《道德真经集解(董思靖)》Vol. 3

Those who act rashly are bound to fail.

Those who are skilled at making use of others always place themselves in a humble, lowly position. When their conduct is humble, people are glad to follow their arrangements and work on their behalf, because they willingly take on the labor. This is called the virtue of “not contending.” It is also called making good use of others’ strength, and, above all, being in accord with the Dao of Heaven and the highest principle upheld since ancient times.

Precisely by not contending and willingly remaining in a low position, one can cast aside cunning and calculation, follow the natural order, and thereby share in Heaven’s De (Virtue/Power). Sima Guang, styled Wengong, said: “Since humanity first came into being, nothing has been held in higher regard than De in accord with the Dao of Heaven.”

The passage above is Chapter 68, titled “Matching Heaven” by Heshang Gong. It sets out four good practices to explain the De that accords with the Dao of Heaven.

On the use of arms, there is this saying: “I dare not take the initiative in starting hostilities, but would rather be the one who responds; I dare not advance even a foot, but would rather retreat a yard.” This is called acting as if one had no ranks in formation, raising one’s arm as if one were not striking, facing an enemy as if one had no opponent, and holding a weapon as if one had no weapon.

Here, “host” means the one who takes the initiative in starting trouble, while “guest” means the one who responds to an approaching enemy. Advancing often carries the intention to win; yielding ground carries no desire to prevail. Only when there is no thought of victory does being in the midst of an army come close to being without warfare. Thus, it is better to find advancing difficult and yielding easy. Even amid military forces, it is as if there were no ranks to advance in formation, no arm to strike with, no enemy to oppose, and no weapon to wield. How, then, could one suffer the calamities that come from warfare?

No calamity is greater than treating an enemy lightly. To take an enemy lightly is nearly to lose what I hold dear. So when two armies meet in battle, the side moved by compassion is the one that can prevail.

“Several” is read with a level tone, and “loss” with a departing tone; it means to lose. “Raise” means to lift up. Wen Ding says: Since we regard compassion as a treasure, we should not make light of the enemy. To make light of the enemy is to go to war recklessly, and reckless warfare may take lives. This is to lose compassion. If the two armies engage in battle and we truly have no choice but to send out troops, we should still feel sorrow and pity for those who are killed or wounded. When this compassionate heart is made manifest, Heaven, Earth, and the human heart will all lend their support; even if we wished not to prevail, we could not fail to do so.

The above is Chapter Sixty-Nine. Heshang Gong titled this chapter “Mysterious Application.” It uses warfare to explain the Great Dao, with the emphasis on holding fast to compassion. Some also understand it in terms of personal cultivation: improper thoughts are like an enemy state, and desires for profit are like sharp weapons. To preserve what one cherishes, one may also need to lessen desire until there is none.

My words are easy to understand and easy to put into practice, yet among all the people under Heaven, none can truly understand them, and none can truly put them into practice.

Human nature is originally endowed with the Great Dao, and this is the same for everyone. Pointing out this principle to people should seem to involve nothing difficult to understand or put into practice. Yet the principle of Heaven forms a seamless whole, and even a slight deviation can lead a thousand miles astray. The Great Dao cannot be understood through calculation and reasoning: deliberate effort easily goes too far, while leaving everything entirely to itself can fall short. For this reason, people find it difficult to understand. Nor can the Great Dao be reached by proceeding step by step: those eager for quick results like to take shortcuts, while those lacking strength give up halfway. For this reason, people find it difficult to put into practice.

Words have their root, and actions have their guiding principle. Words are a way of expressing the Great Dao; actions are a way of embodying it. “Teaching without words” and “governing through Wuwei (non-action)” are the roots of speech and action. Those who cling to words and specific methods therefore find it difficult both to understand and to put the Dao into practice.

It is precisely because the sage does not seek knowledge through preconceived views that people do not understand me. Wen Ding says: The sages of antiquity had no thoughts and took no action, yet possessed a state of utter simplicity and detachment, unaware even of themselves. This is a realm beyond the reach of deliberation, and so in the end no one can truly understand me.

