《王弼老子注》

The “Dao” (the Way) that can be put into words, and the “name” that can be indicated by a designation, are both established with reference to particular things. They are therefore neither the constant, unchanging Dao nor the constant, unchanging name. Hence it is said that the “Dao” cannot be spoken, and the “name” cannot be fixed.

All things begin from “non-being” (wu). When things as yet have neither form nor name, that is the beginning of the myriad things. Once they have form and name, the Dao nurtures them, brings them to growth, settles them, and brings them to completion; thus the Dao is also like the mother of the myriad things. Taking the formless and the nameless as its starting point, the Dao generates the myriad things. The myriad things begin from this and are brought to completion by this, yet they do not know why they are as they are. This deep and unfathomable condition is called “mystery upon mystery” (xuan zhi you xuan).

“Subtlety” (miao) means what is minute to the utmost degree. The myriad things are at first exceedingly fine and only afterward take shape; they arise from non-being and only afterward come into being. Therefore, if one constantly maintains a desireless and empty state of mind, one can observe the subtlety with which the myriad things begin to arise. “Outcome” (jiao) refers to the conclusion or endpoint of things. Whatever has form and substance, if it is to function, cannot do without the space and conditions that “non-being” provides. If a person’s desires are to be realized, they too must accord with the Dao before they can be fulfilled. Therefore, if one constantly has desires, one can observe the results that the myriad things ultimately display.

“Non-being” and “being” (you)—one the beginning of the myriad things, the other their mother—both issue from the same profound source. They differ only in name and use, and must not be conflated. To call it “beginning” is to speak of it as origin; to call it “mother” is to speak of it as nurturing the myriad things. “Mystery” (xuan) refers to a dark, still state without form or thing; it is the common source of both “beginning” and “mother.” It cannot truly be delimited by any name, and so can only be called “mystery” by a provisional designation. Yet if one takes “mystery” as something fixed and unchanging, one loses its original meaning. Hence the phrase “mystery upon mystery”: the roots of every subtlety among the myriad things all emerge from mystery, and so mystery is called “the gateway of all subtleties” (zhong miao zhi men).

Beautiful things are what the human heart is glad to pursue; ugly and hateful things are what the human heart loathes and rejects. Beauty and ugliness are like joy and anger; the good and the not-good are like right and wrong. Joy and anger issue from one and the same heart, and right and wrong likewise arise from a single source, so one cannot take up only one side of them. These six conditions are merely what appears of itself in the natural course of things; one must not cling to any one kind among them and treat it as a fixed standard. To accord with what is natural is already enough; if one acts with deliberate intent, one will instead spoil the matter. Wisdom can arise of itself as each occasion requires, but to seek wisdom on purpose is to fall into falsity. When strength is applied according to the conditions of things themselves, the effect is accomplished by those things of their own accord, and so one does not claim the merit as one’s own. If the merit is attributed to oneself, the achievement will be hard to sustain for long.

Chapter Three

“Worthy” means having ability; “to exalt” means to honor and promote; “to prize” means to elevate and revere. Since one need only employ those who are capable, why go out of one’s way to exalt the name of worthiness? Since one need only use things according to actual need, why raise their value?

To exalt the worthy and make reputations conspicuous causes honor to exceed real office and duty, and people then compete to display themselves and measure themselves against one another. When precious goods surpass what is actually required, they stir up greedy desire, so that people chase after them in rivalry—even scaling walls to enter houses, forcing open chests and cabinets to steal, and risking their lives to seize property. Therefore, if one does not flaunt the things that invite greed, the human heart will not be thrown into disorder.

Let people’s thoughts be plain and simple, so that they can rest content with food and warmth; keep cunning schemes few within the heart, so that life is full and not ruled by desire. The body itself does not give rise to cunning; it is the tangle of desires and intentions that stirs up affairs and disturbs the inner mind. (When the mind is empty and still, desires grow weaker.) One ought to hold fast to what is originally genuine. The so-called person of wisdom is one who understands what deliberate artifice means.

Chapter Four

One who holds fast to the measure of a single household cannot make the whole household complete; one who holds fast to the measure of a single state cannot govern the entire state well either. Even if one exhausts all one’s strength in lifting a heavy object, one still cannot put it to real use. Thus, even if a person knows how to govern the myriad things, if in governing one does not follow the principles by which heaven and earth operate, one’s strength will still be insufficient to bring the myriad things to completeness.

Although the earth has form, it must model itself on heaven in order to remain stable; although heaven has subtle operations and forms, it must model itself on the Dao (the Way) in order to preserve its own subtlety. The Dao is like an empty vessel: precisely because it is empty, it can perform its function, and that function is inexhaustible. If it is filled and turned into a solid thing, whatever comes will spill over; therefore the Dao remains empty, and in use it never brims full. Its boundless vastness has already reached the utmost.

However great a form may be, it cannot confine the fundamental being of the Dao; however numerous affairs may be, they cannot fill the capacity of the Dao. If the myriad things abandon the Dao and seek some other master, where would that master be? The Dao is deep and remote, as if it were the source of the myriad things. It can wear away sharpness yet suffer no harm; it can dissolve confusion yet without the least effort; it harmonizes with brightness yet does not thereby stain its own being; it mingles with the dust of the world yet does not alter its true nature. Profound and elusive, it seems to exist, and yet it is hard to grasp.

The earth maintains its own form, yet its De (Virtue/Power) cannot exceed its capacity to bear the myriad things; heaven contains the forms of the myriad things, yet its De cannot go beyond the scope within which it covers them. Neither heaven nor earth can match the Dao. Does the Dao not seem precisely to have already existed before the Lord of Heaven? The “Lord” spoken of here refers to the Lord of Heaven.

Heaven and earth accord with what is natural, neither acting by deliberate design nor making artificial arrangements, and the myriad things each proceed on their own and regulate one another. Therefore heaven and earth do not practice what the ordinary world calls benevolence. Those who are benevolent tend, on their own initiative, to establish norms, promote moral instruction, bestow kindness on others, and also undertake deliberate action. If heaven and earth likewise arranged things deliberately and dispensed transformative influence in this way, the myriad things would be mastered by them; yet since the Dao precedes heaven and earth, how could heaven and earth become the master of the Dao?

Heaven and Earth follow the natural course of things. They do not act by deliberate design, nor do they fashion the myriad things, and so the myriad things are able to regulate themselves. Heaven and Earth therefore show no heart of benevolence. The benevolent tend to take the initiative in establishing institutions, carrying out moral instruction, bestowing favors, and acting with zeal. Yet in this way the myriad things lose their original condition. Once favors and purposeful action are present, the myriad things can no longer each grow to completeness. If the myriad things cannot each exist in completeness, they are not sufficient to bear and nourish all that lies between Heaven and Earth.

Heaven and Earth do not grow pasture for the sake of wild beasts, yet the beasts eat the grass; nor do Heaven and Earth bring forth dogs for the sake of human beings, yet human beings eat dogs. Heaven and Earth do not interfere with the myriad things. Each adapts on its own and each plays its own part, and so there is nothing that fails to receive sustenance.

If wisdom is something one deliberately sets up for oneself, it is still not enough for according with the myriad things. The sage’s De (Virtue/Power) accords with Heaven and Earth, and for this reason the sage regards the people as straw dogs—dogs woven of grass for use in sacrifice, valued before the rite and cast aside once it is over—leaving them to what is natural and showing them no partial love.

Tuoyue refers to the bellows and the blowpipe of a wind instrument. Within, the bellows and the blowpipe are empty. They harbor no private feeling and do not act by design. Precisely because they are empty, they are never used up; once they are set in motion, breath flows out without cease. Between Heaven and Earth it is the same: vast and open, left to run its natural course, and therefore inexhaustible, like a bellows.

The more one acts with deliberate effort, the more one loses what is natural. When the myriad things each set up a private cleverness of their own, affairs are thrown into disorder by a tangle of words. Without ingenuity, affairs are hard to accomplish; without words to reason them out, affairs are hard to set straight—and one is then bound to fall into difficulty. Hold to an empty stillness of the Dao (the Way) like that of the bellows, and there is no exhaustion. Lay down the self and accord with the myriad things, and no affair fails to be put in order. Were the bellows intent on blowing some particular sound, it could not meet the need of the one who plays it.

The term “valley spirit” (gushen) means that the Dao (the Way) is empty and still like an empty valley, without form or shadow. It opposes nothing and conflicts with nothing; it rests content in a low place, does not move rashly, and keeps to stillness without ever being exhausted. The myriad things rely on it to come into being, yet its form cannot be seen. It is the most fundamental and most subtle existence, and it cannot be described by shape or by name; therefore it is called the “Mysterious Female” (Xuanpin), the profound matrix that can transform and give birth to the myriad things.

