side, is to be unable to attend to both sides.

"Those who regard themselves as seeing clearly are, instead, unable to see clearly."

Those who display themselves do not come to clear understanding; those who insist on their own rightness do not become distinguished; those who regard themselves as exalted are not trusted by others.

Those who boast of themselves have no merit; those who recount their own toil will not be credited by others as having achieved anything. Those who are proud and self-important cannot endure for long; those who flaunt their abilities will not sustain them.

To the Dao, these behaviors are like leftover food and superfluous flesh, which everyone finds repugnant. "Superfluous flesh" refers to excess flesh attached to the body, and "xing (form)" here means the body or physical form. Lord Wen (Wen Gong) said: these are all expressions of striving outward while suffering inner loss. Just as offering someone leftover food only provokes disgust, and a body burdened with superfluous flesh only looks unsightly.

Therefore, one who has the Dao does not dwell on these things and regards them with detachment.

The above is chapter twenty-four. Master He Shanggong (He Shanggong) titled this chapter "Bitter Grace" (Ku'en). This chapter says that one who holds to unity (shou zhuan) is full within and does not boast outwardly.

There is a kind of undifferentiated wholeness that came into being before heaven and earth. Here, "wu (thing)" refers to the existence that the Dao presents. The Dao forms itself into a seamless whole that has existed since antiquity, and from it heaven, earth, yin, and yang arise.

It is silent and soundless, vast and formless. It stands alone without changing, circulates without ever becoming endangered, and can serve as the root of all things under heaven.

Dao is silent and formless, vast and profound. In terms of its essence, it stands alone with nothing that could be its counterpart, and so it does not change or shift. In terms of its function, it pervades and moves through all things without any peril or exhaustion. This is the Dao-body in its original completeness, containing the marvelous function of constant flow and transformation that brings all things into being.

The "Mother" here is the root from which all things endlessly arise. It cannot be pointed to as any particular thing, so it is described with the words ji (silent, still) and liao (empty, vast). Yet it does not fall into empty stillness and non-action, which is why it must also be described in terms of both essence and function: it stands alone, yet it pervades and moves, and the process by which it generates the myriad things is unfathomable.

I do not know how to name it, so I provisionally give it the style-name "Dao," and forcibly call it "Great" (da). The character qiang (forcibly, reluctantly) is read in the rising tone and means "to force"; the Dao, in truth, cannot be accurately named at all.

Greatness leads to flow. Shi (to proceed, to move onward) means to go forth and operate, referring to the Dao's movement as it reaches all things. To flow and spread is called "far," because there is nowhere it does not reach. Having reached the utmost distance, it returns to its origin: viewed from the farthest extent, the Dao is so vast that nothing lies outside it, and turned inward, it is so subtle that nothing lies within it. It pervades all things, yet never departs from its root.

Therefore, the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the King is great. Among Heaven and Earth there are four great things, and the King is one of them.

Dao (the Way) precedes the formation of Heaven and Earth (tiandi) and all things, which is why this chapter opens with "prior to Heaven and Earth" (xian tian di). Yet Dao has never left Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, so the chapter also says "within the realm there are four greats" (yu zhong you si da). From the standpoint of Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king (wang) cannot be called greater than Dao. But is Dao something that exists apart from Heaven, Earth, and the king? When we speak from the standpoint of the myriad things, people recognize only that Heaven, Earth, and the king are great and do not believe that Dao is great as well. That is why the text speaks this way. It does not mean that Dao is one thing among the myriad things. Students should not cling to the literal wording and so misunderstand the intended meaning.

The text goes on to say "the king is one of them" because the human being (ren) is regarded as the center of Heaven and Earth and is able to connect with Dao. Humans can follow the regularities of Heaven and Earth. Among all beings, the human has the most spirit (ling) and refinement, and the king governs the people, so the king is also counted among the four.