Few people truly understand me, which makes my Dao seem especially precious.

Wengong says: The Dao is vast and profound, so few people can truly understand it.

Thus, the sage wears coarse cloth, yet keeps fine jade in his heart. “Wearing coarse cloth and keeping jade within” means appearing plain and ordinary while inwardly containing the precious Dao and De. The Imperial Commentary says that the sage entrusts himself to the natural Dao, neither showing off nor disturbing the world. Qingyuanzi says that wearing coarse cloth means keeping one’s radiance in check and blending into ordinary life; keeping fine jade within means holding fast to the Great Dao and containing De within.

Wenjian says that coarse cloth is something indispensable in daily life, something anyone can possess, while fine jade is an exceedingly precious treasure that belongs to oneself alone. Few people understand me, which is enough to show that my Dao is lofty and subtle; yet the sage does not regard himself as exceptional on that account. His profound and unfathomable state is not apart from ordinary life, nor deliberately hidden away. It is present in the everyday Dao that all people share and follow, and he hopes everyone can understand it. As Confucius said, “I have nothing hidden from you.”

This is chapter seventy of the Dao De Jing. Heshanggong titled the chapter “Knowing Is Difficult.” It explains that the Dao is in fact easy to recognize and put into practice; when people take it lightly, however, they find it difficult to grasp.

Truly knowing that there is still something one does not understand is wisdom. Taking what one does not understand for understanding is a failing.

Only genuine understanding can accord with the Dao, and so it does not cling to “knowing” itself. This is the excellence of De. If one has not yet reached genuine understanding but believes oneself to have understood, one will use words to conceal the truth and turn broad learning and experience into a burden on the mind. The more one forces oneself to seek knowledge, the more this becomes a failing of De.

Only by treating a failing as a failing can one avoid being troubled by it. The sage is free of such failings because he remains alert to them and faces them directly; in this way, he avoids them.

Only by recognizing one’s affliction as an affliction can one avoid falling into it. Sages understand the principles from birth and are naturally free of such afflictions; they do not need first to become alert to an affliction by treating it as one in order to reach a state free of illness. To “treat an affliction as an affliction” means to explain to students the method for curing it, so that they recognize their own affliction of insisting on the pursuit of knowledge and grasp true knowing, thereby removing the root of the illness. When both illness and remedy have been cast aside, and one is no longer attached to either the knower or what is known, one will understand that one was originally free of affliction. In this way, one becomes like a sage.

The above is Chapter Seventy-One, titled “Knowing the Illness” by Heshang Gong. This chapter explains that true knowing accords with the Dao; delusion and failure to awaken become an affliction.

If the people do not fear coercive power, even greater power will descend upon them.

People inherently possess a force that is supremely great and unyielding, filling the space between Heaven and Earth. It is sublime and expansive, brilliantly manifest, and nothing can surpass it. This is what is meant by “great power.” Yet people are bound by the limitations of the body and external things, and become immersed in all kinds of delusions. They fear life and death, worry over gain and loss, and so various external powers press in upon them, leaving them anxious and unsettled all their lives. In truth, people possess this supreme force but do not know it. If they can truly recognize it, they can regard life and death as one, see gain and loss as equal, and press forward courageously, striving to put their understanding into practice without retreat. Then this supreme force will manifest clearly.

Do not let the place you dwell become narrow, and do not reject your life. Only when you do not reject life will life not reject you.

“Confined” means narrow; “reject” means to cast away. The character translated as “do not” should be read as a prohibition: “do not.” “Dwelling” refers to the abode of one’s nature. To dwell in the broadest abode under Heaven is to become one with the Great Void, the boundless emptiness. “Life” refers to life formed through the gathering of Qi. Only when you do not reject life will life not reject you.

“Xia” means narrow or constricted; “yan” means to reject or abandon. “Wu” should be read as “wu,” meaning “do not.” Here, “dwelling” refers to the root in which one’s nature abides. To abide in what is broadest under Heaven is to share one body with the Great Void, the boundless expanse of empty space. “Life” refers to the gathering of Qi. By containing the subtle essence of the Great One, the primordial Qi, one can work together with the transformations of creation, through which Heaven, Earth, and all things come into being and change.

