《道德真经集解(董思靖)》Vol. 2

And the myriad things take form on their own, without needing to be trimmed or controlled.

The previous chapter, Chapter 28, is titled "Returning to the Uncarved Block" (Fanpu) by Heshang Gong. This chapter teaches that a ruler who humbles himself, embraces all things, removes artificial traces, and returns to simplicity will have an inexhaustible effect. Some commentators read the lines differently: "male" refers to the Heavenly One Water (Tianyi zhi shui), which corresponds to jing (essence) in the human body; "female" refers to the Earthly Two Fire (Dier zhi huo), which corresponds to shen (spirit); "white" refers to Metal, and "black" to Water. This is another interpretation.

Whoever wishes to forcibly take the realm and govern it, I do not think will reach his goal. The realm is a sacred vessel, and it cannot be manipulated by human force. Forced action brings failure, and clinging to it brings loss.

The realm is a vessel formed by the spirits of heaven and earth, so one can only follow its natural state and let it govern itself. To forcibly seize and control it is to use human contrivance to extinguish its nature and to use deliberate fabrication to damage its decreed course. The human body is like the realm as well. This is why, when the Yellow Emperor (Huangdi) went south to search, the Dark Pearl (Xuanzhu), a black pearl symbolizing the great Dao (the Way), was lost. Once cunning calculation takes hold, the state of pure, unforced non-action (wuwei) is no longer whole.

Thus, among things, some go ahead and some follow; some are warm and some are cold; some are strong and some are weak; some achieve and some are destroyed.

"Xu" means warmth and "chui" means cold; "qiang" means strength and "lei" means weakness; "zai" means achievement and "hui" means destruction. Whatever is acted upon by purposive effort necessarily falls into relative change, and waxing and waning, fullness and emptiness, keep shifting without end. Only one who holds fast to the One (yi), the whole state of the Dao, will not be caught in the cunning of this change.

Therefore, the sage removes extremes, extravagance, and excess. The sage understands that external things cannot be forced. Whatever is acted upon by purposive effort necessarily falls into relative change, with waxing and waning, fullness and emptiness, shifting without end. Only one who holds fast to the One is not caught within it.

"Qu" is read in the third tone and means to remove. The sage knows that external things cannot be forcibly possessed, and that affairs and circumstances are entangled with one another and push each other along, which is also the normal course of things. Therefore the sage follows what is natural and does not want things to become overfull or to develop beyond their proper measure. The Tai (Peace) hexagram says: "The ruler should regulate and complete the patterns by which Heaven and Earth operate, assist what suits Heaven and Earth, and thereby guide the common people."

The above is chapter twenty-nine of the Daodejing, which Heshang Gong titled "Wuwei (Non-Action)." This chapter says that only by following nature and refraining from forcing anything can one maintain constancy.

One who assists a ruler with the Dao (the Way) does not rely on military force to assert himself over the world, because such conduct often brings retribution. Where armies have camped, thorns and brambles grow; after great wars, years of famine are sure to follow.

"Qiang" is read as "qu liang qie," "hao" in the departing tone, "huan" as "xuan," and "chu" in the third tone. The Imperial Commentary (Yuzhu) explains this with Mengzi's phrase "fan hu er zhe ye" (what returns upon oneself). Drawing labor from the common people below makes thorns grow on the land, and offending the harmonious qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth above brings famine.

For this reason, one who is skilled in warfare achieves his aim and stops there, and does not dare to use the opportunity to display strength.

"Yi" is read as "yi," the same as in the lines below. Weapons are not something a person of the Dao wishes to employ, yet there are five kinds of weapons by nature, and they cannot be entirely abandoned, just as water and fire cannot be. What matters is skill in their use. Only when halting violence and rescuing people from peril does one employ troops in measure, according to principle. A position that accords with righteousness should be held firmly and without yielding. The Zuo Commentary (Chunqiu Zuozhuan) says: "Killing the enemy is 'guo' (achievement)." This means repelling the enemy only so that they no longer invade, not to display force before the world.

After victory, do not boast, do not show off, and do not become arrogant. Troops should be used only out of necessity, and even in victory one should not display strength.

"Guo" means prevailing through principle, while "qiang" means subduing through force. Victory won in accord with principle naturally creates a momentum of advantage that cannot be ignored, and does not rely on force or delight in warfare. Therefore, when facing a matter, one should be cautious, skilled at planning, and act only after deliberation. One responds only when compelled, and simply does not display force.

When things reach the height of strength, they move toward old age and decline. This is called "not in accord with the Dao." What is not in accord with the Dao comes to an early end.

When things reach the peak of their vigor, they begin to decline; this is called not being in accord with the Way (Dao). Whatever is not in accord with the Dao will soon come to an end.

When things are pushed to the extreme of strength, they grow old, and when an army overextends its force, it meets defeat. Therefore, relying on a powerful military cannot sustain victory indefinitely, and when things persist in exerting force, they hasten their own decline. All of these fail to accord with the Dao and fail to understand the importance of knowing when to stop.

This chapter examines the difference between using the Dao to assist a ruler and using warfare to compete for strength. Governing through the Dao wins the support of people's hearts, whereas seeking dominance through war cannot truly earn people's sincere submission.

Fine weapons are ultimately ill-omened things. People tend to loathe them and avoid them, so one who possesses the Dao does not treat them as everyday implements.

"E" (wù, to loathe) is read in the falling tone, and "chu" (chǔ, to dwell or abide) is read in the rising tone; the same applies below. "Jia bing" refers to fine weapons, though it may also mean skill in warfare. Yet weapons are ultimately instruments of harm. Even sentient creatures loathe and shun them, so how much more so a person who has the Dao? Only when it cannot be avoided should armed force be used to rescue people from peril. War should not be treated as a normal state of affairs, so one does not set one's mind on warfare.

Therefore, the gentleman places the left in honor in ordinary times, and places the right in honor when going to war.

The left is associated with yang, which symbolizes giving life and nurturing; the right is associated with yin, which symbolizes killing and punishment.

Weapons are ill-omened things and not implements that the gentleman cherishes. When one must use them, calm detachment should be regarded as the highest course. Even when one is victorious, one should not regard the victory as something worthy of praise.

"Dan" (pronounced du-lan qie) means serene and at ease. The gentleman delights in nurturing life and loathes slaughter, does not take defeating others as his aim, and therefore does not regard victory as something fine, even when he achieves it.

If one regards victory as a fine thing, one takes pleasure in killing people. One who takes pleasure in killing people cannot win the allegiance of all under heaven.

"Le" (lè, to take delight in) is read in the falling tone. Only one who does not indulge in slaughter can win the hearts of all under heaven.

Auspicious affairs place the left in honor, while funerals and other inauspicious matters place the right in honor. Therefore, the deputy general stands on the left and the commanding general stands on the right, arranged in the manner of funeral rites. When many people have been killed, one should respond with grief and mourning, and even after winning a battle, one should treat the outcome with the solemnity of a funeral.

"Dao (the Way)" is constant and has neither name nor form. "Pu (the Uncarved Block)" symbolizes the complete original substance of the Dao. Although it appears small, nothing can make it subordinate. If lords and kings can hold fast to the Dao, the myriad things will naturally submit to them.

When the qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth unites, it sends down ganlu (sweet dew). No one commands it, yet the dew falls evenly and naturally moistens all things. Here, ganlu symbolizes the natural harmony that arises when heaven and earth join. When lords and kings hold to the Dao, the myriad things submit, the climate becomes gentle, and the common people are also transformed. This resembles the way the qi of heaven and earth unites to send down sweet dew that moistens the myriad things. All of it happens spontaneously.

After the Dao divides into the myriad things, each thing acquires its own name and form. Once names exist, however, one should also know when to stop. Knowing where to stop, one does not fall into danger. Vessels arise from the complete Pu, but people should not chase only names and appearances and forget the root. They should return to their original nature, so that even when they face countless changes, they do not fall into peril.

The Dao exists throughout the world, much as rivers and seas relate to streams and valleys. Rivers and seas are the root where waters gather, and streams and valleys are the branches from which the flows divide. Though the waters come from different branches, they all finally flow into the rivers and seas. Though the myriad things have different names, they all finally return to the Dao.

Understanding others takes wisdom; knowing oneself is true discernment. The various tributaries each bear their own names, yet all of them eventually flow back into their source; the different designations, in the end, all return to the Dao (the Way).

To overcome others is to have strength; to master oneself is true power. Courage born of mere passion is not worth esteeming. To restrain oneself in accordance with reason and righteousness, and to restore one's original nature, is the unyielding strength that cannot be subdued.

Those who know contentment are truly rich. Because they know themselves, they know how to be content, and their hearts are spacious and abundant.

Those who persevere in practice possess a resolute will. To set one's aspiration on the Dao and continually encourage oneself is to ensure that one's will is not easily seized by external things, just as the Way of Heaven moves without ceasing.

To not depart from the place where one ought to dwell is the way to endure. The "place" here, as in the Hexagram Gen of the Book of Changes, which speaks of "stopping at one's place" (zhi qi suo), refers to dwelling in the proper position. Once one understands the Dao and follows it, one finds a place of rest for oneself, and the heart has somewhere to settle. Even as the myriad things constantly change, the inner mind does not lose its way, and so one is able, at all times, to remain at ease and self-possessed.

To be remembered by the Dao after the body dies is true longevity. Knowing oneself, constantly strengthening oneself, and dwelling in one's proper place: this is the essence of long life. What is meant here is an original nature that does not vanish with birth and death, not the notion that the human spirit or soul persists in some physical form lingering in the netherworld. Shao Ruoyu said: "Though the form dies, the original nature does not perish."

The Way (Dao) pervades everything without obstruction, and one can encounter it wherever one turns. It does not cling to any particular thing, nor does it depart from the places where things exist; for this reason it is present everywhere and at all times.

The myriad things come to life by relying on the Dao, yet the Dao does not refuse them, nor does it claim for itself the merit of nourishing and giving birth to them. It covers and nourishes all things like a garment that wraps around them, yet it does not act as their master. Because it is without desire or seeking and makes no conspicuous display of action, it appears small; because the myriad things all return to it without knowing that it is their master, it is in turn vast beyond measure.

The sage never regards himself as great, and for this very reason he is able to accomplish true greatness. If the heart harbors a sense of self and insists on displaying grandeur, it will instead appear narrow; only when one becomes one with the Dao can one attain breadth.

"Hold fast to the Great Image, and all under Heaven will turn toward it." To grasp the root of the Dao is to have the myriad things under Heaven return to it. When they return and are not harmed, they become settled, harmonious, and at peace.

The image without visible form is called the "Great Image" (da xiang), which is the whole form of the Dao. To "hold fast to the Great Image" (zhi da xiang) means to embody the Dao within oneself without going against it. All things take the Dao as their root, just as a child turns back to its mother, so "the world turns toward it" (tianxia wang) means that the myriad things of the world come to rest in the Dao. Yet if one's mind still clings to the self and wishes to control the multitude, such turning toward may instead bring harm. Only the sage (shengren), empty of mind and sincere in intent, benefits all things without injuring them, so that they can dwell together in peace and the heart-mind becomes calm, harmonious, and at ease. Zhuangzi says that the sage touches all things without harming them, and therefore all things cannot harm him. This is the same meaning.

Music and fine food can hold passersby, just as a pleasing sound makes people want to listen and a rich meal makes them want to eat. Yet such attraction lasts only for a time and in the end sends people away. If one does not grasp the Dao and is confined to a single principle, it is like an inn that can only lodge a traveler for a single night. The Dao is different. It has no evident shape, sound, smell, or flavor. It cannot be seen or heard and seems bland and tasteless, yet its functioning is inexhaustible. The word ji means to exhaust or come to an end.

This chapter shows that when one realizes and practices the Dao, the effects it produces are without limit.

If one wishes to contract something, one must first let it fully expand. If one wishes to weaken it, one must first let it grow strong. If one wishes to abolish it, one must first let it rise. If one wishes to seize it, one must first give to it. This is called "weiming" (subtle insight), meaning the perception of the principles of transformation from the minute beginnings of things.

When things reach their peak, they must begin to contract, and when one gains much, one inevitably loses something in turn. This is the necessary principle. What is meant by "necessarily so" is that when a thing is about to contract, it must already have expanded before it turns toward contraction. This is the principle that waxing and waning, increase and decrease, fullness and emptiness depend on one another. Although the signs of this change are very subtle and hidden, its pattern is clear and plain. Only those who dwell in stillness, tranquility, and softness will not fall into it.