"Humanity follows Earth, Earth follows Heaven, Heaven follows Dao, and Dao follows what is so of itself (ziran)." Here, "follows" (fa) means to model oneself on and to carry on. In terms of levels, humans dwell upon the earth, where form becomes manifest and positions are distinguished. Earth corresponds with Heaven, and Heaven still has form. Dao pervades the three powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity, and its essence is naturally so of itself. If we look at the relation of following one another, Heaven, Earth, and humanity all have their roots in the naturalness of Dao. Their forms differ, but the Dao they follow is one.

Therefore, Heaven is within the scope of Dao, Earth is within the scope of Heaven, humanity dwells within Earth, the heart-mind (xin) dwells within the human body, and spirit (shen) dwells within the heart-mind. Through this, humans can connect with Dao. Thus spirit is stored in the heart-mind, the heart-mind is stored in the body, the body is situated in Earth, Earth is situated in Heaven, and Heaven is situated in Dao. Wending (Wen Ding) says: "If a person can return to original nature (benxing) within a single day, then the principles of Heaven, Earth, and humanity will all be fully embodied in that person."

"Heaviness" is the root of lightness, and "stillness" is the master of restlessness. Therefore, the junzi (exemplary person) never leaves the foundation of steadiness and gravity in the course of a day's affairs, just as a great cart carrying heavy loads does not dare to set off lightly.

Even when there are magnificent scenery and places for leisure, one can dwell at ease and remain detached and self-content. Outward glory and scenery are external things, while inner tranquility truly belongs to oneself. By not letting external things alter one's original heart, one will not be entangled by them while touring and enjoying, and can rise above worldly desires.

As the ruler who commands a state of ten thousand chariots, how could one treat oneself and the great affairs of the realm lightly? To act rashly is to lose the assistance of one's ministers; to be hasty in conduct is to lose the way of ruling. Another interpretation holds that if the ruler is careless, he loses the help of his ministers, and if the minister is hasty, he loses the ruler's trust.

This passage is from Chapter 26 of the Daodejing (Tao Te Ching). The commentator Heshang Gong (Heshang Gong) titles this chapter "Valuing De" (Chongde, "Honoring Virtue"). It holds that when a person stays calm and steady, they can become the master of all things.

Viewed in terms of the body and mind, the heart-mind (xin) is like a ruler, and the vital energy (qi) is like his ministers. When the heart-mind is restless and easily stirred, it disturbs the breath and robs it of its harmony. Disordered breath, in turn, unsettles the spirit. For this reason, the heart-mind should be quiet and steady, and one should act through wuwei (non-action). Matters then tend to succeed on their own.

The skilled traveler leaves no wheel tracks. This means that one who truly follows the Dao (the Way) does not deliberately leave traces that others could follow.

The skilled speaker makes no flaws or errors in speech. Such a person follows the natural measure of things and therefore does not err through improper words.

The skilled planner needs no counters or reckoning tools. The Dao is originally unified and able to encompass all things.

The skilled closer needs no bolts or bars, yet the door cannot be opened. The Dao is not a particular door or a particular room. It penetrates everywhere without obstruction and extends across heaven and earth, so heaven and earth cannot go beyond its reach. This is what is meant by "skilled at closing."

The skilled binder needs no rope, yet things cannot be untied. The subtle, fundamental Dao-body is pure, still, and profound. It is not bound by any rule, nor does it cling to escaping rules. It is dense and complete, without gaps, and never leaves even for a moment. If one persists in forced practice, clings to words and their meanings, and relies on thought and calculation to seek the Dao without understanding the flexible and penetrating way, one will instead be bound by various teachings and forms and will be unable to fully perceive the source of all things. What is called "skill" comes down, in the end, to wuwei.

The sage is always skilled at helping others, so no one is abandoned by them. They are always skilled at dealing with all things, so nothing is discarded by them. This is called ximing (inheriting and transmitting illumination). Saving people from danger rescues only their bodies, and often cannot reach everyone. How can that be considered true goodness? True goodness means meeting those who cling to deliberate action and, deluded, lose their original nature, with an open and embracing heart. It means then enlightening them with the wisdom of those who awakened first, so that the natural light within them (their innate clarity) appears. This is like one lamp passing its flame to another, so that the light continues without end. When wisdom is shared with others, it becomes even more abundant. How could it ever be exhausted? Ye Mengde said, "'Constantly' means that it is so at every moment."