Only people of shallow understanding cannot be spoken to about the Dao. If one becomes immersed in narrow views, takes emptiness as something substantial, and thereby constricts one’s nature, one may abandon embodied life and cling to emptiness, falling into the view that all things are extinguished, and even come to despise one’s own life. For this reason, Laozi cautions people against narrowness and against rejecting life. One should understand that nature governs Qi and is vast beyond measure; it should be continually expanded so that its breadth is preserved. Life is the place where the Dao takes up residence, and its workings are inexhaustible; it should be cherished and nurtured so that its full potential can unfold. In this way, one can nourish Qi and preserve life, fulfill one’s nature and reach the utmost of life—bringing one’s nature fully into play and attaining all that life can attain—without giving rise to thoughts of rejection or covetous desire.

Thus, recognizing “nonbeing” does not mean forcing oneself to pursue emptiness, much less stubbornly clinging to it. Seeking long life does not mean making demands of life, and life itself is no obstacle to cultivating the Dao. When these principles are realized, life accords with the Dao, and the Dao does not reject people.

Therefore, the sage knows himself without flaunting himself, and cherishes himself without considering himself superior. Thus he relinquishes one side and chooses the other.

Here, “seeing” means revealing or displaying, while “removing” means getting rid of something. If you can know yourself, you can look inward without fear and avoid seeing your circumstances too narrowly. If you can cherish yourself, you can put an end to greed for external things and desires, and will not despise your own life. Only by knowing and cherishing yourself can you live in the world at ease.

Yet you do not boast of your abilities, raise yourself up, or look down on others. In this way, you are attached neither to the idea of “making yourself seen” nor to the thought of cherishing yourself. Wen Ding says: Even if you understand yourself, do not display that understanding to others; even if you cherish yourself, do not use it to elevate yourself or show off, for fear of provoking others’ dislike or envy. As long as such thoughts have not been dispelled, there is still something to fear. When fear subsides, true authority and Virtue will emerge. Thus, this passage says to do away with boasting and self-exaltation, and to adopt an attitude of self-knowledge and self-care. But the sage’s every movement and stillness accords with the principles of Heaven; the sage does not deliberately reject or choose anything. The discussion of rejecting and choosing here is meant to guide ordinary people.

This is Chapter 72 of the Dao De Jing. Heshang Gong titled it “Cherishing the Self.” The chapter aims to remove delusion and preserve what is genuine.

The courage to force one’s way ahead may bring death; the courage to restrain oneself and avoid rash action can preserve life. Some commentaries say only this much about these two approaches.

The courage to force one’s way ahead may bring death; the courage to restrain oneself and avoid rash action can preserve life. Either approach may sometimes bring benefit and sometimes cause harm. Who can know why Heaven abhors certain things? Even the sage is therefore cautious and does not make pronouncements lightly.

The character “hate” is read with the departing tone. Those who are forceful and willful belong to the kind of people prone to an early death; having the courage to follow this path invites death. Weakness and humility accord with the principle of preserving life; having the courage to act in this way offers a chance of survival. This is the usual pattern, but sometimes things turn out contrary to it. Hence the saying that one approach may sometimes benefit and sometimes harm. Heaven surely abhors forceful competitiveness, yet there are people who happen not to suffer calamity. Who can know why? The sage therefore remains cautious about this matter. Liezi said, “Rather than comply with Heaven’s will and speculate about benefit and harm, it is better to stop here.” This is what he meant. Yet if we consider long-term outcomes and the full course of change in things, this principle has never failed. The scripture therefore goes on to set it out point by point. Sima Guang said that even when speaking of the Way of Heaven, the sage does not reach conclusions lightly.

The Dao of Heaven does not contend with the myriad things, yet enables each to find its proper place; thus its superiority naturally becomes apparent. Rather than saying that the Dao of Heaven “is skilled at harming,” it is better to say that it does not aim to win through contention. If we look at the final outcomes and the full course of change, we find that it has never deviated in the slightest. The following passages explain this point one by one. Sima Guang says that even sages, when speaking of the Dao of Heaven, dare not make careless pronouncements.