Softness can overcome hardness, and weakness can overcome strength.

Those who keep to softness do not deliberately strive to win, yet overcoming hardness happens naturally, in accordance with the way things are. This is what it means to hold fast to the Way of return. Hardness means that something has already become excessively strong, and decline must follow.

Fish cannot leave the deep waters, and the sharp instruments of a state cannot be displayed to others.

This means that one who holds to the Dao is skilled at overcoming the strong, yet keeps the Dao hidden within oneself, withdrawing and concealing it rather than revealing it lightly. "Sharp instruments" refers to the power and means by which one can advance, retreat, and control a situation. The common people all make use of them, while those who hold state power rely on them to govern and control the multitude. They must not only avoid displaying these instruments; they must not even let others perceive that they exist. The "secret mechanism" spoken of in the Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman) likewise refers to this kind of concealed and unseen cleverness. The people may be made to follow the Dao, but they need not be told the principle behind it.

Wending explains: Fish have no sharp claws or teeth, so they cannot rely on such abilities to overcome other creatures. Yet when they dwell in the deep waters, even a strong hunter cannot seize them, and once they leave the deep, people can subdue them. The sage remains content in softness and never wearies of it, and so in the end is able to bring the world under allegiance. How could a principle of such profound concealment be shared carelessly with the multitude?

The above is Chapter 36 of the Dao De Jing (Classic of the Way and Its Power). Heshang Gong titled this chapter "Subtle Clarity" (Weiming). The chapter shows that waxing and waning, fullness and emptiness, are the constant patterns of things, and that holding to softness allows one to avoid the decline that follows extremity.

The Dao is always natural and unforced, taking no deliberate action, yet there is nothing it cannot accomplish.

When it is still and quiet, the principles of all things are already complete. When it is stirred into response, it answers, and nothing is left out.

If lords and kings can hold fast to the Great Dao, the myriad things will transform of their own accord. After they have transformed, if desires and agitation arise again, I will settle them with the nameless simplicity of the Dao.

When one is able to constantly embody and follow the Ultimate Dao (the fundamental pattern underlying all things), no deliberate instruction is needed, and the myriad things are naturally transformed. All principles are contained within it, so when it is sensed, it responds, and all the affairs of the world are taken care of.

If the lords and kings can hold fast to the Ultimate Dao, the myriad things will be naturally nurtured and transformed. If, in the course of this transformation, they give rise to desire and rivalry, I will settle them through the Nameless Uncarved Block (wuming zhi pu), the Dao in its unadorned natural state, free of human distinctions.

When one constantly embodies the Ultimate Dao, the myriad things change naturally without being taught. But as the change continues, new desires may also arise, just as an infant who gradually comes to understand the world must still be settled through non-desire. Without desire, the mind becomes tranquil. This is the complete state of the Dao, what is called the Nameless Uncarved Block.

The Nameless Uncarved Block itself has no desires. Because it seeks nothing, it is still, and the world naturally returns to rectitude.

If the mind holds on to the thought of pursuing simplicity, it instead loses the complete state of simplicity. This is what it means to fully realize one's nature and reach the authenticity of life, and it is what allows one to broadly transform the myriad things. Only when this state is reached can it truly be called stillness. Therefore, all the myriad things are transformed, and each preserves the proper course of its own nature and life.

The above is Chapter 37 of the Daodejing. Heshang Gong titled this chapter "Governing." This chapter explains that embodying and practicing the Great Dao can transform the myriad things, and it further discusses how, in profound understanding, one must even forget the understanding itself. From the beginning to this point, the thirty-seven chapters constitute the first part of the text.

End of Volume Two of the Collected Commentaries on the Daodejing (Daodejing Zhenjing Jijie).

Volume Three of the Collected Commentaries on the Daodejing Compiled by the later scholar Dong Sijing

Superior De does not seek to be De, and therefore it has De.

The Imperial Annotation says: Confucius did not regard himself as a sage, and it is precisely for this reason that he embodied De. What one comprehends of the great Dao and obtains from within oneself is called De. The interpretation of Wang Gu and others is that a person of De eliminates anxiety about loss; one who does not regard himself as possessing De also eliminates attachment to gain.

Inferior De does not lose De, and therefore it lacks De.

To hold tightly to De and not dare to lose it shows that one has not yet reached the state of natural transformation, and so there is still a gap between this and Superior De.

Superior De acts through non-action, and yet has no intention in acting,

The word yi (to use, or to act with a purpose) here means that when one acts, one has no intention or aim, and this applies throughout what follows. Shang De (highest virtue) is simply the highest virtue: following what is natural and practicing wuwei (non-action).

Xia De (lower virtue) acts deliberately and with clear aims. Such a person must think before understanding and strive before acting appropriately. This belongs to those whose cultivation has not reached completeness. They still remain at the level of purposeful action and therefore cannot fully accord with the supreme Dao. This explains the difference between shang de and xia de.

Shang Ren (highest benevolence) acts but without deliberate aims. Ren is the virtue inherent in the human heart and the principle on which love rests. In a broad sense, ren can encompass the four virtues discussed below. However, this passage does not refer to that all-embracing, overall teaching of the myriad things, so shang ren still ranks below shang de. Shang ren acts, yet does not cling to its action.

Shang Yi (highest righteousness) acts and also has clear aims. Yi is the appropriate standard that affairs should follow. It carries a sense of judgment and differentiation, which is why it is ranked after ren.

Shang Li (highest ritual propriety) demands action, but when it receives no response, it rolls up its sleeves and forcibly pushes. Li is the norm of heavenly principle manifesting among humans, and the ritual standard of human affairs. It is originally rooted in loyalty and sincerity. If one values elaborate ceremonial forms alone, only the branches remain. To act merely by the forms of li is to force a veneer of refinement. For those who refuse to comply, one then rolls up the sleeves and compels them, and over time the harm becomes hard to remedy. In Laozi's era, the veneration of ritual form had reached an extreme, which is why he pointed this out so directly, intending to teach the common people through the Dao of wuwei and naturalness.

Here, when speaking of ren, yi, and li, the text says only shang (highest), because the lower levels no longer warrant discussion. Rang bi (rolling up the sleeves) means baring the arms by pushing back the sleeves. Reng means "then" or "thereupon." Sima Guang held that reng also carries the sense of pulling or forcibly pushing. Another edition writes it with a different character, meaning "to throw."

Thus, when the Dao is lost, only then is de discussed. When de is lost, only then is ren discussed. When ren is lost, only then is yi discussed. When yi is lost, only then is li discussed.

The Dao (dào) is an undivided whole, shared by all things under heaven and earth. When a person's nature accords with reason and can be understood and practiced from within oneself without depending on external things, this is called De (dé), or Virtue/Power. Originally, there was no separate thing called De apart from the Dao. Only when one speaks of "De" do grades, ethical order, and distinctions appear, unlike the Dao, which encompasses everything. Therefore, not deliberately holding up De is the ultimate attainment of De, and only in this way is the Dao fully embodied.

If one clings to De and treats it as something to possess, that is "lower De," which has not yet merged into the Great Dao and so loses the wholeness of the Dao. Hence it is said: "Only after the Dao is lost does De appear." The Guanyinzi says: "Whatever can be obtained can only be called De, not Dao." This is because when the name of De becomes manifest, the name of Dao recedes; when the name of ren (humaneness) becomes manifest, the name of De recedes. The lower the level of pursuit, the narrower the things it esteems. The Zhuangzi says: "The Dao is obscured by partial small achievements." This is indeed so.

Li (ritual propriety) arose after loyalty and trustworthiness had waned, and it is the beginning of disorder.

Excessive attention to the outward forms of ritual dilutes original simplicity, and the abuses that follow become the source of chaos. Confucius wished to adopt the ritual practices of the earlier, more refined era, and this is what he meant.

So-called "foreknowledge" is the flowery manifestation of the Dao and the beginning of folly.

This refers to the practice of relying on cunning intellect: exhausting one's mind in pursuit of keen discernment, or repeatedly guessing correctly, yet ultimately failing to comprehend things completely. Instead, it obscures innate clarity and makes people foolish. The Mengzi also says: "I detest cleverness, for it forces its way through." When one is obscured by flowery appearances, one cannot preserve the simplicity of the Great Dao. Is this not folly?

Therefore, the "great man" (one of outstanding insight who does not follow worldly customs) holds fast to substance and sincerity and does not chase after thin ornament. He dwells in what is real and does not indulge in surface display. Thus he discards the latter and chooses the former.

The two characters chu and qu are both read in the third tone. The phrase he yi fan qi ben yi means: "Why not return to the root?"

Wen Ding said: When people look at things with their eyes, their understanding stops at what is directly in front of them. When they listen with their ears, their understanding stops at the sounds they hear. When they think with their minds, their understanding is often confined to what they have grasped within the heart-mind. Therefore they are content to gain something at a shallow level, and they lose sight of the higher and more fundamental principles. They value what is thin and discard what is deep, admire ornate appearances, and abandon inner reality. Unless one is a great man of foresight and responsibility, who could set aside surface things and choose what is truly fundamental?

This is chapter thirty-eight of the Daode Zhenjing (Scripture of the Way and Its Power). Heshang Gong titled this chapter "On De." It explains how to preserve complete virtue and urges people to return to simplicity and genuineness.

Someone asked: "Is there a difference between Dao (the Way), De (Virtue), and the wuchang (the Five Constants)? How do their functions differ?" The answer was: "How could there be no difference? Dao is the whole that unifies all things. De is what a person fills out and attains within themselves according to their own endowment."

"Dao is like a primordial origin, still undivided..." Someone again asked whether they differ and how their functions differ. The answer remained the same: Dao unifies the whole, while De takes shape in each being as its own endowment is fulfilled.

Dao is the undifferentiated primordial qi (qi, the original vital breath before the generation of heaven, earth, and all things). De (Virtue) may be compared to the year and its seasons, while ren (benevolence), yi (righteousness), li (ritual propriety), and zhi (wisdom) are like the names of spring, summer, autumn, and winter. When all four are fully present, they form a complete year. The time when the qi of ren is at its height is called spring, li corresponds to summer, yi to autumn, and zhi to winter. Each of the four seasons has its own substance, and this substance is called xin (trustworthiness). At the end of each season, the earth qi flourishes for eighteen days, which also embodies this meaning.

That ren contains yi means that growth also contains the chill of decline, and that yi contains ren means that decline also nurtures new life. The fall of elm leaves in the second month and the growth of wheat in the eighth month are examples of this. The governance of the realm works the same way.

The Huangji Jingshi Shu (Book of the Supreme Ultimate Governing the World) says: The Three Sovereigns transformed and nourished the world through the Dao; the Five Emperors taught and civilized the world through De; the Three Kings encouraged the world through their achievements; and the Five Hegemons held the world together through force. The Three Sovereigns all took ren as their foundation, yet their methods of teaching differed. The Five Emperors all spoke of li, yet their ways of instruction differed. The Three Kings all spoke of yi, yet their means of exhortation differed. The Five Hegemons all acted through wisdom, yet their modes of leadership differed. From this we can see that the age of the Three Sovereigns was like spring, the age of the Five Emperors like summer, the age of the Three Kings like autumn, and the age of the Five Hegemons like winter.

When Laozi met Guan Yin, the age was roughly at the turning between autumn and winter. Laozi may have wished to teach his own time by holding fast to the correct Way, so that society might return to the vitality of spring. Someone asked, "Why is the order here different from the order given earlier?" The answer is that governing the affairs of the world sometimes follows old institutions and sometimes transforms them. Here the sequence is laid out in order to show the harms that arise from the drift of names and statuses, and so a transformed sequence is used. The Huashu (Book of Transformation) says: "When ren is insufficient, yi is used to remedy it, as metal overcomes wood. When yi is insufficient, li is used to remedy it, as fire overcomes metal. When li is insufficient, zhi is used to remedy it, as water overcomes fire. When zhi is insufficient, xin is used to remedy it, as earth overcomes water." Seen in this light, steadfast sincerity is the root of xin; it is both the endpoint of one cycle and the starting point of another.

Guo Deyuan once asked Zhu Wengong (Zhu Xi): "Laozi says that li is the outward sign of the thinning of loyalty and trustworthiness, and the beginning of disorder. Yet Confucius once asked him about li. Why is this?" Zhu Xi replied: "Laozi was thoroughly familiar with the details of ritual. He once served as Keeper of the Pillar (an official in charge of court archives and documents), so he naturally understood the systems of ritual, and this is why he could discuss them with Confucius in such depth. But he also held that it would not be wrong to do without these ceremonies, as if the sage's use of ritual were itself excessive. That is why he spoke as he did. The passages in the Liyun chapter, such as 'Schemes and plans arise, and so warfare breaks out,' also carry this same sense."