Therefore, the good person is the teacher of the person who is not good, and the person who is not good is the resource on which the good person relies. When a good person sees another's failings, they use them to guide that person toward goodness. This is exactly what it means to be skilled at helping. In other words, the failings of others give the good person an opportunity to teach. Lin Dong said, "To see another's failings and not help them is precisely where the failings become something one can rely on."

Those who do not respect their teachers and do not value the resources they could rely on will fall into great confusion, however clever they may be. This is the "essential subtlety" (yaomiao), the essential and mysterious core of the Dao.

The subtlety of the Dao cannot be reached by teaching alone. When one reaches the state of clinging neither to the teacher nor to the resource, one understands how to stop centering on the self. Even a person of great wisdom finds this state difficult to fathom, because both the teacher and the one being taught no longer cling. This is called dúhuà (self-transformation, naturally changing of its own accord).

The above is Chapter Twenty-Seven. The Heshang Gong version of this chapter is titled "Skillful Use." This chapter shows that names, concepts, and attachments should all be dissolved, and that teaching and principles should not become fetters. Fu Yi said that the two lines beginning with "constantly skilled at saving people" appear only in the Heshang Gong version and are absent from the ancient texts.

To know the strong yet keep to the weak is to become the valley of the world, humble and able to receive all things. In this way, constant De (Virtue) is not lost, and one finally returns to the simple, natural state of an infant.

Holding fast to the feminine and yielding, to stillness and humility, what is thus kept will naturally endure without the need for forcing it. When one is feminine, still, and humble, the multitude will turn toward one, just as water flows to lower ground. To persist in this constant guarding is to keep aggressive, rash impulses from arising. Thus one's disposition becomes rich and mellow, one's breath becomes calm, desires are reduced to a minimum, and one can still retain the innocent heart of an infant. This is what is meant by concentrating one's jing (essence) and qi (vital energy) and bringing body and mind to a state of softness.

To understand what is bright yet keep to what is dark is to become a model for all under heaven. Becoming a model for all under heaven, one's constant De (Virtue) does not go astray, and in the end one returns to wuji (the boundless, the nameless source).

To nourish wisdom through tranquility, so that one's shen (spirit) merges with the Dao (the Way), is to become a model for all under heaven. Because one's De is constant and free of error, its functioning is inexhaustible and its capacity without bounds. This is the mutual nourishing of tranquility and wisdom, leading to harmony.

To understand what is glorious yet abide in disgrace is to become a valley for all under heaven, receiving all things as a mountain valley does. Becoming a valley for all under heaven, one's constant De becomes full, and in the end one returns to pu (the uncarved block, natural authenticity).

To become the one whom the multitude turns to and emulates is glory. Therefore one must dwell in disgrace, bearing the defilement of the crowd, able to receive and respond to all things as a valley does without being exhausted, and so return to the whole and undivided substance. This is the practice of De in peace and its accomplishment. Here the text moves from infantile innocence and wuji to the sequence by which one enters De; returning to pu is the final state reached.

Once the pu is divided, it takes the form of various vessels. When the sage uses these vessels, he can become the head of all officials; thus truly great construction does not cut apart the whole.

The character zhang is read in the third tone. Pu is Dao. That which transcends concrete form is called Dao, and when one returns to pu, the uncarved block, the fundamental nature of Dao is established. That which has concrete form is called qi, the vessel, which is distinct from vital qi. Thus Dao disperses and transforms into the myriad things, responding to what each thing requires, and this is the function of Dao. The sage (shengren) uses this Dao to become the master of the common people and of all things, yet acts only by following the inherent patterns and tendencies of things. Although the sage makes and shapes, there is no deliberate cutting or forcible alteration. Master Cao says: "Dazhi," the great shaping, is like Heaven and Earth bringing the myriad things into being, each following its own nature...