The Dao of Heaven does not contend, yet is skilled at prevailing.

Sima Guang says that when things are allowed to follow their natural course, nothing can go against them.

The Dao of Heaven does not speak, yet is skilled at bringing things to pass.

What has Heaven ever said? The four seasons proceed as usual. Its response in granting blessings to the good and bringing calamity upon those who indulge themselves excessively is indeed without error.

The Dao of Heaven does not summon, yet the myriad things come of themselves.

The spirits descend without favoring one side or another. Just as the heat passes and the cold arrives of its own accord, what need is there to summon them?

The Dao of Heaven is level and natural, yet skilled at planning.

The Imperial Commentary says: Virtue is consistently plain and even, and so it can foresee danger.

The Dao of Heaven is like a great net: vast and loosely woven, yet nothing can slip through it.

Only by observing the final outcome of events and tracing change to its limit can we understand that, though the Dao of Heaven is vast, it overlooks nothing, even in the smallest details. Some versions write “leak through” instead of “slip through.”

The above is Chapter 73 of the Daodejing, titled Letting Things Be by Heshang Gong. This chapter urges people to be bold in following the Dao and not to rely on force or strength. It then describes the natural workings of the Dao of Heaven, and finally warns that its net overlooks nothing, leading people to trust that it is both vast and exacting.

If the people are always unafraid of death, how can they be threatened with it? But if the people fear death, and someone acts perversely and disrupts order, I can seize and execute him. Who would dare do the same?

Wending says: When government orders are burdensome and punishments severe, the people are at a loss and so often become unafraid of death; even threatening them with death is useless. If the people are at ease with the government’s orders, they will cherish life and fear death. If someone acts strangely and stirs up the people, I can then seize and execute him. Who would dare refuse to obey?

Those who are charged with killing have their own proper office. If I were to kill in place of the one charged with killing, it would be like cutting wood in place of a master carpenter. Those who cut wood in a carpenter’s place rarely avoid injuring their own hands.

Wending said, “The power that governs killing and punishment belongs to Heaven; it is the natural order. When the world is at peace, anyone who behaves strangely, disrupts the community, and acts recklessly has been abandoned by Heaven. To remove such a person is therefore Heaven punishing him; it is not I who am killing him. Otherwise, I would be taking the place of the one who governs killing and punishment. To overstep one’s role and chop wood in place of the master carpenter is to risk injuring one’s own hand; to kill in place of the one who governs killing and punishment is to bring disaster upon oneself.” Cheng Yichuan believed that this was like seeking achievements before one’s virtue had been cultivated.

The passage above is Chapter Seventy-Four, which Heshang Gong titled “Curbing Delusion.” It teaches that when the ruler practices Wuwei (non-action), the people know how to encourage themselves. Zhang Lei, the Right Historian, said: “Nothing in the world lacks the power that brings it to an end. All things bustle and struggle, yet in time they all move toward extinction; only then do they cease. Thus the power that governs killing and punishment is always at work in nature. If one appropriates this natural order and uses it to intimidate others, one will not truly make all things afraid, nor is one certain to achieve one’s aim. So it may not be appropriate to hold the authority over laws, punishments, life, and death, and use it to compel the people of the world to obey.”

The people go hungry because the rulers levy excessive taxes; this is why the people are destitute. The people are hard to govern because the rulers issue too many decrees and act arbitrarily; this is why the people are hard to govern.

The Imperial Commentary says: “When taxes are heavy, the people lack food and clothing. When decrees are complicated, deceit and hypocrisy proliferate.”

People treat death lightly because they are too eager to preserve their lives and indulge themselves; this is why they do not fear death.

The Imperial Commentary says: “When life is valued too highly, the desire for profit becomes especially strong. People then indulge in depravity and excess, and may do anything.” Wending said: “The ruler first leads the people with the lure of profit. The people then compete to seek a comfortable life, and will not stop pursuing profit even if they risk death.”