The “gate” is the source from which the Mysterious Female produces the myriad things. Tracing this source back, one finds that it is one with the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)—the fundamental state before heaven, earth, and the myriad things were formed—and so it is called “the root of heaven and earth.” If one says that it exists, its form still cannot be seen; if one says that it does not exist, the myriad things nevertheless depend on it in order to grow. It therefore continues without end, as if it were present. There is nothing that cannot be brought to completion by it, yet it itself does not labor; hence it is said that it puts the myriad things to use and yet never feels weary.

Chapter Seven

To attend only to one’s own survival is to contend with the myriad things; not to cling to oneself is, on the contrary, to have the myriad things gather to one. To be selfless is not to calculate for oneself alone. The sage places himself before the multitude and is thereby able to preserve himself; he does not regard himself as what matters most, and thereby brings himself to fulfillment.

Chapter Eight

People detest what is lowly, but the Dao, like water, is content to dwell in low places. Water comes closest to the Dao, and so it is said to be almost the Dao itself. The point here is that everyone ought to emulate the character of water.

Chapter Nine

“To hold” means to hold fast and not lose one’s De (Virtue/Power). If one is already able to maintain one’s De, yet still keeps filling it fuller and forcing for more, one is bound to overturn; it is better to stop when enough has been reached. To go on forcing is, on the contrary, worse than having neither De nor achievement. If the tip has been pared to a point and one continues to grind it sharper still, it is bound to break and cannot be kept for long. The four seasons turn in succession and the myriad things run their course; once an achievement has been completed, it too will pass away.

“Zai” means to dwell at ease, to reside. “Yingpo” refers to a person’s physical form and hun-po souls, the place where a person ordinarily abides; “the One” refers to a person’s true nature. If a person can rest in this ordinary dwelling, hold fast to pure unity, and keep the spirit clear and tranquil so that it does not scatter, the myriad things will naturally submit.

“Zhuan” means to entrust entirely; “zhi” means to reach the utmost. What is said here is that if a person gives free course to the movement of natural Qi (vital energy) and attains a state of softness carried to its extreme, able to be without desire as an infant is, the myriad things will preserve their innate nature, and each will realize its own nature.

“Xuan” is the ultimate degree of the profound and mysterious subtlety of the myriad things. If a person can wash away deviance, delusion, and artificial ornament, making the mind pure and clear to the utmost, neither letting external things veil its light nor injuring the spirit, one can in the end unite with the Xuan.

To seek success by cunning stratagems, and to conceal one’s tracks by calculation, is the practice of clever artifice. “Xuanlan wuci” means that inner contemplation is lucid and without flaw; to govern the state without relying on clever artifice is tantamount to setting clever artifice aside. If one can govern without clever artifice, the people will not turn partial or deviant, and the state will be at peace.

“Tianmen,” Heaven’s Gate, refers to the source through which all things under heaven go out and come in, and it is also the critical pass at which governance either runs freely or falls into disorder. It sometimes opens and sometimes closes, and its passage extends throughout the world; therefore it is called “the opening and closing of Heaven’s Gate.” If Heaven’s Gate can respond as the female does, without itself taking the initiative, complying with things and not acting on its own presumption, the myriad things will naturally submit, each secure in its place. If one can see clearly in all four directions without confusion, and can moreover refrain from presumptuous action, the myriad things will transform of themselves. This is what is meant by “the Dao (the Way) constantly abides in Wuwei (non-action).”

If lords and kings can hold to this principle, the myriad things will be naturally transformed and nourished. Do not block the root from which the myriad things grow; if it is not blocked, they grow of themselves—what merit, then, is there to claim? Do not suppress the nature of things; if it is not suppressed, things bring themselves to completion—why, then, depend on human contrivance? The myriad things grow to fullness of themselves; it is not I who preside over them and bring this to completion. Although there is transformation by De (Virtue/Power), no presiding master is displayed—is this not precisely the Xuan? Whenever one speaks of “xuande,” Mysterious De, it means that the myriad things are transformed by De yet do not know who it is that presides; such transformation by De issues from within what is deep and mysterious.

The axle hole at the center of a wheel is empty; only then can the wheel, by means of the hub, join its thirty spokes together. Precisely because the middle is empty, it can hold things, and so the few can command the many. Wooden vessels, pottery, and walls can be made and put to use only by relying on the empty space within them. What is called “non-being” is precisely the condition that allows “being” to function; the usefulness of tangible things can be realized only through empty space.

The ears, eyes, mouth, and heart should each function in accordance with their own nature. If one does not follow the inherent patterns of life but instead harms one’s natural disposition, blindness, deafness, a disordered sense of taste, and confusion of the heart-mind and Shen (spirit) will result. Rare and precious goods block a person’s proper path and hinder action. To care only about filling the belly is to nourish oneself with external things; to care only about satisfying the eyes is to be driven by external things. Therefore the sage is not led by the desires of the eyes.

To receive favor is necessarily to be accompanied by disgrace, and to gain glory is necessarily to be accompanied by anxiety; favor and disgrace, glory and anxiety, are bound together. If those in a lower position regard favor and disgrace, glory and anxiety, as matters of alarm, they will not let these things disturb the world. Honor and favor of this kind are precisely the great affliction: to crave enjoyment to excess is inevitably to move toward danger, and for this reason they are called the “great affliction.” When a person is beguiled by honor and favor, he comes to value them more highly than his own person; hence it is said that “the great affliction lies in the self.” Only by recognizing this can one return to what is natural. There is no external thing worth exchanging for one’s own person, and so one is said to value the self; there is no external thing worth using to injure one’s own person, and so one is said to cherish the self. Only one who neither injures nor exchanges the self on account of favor and disgrace, glory and anxiety, can be entrusted with the world.

It has no shape that can be traced and no sound that can be heard, and so there is nowhere it does not pass through and nowhere it does not reach. People cannot know it directly; they can only speak of it by means of the very fact that the ears, the eyes, and the body are all unable to perceive it, and therefore they also cannot press the question of what it ultimately is. It is an undifferentiated whole. If one says it is “non-being,” the myriad things are nonetheless generated from it; if one says it is “being,” its form still cannot be seen. Hence it is called “a shape without shape, an image of no thing,” and it cannot be fixed by any settled concept.

Although it has real efficacy, it has neither form nor name, and it is the root of the myriad things. Past and present differ, and ages and customs change as well, yet all who govern the world rely upon it to accomplish the way of governance. One may therefore grasp the ancient Dao (the Way) so as to master the affairs of the present. Though high antiquity is remote, the Dao still abides; thus even one who lives today can, through it, come to know the source of the distant past.

When someone fords a river in winter, that person hesitates and proceeds with caution, as if wishing to cross and yet as if not wishing to cross; the intention is hard to discern. When people advance together from all four sides against the ruler who stands in the center, that ruler is bewildered and does not know where to go. A person of this kind is able to understand the source of remote antiquity.

In one of superior De (Virtue/Power)—a person whose virtue is profound and who accords with the great Dao—no first signs or omens can be seen, and the inner intention cannot be perceived, just as in the cases above. The various situations spoken of here all serve to show that this person’s countenance and form cannot be depicted, nor delimited by any name.

In dimness, the myriad things can on the contrary become manifest; when turbidity settles into stillness, the myriad things grow clear; when there is movement within repose, the myriad things come to life. This is the natural Dao. Who can set all the myriad things in motion? This is to speak of the difficulty involved. Chu means thorough caution; what is filled to the brim will surely overflow; bi means to cover.

To attain the state of emptiness and stillness—an inner condition of vacuity and settled calm—is the most substantial ground of the myriad things; by holding to emptiness and stillness, one can grasp their true nature. The myriad things move and change, and thereby grow. Observing their repeated transformations with a mind of emptiness and stillness, one comes to see that all things arise from nothingness, and that movement begins in stillness. Thus, although the myriad things rise together and stir into activity, they ultimately return to emptiness and stillness. This is precisely their most substantial state. Each returns to its point of origin; to return to the root is stillness, and so it is called “stillness.” Once still, one returns to the source of life, and so it is called “returning to life.” Returning to that source, one obtains the constant nature of life, and so it is called “constancy.”