Since ancient times, those who have attained the One—the fundamental unity of the Dao—have relied on it: Heaven is clear, Earth is at peace, spirits manifest their power, valleys are filled, all things grow, and lords and kings become the proper way for the world. These varied functions all have their root in the Dao. If they were to lose it, Heaven might split apart, Earth might quake, the spirits’ efficacy might vanish, valleys might dry up, and all things might perish. If lords and kings failed to hold to what is right, then despite their noble and lofty position, they too might fall and be overthrown.

The One is the Dao. The Dao has existed since ancient times, which is why the text says “of old.” All things have their own forms, yet the Dao they embody is no different, which is why the text says “one.” Heaven’s clarity, Earth’s peace, the spirits’ efficacy, the fullness of valleys, the growth of all things, and the lords’ and kings’ ability to hold to what is right all come from the Dao, which enables each to follow its proper nature and fulfill its function. Sima Guang held that, from the perspective of things, what endures without interruption is what is called “one.” Jue is pronounced “jue” and means to fall or be overturned.

“Jue,” pronounced as “yue qie,” means to fall. Heaven can remain clear and bright, carrying out the generation and nurturing of all things and sheltering them; Earth can remain still and stable, bearing all things. Both do so because they have obtained the One, the unified Dao that is the root of all things. If they lost clarity and stability, anomalous changes such as cracks in the sky and earthquakes would occur. These would be signs of losing the One. Yet the One itself has never truly been lost. That is why the scripture says “it may be feared”: this wording expresses conjecture and concern. The One neither comes nor goes, so how could it be gained or lost? Rather, the workings of Qi and fate sometimes swell and sometimes contract, and people cannot attribute all these changes to the One’s own activity.

The Book of Yin and Yang says that a crack in the sky is a sign of insufficient Yang Qi and a ruler’s declining virtue; an earthquake is a sign of excessive Yin Qi and ministers failing in their duties. For example, during the Yuankang era of Emperor Hui of Jin, the sky split open for several zhang and a booming sound followed. In the second year of King You of Zhou, earthquakes struck the three rivers and Mount Qi collapsed. These are examples of such phenomena.

Shen is called Shen because it possesses spiritual awareness, and this awareness comes from obtaining the One. If it cannot preserve that awareness, it means the awareness has ceased. “Cease” means to come to an end. If a valley cannot remain full, it cannot contain and respond to all things, and will also reach its limit; hence the word “exhausted.” All things rely on the One to be born; without it, they perish. If a ruler cannot uphold the right way, that ruler has lost the Dao and can neither bring stability to himself nor preserve the state.

The One, however, has not truly ceased to exist. External evil and impure Qi may obscure its original, upright Qi and restrict its activity; that is why the text says “exhausted.” The passage begins with Heaven because Heaven is the greatest of physical forms, and ends with the king because the king governs Heaven, Earth, the people, and all things. Only a king can preserve the One in its entirety and become the right way for all under Heaven. Then Heaven and Earth can each remain in their proper place, and all things can grow. Bixuzi says that the whole passage ultimately serves as a warning to rulers, and this is what it means.

Thus, the honored take the lowly as their root, and high rank rests on low position. When rulers call themselves “orphaned,” “bereft,” and “unworthy”—humble self-designations meaning alone and lacking virtue—are they not treating lowliness as their root? Is that not so?

“Gu” means goodness and beauty. “Xie” is pronounced “ye.” Wen Ding says, “What exactly is this so-called ‘One’? You cannot see its shape or grasp it. It is the smallest thing in the world, which is why it is said to be lowly and to dwell below. When rulers call themselves ‘orphaned,’ ‘widowed,’ or ‘unworthy,’ they are saying that they take the One as their foundation.”

If you rush to seek praise from everyone, in the end you will fail to gain genuine acclaim. So do not seek distinction like a beautiful jade, nor settle for being lowly like a stone. “Lu” is pronounced “lu” and describes fine jade; “luo” should be written as “luo,” pronounced “luo,” and describes stone. “Shu” is read with an entering tone and means “hastily.”

The commentary explains that if a person does not take humility as their foundation but hastens to seek a distinguished, elevated reputation, praise will exceed what is warranted, and criticism will follow. The result is neither genuine acclaim nor freedom from reproach. A person should also not cling to the distinction between “jade is precious” and “stone is cheap.” Only by refusing to fixate on either extreme can one avoid being swayed by rank, praise, or blame. Who could do this without attaining the Dao and experiencing the One?

The passage above is Chapter 39 of the Dao De Jing, titled “The Root of the Way” by Heshang Gong. It praises the far-reaching power of attaining the One, then ends by reminding readers not to cling to the One.

Returning is how the Dao moves; weakness is how the Dao works.

Constantly returning to stillness is the foundation of the Dao’s operation. The Dao’s underlying reality is yielding and formless, yet its function is solid and powerful. The text speaks of “movement” rather than “stillness,” and of “weakness” rather than “strength,” using contrasting terms to convey its meaning. In doing so, it also explains the relationship between underlying reality and function: only by returning to stillness can the underlying reality be established; once it is established, the Dao’s function can unfold. The underlying reality is still and formless, and so appears yielding and weak. Its function reaches far and cannot be obstructed, and so is immensely powerful.

Underlying reality and function, movement and stillness, are always connected. Yet movement must take stillness as its foundation, just as function must arise from underlying reality. Thus the creative workings of Heaven and Earth lie latent in winter, and only in spring do they sprout and flourish. The same is true of learning: deeply investigating principles and attaining subtle, thorough understanding is the foundation for applying knowledge to government.

The myriad things under Heaven arise from “being,” and “being” arises from “nonbeing.”

Here, the text explains the same point through the principle by which the myriad things come into being. All things take shape through the transformation of Qi, so they are said to arise from “being.” But if we trace back to the source from which they first came into being, we arrive at the Dao. The Dao has no form, sound, or smell that can be directly perceived, so it is said to arise from “nonbeing.”

This is Chapter 40 of the Dao De Jing. Heshang Gong titled the chapter “Setting Aside Function.” It explains that only by honoring underlying reality can function be brought forth. Some say that stillness is the Dao’s proper state, and that any movement therefore goes against the Dao. This view confines the Dao to stillness and fails to recognize that movement and stillness belong to the transformations of Qi: the Dao governs movement and stillness but is not constrained by them. Others say that acting contrary to what is customary while remaining appropriate is the Dao’s responsive aspect, displaying its adaptability, while keeping to yielding weakness is the Dao’s constant function, displaying its foundation. The statement that “being arises from nonbeing” then shows that adaptability and foundation ultimately converge in the Dao.

When those of the highest capacity—pure in nature and still in mind, with insight beyond the ordinary—hear of the Dao, they diligently put it into practice. Those of middling capacity, when they hear of the Dao, sometimes believe and sometimes doubt. Those of the lowest capacity hear of the Dao and laugh aloud. If the lowest did not laugh at it, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao.

The Dao has no form or sound. It cannot be seen with the eyes or heard with the ears. Only those of the highest capacity are naturally pure and still, with exceptional insight; once they hear of it, they do not doubt, just as one understands that emptiness is emptiness, and they do not turn against it in haste. Those of middling capacity may incline either upward or downward in their understanding, so they sometimes believe and sometimes doubt. Those of the lowest capacity lack the wisdom to understand the Dao and the conviction to hold fast to it. As the Zhuangzi says, profound words cannot remain in the hearts of ordinary people; therefore, those of the lowest capacity laugh when they hear them.

The sages of ancient times therefore spoke in this way. What follows describes the ways the great Dao appears when diligently put into practice:

The bright Dao appears dim. Those who truly see what is subtle let go of outward forms and clever, calculating knowledge. They restrain their radiance and do not show it off, so they appear unremarkable.

The level Dao appears uneven. “Yi” means level, while “lei” refers to uneven threads. The great Dao makes high and low flow into one another, leaving no separation from the myriad things. Yet from the worldly point of view, it seems full of bumps and hollows, as though it were of no practical use.

The advancing Dao appears to retreat. Cultivating the Dao means diminishing day by day, diminishing again and again until one reaches Wuwei (non-action), so it appears to be a step backward.

The highest virtue is like an empty valley. Those who truly possess virtue do not think of themselves as virtuous, just as an empty valley can receive all things.

The purest white appears stained. Only those who forget color and outward appearance can contain what is impure.

The greatest virtue appears insufficient. If one thinks it has bounds and limits, it cannot be called great. Only virtue that is utterly vast and does not regard itself as complete is truly great.

Establishing virtue appears to be idleness. This means cultivating in secret and practicing silently, without seeking to draw attention to oneself.

Practice with full concentration and carry things out discreetly; even when you have De, do not show it off. The Treatise on the Mysterious Guideline says, “Merit and De are preserved when they remain hidden and unseen.” This means the same thing.

What is simple and true may outwardly seem to have changed.

“Yu” means change. “True in substance” refers to what is simple and original. Only when inner simplicity is joined with outward refinement does one avoid being bound to either side. Thus, one may adapt outwardly to changing circumstances while remaining true within, and so appear to have changed.

What is most square has no corners.

“Corner” refers to an angle. What is truly vast and square has no boundaries that can be reached, so it is said to have no corners.

The greatest vessel takes a long time to complete.

The longer something is accumulated, the greater its achievement is likely to be. A truly great vessel, therefore, is not completed quickly.

The greatest sound is barely heard; the greatest image has no form; the Dao is hidden and nameless.

The scripture says that what cannot be heard is called “xi,” or faint, and so it speaks of “the greatest sound, barely heard.” The Dao has no fixed image and no boundaries that can be reached, and so it speaks of “the greatest image, without form.” Though it lies beyond the reach of sight and hearing, it also seems to emerge from darkness and harmonize in silence, clearly present in what people see and hear every day. People of middling ability therefore think the Dao may or may not exist, while those of low ability laugh at it. These twelve sayings describe how the Dao is sometimes hidden and sometimes manifest, residing in all kinds of things, while its totality remains hidden and nameless.

Only the Dao is skillful at giving and bringing all things to completion.

“Dai” means to give or bestow; “completion” means that all things come to be through the Dao.

The above is chapter 41, which Heshang Gong titled “Sameness and Difference.” This chapter discusses the Dao in its entirety, which people of middling and lesser ability find difficult to understand. The Dao has neither form nor name, so human effort cannot bring one to its ultimate realization. Only through quiet cultivation and sustained contemplation does the Dao reveal itself naturally. The Dao is skillful at giving to all things, enabling each to fulfill itself without seeking reward. The ancients originally studied in order to cultivate themselves, yet ultimately were able to bring all things to completion precisely because they understood and practiced the Dao.

The Dao gives rise to One; One gives rise to Two; Two gives rise to Three; and Three gives rise to the myriad things.

Master Zhu Wen (Zhu Xi) said: The Dao is like what the Book of Changes says: things come to an end and then begin again, ultimately giving rise to the myriad things. To recognize and put this Dao into practice is to embody the Dao.

The Dao gives rise to One; One gives rise to Two; Two gives rise to Three; Three gives rise to the myriad things.

Master Zhu Wen said: The Dao corresponds to the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) in the Book of Changes, the root from which all things arise. One is an odd number, belonging to Yang; Two is an even number, belonging to Yin; Three is formed by adding an odd number to an even number. Saying that “Two gives rise to Three” is like saying “two plus one equals three.” Saying that “Three gives rise to the myriad things” means that Yin and Yang, odd and even, combine, and the myriad things arise from this. If One were directly identified with the Taiji, it would no longer be possible to say that the Dao gives rise to One. This has the same meaning as the statement in the Liezi that “transformation became One.” Here, One is simply the number that appears when things first begin to take form; it remains the number One.

The myriad things carry Yin on their backs and embrace Yang; the Qi of Yin and Yang blends within them, forming harmony.

An animal’s back is behind it and belongs to the still, Yin side; its mouth, nose, ears, and eyes are at the front and belong to the active, Yang side. Hence the saying, “carry Yin on the back and embrace Yang.” Plants, meanwhile, turn away from the cold and toward the warmth, with the harmonizing Qi of Yin and Yang moving within them. In general, Shen belongs to Yang, while the physical form belongs to Yin. Shen operates within and is therefore called “embracing”; the physical form is visible without and is therefore called “carrying.” The movement and stillness of Qi likewise belong respectively to Yang and Yin. Yin and Yang are then harmonized by the Qi of harmony at their center, which fills the body and becomes the faculty on which Shen depends.