Only those who are not fixated on preserving or clinging to life can surpass those who value life above all else.

Wengong said: “By placing oneself outside oneself, one can instead preserve oneself.”

The previous chapter discussed the harm caused by “valuing life and craving for more,” and urged people not to cling to preserving themselves, since this can instead preserve life. Wang Bi thought this chapter might not have been written by Laozi.

While alive, a person’s body is soft; after death, it becomes stiff. Plants are tender as they grow, but dry and hard once withered and dead. Thus, hardness and strength belong to death, while softness and pliancy belong to life.

Wen Ding said: When the body contains balanced, harmonious Qi, it does not suffer from the affliction of hardness and strength. When the mind holds the highest principle, one’s actions are not burdened by forcefulness and stubbornness.

For this reason, an army that relies on force is unlikely to win, and trees that grow hard and tall will be felled by people working together. The character gong literally means “to cut down together.” Liezi said, “An army that relies on force will be destroyed; a hard tree will be broken.” This expresses the same principle.

The subtle and refined parts of things tend to be above, while the coarse and heavy parts tend to be below. What is subtle and refined is often soft; what is coarse and heavy is often hard. This is the natural principle and tendency of things. No one in the world can remain wholly strong and dominate others for long. Zhuangzi’s advice to take softness, humility, and a low position as principles for living expresses the same idea. Dazhenzi said that those who are skilled at overcoming opponents do not contend with others, and do not set their minds on displaying strength. The stronger a tree grows, the more likely people are to join forces to cut it down. An army wins through gentleness and humility; a tree is preserved through flexibility. Thus, strength should take a lower position, while softness can rise above it. The same applies to how people conduct themselves in the world.

Heshanggong titled Chapter 76 “Caution Against Strength.” The chapter teaches that following the Way of softness and pliancy can preserve the inner breath of balanced harmony.

The Dao of Heaven is probably like drawing a bow: if the string is too high, it is pressed down; if it is too low, it is raised. If there is strength to spare, some is taken away; if strength is insufficient, some is added. The Dao of Heaven always reduces what is excessive and replenishes what is lacking. The ways of the human world are different: they often take from those who have too little to support those who already have too much.

The Dao of Heaven shows no favoritism; it always brings things into balance. Thus arrogance and excess invite loss, while humility brings benefit. This is the law of the Dao of Heaven. Ye Mengde said: to shoot a bow, one must first draw the string back before releasing the arrow. This, too, means gathering inward first and only then giving outward. The Dao of Heaven takes balance as its standard and harmony as its constant state. Like drawing a bow, it adjusts what is high or low, excessive or insufficient, until it is just right. It does not take from external things to make these adjustments; they arise naturally. So it is impartial and able to keep things in balance. People act in the opposite way. Rather than seeking balance within themselves, they often take from others who have too little to support what they themselves have in excess. This is a human contrivance, and so it is often partial and unfair. The Kaiyuan Commentary cites the Book of Changes: “Taking from above and giving to those below” is the hexagram Increase; “Taking from below and giving to those above” is the hexagram Decrease. The meanings of these two hexagrams make the same point.

Who can take from those who have too much and give to those in the world who have too little? Perhaps only the Dao can do so. Therefore, the sage acts without relying on his own actions and accomplishes great things without claiming them as his own. Is it that he does not want his excellence to be seen?

Only a person who has the Dao can act in accord with the Dao of Heaven, without relying on his own actions or claiming credit for his achievements. If he acts and then prides himself on it, or achieves merit and then claims it as his own, his excellence will become visible to the world. Once his excellence is on display, he is, in effect, using what he has in excess to benefit himself.

The above is Chapter 77 of the Dao De Jing. Heshang Gong titled this chapter “The Dao of Heaven.” It teaches that the Dao works with impartiality and balance. Observing the Dao of Heaven makes this clear, and the sage, too, is in accord with it.

Nothing in the world is softer and weaker than water, yet nothing is better than water at overcoming what is hard and strong. Nothing can take its place.