This state of “constancy” is neither partial nor outwardly displayed, and it bears no opposing appearances such as brightness and darkness or warmth and coolness. To know the constant Dao (the Way) is therefore called “clarity.” Only by returning to this constancy can one embrace and penetrate the myriad things, leaving nothing uncontained. Lose this, and perversity and delusion intrude, causing things to stray from their proper stations. Hence it is said that one who does not understand the constant Dao acts rashly and invites misfortune, while one who understands it is truly clear. One who can embrace and penetrate the myriad things attains openness and impartiality; with openness and impartiality, one extends throughout them; extending throughout them, one becomes one with Heaven. Uniting with the De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven, realizing the great Dao and reaching through to it, one arrives at the utmost of emptiness. Exhausting emptiness and obtaining the constancy of the Dao, one conversely attains what is endless and inexhaustible.

In this realm of “nothingness,” water and fire cannot harm, nor can metal and stone cause damage. Applied within the heart, tigers and rhinoceroses have nowhere to put their claws and horns to use, and weapons have nowhere to put their edges to use—what danger, then, remains?

In the highest Dao (the Way), what is called “Taishang” refers to the great person. The great person occupies the position above and is therefore called “Taishang.” The great person handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and carries out instruction without speaking; the myriad things arise of themselves, and he does not begin them on their behalf. Thus those below know only that there is such a ruler.

If one cannot handle the affairs of government through Wuwei or carry out instruction without speaking, but instead establishes good conduct and bestows favors so that the people draw near and praise him; and if, going further, one cannot guide the myriad things by kindness and humane care but must rely on imposing authority and power; if one cannot bring the people into orderly alignment by the correct Dao but governs the state by clever schemes, then the people will contrive to evade, and government orders will not be obeyed—this is called “insult.” When the ruler controls the myriad things to excess, so that they lose their inherent nature, illness arises; when he assists the myriad things yet damages their true nature, defects and conflicts appear. Where good faith is insufficient, people will not trust him. This is simply how things are of themselves. To be oneself in a state of insufficiency is not something that clever schemes can remedy.

The initial signs of the natural Dao cannot be seen, nor can its intent be known directly. Nothing can alter what it says; its words are certain to be fulfilled. Hence it is said: “How remote! Treasure your words!” The ruler handles affairs through Wuwei and instructs without speaking, and does not establish merit and fame by outward traces. Thus, when affairs are accomplished and the work brought to completion, the people do not know how any of it came about.

Chapter 18

When the manner of handling affairs through Wuwei is lost, and one turns instead to displaying clever artifice and establishing a reputation for goodness, the Dao is used to drive the myriad things. When, further, arts of calculation and keen scrutiny are employed to detect treachery and falsehood, and one deliberately seeks to see clearly and expose the traces of things, the people will contrive to evade. Therefore, once wisdom is displayed, great deceit arises along with it.

A reputation of supreme beauty often arises from acts of supreme evil; this is what is meant by beauty and evil issuing from the same source. The six relations refer to father and son, brothers, and husband and wife. If kin are harmonious among themselves from the start, and the state is naturally at peace, then the names of filial piety and parental kindness, and of the loyal minister, have no occasion to appear. Fish in the rivers and lakes forget one another; only when the water grows scarce and they are in distress do they moisten one another and come to one another’s aid—and the De (Virtue/Power) of mutual moistening is thereby made manifest.

“Cleverness and intelligence” are excellences of natural capacity; “benevolence and righteousness” are excellences of conduct; and “skillfulness and usefulness” are excellences of function. If one merely says that these things are to be “cut off,” the wording is incomplete and does not indicate where one ought to turn, so the purport of the remark cannot be seen. Thus, if these three are written only as objects to be severed, the expression is still unfinished; their destination must also be stated—namely, a return to plain simplicity, with little selfishness and few desires.

Chapter 20

The latter part of the Laozi says: “Those who pursue learning gain something each day; those who cultivate the Dao (the Way) diminish something each day.” Pursuing learning means continually seeking more knowledge and increasing clever artifice. If one can be free of desire and content in oneself, what further increase is there to seek? If, without deliberately seeking knowledge, one can still hit the right measure, what further progress is there to pursue?

Swallows and sparrows have their mates, and doves and pigeons likewise have counterparts of their own kind; people of cold regions naturally know to wear furs. To follow one’s inborn nature is already enough; to add further gains only gives rise to trouble. What difference is there between lengthening a wild duck’s legs and cutting a crane’s legs short? To fear others’ praise and press single-mindedly for advancement is the same as fearing punishment. Between a respectful reply and a stern rebuke, between a fair name and an ill name, how great is the difference? Therefore, what others fear, I also fear; I dare not take it as something to rely on in order to seek anything. To lament that one stands too far opposed to the common world, and yet still press single-mindedly for advancement—how does this differ from fearing punishment?

The multitude are infatuated with fair fame and advancement, deluded by glory and profit, contending to push forward, elated as if feasting on abundant sacrificial meats, or as if climbing a terrace in spring to enjoy the view. I, by contrast, am vast and formless, impossible to describe by any name, with no clear sign to be seen—like an infant that cannot yet smile, and like one with nowhere to settle.

None among the multitude is without ambition; their hearts are filled with desire, and so it is said that they all have more than enough. I alone am empty, practicing Wuwei (non-action) and free of desire, as though I had lost everything. Those who seem dull make no discriminating judgments within, nor do they harbor likes and dislikes; the condition of their inner feelings seems indiscernible. I am like this as well, appearing listless and without action. Because they make no distinctions, they are hard to describe in terms of brightness and display; “distinction” means discriminating and choosing what to take or reject. When the inner condition cannot be discerned, there is no clinging attachment. The multitude all wish to accomplish something and be put to use; I seek nothing and do nothing, muddled as if without insight, and so I appear stubbornly dull and crude.

“Feeding on the mother” means the root that nurtures the myriad things. People all cast aside the root that gives life to and sustains the myriad people, and instead prize the branches and the outer ornament; therefore I alone wish to differ from the multitude.

Chapter 21

“Kong” means emptiness. Only when emptiness is taken as De (Virtue/Power) can action accord with the Dao (the Way). The Dao is vague and elusive, without any fixed form and subject to no constraint, yet it is the source from which the myriad things begin and come into being. The myriad things begin from it and take shape through it, yet people do not know the reason for this; hence it is said: “Within the vague and elusive there is a thing; within the elusive and vague there is an image.”

“Yaoming” describes what is deep, remote, and dark—so profound that it cannot be seen—yet the myriad things all arise from within it. Although it is invisible, it is the ground upon which the true source of the myriad things rests; hence it is said: “Within the deep darkness there is Jing (essence).” Here “Jing” means the subtle and genuine essence within the Dao. “Xin” means that which can be verified. When the myriad things return to this deep darkness, they can reach the utmost of true essence, and the nature of the myriad things is thereby settled. Therefore it is said: “Its subtle essence is supremely genuine, and within it there is evidence that can be verified.”

When genuineness reaches its extreme, it can no longer be designated by any name; having no name is its name. From antiquity to the present, none of the myriad things has failed to be generated from this; hence it is said: “Its name has never ceased from ancient times until now.” “Zhongfu” means the original beginning of the myriad things. That the Dao opens the myriad things in a nameless way is the meaning set out above. How, then, do I know that the myriad things begin from “non-being”? I know it by these very principles.

Chapter 22

By not displaying oneself, one is instead able to become manifest; by not presuming oneself to be right, one is instead able to make right and wrong clear; by not boasting of one’s merit, one is instead able to bring achievements to completion; by not exalting oneself, one’s De is instead able to grow.

The Dao of nature is also like a tree: the more abundant the branches and leaves, the farther one is from the root; the more the branches and leaves can be reduced, the closer one comes to the root. Greed for more leads away from what is genuine, and so is called “delusion”; reducing desire allows one to obtain the root, and so is called “attainment.” “One” is the state of reducing to the utmost and returning to the root. “Shi” means the rule, the standard.

Chapter 23

To listen and yet not hear is called “Xi.” The next chapter will speak of the utterance of the Dao: it is plain and without flavor, and in this it embodies the nature of the Dao.

What is heard and yet not heard is called “xi” (a sound so extremely faint that it cannot be heard). The text that follows says that the words put forth by the Dao (the Way) are plain and without flavor; look at them and they cannot be seen, listen to them and they cannot be heard. Since flavorless words are not worth hearing, speech of this flavorless kind is precisely the highest expression the natural Dao can attain. Conduct that is overly hasty, pursuing reputation and a fine appearance, cannot last long.