Sima Guang said: All things take Yin and Yang as their basis and the Qi of balance and harmony as their functioning power. Wenjian said: The Qi of Yin and Yang each has its own partial tendency; only after they meet do they become harmonious. This is how the two meet to form Three, and how Three spreads throughout and gives rise to the myriad things.

What people dislike are the titles “orphan,” “widower,” and “unworthy one,” yet rulers and lords of the states use them to refer to themselves. Thus, sometimes a thing is diminished and thereby increased; sometimes it is increased and thereby diminished.

The character for “dislike” is read with a falling tone. Sima Guang said: Self-satisfaction brings loss, while humility brings benefit. Therefore, one should cast off excess and arrogance and return to moderation and calm.

When others teach people, I too teach them through reason. Those who rely on force and brutality often meet an untimely end; I will make this saying the foundation of my teaching.

What is most supple in the world can move among what is most hard; a force without form or trace can enter where there are no gaps. From this we can see that Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial.

“Utmost suppleness” here refers to the formless Dao (the Way); “utmost hardness” refers to the myriad things that have form and substance. “Galloping through” means transforming, moving, and directing. Through its formless power, the Dao sets in motion and nurtures the things that have form. Mount Tai and a fine autumn hair, great and small alike, take shape through the Dao; the Dao enters all things without obstruction. The Dao encompasses being and nonbeing, and all things exist within it, blended together in seamless connection. If people can understand this and act in accord with it, they can merge with the myriad things, keep their minds open, and refrain from reckless action. The benefits they gain will be boundless.

Wending says: “It is precisely because the sage can practice Wuwei that he can put every kind of great power to use, moving freely in and out among all affairs and things.”

If one understands the principle of decrease and increase, one should also teach people through humility and gentleness when carrying out instruction. From this we can see that acting tyrannically and flaunting one’s strength is utterly reckless. In the end, it brings no good, so it is especially important to take it as a warning and not imitate it. Hence the saying: “I will take this as the foundation of instruction.” Here, “father” means foundation. Instruction is like the way of the teacher: a teacher is respected, but may not be close to those taught; a father is both respected and close, and can therefore speak frankly. The Book of Changes says, “Without teachers, guardians, and tutors, one is as if face to face with one’s parents.” This is precisely the meaning. The text specifically says “father” because the way of instruction rests chiefly on dignity.

Teaching without words and the benefits that come from following nature and forcing nothing upon it are rarely achieved by anyone in the world.

“Xi” means scarce or rare. Wang Fusi said, “What is utterly soft and weak cannot be broken; what is empty and formless cannot be exhausted.” From this we can infer that the Way of Wuwei (non-action) can benefit all things. What could surpass it?

Heshang Gong titled Chapter Forty-Three “Universal Application.” This chapter praises the benefits of emptiness, softness, and Wuwei.

Which is closer to oneself: reputation or life? Which matters more: life or possessions?

Life is the form in which spirit resides, so how could it not be close to us? Reputation is merely an accessory to what is real; is it worthy of esteem? Besides, each person has only one life, while things outside oneself are without limit. To abandon life in pursuit of reputation, trading what is singular for more external things, is the height of folly. People can bring the Dao to light, so life is the foundation of cultivation. Wending said, “If one can forget oneself and cling not even to life, how much less would one cling to reputation or possessions?”

Which is more harmful: gaining reputation and possessions, or losing one’s life?

Wen Gong said: “Which is more harmful: gaining reputation and possessions but losing one’s life, or preserving one’s life but losing reputation and possessions?” Wending said: “Before gaining them, people suffer over not having them. After gaining them, they suffer for fear of losing them. The latter is worse.”

Therefore, excessive attachment inevitably exacts a great price,

like using the Marquis of Sui’s pearl to shoot at a sparrow high in the sky: in both cases, excessive cherishing leads one to lose sound judgment.

Amassing too many possessions inevitably brings heavy loss.

If one does not hoard possessions, there is nothing to lose. The Kaiyuan commentary says: “To prize reputation excessively must exhaust the spirit—is that not a great price? To amass great wealth must burden the body—is that not a heavy loss?”

Know contentment, and you will not be disgraced; know when to stop, and you will not be endangered. In this way, you can endure.

Once you see clearly the difference between what is inward and what is outward, you know when to stop and what it means to be content. You will not be troubled by gains and losses. In this way, you can abide by the constant Way of nature and life; what danger or disgrace could there be? Thus one can endure. In the Han dynasty, the uncle and nephew Shu Guang and Shu Shou followed this principle.

The above is Chapter Forty-Four. Heshang Gong titled this chapter “Establishing Cautions.” It explains that by removing pretense and preserving one’s natural character, one can endure.

What is truly whole seems to have something missing, yet its function never declines.

“Bi” is read “pi jie” and means “worn out” or “damaged.” One who realizes the wholeness of the Great Dao has abundant De (Virtue/Power), yet appears modest and lacking. Thus, the longer its function endures, the fresher it seems.

What is truly full seems empty, yet its function is inexhaustible.

The Great Dao is complete in itself, yet appears as though it were absent. It is full within, yet seems empty. Thus, the deeper it accumulates, the more inexhaustible its function becomes. This passage speaks of both substance and function; the passages that follow omit discussion of function.

What is truly straight seems crooked.

Because its capacity is vast, it is straight without showing its sharpness; it has no clear boundary by which it can be surveyed. If viewed in terms of correcting others by first setting oneself straight, it may seem somewhat bent.

What is truly skillful seems clumsy.

Its function can assist Heaven and Earth in transforming and nurturing the myriad things, shaping them in all their forms. Yet its root lies in following nature and acting without action, so it appears clumsy.

One who is truly skilled in speaking seems inarticulate.

This state goes beyond speaking and silence, so all principles become naturally clear and accessible. It also goes beyond what can be seen and heard: through “layered mystery” (the Daoist realm of mystery that transcends itself layer by layer), one arrives at complete understanding. Thus it seems inarticulate.

Movement can overcome cold, and stillness can overcome heat; purity and stillness are the right way under Heaven.

Movement belongs to Yang, and stillness to Yin, so agitation can ward off cold and calm can dispel heat. Yet each remains partial and depends on its opposite. Purity and stillness, by contrast, can govern the Six Qi (the six kinds of energy that circulate between Heaven and Earth) and accord with the right way of Heaven and Earth. Though they encompass distinctions between movement and stillness, they do not cling to either; instead, they bring movement and stillness into unity. Thus they are the right way under Heaven.

Dong Sizheng explains that this chapter concerns recognizing the Dao in its complete and unbiased state; only then can one become a standard for all under Heaven. Some say that when something has been accomplished, it is better to leave a part unfinished; when something is full, it is better to remain empty; straightness is inferior to yielding, cleverness to simplicity, and eloquence to speaking little. This does not mean that completion or incompletion, eloquence or reticence is better. Rather, agitation cannot take the place of stillness, and stillness cannot take the place of agitation. Agitation can withstand the cold but not the heat; stillness can withstand the heat but not the cold. Both are bound to one side. Only through detachment and quietude can one avoid being constrained by distinctions such as complete and incomplete, eloquent and reticent. Then one can meet any demand, become a standard for all under Heaven, and embody the vastness of the Dao.

When governance throughout the world is clear and peaceful, warhorses are sent away to plow the fields. When governance is dark and disorderly, warhorses are born and bred in the borderlands, ready for war. “Send away” means to withdraw or remove; “manure” here means to cultivate the fields; “warhorses” are horses prepared for battle; and “borderlands” refers to the area between two states. In terms of inner cultivation, when the mind and spirit are settled, one can draw back the “mind-horse”—a metaphor for thoughts that race in all directions—and nurture the foundation of body and mind. Otherwise, the mind will gallop outward.

The greatest offense is to indulge desire; the greatest calamity is to know no contentment; the greatest fault is to covet gain. At their root, all these arise from indulging desire. Wending says that when ordinary people have these faults, calamity will surely befall them; when rulers have them, war may break out as a result.

Thus, those who know contentment can remain content. Huang Maochun says that human nature is originally neither lacking nor excessive. Those who are at ease with their nature can feel content wherever they are.

This section is titled “Restraining Desire.” It urges people to beware of the harm caused by greed, to value knowing contentment, and to make contentment a lasting principle for living.

I treat the good with kindness, and I also treat the unkind with kindness; in this way, true goodness can be achieved. I treat the trustworthy with sincerity, and I also treat the untrustworthy with sincerity; in this way, true trustworthiness can be achieved.

The imperial commentary says: Shun treated Xiang with the utmost kindness and sincerity. All people are born with the same fundamental principle. The sage treats everyone with kindness and sincerity; this reflects the breadth of the sage’s De. Whether others are good or unkind, trustworthy or not, is up to them. I never change my own kindness and sincerity: this is the sage’s true goodness and trustworthiness. If one is kind and sincere only toward those who are good and trustworthy, while rejecting those who are not, how could one be called always skilled at helping others and unwilling to abandon them lightly?

The sage dwells among all under Heaven and is ever earnestly concerned with harmonizing the hearts of the people. The people watch the sage’s words and actions with focused attention, yet the sage treats them all like infants.

“Die” describes a state of earnest concern. Here, “wei” is read with a falling tone. “Hun” is interchangeable with “hun.” The goodness or wickedness, sincerity or deceitfulness of those under Heaven has not yet been settled, so the sage earnestly works to harmonize their hearts, dissolving differences and bringing together what they share, without treating people differently according to goodness or wickedness, sincerity or deceit. The people watch closely to see what the sage accepts and rejects; the sage, however, treats them all like infants, as if protecting newborn children. This reflects the sage’s sincere heart and gives people hope of letting go of distinctions and gradually transforming of their own accord. “Treats them all like infants” means making no distinctions among people.

The above is Chapter Forty-Nine, titled “Upholding De” by Heshang Gong. This chapter speaks of the sage meeting the myriad things with an open mind and nurturing all people equally through the natural De.

Entering life and entering death: human nature itself has neither life nor death. What is called entering and leaving is simply change that follows the movement of Qi (vital energy). When Qi unfolds, the myriad things emerge from their source; this is called “life.” When Qi gathers back in, the myriad things return to their source; this is called “death.”

Some people move toward longevity, while others move toward death. Even among the living, some actions lead toward the realm of death. Why is this? Because they crave life too much and indulge themselves.

“Ten” is a number that signifies completeness, so it is used here simply as an illustration. From birth to adulthood, the Qi of life unfolds and flourishes. This is a phase oriented toward growth, accounting for about three parts out of ten. From decline to death, the Qi of life subsides and comes to rest. This is a phase oriented toward death, also accounting for about three parts. The span from adulthood to old age is when people act and exercise their capacities; it too accounts for about three parts. If one acts without regard for the proper path, relying on vigorous strength to do as one pleases, one will tread the road to death. The scripture says, “When things become strong to the utmost, they grow old.” This is precisely the situation it describes.

“Why is this?” poses the question; “because they crave life too much” provides the answer. This refers to people who single-mindedly pursue the preservation of life and cling to it, unable to forget themselves. They therefore chase delusive thoughts and move toward death. When one becomes absorbed in preserving life, death becomes its opposite; in turn, one grows oblivious to the Dao that transcends the opposition between life and death. The scripture therefore says, “Not treating life as something to manage deliberately is better than placing all one’s weight on it.”

Some also understand ceaseless, tangled delusive thoughts as excessive efforts to manage life. This interpretation makes sense as well. If one takes clarity and stillness as one’s foundation and nurtures an inner state of emptiness, stillness, and lucidity, then even when acting one does not depart from stillness. Eventually, one can let go even of the distinction between movement and stillness. This is the way to care for life well.

Wending says that the two categories oriented toward life and death each account for three parts out of ten, making nine parts altogether. The remaining one part is the Dao that is neither life nor death. The Book of Changes describes this as “silent and unmoving”; it is a state that is neither life nor death. Laozi speaks only of the nine parts and does not explicitly mention the one, allowing people to grasp it for themselves and thereby understand the subtlety of having no thought and taking no action.

It is said that one skilled at preserving life can walk on land without meeting a si, a mythical one-horned beast, or a tiger, and can enter a battlefield without being harmed by weapons. The si finds no place to use its horn, the tiger no chance to wield its claws, and no weapon can strike him. Why is this? Because he has not entered a situation in which death is certain.