Water is good at remaining low and yielding. This nature does not change, so water does not lose its own character, yet it can overcome external things.

The weak overcome the strong, and the small overcome the great. Everyone in the world knows this, yet no one can truly put it into practice.

Water offers an example close at hand, making the principle easy to understand. Can it really be so difficult? People know that the soft overcomes the hard, yet they cannot put this into practice. The point here is that only by holding firmly to the Dao can the soft overcome the hard. No one under Heaven is unaware of this principle, yet no one can put it into practice.

Water offers an example close at hand, making the principle easy to understand. Can it really be so difficult? People cannot put it into practice simply because their faith in the Dao is not firm enough.

Thus the sage says: “One who bears a country’s filth is fit to be its ruler; one who bears a country’s calamities is fit to be the king of all under Heaven.”

Sima Guang says: “Only by accepting filth and embracing what is impure can one accomplish something great.”

True words often sound like their opposite. Words that accord with the Dao may seem contrary to worldly opinions: they go against cleverness and shallow judgments based on immediate circumstances, yet accord with the most fundamental truth of the Dao.

The above is Chapter 78, titled “Trusting in Oneself” by Heshang Gong. This chapter teaches that when the soft can embrace all things, all things will return to it.

To reconcile deep-seated resentment, some resentment must surely remain. How can that be considered a proper resolution?

Resentment arises from delusion. See through delusion, and one can return to what is real; then resentment has no grounds to arise. If one does not address the root of the problem but merely tries to settle the outward dispute, the parties may make peace on the surface, while inwardly they still remember their resentment. Some resentment will remain. How can that be called a good outcome? If one sees through the root of resentment completely, one can truly let it go, and the heart can return to stillness.

Therefore, the sage holds the left half of a contract—the token used to verify an agreement—yet does not demand repayment from others. In ancient times, a contract was divided into left and right halves, with each party holding one half as proof of trust and a means of settling disputes. Sages and ordinary people originally share the same nature. But people cling to deluded thoughts and rush about in pursuit of gain, becoming entangled in deep resentment and losing sight of their roots. They do not know that their true nature is originally free of delusion. The sage simply abides in this nature and makes no demands of others.

When people settle disputes, they often use a contract divided into two matching halves as proof of agreement. Sages and ordinary people originally share this nature. But ordinary people cling to deluded thoughts and bustle about in pursuit of gain, until they are clouded by deep resentment and forget their roots. They do not know that their true nature is free of deluded thoughts. Sages simply hold fast to this naturally upright disposition. Even without deliberately trying to awaken others, they influence people through their example. Once deluded thoughts have faded and resentment has dissolved, people naturally become clear-minded, recover their original goodness, and return to the right path. This is like the two halves of a contract naturally fitting together. Why would anyone need to step in and demand it? The “left half of the contract” here may be compared to the original awareness that exists before deluded thoughts arise. Qingyuanzi says: The ancients governed the world by tying knots in cords to keep records. They also split a piece of wood in two as proof of an agreement: the ruler kept the left half and the minister the right. When the halves matched, they could be trusted.

Those with De (Virtue/Power) oversee contracts; those without De oversee taxation.

Those with De earn trust without relying on words. They govern through Wuwei (non-action), allowing the people to be influenced naturally. This is like overseeing contracts. Che means “to penetrate” or “to reach through.” Those without De, by contrast, want to manage and control everyone, so they are eager to reconcile resentment.

Heaven’s Dao shows no favoritism; it constantly aids those who are good.

Qingyuanzi says: Contracts have no private interests, and the principle is the same: only those who match them can obtain proof of agreement. Huang says: Those who practice goodness neither seek repayment from others nor ask anything of Heaven; they simply let events come about naturally.

This is Chapter 79 of the Dao De Jing (Classic of the Dao and De), titled “Trusting to the Contract” by Heshanggong. The chapter explains that dispelling deluded thoughts depends on restoring one’s nature; this, too, is the principle of governing through Wuwei.

Make the state small and its people few. Let the people have tools sufficient for the use of ten or a hundred, yet keep them from using them.