“Congshi” means how one moves and acts, taking the Dao as the standard. The Dao brings the myriad things to completion and aids them through formlessness and Wuwei (non-action); therefore, one who acts in accordance with the Dao takes Wuwei as what leads and does not teach by means of words. The Dao continues unbroken, as if it were present; the myriad things thereby preserve what is originally genuine in them and become one body with the Dao. Hence it is said, “the same as the Dao.”

“Gain” (de) means obtaining what is little; take little, and there is something gained, and so it is called “gain.” When conduct meets with a harvest, it accords with “gain,” and so it is said, “the same as gain.” “Loss” (shi) means that entanglements increase; when entanglements grow many, something is lost, and so it is called “loss.” When conduct brings about loss, it accords with “loss,” and so it is said, “the same as loss.” These words mean that, following the direction in which a thing proceeds, one comes into correspondence with it. If those in subordinate positions lack loyalty and trustworthiness, how could anyone still place trust in them?

Chapter 24

If a thing seeks only to press forward, it loses its stability; hence it is said, “One who stands on tiptoe cannot stand firm.” Only when one does not deliberately display oneself can the capacity for clear discernment be complete; only when one does not presume oneself to be right can what is correct become evident; only when one does not boast of oneself can merit be preserved; only when one does not exalt oneself can De (Virtue/Power) long endure.

Considered from the standpoint of the Dao, conduct like that of Xi Zhi (a grandee of the state of Jin in the Spring and Autumn period) is just like food left over from a lavish feast: though originally good, if left too long it turns foul. One may originally have merit, yet if one boasts of it oneself, it becomes instead like an extra lump of superfluous flesh.

Chapter 25

That which is an undifferentiated whole, impossible to know or grasp, is that from which the myriad things are all generated; therefore it is said to be hun-cheng (undifferentiated and complete). No one knows whose offspring it is, and so it is said to have been born before Heaven and Earth. It is silent and empty, without form, and nothing stands as its match; therefore it is said to exist independently.

It transforms in going and returning, running through the beginning and the end of things, yet never departing from the constant Dao (the Way); therefore it is said to operate without cease. It circulates everywhere: there is no place it cannot reach, and it neither overturns nor falls into peril. It can generate and nourish the myriad things and bring their forms to completion; therefore it may be called the mother of all things under Heaven.

A name serves to fix the shape of a thing, but that which is hun-cheng has no fixed shape and cannot be given a settled name; therefore it is said that its name is not known. A name (ming) is used to determine shape, while a style-name (zi) is used to address it. To speak of the Dao is to draw the term from the root upon which nothing can be traced and nothing can depend. Within the hun-cheng, “great” is the greatest designation by which it can be spoken of. I call it the Dao, taking the greatest among the designations by which it can be spoken.

If one presses for the ground of this designation, it comes to rest on “great.” Yet once there is something to depend upon, there must be differentiation; and once there is differentiation, the ultimate of the Dao is lost. Therefore it is said that one can only force upon it the name “great.” Shi means to move and operate. It does not cling to any single, fixed form; it circulates everywhere, and there is nowhere it cannot reach, so it is called shi (passing onward). Yuan means reaching the farthest extreme. It circulates everywhere without end and does not incline toward any one place, so it is called yuan (far-reaching). It is not confined by the places it reaches, and it stands independent in itself; therefore it is called fan (return), that is, a returning to the root.

Among the myriad things born of Heaven and Earth, human beings are the most honored, and the king is the master of human beings. Even though the king does not take “greatness” as his office, he may equally be called great, for he stands alongside the Dao, Heaven, and Earth; therefore it is said that the king too is great.

The so-called Four Greats are the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king. Whatever bears a designation or a name has already had its scope limited. To say “Dao” means that there is something upon which it depends; only when there is something upon which it depends can it be called the Dao. Seen in this way, the Dao is already the greatest of all designations, yet it still falls short of the “great” that has neither designation nor name. What has neither designation nor name cannot be named, and so it is called yu (the realm). The Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king all lie within the scope of what has neither designation nor name; therefore it is said that within the realm there are four greats.

One who stands in the position of ruler over human beings ought to model himself on the Way of Heaven and Earth. Fa means to follow a rule or pattern. Only if human beings do not go against the regularities of Earth can they preserve wholeness and peace, and so human beings model themselves on Earth. Only if Earth does not go against the regularities of Heaven can it bear the myriad things, and so Earth models itself on Heaven. Only if Heaven does not go against the Dao can it cover and nurture the myriad things, and so Heaven models itself on the Dao. Only if the Dao does not go against ziran (what is so of itself) can it preserve its own nature, and so the Dao models itself on ziran.

To model oneself on ziran is, when situated in the square, to accord with the square, and when situated in the round, to accord with the round, without going against ziran itself. Here ziran is a way of speaking of what cannot be named and is without limit. To employ clever artifice is not as good as yielding to unknowing; bodily form, together with the hun and po souls, is not as good as the subtle image; the subtle image is in turn not as good as the formless; and norms that have form are not as good as norms without form. Therefore the myriad things follow one another in succession and take one another as their model. When the Dao models itself on ziran, Heaven relies upon the Dao; when Heaven models itself on the Dao, Earth follows Heaven; when Earth models itself on Heaven, human beings take Earth as their model. The reason the king is able to be the ruling master is that he takes the One as his master; here the One refers to the root that holds the myriad things together.

Among the myriad things, the light cannot bear the heavy, and the small cannot subdue the great. What is still can set in motion what moves, and what does not move can restrain what moves. Thus heaviness is the root of lightness, and stillness is the master of restlessness. Taking heaviness as the root, one does not depart from the root, nor set one’s mind on frivolous matters. The light cannot subdue the heavy. Lose the root, and one loses oneself; lose the master, and one loses the place of mastery.

To accord with what is natural is the root; therefore one does not depart from the root, nor set one’s mind on frivolous matters. The light cannot subdue the heavy. Lose the root, and one loses oneself; lose the master, and one loses the place of mastery.

One follows the natural course of the myriad things, without deliberately creating, initiating, or acting; thus each of the myriad things can arrive at the state proper to it, yet no trace of human doing is left behind. One goes along with the inherent character of things, making no distinctions and offering no analysis, so that no flaw that might be blamed can be found. One relies on the pattern inherent in things themselves and does not resort to outward forms and devices; one accords with the naturalness of things, making no separate arrangements and forcing no action. Therefore there is no need to bind things with bolts and cords, and things are not forcibly opened or undone. All five of these points say the same thing: do not deliberately fabricate, do not force action, accord with the inherent nature of things, and do not control the myriad things by artificial forms.

The sage does not set up names by which to constrain the myriad things, nor does he deliberately arrange advance and retreat, acceptance and rejection, sorting people into the worthy and the unworthy. He assists the myriad things in following what is natural to them and does not artificially initiate or lead them; hence it is said that he abandons no one.

If the worthy and able are not exalted, the people will not contend. If rare goods are not prized, the people will not steal. If things that stir desire are not displayed, the minds of the people will not fall into disorder. If the people are constantly kept free of craving and confusion in their minds, no one will be abandoned. The good are put forward to guide those who are not good; therefore the good person is called “the teacher of those who are not good.” The word zi means to draw upon and make use of: by his own goodness the good person helps those who are not good, rather than taking goodness as a reason to cast them aside. Those who are not good are thus precisely the ones whom the good person can help and upon whom he can draw. Even one who has intelligence and talent, if he trusts in his own cleverness and does not accord with the principle of things, will inevitably go astray. Hence it is said: “To deem oneself clever is, on the contrary, a great confusion.”

The side that is strong and flourishing always wants to stand in front, while the side that is soft and weak stays behind. Those who think themselves clever and wish to lead the world end up falling behind instead. The sage therefore places himself behind everyone else, and is thereby able to walk ahead of them. A valley stream does not actively draw anything to itself, yet the myriad things naturally gather there. An infant uses no cunning schemes, yet accords with natural wisdom.

“Shi” means a rule or standard, and “te” means error. These teachings say that things often follow the ordinary pattern and turn toward their opposite; after passing through cyclic change, only those who remain in the rear can preserve the position they occupy. The next chapter says, “Reversal is the movement of the Dao (the Way).” Achievements cannot be claimed as one’s own; one should constantly abide at the root.

“Pu” means what is genuine and simple. Once genuine simplicity disperses, all kinds of actions and things of different sorts arise, just as vessels each take on a shape. The sage accords with this differentiation and therefore establishes officials and chiefs, taking good conduct as a model and bad conduct as a warning. When the Jing (scripture) says, “Reversal is the movement of the Dao,” it means that things return to the root, that achievements cannot be claimed as one’s own, and that one should hold to the root. The sage transforms customs and habits so that people return once more to unity.