“Si” is pronounced like “si.” The Classic of Mountains and Seas says that the si lives south of the Xiang River and is dark gray-black in color; the Erya says it resembles a wild ox and has a single horn. “I have heard” is a humble expression, indicating that one does not dare present the principle as one’s own claim.

To be skilled at preserving life means to turn the mind back, maintain undivided unity, gather in one’s thoughts, and return to emptiness. Guan Yin’s words about “forgetting the spirit and transcending life and death” express the same idea. When one cultivates to this state, one no longer clings even to “the One.” One’s inborn nature is thus kept whole, one’s spirit remains undisturbed by external things, and external things cannot intrude. Fate cannot bind such a person, and calamity cannot harm him. If he does not cling even to the condition of being alive, how could he enter a situation in which death is certain? Thus the perfected person has no self and becomes one with the Dao.

This chapter comments on Chapter 50 of the Laozi. Heshang Gong titled it “Valuing Life.” The commentator holds that those skilled at preserving life take Wuwei (non-action) as their foundation. They can therefore keep far from danger and transcend life and death. Yet commentators through the ages have disagreed about how to interpret “thirteen” and “moving toward the place of death” in the classic.

Heshang Gong, Han Fei, Bixuzi, Ye Mengde, Lin Dong, and others take “thirteen” to refer to the four limbs and nine bodily openings. A person’s activity and stillness, they say, affect life and death: the deluded harm themselves and move toward danger through their actions. The commentator argues that this reading makes “those who belong to death” difficult to distinguish from “moving toward the place of death.” Besides, the four limbs and nine openings are merely the body’s form; the roots of action and stillness may not lie there.

Du Guangcheng interprets “thirteen” as the ten evils and three forms of karma, while others explain it as the seven emotions and six desires. Li Wenchou says that the kidneys correspond to the Water trigram Kan and are the “gate of life,” while the heart corresponds to the Fire trigram Li and is the “door of death.” The twelve Earthly Branches cycle repeatedly, and once a cycle is complete, it begins again; this is why the number is called “thirteen.” The commentator considers that these explanations may also fail to clarify the classic’s meaning.

An interpretation from the Kaiyuan era, along with those of Sun Deng, Sima, Shao, Wang, Cao, and others, runs roughly as follows: of every ten people, about three preserve life through gentleness, three hasten their death through strength, and another three, though clinging to life, still move toward death. Cao adds that those seeking long life belong to “those who belong to life,” while those cultivating extinction belong to “those who belong to death.” Those who indulge their desires and act recklessly also move toward the place of death.

Zhao of Shu interprets “thirteen” through the Five Phases’ numbers of birth and death. In his reckoning, Water is born in Shen, whose number is seven; Water dies in Mao, whose number is six. Seven plus six makes thirteen, and the same calculation can be applied to the other phases. The commentator points out that this explanation adds together the numbers of birth and death. If that were the intended meaning, the classic should say “of those who belong to life and death, thirteen,” which would be more fitting. Huang explains “thirteen” as the sum of Water’s completed number, six, and Fire’s completed number, seven. Although many recent commentators have adopted this view, the commentator still asks why only Water and Fire are mentioned among the Five Phases, and why only their completed numbers are used rather than their birth numbers.

Another interpretation holds that when the Qi of Kidney Water rises and enters the heart, one passes from life into death. Its advocates cite a verse by Zhang Ping-shu: “Thirteen wrapped in Yin, six and seven within Yang.” According to this reading, preserving life means taking the substance of Kan to fill the emptiness of Li, ultimately transforming it into the substance of Qian. The commentator says this explanation may seem plausible, but does not in fact accord with the classic’s original meaning.

Wending’s interpretation is that taking things from outside and drawing out their essence to nourish oneself belongs to “those who belong to life”; indulging in sounds, sights, and flavors until one is depleted belongs to “those who belong to death.” Moreover, knowing how to use cleverness but not when to stop, being skilled in speech but not in silence, and being adept at thought but not at letting go will ultimately lead to exhaustion. This is “moving toward the place of death.” Qingyuanzi’s interpretation is similar. The commentator nevertheless argues that on this reading, “those who belong to death” and “moving toward the place of death” remain difficult to distinguish.

The commentator’s own interpretation is this: the expansion and contraction of Qi constitute “those who belong to life” and “those who belong to death”; when Qi enters into practical activity and is used to respond to things, this is “moving toward the place of death.” The way of the immortals values life, so the Qi of birth belongs to Yang and is like Heaven. The way of ghosts values endings, so declining Qi belongs to Yin and tends toward Earth. The human way values the heart, which may lead either to life or to death; accordingly, Qi in action is balanced and moderate, and is like humanity. As for the “One” that is neither born nor dead, it lies beyond ordinary numbers yet runs through the principles of number. It does not act directly, yet enables the activity of the myriad things to be completed. In this sense, it belongs to the level of the Dao. It circulates among Heaven, Earth, and humanity, yet is not constrained by any of them.

This is close to the meaning of the Book of the World’s Order, which says, “Three are used; one is not used”: the three belong respectively to Heaven, Earth, and humanity, while the Dao transcends them. If one reckons through the alternating transformations of Yuan, Heng, Li, and Zhen, the boundary between Zhen and Yuan is the limit between being and nonbeing, and therefore has no fixed number. This “numberlessness” is present in the root from which the myriad things arise. The elders held that Shao Yong grasped the Laozi’s meaning deeply. They were right.

The Dao brings the myriad things into being, and De nurtures them. Through this, each thing displays its own form and grows into shape according to its particular conditions and patterns. Thus, nothing fails to honor the Dao and cherish De.

The Dao is the root of all things; De is the Dao’s activity as it manifests within each thing. In Heaven and Earth, it is the De of Heaven and Earth; in a sage, it is the sage’s De. The Dao is the beginning from which all things come forth without end. De nurtures all beings naturally and never turns away from them. Without De’s care, things could not grow well; hence De is said to “nurture” them. All things are forms in which the Dao and De manifest. What is called “circumstance” is the situation that takes shape as things follow the patterns of their relationships with one another. Given this, how could they fail to honor their root? Thus nothing fails to honor the Dao and value De.

One who receives the Mandate of Heaven becomes the Son of Heaven; one appointed by the Son of Heaven becomes a feudal lord. Whenever someone receives an appointment from another, the one who grants it has the power to lower the recipient’s standing. But the Dao exists before all things and determines their destinies. Who, then, could grant it rank? Its power to give life and take it away is governed by no one else. It is therefore always spontaneous, and for this very reason it is honored and cherished.

Thus the Dao brings all things into being and nurtures them, helping them grow and develop until they take shape and reach maturity. It nourishes and protects them as well. The Dao gives life to all things but does not claim them as its own; it helps them but does not boast of its achievements; it guides their growth but does not rule them. This is called “Mysterious De,” a profound and subtle virtue.

Before Heaven and Earth brought forth the myriad things, there was already a source from which they all arose, existing from time immemorial. All things depend on this source as they begin to grow, so it is called the “Mother.” Once you know this source, you can understand the myriad things it gives rise to. After understanding them, return to the source and hold fast to it; then you can live your whole life without danger.

“Mother” refers to the source of all things, while “children” refers to the myriad things born from it. “Holding fast to the Mother” means maintaining an understanding of the source, without being carried away by the myriad changes of the world.

Before Heaven and Earth took shape, the Dao (the Way) already existed. All things came into being by drawing their first support from the Dao, so it is called the “Mother.” Trace things back to their beginnings and recognize their common source, and you can understand how each thing’s form came to be established. Then observe that the Dao has never left the things themselves, and you will see that all things born through the Dao are like its “children.” By looking back from things to their source, you can know their root, and its use will be inexhaustible.

Knowing things as the “children” does not mean losing sight of the root and pursuing only the branches. One must return to and hold fast to the “Mother,” the source of the Dao. As long as people follow the principle of Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness, maintaining an undivided state without interruption, all things and affairs can find their proper place. There is no other rule beyond this, nor does it mean deliberately clinging to anything. Responding to things in this way allows change to unfold naturally; when cultivation is embodied in oneself, its wondrous effects become apparent.

The Dao’s substance is an undivided whole: it is the root from which all things, despite their countless differences, share a common source. Therefore, knowing the root makes it possible to understand all things. The Dao’s activity is inexhaustible: it is the reason a single source can transform and give rise to countless things. Therefore, after knowing the things, one must return to and hold fast to the root. In this way, root and branch, the subtle and the manifest, can be brought together as one. Tracing things back to their beginning and looking ahead to their end, one will not be confused by life and death; hence it is said that such a person remains free from danger throughout life.

“Block the openings of the senses and close the gateways through which desires reach the outside world,” and you will be free from disturbance throughout life. “Open the openings of the senses and let desires direct the handling of every affair,” and you will fall into an irredeemable predicament throughout life.

The Book of Changes says, “Dui” means joy. Once the mind becomes attached to and fond of external things, it is drawn along by them. “Gates” refers to the openings through which the senses make contact with the outside world. When the scripture says to “bar the gates” and “close the doors,” it is urging Dao cultivators to guard what is fundamental: to speak with care, eat and drink in moderation, settle their emotions and wandering thoughts, and nourish their spirit and vital energy. They should see and hear in keeping with propriety, and keep their movements and stillness calm. These practices preserve the body and cultivate De, so that one need not spend a lifetime in toil and agitation, yet can still accomplish something. If one does the opposite, abandoning inner cultivation to pursue only outward pleasures, one will spend a lifetime rushing about, with no way to turn back.

To perceive what is subtle is called clarity; to remain soft and still is called strength. By applying inner discernment and returning to the clarity of one’s original mind, one avoids bringing misfortune upon oneself. This is called carrying on the constant Dao, the Dao that never changes.

The character “yi” is pronounced “wei ji qie” and means to give or leave behind. The Dao has no form or trace and cannot be seen with the eyes, so it is called subtle. It cannot be obtained by force, so it is called soft and weak. To perceive with precision without being obscured by external things is called “clarity”; to hold steadfastly without being taken over by external things is called “strength.” Dao cultivators should quiet the mind, observe carefully, and let go of attachment to sensory pleasures; only then can the work of cultivation take shape. “Seeing” and “holding fast” are where the effort is applied; “clarity” and “strength” are the results that emerge from that effort.

“Clarity” is the inner substance, while “light” is its function. Once the foundation nurtured in stillness has been established, discernment can come into play in action, like light shining from a clear source to illuminate all things. The foundation remains undiminished, and its function never runs dry. Yet one must also draw in the light so that it does not dazzle; conceal one’s intelligence by remaining unassuming and making no claim to knowledge. By withdrawing into quiet obscurity, one leaves misfortune no way to intrude. This is skillful in carrying on and holding to the Dao of true constancy. The deeper one’s De, the humbler one’s bearing. When cultivation reaches this state, misfortune will not arise naturally. This is an exhortation to those who study and cultivate the Dao.

“Beginning” refers to primordial Qi, the vital energy that forms the foundation of life. People are born by receiving Qi, so Qi is like a mother, while Shen, the spirit, resides within Qi like a child. When mother and child remain together, Shen becomes settled and Qi becomes unified. This teaching can also serve as an inspiration for those just beginning to follow the Dao.

“Were I to have even a little understanding and walk upon the Great Dao, I would fear only straying from it”: The Great Dao is level and natural, with no fixed point of departure or destination. It cannot be grasped through cleverness, nor does it require deliberate planning or action. If one assumes one has some insight and tries to follow the Great Dao according to one’s own intentions, the mind has already found something to rely on and cling to. Thus, all deliberate action calls for caution. The previous chapter urged people to hold fast to the root; this one warns again against the harm of intentional action.

“The Great Dao is very level, yet people like side paths”: The Great Dao is plain and easy to follow, yet people prefer shortcuts. The Jing of Settling the Mind in Contemplation says that those who turn away from the Great Dao to seek the Dao will end up resenting it for lacking compassion. Those who favor shortcuts will never reach their destination.

“The court is swept clean”: “Court” means the place where the ruler resides, and “swept clean” here means that great expense has been incurred. As a metaphor for the human body and mind, it can also mean that the ruler of the mind is occupied with excessive thought.

“The fields are overgrown, the granaries are empty”: This means there are no inner reserves. In bodily cultivation, “fields” refers to the upper, middle, and lower Dantian, the energy centers where Jing, Qi, and Shen are traditionally said to be cultivated and stored. “Granary” refers to a place that contains Jing and Qi; for example, the stomach is called the “Great Granary.”