When the population is small and affairs are simple, the ruler need not deliberately promote the worthy and capable. The people each remain content in the place allotted to them by nature. Even if there are tools fit for the leaders of ten or a hundred people to use, there is no desire to put them to work in the world. The commentary explains that as elaborate customs grow and desires multiply, people become fond of acting on their own initiative and showing off to the outside world. The text therefore invokes the governance of high antiquity as an example, urging people to devote themselves to inner cultivation.

Guide the people to cherish life and avoid moving far from home without good reason.

When people follow their nature and have few desires, they settle where they are and do not wander from place to place.

Though boats and carts are available, there is no need to use them; though armor and weapons are at hand, there is no need to display or wield them. Let the people return to the simple life of tying knots to keep records.

People do not compete for gain or quarrel with one another. Thus, even when they return to the life of keeping records with knotted cords, they can live in peace.

They find their food delicious, their clothes comfortable, their customs secure, and their work satisfying.

Their hearts are already content, and they do not admire things outside themselves. When the heart is at ease, people can feel free and fulfilled wherever they are. So even in a remote, humble place, they find life pleasant and comfortable. Their joy comes from the Dao, not from external things.

Neighboring states can see one another, and the sounds of chickens and dogs can be heard across their borders. Yet the people grow old and die without visiting one another.

Here, the character translated as “see” is read as “reach,” with the same sense as in the phrase “carriages and canopies reach one another”—that is, a continuous stream of vehicles. The people have no desires or demands, and so they can live this way.

The passage above is chapter eighty of the Dao De Jing. In the Heshang Gong edition, the chapter is titled “Standing Alone.” It explains that those who remain true to their nature have nothing to seek.

True words are not ornate; ornate words are not necessarily true.

True words accord with reality and the Dao, so they need no deliberate embellishment. Ornate words are crafted to please, and so are not necessarily trustworthy.

Those skilled in action do not make a practice of arguing; those devoted to argument are not necessarily skilled in action.

Wen Ding says: Those who make good conduct their priority do not deliberately seek to argue; those who make argument their priority are not necessarily truly good.

Those who truly understand the Dao do not boast of having extensive knowledge. Since they can understand all things through one fundamental principle, they need not cling to wide learning.

Those who pursue breadth of knowledge above all else do not necessarily understand the Dao.

The sage keeps nothing for himself. The more he helps others, the more he has; the more he gives to others, the richer he becomes.

Giving to or helping others is like making a false provision: it simply helps the other person. The sage understands in his heart that all things belong to one whole, yet does not cling even to “oneness.” What, then, is there to accumulate? His heart harbors nothing for itself and does not become entangled with external things. He is calm and serene, simple and unadulterated; he is simply free of selfishness. Thus he bestows his De (Virtue/Power) on others without ever feeling diminished, and shares his understanding of the Dao (the Way) without losing so much as a fraction of it. Cao says, “Only with an empty and tranquil mind can one respond well to the myriad things.”

The course of Heaven benefits all things without harming them. The sage acts positively in the world, yet does not contend with others.

Wending says: “Power can be used to bring benefit to people, and so it can also be used to harm them. The strength to accomplish things is also enough to compete with others. Though the sage has the ability to benefit or harm people, he never harms them. Though he can act and has the ability to prevail, he never contends. This is how the sage walks alongside the Way of Heaven. Therefore, he surpasses ordinary people by far and becomes the foundation revered by all things.”

The passage above is Chapter Eighty-One, which Heshang Gong calls “Manifesting the Essence.” From Chapter Thirty-Eight to this one are forty-four chapters in all, comprising the second half of the text. The scripture is divided into two parts and, as a whole, sets forth the central aims of the Dao and De: it opens with “The Dao that can be spoken” and “The name that can be named,” establishing the basis for instruction; it then distinguishes between Superior De and inferior De, describing how the customs of the age decline from simplicity to superficiality. This chapter uses beautiful words to clarify the purpose of instruction, discusses skillful speech to admonish practitioners, treats broad knowledge to explain delusion and awakening, describes not accumulating to teach people to let go of attachment, invokes the multitude of things to illuminate the nature of the Dharma, and speaks of the sage through the Way of Heaven. Its aim is to guide learners to seek subtle truths through reason, while letting go of attachment to teachings beyond words and images. Ultimately, they are to grasp the principles of instruction and also transcend attachment to instruction itself. This is the compiler’s central purpose.