What is called the “great fashioning” is to take the minds and intentions of all people under Heaven as one’s own, and therefore not to cut things apart.

Chapter 29

Shen (spirit) has no bodily form and no fixed place. A vessel is assembled from different parts; the formless Dao joins with the myriad things and is therefore called a “spiritual vessel.” The myriad things take their spontaneous, natural condition as their nature. They can only be guided in keeping with circumstances and cannot be forcibly made; they may be cleared and led, but they cannot be held fast.

Each of the myriad things has a constant nature. If one forcibly remakes them, one will certainly ruin them. The myriad things come and go; if one insists on seizing them, one will certainly lose them. All the situations described here refer to the fact that, in the course of things, there is both accord and opposition, going forth and returning in change. One should not forcibly act upon them, control them, or cut them apart.

The sage penetrates spontaneous nature and understands the conditions and principles of the myriad things. He therefore accords with them and does not recklessly fabricate, and he follows them without forcible interference. He removes the causes that lead people astray and into confusion. His inner mind is therefore undisturbed, and the myriad things each rest in their own nature.

Chapter 30

Even when one assists a ruler by means of the Dao (the Way), one still cannot rely on military force to dominate the world—how much less so when the ruler himself acts in accordance with the Dao?

Those who govern the world are often single-mindedly bent on establishing achievements and stirring up affairs, whereas those who possess the Dao strive to return to Wuwei (non-action). Hence it is said that the consequences of war always turn back and injure oneself. An army is a dangerous and harmful instrument; it cannot truly resolve problems and is bound to cause harm—injuring the people and ruining the fields. Thus it is said that after a war the land grows thick with thorns. “Guo” means bringing a matter to completion and attaining one’s aim. One skilled in the use of troops seeks only to employ arms to relieve a crisis, and does not rely on force of arms to dominate the world. The way of using troops is not worthy of esteem; only when there is no alternative does one mobilize an army—and what, then, is there to take pride in or boast of? Even if troops are used to settle a crisis, this ought to arise only from necessity, and they should be used solely to remove violence and quell disorder, not as a means of flaunting strength. When formidable military power suddenly arises, it is like seeking to dominate the world by force of arms. A fierce wind does not last through a morning, and a violent rain does not fall for a whole day; therefore a violent and overbearing force cannot endure, and will in the end soon fade away.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The Dao has no bodily form, nor does it display a form; it can never be delimited by a name. It takes namelessness as its constant, and so it is said, “The Dao is constantly nameless.” “Pu” refers to the natural, uncarved state of things; taking Wuwei as its inner foundation, it likewise has no fixed name. Therefore, if one wishes to attain the Dao, nothing is better than holding fast to “pu.”

The Dao (the Way) has no fixed form to begin with, nor does it appear by relying on “having form.” It exists constantly, yet it cannot be made clear by any name. The Dao therefore takes namelessness as its constant condition, which is why it is said that “the Dao is constantly nameless.”

Pu (the uncarved state of original authenticity), as a mode of being, takes Wuwei (non-action) as its mind and likewise has no fixed name. If one would attain the Dao, nothing is better than holding to this simple authenticity. The clever may serve as subordinates, the brave may hold military posts, the skillful may take charge of affairs, and the strong may bear heavy responsibilities. Pu, however, is wholly undifferentiated and impartial, free of distinctions, and close to the formless and the nameless, so nothing can put it to use or bring it under control.

If one holds to Pu and remains in Wuwei, neither letting external things encumber one’s nature nor letting desire injure Shen (spirit), the myriad things will of themselves come to submit, and the Dao will of itself be gained. When the Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth come together, sweet dew descends of itself without being sought. If I hold to what is authentic and follow the natural course of things, the people too will settle of themselves without any need of commands.

“Beginning to establish institutions” refers to the time when Pu disperses and officials and superiors begin to be appointed. Once such offices are set up, names and stations cannot but be fixed and the noble distinguished from the base; thus, as soon as institutions are established, names and designations arise. If this is carried further, people will contend over the most minute gains. Hence it is said: once names and stations have been fixed, one ought to know where it is fitting to stop. If designations are left free to label the myriad things, they become the root of misgovernment. Only by knowing where to stop can one keep fresh contention from arising.

Streams and valleys flow into the rivers and seas not because the rivers and seas summon them. The rivers and seas neither call nor seek, yet the streams and valleys return of their own accord. Governing the world by the Dao can likewise make the people naturally even without commands being issued, and bring what is gained without deliberate pursuit. Thus it is said that governing the world is like streams and valleys flowing into the rivers and seas.

Chapter 33

Knowing others amounts only to wisdom; knowing oneself is what surpasses ordinary wisdom. Overcoming others amounts only to strength; overcoming oneself is what keeps external things from impairing one’s own strength. To use wisdom in knowing others is not as good as using it to know oneself.

Knowing others amounts only to cleverness; it is not as good as knowing oneself, for that is the higher wisdom. Prevailing over others amounts only to having strength; it is not as good as conquering oneself, for then one’s strength will not be depleted by external things. To apply wisdom to others is not as good as using it to know oneself; to apply strength to others is not as good as using it to discipline oneself. When one discerns oneself clearly through wisdom, external things have no way to obscure one; when one masters oneself through strength, external things change accordingly.

One who knows contentment does not lose what is already possessed, and so may be called wealthy. One who diligently practices the Dao (the Way) will surely realize one’s aspirations. Therefore it is said that one who practices with effort is a person of resolve. Examining oneself with clear discernment and acting only after measuring one’s capacity, one will not lose one’s place to stand and will certainly be able to endure. Even if the body dies, lasting existence can still be gained through the Dao; so long as the Dao does not perish, the longevity of life can be preserved. Although the body may already have perished, the Dao still remains; how much more, while the body is still present, would the Dao ever be cut off?

Chapter 34

The Dao spreads vast and wide and is present everywhere. Whether above or below, to the left or to the right, circulating back and forth, it can take effect, and there is no place it cannot reach. All things are born of the Dao, yet after they grow they do not know whence they come. Therefore, when people are without desire, all things each find their proper place. The Dao does not deliberately impose itself upon things, and so it appears minute. Yet all things rely upon the Dao and thereby grow, and the Dao further leaves them unaware of their source; this cannot be called minute, and so it may also be called great. To accomplish a great undertaking, one should begin from what is minute; to plan a difficult matter, one should start from what is easy.

Chapter 35

The “great image” refers to the vast image of the Dao and is the root of all things. The Dao does not deliberately impose itself upon things, and so it appears minute; yet all things rely upon the Dao and thereby grow, and the Dao further leaves them unaware of their source, and so it may also be called great. To accomplish a great undertaking, one should begin from what is minute; to plan a difficult matter, one should start from what is easy.

“The Great Image”—the vast form of the Great Dao (the Way)—is the root of heaven, earth, and the myriad things. It is neither hot nor cold, neither warm nor cool, and so it can embrace and hold all things together without harming any of them. If a ruler can hold fast to the Great Dao, the people of the world will turn toward him. The Great Dao has no bodily form, nor any partiality or display; therefore the myriad things can grow by following it and suffer no obstruction.

This is to say that the realm of the Dao is deep, broad, and vast. When people hear the words of the Dao, they often feel that these are less immediately effective, and less gladdening, than learning a skill or ingesting elixirs. Music and fine food can make a passing guest stop; the words of the Dao, however, are plain and tasteless. To look upon them does not satisfy the eyes, and to listen to them does not please the ear—it is as if there were nothing there at all. Yet the working of the Dao is endless and inexhaustible.

Chapter 36

To remove the overbearing and the violent, one should apply the four methods mentioned earlier, following the inherent patterns by which things themselves change, so that they dissolve of their own accord, without reliance on punishment. This is the root of governing things, and it is therefore called “subtle illumination” (weiming)—a principle at once profound, minute, and clearly discerning.

When something has already opened fully and reached its extreme, and one still presses it to expand further, it will be drawn in and restrained by others. If it has not yet fully developed, and one nevertheless seeks only expansion, the danger is all the greater.

“Sharp instruments” (liqi) refers to the potent means of governing a state. To accord with the nature of things and govern without punishment, so that the methods of rule are not displayed to others while the myriad things each find their proper place—this is the potent way of governing a state. To put punishments on display before people is to govern by relying on punishment; to govern a state by punishment is to lose the correct Dao. A fish that leaves the deep abyss is easily caught; likewise, to turn the means of government into punishments openly shown to others will surely bring failure.