“They wear fine clothes, carry sharp swords, feast and drink their fill, and have wealth to spare. This is to flaunt the spoils of theft. It is not the Dao.” Wearing luxurious clothes, carrying a sharp sword, feasting and drinking to excess, and having abundant wealth means boasting of what has been gained through plunder. Such conduct does not accord with the Dao.

Here, “abundance” means having plenty. These are all examples of people who neglect inner cultivation and instead boast of outward generosity and display. This is no different from teaching people to rob. How could this be what it looks like when the Great Dao is put into practice? The passage expresses sorrow and lament. Sima Guang says: “They wear splendid clothes that do not suit them, and hoard abundant food without ever being satisfied; hence the phrase ‘boasting thieves.’ Did such boasting arise because people originally wanted to practice the Dao, but later embellished it recklessly through government decrees, thereby causing political errors?”

This is Chapter 53. Heshang Gong titled it “Evidence of Increase.” The chapter says that knowledge alone is not enough to understand the Great Dao, and a fondness for shortcuts is not enough to put it into practice. Treating what has not yet been verified as already verified, or what has not yet been attained as already attained, is also contrary to the Dao.

Those skilled at establishing foundations cannot be uprooted; those skilled at holding fast cannot be deprived of what they hold. In this way, descendants can continue the ancestral sacrifices generation after generation, without interruption.

The Dao embraces Heaven and Earth, operates through past and present, and connects above and below; therefore, it cannot be uprooted. It extends throughout the transformations of all things and therefore cannot be severed. Yin and Yang alternate, and all things are continually renewed, like descendants succeeding one another in an unbroken line. Those who cultivate the Dao should first establish an inner foundation of balance and rightness. When the foundation is firm, it is not easily shaken. They should then hold fast to the Great Dao with single-mindedness; when the heart is steadfast, it is not easily led astray. Once their De is abundant and they can benefit others, later students will take them as a model. With deep roots and a long lineage, their teaching will reach later generations; the longer it endures, the closer its bonds become. Sima Guang says: “Not being uprooted means having deep, firm roots that cannot be shaken. Not being deprived means that the people submit willingly, so it cannot be taken away. Uninterrupted sacrifice means blessings that endure for a long time.”

When the Dao is applied to self-cultivation, De becomes genuine; when applied to governing a family, De becomes abundant; when applied to governing a community, De endures; when applied to governing a state, De flourishes; and when applied to governing the world, De is put into practice everywhere.

Those who deeply embody De are like newborn infants.

Venomous insects do not sting them, fierce beasts do not harm them, and birds of prey do not seize them.

Here, “the newborn” refers to an infant. As yet untouched by worldly influences, the infant symbolizes a state of innocence and gentleness, unadorned by artifice. “Deeply embodying De” means possessing profound inner virtue. The commentator uses the infant as an analogy to explain that those of deep cultivation have a simple, natural character.

A young child’s sinews and bones are soft and weak, yet the child can grip things firmly. The child does not yet know sexual intercourse, yet the genitals can become erect. These are signs that Jing and Qi are abundant to the utmost. The commentators explain that such responses involve no deliberate grasping and are not driven by desire. This shows that Jing and Qi are full, rather than produced by conscious effort.

An infant may cry all day without becoming hoarse. This shows that body, mind, and breath are harmonized to the utmost. When the mind and spirit stir recklessly, they damage the breath; once the breath is impaired, crying out easily makes the voice hoarse. When the mind and spirit are calm, the breath can remain harmonious.

To understand harmony is to understand the constant Dao. Harmony is the natural condition of life. Only by understanding this can one preserve purity, stillness, and focus, passing through all changes without losing one’s root. To understand what is constant is to become clear and perceptive. Only by recognizing the principle of nature’s enduring life can one make understanding clearer.

Deliberately exerting oneself and acting recklessly is called “adding to life”—trying to increase life by contrivance. Here, “ominous sign” refers to an abnormal portent, something uncanny. Life cannot be increased by forceful striving; insisting on doing so leads away from the right path and amounts to reckless action. This is precisely what the scripture means when it says, “Not knowing what is constant, one acts recklessly and brings misfortune.”

To make the breath obey the will is called “force.” When the mind and spirit are restless, one cannot tend the breath with single-mindedness and keep it gentle. This is the beginning of forceful striving, and it means losing the infant’s natural state of Wuwei.

When things become excessively strong, they move toward decline and old age. This is called going against the Dao. To go against the Dao is to wither prematurely. Not understanding the constant Dao and acting recklessly brings danger.

Note: At the beginning, the commentary explains three terms: “sting,” “seize,” and “strike.” A venomous insect such as a wasp uses its tail to sting; a wild beast pins and grabs with its claws; a bird of prey catches its quarry with its claws or spurs. “An empty boat colliding with another boat” means that when an unoccupied boat strikes someone else’s vessel, the other person may be displeased but does not direct their anger at the boat. Those who follow nature and do not contend with others are likewise less likely to suffer harm from things around them.

Once a thought arises, one can no longer harmonize the breath with undivided attention and remain gentle. This is the beginning of forced artifice, and the original mind’s childlike innocence is lost.

When things reach their height of strength, they move toward old age. This is called being contrary to the Dao (the Way). What is contrary to the Dao soon perishes.

“Yi” is read as “yi,” meaning to stop. Craving life and deliberately adding to oneself cause Qi (vital energy) to lose its natural course, only hastening old age. If you understand that this is contrary to the Dao, you should stop in time.

The above is Chapter Fifty-Five. Heshang Gong titled this chapter “Dark Tally.” At the beginning, the chapter uses an infant to illustrate the purity and wholeness of natural nature, which external things cannot fathom; whether grasping or crying, the infant is simply expressing what comes naturally. At the end, it warns that even the slightest thought of deliberate action leads to a loss of what is natural. Huang Maocai says that the older editions did not contain the character “yi”; “the cry does not grow hoarse” comes from the Zhuangzi and was added by later readers.

Those who truly understand the Dao speak little; those who love to speak do not truly understand the Dao.

The Dao’s true state cannot be expressed through speech or silence. Only those who have experienced it directly can understand.

Close the sensory openings of the ears and eyes, and shut the gates through which the mind and spirit rush outward. Blunt the sharpness, untangle the confusion, temper your radiance, and merge with the dusty world. This is called “mysterious sameness,” a profound state of unity.

Related explanations appear in Chapters Four and Fifty-Two. Here, the point is to bring inner cultivation into harmony with the conduct of one’s life among others: in stillness, one accords with the Dao, while in the world one continues to live alongside ordinary people without seeming different from them.

People cannot draw especially close to him, nor can they distance themselves from him. They cannot benefit from him or harm him; they cannot exalt him or demean him. Thus he becomes one whom all under Heaven revere.

This describes a person of De (Virtue/Power). He is inclusive without forming factions, holds to principles yet adapts flexibly to meet endless changes. He therefore does not cling to any particular situation, and lies beyond the reach of worldly feelings and calculations. Confucius accordingly remarked that he was elusive like a dragon.

The above is Chapter Fifty-Six. Heshang Gong titled this chapter “Mysterious De.” It says that those who realize the Great Dao forget words and cling to nothing. They cultivate both inner and outer life and become attuned to all things; therefore, they are revered by all under Heaven.

Govern the state by the proper way, use stratagems in warfare, and gain the world through Wuwei (non-action). How do I know this is so?

Wending says: The sages of antiquity soothed distant peoples and drew those nearby close through gentleness. They did not wish to use armies; they went to war only when they had no choice. Thus, in governing a state, ordinary administration is the proper course, while military action is an expedient of last resort.

The world is a precious vessel that must not be handled arbitrarily, so it cannot be governed by force. Those who understand the Great Dao remain openhearted and follow things as they are, taking no presumptuous action. Even without wishing to possess the world, people everywhere will turn to them.

Military action in the world is an expedient of last resort. The world is a precious vessel that must not be handled arbitrarily, so it cannot be governed by force. Those who understand the Great Dao remain openhearted and follow things as they are, taking no presumptuous action. Even without wishing to possess the world, people everywhere will turn to them.

The more taboos and restrictions there are under heaven, the poorer the people become. The more weapons and schemes people have at their disposal, the more disorder there is in the state. The more people prize clever techniques, the more strange and unusual things appear. The denser the laws and decrees, the more thieves there are.

A commentator says this is because the principle of governing through Wuwei (non-action) has been lost. With too many prohibitions, people’s actions are obstructed and their means of livelihood are affected; all kinds of clever schemes then proliferate. If the body is compared to the world, the mind is its ruler and Qi (vital energy), the fundamental force of life, is its people. One who clings to minor arts, exhausts their mind in private cunning, strays into byways, and indulges the Six Thieves—the sensory desires said in Buddhist and Daoist contexts to disturb the mind—cannot practice Wuwei.

Wending says: When rulers impose too many taboos, the people’s actual circumstances cannot be reported to those above them, and they sink into poverty with nowhere to appeal. “Weapons” refers to schemes. Those in high positions should practice Wuwei, so that the people are not led astray by cleverness and desire. If those above and below deceive one another and compete in using their wits, the people will resort more often to schemes, while the rulers grow ever more confused and benighted. “Strange things” means unusual and bizarre objects. When people stop concentrating on their proper work and instead pursue trivial concerns, they produce many extraordinary things that serve no purpose. Rulers who fear the people’s deceit keep adding laws to suppress them. The people are then left at a loss and increasingly driven toward theft.

Therefore the sage says: “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform themselves naturally. When I love stillness, the people set themselves right naturally. When I do not meddle, the people grow prosperous naturally. When I have no desires, the people become simple and unspoiled naturally.”

These are the effects of following nature, and the results achieved through governing by Wuwei.

Chapter 57 is titled “Pure Customs” by the Lord of the River. It discusses governing the world through Wuwei (non-action).

When government is generous and unhurried, the people become simple and sincere.

“Mengmeng” is read “mobenche” and describes a broad, unforced manner. A person of De (Virtue/Power) is clear about principles and affairs, yet treats others with generosity and magnanimity. Thus, governing the world through De does not mean using harsh, detailed laws and inspections to control the people. From a worldly point of view, this kind of rule may seem to do nothing deliberately. In fact, the people are naturally transformed and develop customs that are simple and peaceful. This is what it means for governance to reach its ideal.

When government is strict and exacting, the people become troubled and deprived.

If one does not understand that cultivating De is the foundation of governance, but instead prizes cleverness and tries to make the people conform through punishments and decrees, they cannot be made uniform at once. Insisting that they must meet a fixed standard inevitably causes harm, and so the people become troubled. This is how what is called a benefit can also bring harm, and how fortune and misfortune depend on one another and transform into each other.

Misfortune conceals fortune, and fortune conceals misfortune. Who can know where their transformations will end?

Misfortune and fortune depend on one another and transform into each other; people cannot know where these changes will stop.

Can there be no enduring standard?

If so, is there truly no definite and unchanging principle in the world?

What is upright can turn into the strange, and what is good can turn into the uncanny. The people have been confused and unable to understand for a long time.

People are often confused by partial arguments and reasoning before them. They do not understand the comprehensive truth of the proper Dao. Unable to abide by the truly right path, they mistake cunning and deceit for the proper way; unable to follow what is truly good, they mistake the strange and aberrant for goodness. When events do not turn out as they expected, they do not reflect on their own responses and actions, but instead fixate on how the outside world has responded. This is all because they have strayed from the proper Dao for a long time.

The same applies to governing a state. Instead of treating people with the De of generosity and forbearance, rulers pursue minute scrutiny and harshness, taking these to be good and right. They do not realize that, although their original aim is to ensure everyone’s well-being, the result may instead be that people suffer losses. The text that follows therefore presents the conduct of the sage as an encouragement to cultivate oneself. The Kaiyuan commentary says: “Living beings are deluded. They mistake what is proper for what is cunning and deceitful, and what is good for what is demonic and strange. Thus misfortune and fortune depend on one another, as though the world had lost the proper Dao.”

The sage is square but does not harm others: the sage acts with integrity while remaining inwardly receptive, leaving no trace of forceful cutting.

The sage is incorruptible but does not wound others. “Cut” means to injure. The sage is pure and upright, yet able to encompass all things, and so does not hurt anyone.

The sage is upright but does not flaunt it. The supremely upright can appear somewhat bent, and so does not deliberately display or proclaim this quality. “Spread” means to lay out and make conspicuous.

The sage is bright but does not dazzle. The sage returns to original clarity and does not use radiance to overwhelm others.