End of Volume Four of Collected Interpretations of the True Scripture of the Dao and De.

Layer upon layer of interpretation has obscured the original character of the Great Changes as the six lines of its hexagrams are elaborated. After the appearance of the Three Commentaries, the original intent of the Spring and Autumn Annals, too, gradually faded from view. By dividing the text into chapters and fixing its sentences, Heshang Gong made the integral Dao spoken of by Laozi seem fragmented.

The Dao cannot be fully expressed in words. The sages sought to dispel the confusion in people’s hearts and show them that the root of the whole universe, though beyond words, is everywhere present. The Scripture of the Dao and De is an important path leading to the Great Dao. Those who study it and follow its guidance will come to know where they are headed. But with Heshang Gong and others, commentaries came to include their own opinions, and views multiplied. People then lamented that there were too many forks in the road: pursuing false paths, they lost the sheep.

Did Guishan compile these commentaries not to guide people through darkness and confusion? Those who approach the source by questioning it from the standpoint of worldly opinion can, by following this path, directly experience the integral teaching spoken of by Laozi. I admire his diligence and the soundness of his arguments, and so I have written this preface to his commentary.

Written by Xie T of Tiantai on the Dragon Boat Festival in the dingchou year of the Baoyou era.

In the past, Confucius did not have a fixed teacher, and so he sought instruction from Chang Hong, Shi Xiang, Lao Cong, Zhengzi, and others. Yet from Confucius’s own words, it seems that Nangong Jingshu regarded only Lao Dan (Laozi) as the teacher who embodied the source of ritual and music and the ultimate destination of De. How could Lao Dan be compared with Chang Hong and the others? Confucius criticized Yuan Rang because, although Yuan Rang studied the teachings of Laozi, he departed from Laozi’s original intent. This does not amount to disparaging Laozi.

Even so, Confucius took things that truly exist as the basis for understanding principle, whereas Laozi took emptiness as the Dao. Confucius used Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), the Two Forms, the Four Images, and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) to explain the root from which all things continually come into being. Laozi, by contrast, said, “The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three; Three gives birth to the myriad things.” Their accounts and sequences are therefore different. Confucius hoped people would recognize that the Dao is everywhere and present at all times; Laozi hoped they would seek the Dao at the beginning of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things. The Dao is originally one, though people name it from different points of view; number and principle are also originally one, though people apply them in different ways. Where they differ, it is not right to force them into agreement.

As for cultivating the heart by “seeing the plain and embracing the uncarved,” with few selfish thoughts and desires; nurturing body and mind by “carrying the hun and po souls, embracing the One,” and keeping the breath continuous and seemingly unbroken; taking weightiness as the foundation of haste and stillness as the foundation of agitation; refraining from self-praise, claiming no credit, and refusing to contend; and governing the state and the world by following nature, reducing desire, and avoiding excess and extremes—these principles cannot be violated even by a sage. Thus Cheng Hao and Cheng Yi also drew upon the “Valley Spirit” and the “Mysterious Female,” images in the Laozi that symbolize the Dao’s hidden depth and power to nurture. Zhu Xi, too, drew upon the teaching of nourishing Qi. How can we scholars presume to speak lightly of Laozi?

The Daoist Master Dong of Guishan (Dong Sijing), in his commentary on the Daodejing, brought together the strengths of interpretations from past and present to illuminate the meaning of the classic. Even when discussing scholars who attached their own theories of self-cultivation to Laozi, the book distinguishes fundamentals from details, and what comes first from what comes later. Master Dong devoted himself deeply to this work and greatly helped clarify Laozi’s teaching. Readers should not overlook it.

Written in the summer of the Ding-Si year of the Baoyou era (1257), by Huang Bichang, courtesy name Jingfu, formerly acting prefect of Enping.