Chapter 37

Accord with what is naturally so. The myriad things are all governed and brought to fulfillment within Wuwei (non-action)—that is, without presumptuous interference. When the myriad things change, desires arise, and they begin to act, I settle them with the “nameless uncarved block” (wuming zhi pu), the original condition untouched by human carving, neither setting myself up as their master nor allowing the desire to contend to grow.

Chapter 38

De (Virtue/Power) means having obtained something, being inwardly full, and being able to preserve it for a long time without loss. It benefits the myriad things without harming them, and for this reason it is called De. Where does De come from? It comes from the Dao (the Way). How can De be brought fully into play? It must be put to use through Wuwei (non-action). Wuwei means not forcing an intervention according to one’s own will; in this way one can sustain the myriad things. If the myriad things remain in the state of non-being, nothing fails to get through; if one clings to being, one inevitably becomes limited by the conditions of one’s own existence.

Although Heaven and Earth are vast, they take emptiness, non-being, and Wuwei as their root. Although the sage-king occupies an exalted position, he takes emptiness and stillness as his guiding principle. Thus, by turning back to contemplate the root, one can see the original mind of Heaven and Earth; by examining things at the proper time, one can see the realm attained by the former kings. When selfishness is removed and one’s own interests are not placed first, the people of the world look up to him, and those both near and far turn toward him. If one takes only oneself as the center and clings to private intentions, then even one’s own person is hard to preserve, and the parts of the body cannot harmonize or fit together.

A person of superior De follows only the Dao and does not deliberately advertise possession of De. Such a person neither clings nor forces action, and so can have De while leaving nothing unaccomplished, obtain without seeking, and let affairs come to completion without reckless doing. Although endowed with De, this person does not claim to “possess De.” Inferior De obtains only after seeking and accomplishes things only through intentional action. It sets up standards of goodness by which to order the myriad things, and thus the name “De” arises. Yet seeking necessarily brings loss, and forced action necessarily brings ruin; once the reputation of goodness appears, it also calls forth the non-goodness opposed to it. The conduct of inferior De therefore always carries the aim of intentional action.

What is called “acting without a set purpose” means acting without partiality or ulterior aim. Whatever cannot practice Wuwei and still deliberately does something belongs to inferior De. Humaneness, righteousness, ritual propriety, and the like are spoken of in this sense. Here inferior De is used to set superior De in contrast, and a further point is made: the highest point inferior De can reach is superior humaneness. Superior humaneness already approaches Wuwei, yet it still acts; because it still acts, it may give rise to the ills that action brings.

The root lies in Wuwei, and the mother lies in the nameless. If one abandons the root and the mother and instead pursues the things born from them, then even great achievements may fail to be complete, and even a fine reputation will inevitably tend toward falsity. Only when affairs cannot be accomplished by following what is so of itself, and governance cannot arise of itself, does one turn to deliberate action.

Consider those who are magnanimous, broadly loving, and widely beneficent. If they can love others without partiality, this is superior humaneness: they act, yet without a deliberate aim. If love cannot reach everyone alike, some will stress uprightness and moral principle, angrily punish injustice, support the upright, and help one side attack the other. This is intervening in things according to one’s own intentions, and so superior righteousness both acts and acts with a purpose. If uprightness still cannot last, there next appear those who adorn their bearing and attend to ritual forms and reverence. They prize ritual respect and calculate whether exchanges conform to propriety; the slightest failure to conform may give rise to anger. Thus, when superior ritual is carried out and meets with no response, one rolls up one’s sleeves and forces the other to perform the rite. The highest realm is perhaps the Dao alone; of all that lies below the Dao, what is still worthy of honor?

Even if virtue is abundant, achievements are conspicuous, and one possesses the myriad things, this is only each thing obtaining its corresponding De; one has not yet made oneself complete and all-encompassing. Heaven and Earth cannot bear everything by themselves alone, nor can human beings nurture the myriad things unaided. Although the myriad things are each noble in their own way, they all take Wuwei as their function and cannot leave the root of non-being. If one abandons Wuwei as the substance, one loses true vastness. This is what is meant by first losing the Dao and only afterward having De: by taking Wuwei as one’s function, one can grasp the root, and so, without toiling oneself, the myriad affairs are brought to order. Further down, the function of Wuwei is lost. Unable to practice Wuwei, one prizes broad beneficence; unable to practice broad beneficence, one prizes uprightness; unable to remain upright, one prizes ritual ornament. This is what is called losing the Dao and then having De, losing De and then having humaneness, losing humaneness and then having righteousness, and losing righteousness and then having ritual.

Ritual arises when loyalty and trustworthiness are insufficient and when generosity and simplicity are no longer evident. People begin to demand completeness on the surface and contend for control through minute rules. Humaneness and righteousness issue from within, yet once they are deliberately practiced they may still carry falsity; how much less can the mere pursuit of outward ornament endure? Ritual is therefore the sign that loyalty and trustworthiness have grown thin, and also the beginning of disorder.

What is called “foreknowledge” is judging ahead of time and seeking to know in advance; it belongs to the class of inferior De. People exhaust their cleverness in judging beforehand and spend their intelligence managing every kind of affair. Even when hidden circumstances are detected, cunning only becomes more concealed. It may appear that hands are plentiful and reputation is good, yet sincerity and solidity are in fact increasingly lost. Busying oneself with affairs throws matters into confusion, and the more one manages and governs, the more readily one brings about ruin. Even if wisdom of a sagely kind is exhausted, the people may suffer still greater harm because of it. Setting the self aside and letting things run their natural course brings peace through Wuwei; holding to the plain and simple nature keeps one from merely conforming to man-made statutes and institutions. To covet what is gained and abandon what ought to be preserved is foreknowledge: it is only the hollow splendor of the Dao, and also the beginning of folly.

If one truly grasps the root from which function arises, the myriad things grow of themselves and need not be driven; they endure without anxious management. One does not apply them through outward traces or control them through names and titles. Humaneness and righteousness can then become manifest, and ritual reverence can be made clear. If the great Dao bears the myriad things and the nameless settles them, so that they do not vie over what to esteem and their minds are not busy with schemes, each keeping to what is correct and acting with sincerity, then humane virtue will be deep, righteous conduct upright, and ritual reverence clear. These qualities need not be deliberately advertised.

If one abandons the great Dao as the root, forsakes the correct way, acts only by already formed institutions and designations, and puts human cleverness and talent to use, then humaneness will be exalted and fought over, righteousness will provoke competition, and ritual will give rise to dispute. The depth of humane virtue is therefore not achieved by deliberately practicing humaneness, the uprightness of righteous conduct is not accomplished by deliberately practicing righteousness, and the clarity of ritual reverence is not realized by deliberately practicing ritual. When things are borne by the Dao and governed through the root, virtuous conduct may become manifest without leading people to vie in esteeming it, and ritual and righteousness may be made clear without provoking contention. When the nameless Dao is employed, names and roles become solid and true; when the formless Dao is employed, concrete things can be accomplished.

Only by holding to the root can one preserve what the root gives rise to; only by honoring the root can one set the branches in motion. In this way, although forms and names exist, perversity does not easily arise, and the greatest virtue can match Heaven without drifting into empty show. One must therefore neither stray far from the root nor lose it. Humaneness and righteousness are things born of the root; they cannot replace the root. Concrete vessels are made by the artisan; the vessel cannot be taken for the artisan. If one abandons the root and uses only the branches, names and roles become limited and forms acquire boundaries. Even if the scale is expanded to the utmost, something will still be left uncovered; even if outward embellishment is pushed to its height, it will necessarily bring trouble. If achievement depends on deliberate action, how could one find it worth resting there?

Of old, the Dao (the Way) was the beginning of all things and the foundation of their coming into being. Each thing arises by relying on this “One” (the unifying source of the Dao), and for this reason it is the master of all things. All things take form by obtaining this source; once formed, if they abandon the source and cling only to the state already formed, they lose their origin and in the end move toward division, decline, exhaustion, and extinction.

All things attain clarity, tranquility, spiritual vitality, fullness, growth, and firmness only by relying on this source. They reach clarity through the source; they do not preserve clarity by clinging to “clarity” itself. Hold to the source, and clarity will not be lost; seek only the result of clarity, and ruin may follow. The root, therefore, is the source by which all things are brought to completion, and it must not be abandoned. Things should not act solely by their own efficacy, for in doing so they may lose the root.