These four qualities are all ways of governing with generosity and forbearance. The sage is calm and practices Wuwei (non-action); the effects of being square, sound, upright, and bright are naturally present, yet go unnoticed. Everyone under Heaven is allowed to rest in their own nature and condition of life without falling into rigidity. Thus there are no errors of harming, wounding, flaunting, or dazzling, and misfortune and fortune have no cause to arise.

This is Chapter Fifty-Eight of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Dao and De), titled “Following Transformation” in the Heshang Gong version. The chapter urges people to shed cunning and fixed views, and to follow the natural order so they may dispel the confusion born of a narrow outlook.

In governing the people and revering the Way of Heaven, nothing is more important than restraint and conservation.

“Conservation” means cherishing and gathering the spirit so that it becomes concentrated rather than dissipating. Those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) and follow the proper path for a long time will develop broad minds and abundant Qi (vital energy), thereby attaining the complete realm of Heavenly De (Virtue/Power). What is meant by utmost sincerity is being able to fully realize one’s own nature, then the nature of others, and ultimately stand alongside Heaven and Earth. Heaven and humanity share the same principle and are not separated from one another. This is also what Mencius meant when he said, “To preserve and nourish the heart-mind, and cultivate one’s nature, is to serve Heaven.”

Only by understanding how to cherish and conserve can one return to the proper path early. Returning early is called the continual accumulation of De. Here, “further” is read with a falling tone and means “again.” Zhu Xi explained that returning early means practicing restraint and conservation, and turning back before straying far from the proper path. The continual accumulation of De means that, having already accumulated it, one now nourishes it further through restraint and conservation, adding another layer to one’s virtue. It is like someone cultivating mind and body who replenishes them as soon as they notice any loss.

When De has accumulated deeply, nothing cannot be overcome. When nothing cannot be overcome, the depth of one’s De cannot be measured.

When one’s De is unfathomably deep, one can govern a state.

With the fundamental De needed to govern a state, the state can endure for a long time. The people turn to someone of De just as…

The people gather around good governance as children cling to their mother. The foundation of the state lies in the ruler himself: when he accords with the Dao, the state can endure. If the ruler is compared to the state, then the mother is the Female One—the Yin, yielding, and undivided root—and the source of the enduring, unchanging nature and life. Thus it can last.

This is called having deep roots and a firm foundation: the principle of living long and seeing far—that is, enduring and keeping the spirit clear.

“Di” is pronounced “ji.” The Imperial Commentary says: “One who shares the enduring constancy of Heaven and Earth can live long; one whose brightness stands alongside that of the sun and moon can see far.” Wen Ding says: “Governing the people through sound can bring order to the state; serving the Way of Heaven through sound can make the roots deep and the foundation firm. The ancient sages upheld the constant way of preserving nature and life, never allowing external things to deplete what was within. Their roots were therefore deep and their foundations firm, difficult to unsettle, and so they could live long and see far. Governing the people and serving the Way of Heaven differ as outer and inner matters, but both follow the same principle of conserving and gathering in spirit and vitality.” Cheng Yichuan says: “Cultivation can extend one’s lifespan, and the blessings of a state can likewise be entrusted to Heaven to endure. For ordinary people to cultivate themselves to the level of sages and worthies requires effort. When this is achieved, the corresponding results will naturally follow.”

The passage above is Chapter 59 of the Dao De Jing. Heshang Gong titled it “Upholding the Dao.” This chapter discusses the way of conserving and gathering in: applied to governing the people, it can extend the state’s fortunes; applied to serving the Way of Heaven, it can prolong life.

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish.

“Cooking” means boiling, and “small fish” means fish. The point is that in governing, one must not stir things up or interfere at will.

When the world is governed through the Dao, spirits and ghosts cannot rise up to cause harm. This does not mean that spirits and ghosts do not exist; rather, their numinous powers cannot injure people. And it is not only spirits and ghosts that do not harm people: the sage, too, does not harm the people. When neither side harms the other, De naturally flows between them.

“Li” is pronounced “lì zhì qiè” and means to preside over and govern. The key to how things respond lies entirely in the person who governs. Thus, the sage does not act recklessly, allowing people to rest in their own natural nature. Outwardly, they have no greed; inwardly, they have no fear. Then Yin and Yang are harmonious, all things follow their proper principles, and the spirits have no need to display their miraculous powers. This does not mean that the spirits lack such powers, but that their powers do not harm people. They do not harm people because the sage does not harm the people. All the spirits respond to the sage’s transformation through De (Virtue/Power); people and spirits live in mutual harmony, and every kind of virtue gathers into unity. This is governance at its highest level. When Liezi spoke of the sage governing the world, he said that the myriad things suffered no calamities or illnesses, and the spirits neither manifested themselves nor caused trouble. He meant the same thing. Duke Wen said: “When the kingly Way is cultivated and made clear, these unrighteous forces will all dissipate.”

This is Chapter Sixty. Heshang Gong titled it “Taking One’s Place.” The chapter explains that governing in accordance with the Dao brings virtue together in unity.

A great state should be like the rivers and seas, lying downstream from the many streams. Wen Ding said: “The people of the world turn toward a great state just as all waters flow toward low ground.”

The place where the world’s streams meet and gather is like the female. The female often overcomes the male through stillness, because the still one occupies the lower position. Therefore, when a great state humbles itself before a small state, it can win the small state’s allegiance; when a small state humbles itself before a great state, it can gain the great state’s acceptance. Thus, sometimes a great state humbles itself and wins the allegiance of a small state; at other times, a small state humbles itself and gains the acceptance of a great state.

“Pin” is pronounced “bǐ rěn qiè” and refers to female livestock; “mu” is pronounced “mǒu” and refers to male livestock. In “a great state placing itself below,” “below” is pronounced “xiá” and means that a great state lowers itself from a high position. In “a small state placing itself below,” “below” is read with its usual pronunciation and means that a small state is already in a lower position. “Joining” means meeting, submitting to, and gathering with one another.

The female symbolizes the quiet, gentle, low-lying qualities of the feminine; the male symbolizes the active, strong, elevated qualities of the masculine. Using stillness to govern movement and gentleness to overcome strength is a common principle of how things work. Thus, being quiet and occupying a low position often draws people to one’s side. This is the meaning of “guarding the feminine and becoming the world’s stream”: remaining gentle and receptive, like a stream that lies low and embraces all things.

If a great state can humble itself, it can ultimately welcome and unite with small states. If a small state can humble itself, it will be welcomed and embraced by a great state, and even the people of that great state will ultimately be glad to submit to it. When the Earl of the West treated the elderly well and people willingly rallied to him, this was a similar example. Ye Mengde says that “to obtain” means to get what one desires. Huang says that a great state humbling itself before a small state is like King Tang of Shang’s treatment of Ge; a small state humbling itself before a great state is like Goujian’s submission to Wu.

A great state seeks only to unite with other states and care for their people; a small state seeks only to enter the great state’s realm and serve it. Since both can each attain what they desire, the great state should place itself in a humble position.

A great state places itself below only in order to welcome the people of other states, while a small state submits only in order to serve the great state; neither acts this way after first calculating its own advantage. To let both sides act in the way suited to them, the great state should humble itself so that the small state will submit willingly. This is like the Book of Changes: after the “Great Possession” hexagram comes the “Humility” hexagram, using humility to preserve great possession.

Chapter Sixty-One is titled “The Virtue of Humility” by the Old Man by the River. It teaches that when people treat others with humble virtue, people will flock to them in turn. Qingyuanzi says: The human body can be compared to a state. When the body is empty and still, all things can arrive; when the mind is free of preconceptions, harmonious Qi (vital energy) gathers within. “Guarding the feminine and embracing the One” means letting Yang Qi descend to refine Yin Qi, transforming it into pure Yang. This reveals the subtle workings of Wuwei (non-action). This is one interpretation.

The Dao (the Way) is the hidden root of all things.

“Ao” is pronounced ào. The Shiming says that the southwest corner of a house is called the “ao.” Here, the word is a metaphor for profound depth, like the innermost part of a hall. The substance of the Dao is a seamless whole: vast beyond bounds, it contains and nourishes all things; yet it is so small that it has no interior, and the Dao is present in everything, though unseen. Thus the Jing of the Western Ascension says: “The Dao is deep, distant, hidden, and profound—the abyss of emptiness and nothingness.”

The Dao is a treasure to the good and a refuge for those who are not good.

Even those who are not good depend on the Dao to live, so it is also what enables them to preserve themselves. Sima Guang says: The good uphold and use the Dao; those who are not good also rely on the guidance of people who follow the Dao to find stability.

Fine words can be used to build relationships, and noble conduct can influence others. What reason could there be to abandon those who are not good?

Here, “conduct” is pronounced xìng. Everyone has this innate nature; even the most ignorant cannot be entirely without a desire for the Dao, so the Dao is never far from people. The finest words are those everyone can understand and accept; the noblest conduct is also something anyone can practice. Suppose someone commits an unjust act in the morning, then hears the Great Dao that evening, and their delusions fade as their original nature is restored. Even if one wished to condemn them as bad, there would be nothing left to condemn. How, then, could they be abandoned? What one should do is guide and help them. This is what it means for those who are not good to be able to rely on the Dao.

Therefore, when installing the Son of Heaven and appointing the Three Dukes, even if someone first presents a pair of jade disks and a team of four horses as a gift, it is not as good as having them sit in calm repose and offer the Great Dao.

The text calls a “ceremonial jade disc” a large jade disc that can be encircled by both arms; more broadly, it refers to precious jade. A “four-horse team” is four horses pulling one carriage. In ancient audiences at court and diplomatic visits, a four-horse team was often presented with a ceremonial jade disc carried in front. Even the high-ranking Three Ministers, though powerful, and the priceless jade disc and four-horse team are worth less than sitting quietly to understand and practice the Dao (the Way).

The Dao is something everyone already possesses: an inner and precious endowment. The rank of the Three Ministers, the jade disc, and the four-horse team are external things brought by fate, and cannot be obtained through luck alone. People should strive to cultivate the nature they already possess, rather than place too much value on external things that may come to them by chance.

Why do people value the Dao so highly? Because those who seek within themselves rather than looking outward can gain something; those who aspire to the Dao will not do evil. Practitioners of the Dao rely on no external things and find what they need within themselves. They can therefore transcend the hold of fortune and misfortune, and are less likely to suffer calamity. This is why the Dao is the world’s greatest treasure. Another interpretation says that seekers gain what they seek because good people cherish the Dao; and that those who have done wrong can escape calamity because even the unvirtuous may find shelter in the Dao.

The passage above is Chapter 62 of the Daodejing. Heshang Gong titled the chapter “The Dao.” It teaches that the Dao is the most precious thing in the world.

Act through Wuwei (non-action), handle affairs with an attitude of non-interference, and savor things with a mind free from taste. Regard great things as small and a little as much; repay resentment with De (Virtue/Power).

Once things take on a concrete form, they differ in size; once they are bounded by quantity, they differ in number. People’s distinctions between large and small, many and few, are precisely the root from which resentment arises. The Dao is not constrained by form or quantity, and the highest sages can unite with the Dao as one. They take Wuwei (non-action) as the foundation of their conduct: they do not act through contrivance, nor cling to tastes and sensations. Their hearts can therefore contain the vastness of Heaven and Earth without being burdened by petty desires. They can guide all things back to the pure and genuine Dao, without changing according to the rank or status of external circumstances.

Thus they let each thing find its proper place and each matter follow its own principle, making no distinctions based on size or number. In this way, deluded thoughts of love and hatred fade away, as do feelings that divide ordinary people from sages. What resentment, then, would there be to avenge? It is enough to treat all things with the generosity of De (Virtue/Power). One must also dispel partiality from people’s hearts, just as Heaven and Earth cover and sustain all things, bringing them to life and nurturing their growth and transformation. Yet this is hardest for ordinary people to accomplish. Only by asking earnestly, reflecting on what is close at hand, and practicing step by step can one hope to reach this state. What follows is a method for practicing and attaining it.

When planning something difficult, begin with what is easy. When undertaking a great achievement, begin with what is small. The difficult tasks under Heaven must begin with what is easy, and the great undertakings under Heaven must begin with what is small.

The Dao is present in daily routines, eating, drinking, and breathing; it has never left us. In this sense, it is easy to experience. Yet only a sage can truly reach the state of the Dao, so in this sense it is difficult. Before thoughts have arisen, the heart-mind is still and without trace: this is the Dao in its subtle and refined aspect. The Dao’s workings, however, fill Heaven and Earth, and even Heaven and Earth cannot exhaust their scope: this is the Dao in its vast and boundless aspect.

For this reason, cultivating the Dao requires steady effort, and every matter must be approached with care. Once one’s De is fully cultivated, one can experience and put the Dao to work like a sage. By working from the smallest details and overlooking nothing, one eventually accords completely with the Dao’s true nature and becomes as vast as Heaven and Earth. If one is careful from the beginning and remains diligent to the end, difficult tasks can be accomplished, and the vast Dao can be fully realized. Resentment works the same way: it often grows from a small grievance into a great one, and the deeper it runs, the harder it is to forget. If one can see the source of resentment as soon as it arises, it can subside at once.

Thus, the sage never deliberately seeks to accomplish great things, yet is able to accomplish them.

Those who study the Dao should indeed be broad-minded and resolute, but above all they should not begin with the intention of accomplishing great things. Such an intention can lead to pride and complacency, which obstruct the cultivation of the Dao. It then becomes impossible to practice Wuwei (non-action), to refrain from contrived activity, and to remain free of attachment to things’ flavors and preferences. Only the sage can cast off self-attachment and remain humble, and so accomplish great things.

Those who make promises lightly often find it hard to keep them; those who regard matters as easy often encounter more difficulties.

This is because they handle things carelessly and without precision, and speak without caution; their actions then easily fail to match their promises. Once a heedless and careless attitude takes hold, reaching the Dao becomes difficult.

Therefore, the sage always regards matters with seriousness and care, and in the end finds nothing truly difficult to accomplish.

The sage is born able to perceive the Great Dao and follow it with ease, so there is no need to force what comes naturally. But that does not mean one may take anything lightly. The sage’s measure of virtue is impartial: it makes no distinction between great and small, and keeps no count of more or less. The sage dares not treat anything carelessly or regard anything as easy. As a result, in the end there is nothing that cannot be accomplished. This also offers guidance to those who seek learning: do not harbor even the slightest trace of carelessness or complacency. Then you can act with courage, hold firm with resolve, and remain as careful at the end as at the beginning. In this way, there will be nothing that cannot be accomplished.

The passage above is Chapter 63 of the Dao De Jing (Classic of the Way and Its Virtue). In the Heshanggong edition, the chapter is titled “Beginning with Kindness.” It describes the sage’s state of fully understanding and putting the Great Dao into practice.

When things are still stable, they are easy to keep in order; when a problem has shown no signs, it is easy to plan for; when something is still fragile, it is easy to break down; and when a tendency is still slight, it is easy to disperse. So deal with things before they arise, and bring order to a situation before it becomes chaotic.

“Fragile” means tender and liable to break; here it refers to desires that have not yet taken firm root. “Dissolve” describes ice melting.

This passage continues the idea of the previous chapter: guard the original mind before thoughts arise, and you can remain in an undivided, natural state. That is why things are easy to keep in order and easy to plan for. Notice and address a tendency as soon as it appears, and you can turn it around in time; that is why it is easy to break down or disperse. “Before anything exists” means before discriminating thoughts arise or deliberate action begins; “before disorder” means while events are just beginning to unfold and have not yet been disrupted. Addressing and ordering things at this stage brings results without great effort. Yet the principle can be understood all at once, and with that understanding confusion can disappear all at once; conduct, however, cannot be cultivated in an instant. It still takes gradual practice. The passage that follows therefore turns to the work of cultivating virtue.

A tree whose trunk is thick enough for a person to embrace first grows from a tiny shoot; a nine-tiered terrace is built up from basketfuls of earth; and a journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step beneath one’s feet.

The preceding passage uses analogy: a person’s aspirations should rise above particular things, while their conduct should be respectful and grounded. They should understand principles and work to put them into practice, seeking real results and grasping what is fundamental without overlooking small details or dismissing ordinary, immediate concerns. Cultivation should be careful and thorough, and its nourishment sustained over time. In this way, small tasks may grow into great ones, low places may reach high ones, and distant goals may come within reach. But if even a trace of the wish to gain profit or calculate merit is already in the mind, it only hinders the search for the Dao. The text that follows therefore explains this point step by step.

“Acting with intention often brings failure; clinging to things often brings loss. If you do not act rashly, you will not fail; if you do not cling, you will not lose. When people undertake a task, they often fail just as they are about to succeed. If they remain as careful from beginning to end as they were at the start, they will not ruin it.”

“Ji” is read with a level tone and refers to the moment when something is about to be accomplished, when it is nearing completion. The subtle workings of Heaven’s principle leave no room for selfish intent to force its way in through cleverness and strength. Deliberately straining to make things happen is rash action; even slight slackening may cause the task to fail. Only by following things as they naturally unfold and steadfastly maintaining the Dao, building up deeply over a long time, can De (Virtue/Power) come to completion of itself.

What the sage seeks, therefore, is not to covet external things or prize rare goods. What the sage learns is not to cling to ordinary ways of learning, but to return to what is original and correct the ways people have strayed from their nature. This is done to help the myriad things grow according to their own natural patterns, without daring to act rashly.

The Dao has no desire to covet anything. The “desire” spoken of here is the seeking of the Dao that is already within oneself, not coveting external things or treating them as precious. Following the Dao is true learning; it does not let an abundance of knowledge overwhelm the mind. It simply corrects the ways people go astray under the influence of desires, helping them return to their original state. The Dao does not need to be sought outside, and the sage cannot impose a set of rules on the myriad things. Each thing has its own natural Dao. The sage teaches by following the principles of each thing’s nature and life, guiding all things toward balance without daring to interfere in any other way, and never damaging their nature or trying to force their growth.

Chapter 64 is titled “Guarding the Subtle” by Heshang Gong. This chapter praises the Sage’s practice of Wuwei (non-action): the Sage establishes teachings by following human nature and the patterns of life, guiding people toward moderation. The Sage does not undertake anything else that harms life or inflames desire.

Chapter 64 is titled “Guarding the Subtle” by Heshang Gong. This chapter praises the Sage’s teaching of Wuwei, using it to warn against the mistakes caused by deliberate action and rigidly holding to one’s own views.

Those in ancient times who were skilled in practicing the Dao did not seek to make the people clever and knowledgeable, but to help them remain simple and unadorned.

The people may be guided to follow what is right without requiring everyone to cling to clear and penetrating knowledge of it. The phrase “not to awaken people through what they are born with” means not to use contrived cleverness and ingenuity to enlighten people and alter their nature. Helping people return to simplicity is what is called “making them foolish.”

The people are difficult to govern because they have too many cunning ideas. Thus, governing a state through clever schemes is a calamity for the state; governing it without clever schemes is a blessing. Understanding these two approaches is to grasp the principles of governance.

“Both” here refers to governing through clever schemes and governing without them. Understanding both allows one to take them as principles and models.

One who understands the principles of governance is said to possess “Mysterious De” (profound and subtle Virtue). Mysterious De is deep and vast, seeming to go against ordinary worldly expectations. Precisely because it differs from worldly ways, it ultimately brings the greatest harmony and success.

When people understand these principles, their conduct can serve as a model.

One who understands the principles of governance is said to possess Mysterious De. Mysterious De is deep and vast, seeming to go against ordinary worldly expectations. Precisely because it differs from worldly ways, it ultimately brings the greatest harmony and success.

When people understand these principles, their Virtue may be called mysterious. Viewed through the lens of shallow cleverness and ordinary expectations, it seems to go against worldly ways. Yet by departing from worldly practices, it accords with the Great Dao; this accord is therefore the greatest harmony and success.

Chapter 65 is titled “Unadorned Virtue” by Heshang Gong. This chapter explains that using clever schemes to enlighten people may instead encourage deceit. It points to the principle of “great harmony” followed by Mysterious De. Laozi foresaw that worldly affairs would inevitably develop to this point, and one senses that his words also contain concern.

The rivers and seas become the place where many streams converge because they are good at remaining low; thus they become the kings of all valleys. So when the Sage wishes to rise above the people, he must speak with humility; when he wishes to lead them, he must willingly place himself behind them in his actions. In this way, though he stands above them, the people do not feel burdened; though he leads them, they do not feel obstructed. The people of the world are therefore glad to uphold him and do not grow weary of him. The Sage does not contend with anyone, and so no one under Heaven can contend with him.

Being good at staying low means willingly placing oneself below others; being good at holding back means willingly standing behind others. Thus, when he occupies a high position, people do not feel burdened by him; when he leads the way, people do not feel harmed. People throughout the world are glad to support him and do not grow weary of him. Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with him.

“Low” is pronounced “xia,” and “glad” is pronounced “luo.” The Imperial Commentary says that the first line of the Zhouyi’s “Tun” hexagram states: “When one of noble status humbly treats those of low status, one wins the people’s hearts.” This is because he has won their trust. People do not feel burdened when he holds a high position because they support him; they do not feel harmed when he stands before them because many benefit from him. In this way, people are all sincerely pleased with him and naturally do not grow weary of him. The sage follows changing circumstances in walking the Dao—how could he be calculating his own advantage? This is simply the virtue of humility. When one’s virtue is humble, one’s outward position appears elevated; when one’s virtue holds back, one’s outward place appears foremost. Yang Xiong said: “When one willingly places oneself below, others raise one up; when one willingly places oneself behind, others let one go first.” Thus people throughout the world are glad to support and uphold him, and do not grow weary of him. This is precisely the virtue of modeling oneself on the Way of Heaven and not contending with others.

The above is Chapter Sixty-Six. The Heshanggong Commentary titles this chapter “Returning to Oneself.” It explains the virtue of humility and non-contention.

Everyone in the world says that my Dao is vast beyond measure, yet seems contrary to common sense and unlike any particular thing. Precisely because it is vast beyond measure, it is unlike any particular thing; if it resembled something, it would long ago have become small.

“Fu” is pronounced “fu.” If the Dao resembled something, like one particular thing, it would be no different from that thing—how could it still be called vast? Zheng Xia of Xitang says: “The Dao is vast, while all things are comparatively small.” People of the world bustle about, yet in the end remain confined to a narrow realm because they are burdened by external things. “Yuan” means the beginning of goodness and also refers to reaching a realm vast beyond measure. To reach this realm without knowing that it is vast is to be in accord with the Dao, and thus unlike the things familiar to ordinary people. That is why everyone in the world says that my Dao is vast, yet unlike any particular thing.

I have three treasures, which I cherish and hold fast to: the first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to place myself ahead of everyone in the world. Because I am compassionate, I can be courageous;

A benevolent person must also have courage.

Because I am frugal, I can give generously;

By holding to simplicity, the scope of one’s giving becomes wider.

Because I do not dare to place myself ahead of everyone in the world, I can become the leader of the instruments. “Leader of the instruments” means foremost among all instruments; that is, being able to stand at the head of everyone and lead them.

A leader puts himself behind others and so is able to go ahead of them. In the end, he becomes the leader of all things. The Book of Changes says that when the Qian hexagram gives birth to the myriad things, it also speaks of “seeing a gathering of dragons without a leader: good fortune.” The dragons do not compete to become leaders, and so good fortune follows. These three treasures run counter to the practices admired by the worldly; that is precisely why they are precious and great.

Today, if people abandon compassion and indulge in boldness, abandon frugality and live extravagantly, or abandon humility and taking the rear while competing to be first, they will head toward death.

Abandoning the root to pursue the branches makes it easy to fall into hardship. Thus, those who rely on force, boast of their own greatness, and rush to be first all belong to a class headed down a dead end.

A compassionate person can win when leading troops into battle and hold firm when defending. Heaven, when it seeks to save someone, also protects that person through compassion.

Compassion is the fundamental power through which the Way of life-giving flows. That is why it comes first among the three treasures: compassion, frugality, and not daring to be first under Heaven. Treat all things with compassion, and they will love and honor you as they would their parents. Even if they must give their lives for you, they will not refuse. Thus you can win in battle and hold firm in defense. As the saying goes, “The benevolent have no enemy under Heaven.” If someone is in need, Heaven too will save and protect them through compassion. This is because what one does eventually returns to oneself: the Way of Heaven moves in cycles and often aids the good. Wen Jian says, “When He united with Qi, Zhou rose”—an example of Heaven’s protection.

The passage above is Chapter 67, which Heshang Gong titled “The Three Treasures.” It explains that the substance of the Dao is vast, and that its function is expressed through compassion.

Those skilled at serving as generals do not display courage;

that is, they do not exalt the use of force.

Those skilled in battle do not give way to anger,

because they fight only when they have no choice, not out of personal desire.

Those skilled at defeating an enemy do not struggle against others,

for it is precisely because they have no desire to triumph that they can overcome those who are bent on proving their strength and grasping for victory.