Clarity itself cannot produce clarity, nor can fullness itself bring fullness. Clarity is thus not worth valuing on its own, and fullness is not worth pursuing for its own sake. What is precious is the source of all things, and the source itself has no noble appearance. Nobility takes humility as its foundation, and height takes lowness as its basis. Thus, when the wheel, the carriage body, and the other parts that make up a vehicle are brought together, the vehicle itself has no fixed substance that can be seen. Jade, though bright and lustrous, is in the end only a thing of form, and so is not worth clinging to.

Chapter 40

What is high takes what is low as its basis, what is noble takes what is humble as its root, and what has form functions by means of what is formless. All of these express the principle that opposites complete one another. If, in acting, one can recognize the “non-being” (wu) within them, things can proceed unhindered. Hence it is said that “reversal” is the movement of the Dao. Softness and weakness allow all things to interconnect, and their working is without end. All things under heaven arise from “being” (you), and the beginning of being takes non-being as its root. To preserve being, one must return to non-being.

Chapter 41

To establish oneself in the world and achieve something of substance (“zhi” means to establish and to accomplish). One is bright yet does not flaunt that brightness; by placing oneself behind, one can instead come to stand before others; by not putting oneself in the foremost place, one can instead preserve oneself.

The “dayi” (the utterly level great way) accords with the inherent nature of the myriad things and does not cling to cutting them to one fixed standard of evenness. Its levelness therefore cannot be seen, and it appears instead rugged and uneven. One who truly possesses De (Virtue/Power) does not treat that De as a personal merit, and so the mind holds no attachment. One knows what whiteness is, yet is content to abide in darkness and artless simplicity; only by according with the natural Dao (the Way) can one in the end accomplish something. Vast De is never self-satisfied. Vacant and wide open, without a fixed shape, it offers nothing by which it could be filled.

One who practices “jiande” (the establishing of De) accords with the natural character of the myriad things, neither deliberately setting up a standard nor imposing any action, and so appears on a par with all things. One who is “zhizhen” (plain and genuine) does not boast of that genuineness, and therefore seems mixed in with the ordinary world; square and upright, yet not deliberately cutting and trimming things, such a person has no sharp edges.

The “daqi” (a great vessel or a great undertaking) is completed only at the very end. It brings all things under heaven to completion, yet does not hold to any fixed form by which to set them apart, and so it must come to completion late. What is listened for but not heard is called “xi” (subtle and scarcely audible). The so-called “dayin” (the greatest sound) is a sound that cannot be heard. Once a sound becomes manifest, differentiation arises; with differentiation, it is no longer the note gong that holds all sounds together, but a particular tone such as shang. Being differentiated, it cannot gather all sounds under it, and a concretely audible sound is therefore not the “dayin.” Once a form becomes manifest, differentiation likewise arises; with differentiation come distinctions of warm and cool, cold and hot. Thus whatever displays a visible shape is not the “daxiang” (the greatest image).

All these excellences are brought about by the Dao. When the Dao appears as image, it is the “daxiang,” yet the “daxiang” has no fixed form; when it appears as sound, it is the “dayin,” yet the “dayin” is silent to the ear. The myriad things are accomplished through the Dao, but the Dao does not reveal the traces of having accomplished them, and so it remains hidden and nameless.

“Dai” (giving and assisting) is not merely a matter of supplying what the myriad things presently lack. Once that giving and assistance are bestowed, they suffice for things to sustain their De over the long term, and so this is called “shan dai” (skilled giving). The Dao brings the myriad things to completion, yet not by cutting and shaping them as a craftsman would. It leaves nothing out, and always enables each thing to complete its own form, and so this is called “shan cheng” (skilled completion).

The forms of all things differ, yet in the end they all return to the “One.” How, then, can the “One” be attained? Through “non-being.” Only by coming forth from “non-being” is there the “One.” Yet the “One” may itself be called “non-being.” Once it is named the “One,” it already has a name—how can one still say that it is wholly beyond speech? With speech and the “One,” how can these not count as two? Since there is the “One” and there is “two,” “three” then arises. From non-being to being, the count is already complete at “three”; anything added beyond this no longer belongs to the realm of the Dao (the Way).

Thus, as the myriad things grow and change, I know what governs them. Though their forms are countless, the harmonious blending Qi (vital energy) with which they are endowed is one and the same. The common people each have their own thoughts, and different states each have their own customs, yet kings and lords who have attained the Dao and attained the “One” can take the “One” as their governing principle. Having taken the “One” as their governing principle, how could they cast it aside? The more one pursues, the farther one drifts from it; to diminish, by contrast, draws one nearer. Only by diminishing to the utmost can one reach the root.

Even what is called the “One” is still spoken of together with “three”—how much less, when there is from the start more than one, can one draw near the Dao? That diminishing brings gain while adding brings loss is no empty saying. When I teach people, I do not compel them to obey; I point out the principle of what is natural. To accord with it is auspicious; to go against it is inauspicious. Hence people admonish one another not to go against it. Those who go against it bring misfortune upon themselves. This is just as when I teach people not to go against it.

Chapter 43

There is no place Qi cannot enter, and no place water cannot reach. Emptiness and softness: there is nothing they cannot penetrate, and nothing they cannot exhaust. When softness is carried to its utmost, it cannot be broken. From this one may infer that Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial.

To prize reputation and to delight in high position is inevitably to grow estranged from oneself; to covet wealth with no point of satisfaction is inevitably to bring harm upon oneself. The more profit one gains, the more one may for that very reason lose oneself. What brings misfortune? Excessive attachment to wealth prevents a person from properly connecting with external things; amassing too much wealth and refusing to bring it out to share with others does likewise. Many people wish to obtain such wealth, and so many come to contend for it, and a person becomes burdened by wealth. Therefore, excessive expenditure will in the end bring great loss.

Things take form by following their own condition and are not fixed in a single shape, so they seem as if something were lacking. The greatest fullness can give in accordance with things, without stinting and without self-praise, so it seems as if empty. To proceed in accord with the inherent pattern of things is to be upright without being bound to a single manner, so one seems as if bent. Truly superior skill fashions implements by conforming to nature, without deliberately making strange objects, so it seems as if clumsy. One who is truly skilled in argument expresses matters on the basis of the things themselves, without inventing them out of nothing, so one sounds as if slow of speech. Restless agitation brings on cold, while quiet Wuwei (non-action) can dispel heat. Seen in this light, clarity and stillness alone are the correct Dao (the Way) of the world. Quietude can preserve the original nature of the myriad things, whereas agitation harms their inborn nature; therefore only clarity and stillness can realize those realms of “greatness” described above.

When the world possesses the Dao, people know contentment and when to stop; they do not greedily seek outward, but devote themselves only to cultivating their own persons. War horses are therefore withdrawn and put to plowing and fertilizing the fields. If people greedily pursue desire and never know satisfaction, do not cultivate themselves, and only contend outwardly, then war horses will be born in the countryside, and warfare will arise.

Every affair has its root, and the myriad things each have what governs them; though the paths differ, they all come down in the end to the cultivation of oneself. Therefore, in an age that possesses the Dao, war horses are withdrawn to plow and fertilize the fields. If people greedily pursue desire and never know satisfaction, do not cultivate themselves, and only contend outwardly, then war horses will be born in the open country.

All affairs have their origins, and the myriad things each have that which presides over them. Though the paths differ, they ultimately converge upon one and the same place; though reflections undergo a hundred transformations, the principle they attain remains one and the same. The Dao (the Way) has its constant great Way, and the principles of affairs likewise have their fundamental norms. Grasp the Dao that has existed since antiquity, and one can master the affairs of the present; even while living today, one can recognize the beginnings of the remote past. Therefore, without stepping beyond the gate or peering through the window, one may still come to know. The Dao is present everywhere, yet it cannot be sought merely by searching one by one among the multitude of things.

The Dao cannot be seen, cannot be heard, and cannot be grasped by the hand. If one truly understands it, one can comprehend it without leaving the house; if one does not understand it, the farther one travels, the more bewildered one becomes. Once the root and the regular patterns of the myriad things have been mastered, even without personally taking action one can infer how things stand; once the origin of the myriad things has been recognized, even without seeing them with one’s own eyes one can discern and clearly set forth the principles of right and wrong. Understand the inherent nature of each of the myriad things, and it is enough to act in accordance with those natures; therefore, even without deliberate contrivance, affairs can be brought to completion.

Chapter 48

If one is bent only on increasing knowledge and expanding what has been learned, one must strive to return to a state of empty stillness and Wuwei (non-action). Intentional doing often brings loss; when Wuwei is achieved, there is, on the contrary, nothing that cannot be accomplished. Action should accord with the inherent circumstances of things themselves, rather than being forcibly fabricated by oneself.

Chapter 49

In handling affairs of government, one should accord with the ordinary feelings of the people. Let each person bring their abilities into play according to their own talents, and good conduct will not be left buried. Cast no one aside; let each person’s intelligence and wisdom find full expression. At the same time, make hearts gentle and harmonious, free of excessive desire, as simple and pure as an infant.

Heaven and Earth establish the positions of Yin-Yang and the rest, while the sage enables the myriad things each to fulfill its capacity. Human beings deliberate, and ghosts and spirits also take part in the deliberation; the common people and those of ability together bring affairs to completion. Those with ability may contribute their skills, and the one who governs draws upon these talents: those of great ability undertake great tasks, and those of noble endowment assume duties commensurate with their standing. The myriad things each have their root, and every matter has its governing principle. In this way, even if the ruler lets the beaded fringes of his crown hang down and screen his sight, he need not fear being deceived; even if he stops his ears with the yellow cotton tassels—the ornaments that hang on either side of the ancient crown and shut out hearing—he need not worry that anyone will grow negligent. Why, then, should he weary himself, relying in every matter on keen hearing and sharp sight to discern the minds of the people?

If one uses shrewd acuity to scrutinize the myriad things, the myriad things will vie to evade that scrutiny. If one inspects the people out of distrust, the people will answer with distrust in return. The minds of all under Heaven are not entirely the same; yet if they dare not show differing responses, no one will be willing to act from a true heart. The harm of this is extreme; nothing is more serious than relying in every matter on one’s own clear-sighted scrutiny.

To lean on cunning brings lawsuits among people; to lean on force invites contention. If one’s cunning is not superior to that of others, yet one places oneself in the arena of litigation, one falls into difficulty. If one’s strength is not greater than that of others, yet one puts oneself amid contention, one’s situation becomes perilous. No one can keep others from turning their cunning and strength upon oneself. In this way, one person alone stands against the multitude, while the multitude, in their tens of thousands, come to deal with that one.

If one then multiplies the nets of law and makes punishments heavier, blocking the people’s ways of making a living and intruding upon the privacy of their lives, the myriad things lose their natural condition, and the people lose the capacity to earn a living and to act. Birds, startled, fly about in confusion in the sky; fish, alarmed, lose all composure in the water.

Therefore, when the sage governs all under Heaven, his mind is empty and still, and he does not cling to his own views. He makes the minds of all under Heaven plain and simple, without any preset preference for what to favor or what to reject. He does not deliberately look into things, and so the people have nothing they need to evade; he does not deliberately demand, and so the people have nothing they need to accommodate. With neither evasion nor accommodation, the people can all show their true feelings and sincere intentions.

People need not abandon what they know how to do in order to do what they do not know how to do, nor give up their strengths in order to do what they are not skilled at. In this way, those who speak speak of what they understand, and those who act do what they are able to do; the people each concentrate ear and eye and bring their particular strengths into play. What the sage does is nothing more than this: as one treats a child, he keeps them simple, pure, and natural.

The place where a person is born is also the place of death. “Three out of ten” means that three parts in ten belong to those who seek life with all their strength and carry the preservation of life to its furthest extreme, while another three parts belong to those who move toward death and push death to its furthest extreme. Yet the more the common people cherish life and strain desperately to survive, the further they enter a state in which no path of life remains. One who is truly skilled at preserving life does not treat the pursuit of survival as an obsession, and so has no place of falling into a dead end.

Among implements, none do people greater harm than weapons; among wild beasts, none are more dangerous than the si (a fierce beast of the rhinoceros kind) and the tiger. If weapons can be left with nowhere to bring their sharp edges to bear, and the tiger and the si with nowhere to extend claw and horn, that is truly to keep desire from entangling oneself. What place of inevitable death could such a person have?

The yuanshan (the name in ancient books for snakes and other creatures of the water) find the deep abyss not yet deep enough, and so dig burrows within it; eagles and the zhan (eagles, sparrowhawks, and similar birds of prey) find the high mountains not yet high enough, and so build nests upon them. Neither arrows can reach them nor nets catch them, and one may say they occupy a place where there is no road to death. Yet in the end they still fall into extremity, because they greedily take the bait. Is this not the result of pursuing survival to excess and coveting things outside themselves?

Thus, if the myriad things do not abandon their root by chasing after things, and do not alter their inherent nature through desire, then even if they enter a military formation they will not be wounded, and walking on land they will not suffer harm. The infant is worthy of emulation precisely because he is pure and trustworthy.

After the myriad things have appeared, they can accumulate and grow; once they have accumulated, form becomes manifest; and once they have form, they can come to completion. From what do the myriad things arise? By what do they accumulate and obtain De (Virtue/Power)? On what do they rely in order to take form? And by what are their various propensities brought about? Precisely because each of the myriad things has something on which it depends, there is nothing that cannot manifest form; precisely because each has its own propensity, there is nothing that cannot come to completion.

The arising of the myriad things and the accomplishment of affairs each have their own source. Whatever has a source ultimately derives from the Dao (the Way). If these sources are traced to their furthest point, one can thereby reach the Dao. Viewed according to the conditions on which each of the myriad things depends, they come to bear different names. The Dao is the root from which the myriad things arise; De is the endowment that the myriad things receive from the Dao. Because the myriad things obtain their endowment through the Dao, honoring the Dao is indispensable. To lose it is to suffer harm, and so one cannot fail to treasure it.

“Ting” means assessing and arranging the forms and categories of the myriad things; “du,” here, refers to bodily form and inherent quality; and “chengzhi” means causing each of the myriad things to form its own essential nature. Each of the myriad things receives shelter and does not injure itself. The Dao acts, yet does not take possession of the myriad things. Although the myriad things possess De, they do not know that the Dao is their master. The Dao becomes manifest from a place of dark profundity and remoteness, and so it is called “Xuande” (De that reaches far and is not outwardly displayed).

Chapter 52

To be good at the beginning is to be good at nurturing and accumulating. The world has a common root, and this may be called the mother of the world. The mother is the root, and the child is the tip. Knowing the root, one can understand the tip, and therefore one does not abandon the root to chase the tip.

“Dui” refers to the source from which desires and affairs arise; “men” refers to the passage through which desires and affairs enter and leave. If one maintains Wuwei (non-action), one can remain at ease for a long time, and so throughout life one is not worn by toil. If, instead, one does not block the source of affairs, but only busies oneself with handling what has already arisen, then even a lifetime of remedies can hardly set things right.

The efficacy of governing does not lie in grand display. To see what is grand is not necessarily to be clear-sighted; to discern what is subtle is true clarity. Clinging to hardness is not genuine strength; holding to softness can instead attain resilience. The great Dao is made plain in order to dispel the confusion of the people, not so that one may govern by harsh and minute scrutiny. Only this accords with the constant principle of the Dao.

Chapter 53

If I understood even a little of the principle and practiced the great Dao in the world, then what I would see, I fear, would be only contrivance and ostentation. Splendid clothing, a sharp sword at the side, abundant food and drink, and a surplus of wealth and goods—all these are scenes of robbers running rampant, not the great Dao. How imposing, and how lamentable! To act in this way does not accord with the Dao.

Someone like me, if possessed of even a little discernment and walking the great Dao (the Way) of the world, fears only purposeful action and reckless interference. The great Dao is broad and level, yet the common people still abandon it and will not walk it, preferring instead the crooked bypaths—how much more so when someone recklessly interferes and blocks the very middle of the great Dao? Hence it is said: “The great Dao is quite level, yet the people prefer the small paths.”

If a ruler attends only to building palaces and making the court excessively neat and splendid, the fields will fall to waste and grain will grow scarce. To act while clinging to one extreme brings many calamities. Whatever is obtained without following the correct Dao is deviant; and once it is deviant, it is as good as stolen. To vaunt oneself and obtain name and office without following the correct Dao is to usurp a post. These instances of what fails to accord with the correct Dao are therefore set forth in order to show that whatever does not accord with the correct Dao is akin to theft and predatory seizure.

Hold fast to the root and only then manage the branches, and the root will not be torn out. Do not covet what lies beyond one’s own capacity; rest secure in what one is able to accomplish, and one will not lose the root. When sons and grandsons transmit this Dao from generation to generation and employ it in sacrifice to the ancestors, the sacrifices will continue without cease.

Apply this Dao to one’s own person, and one can preserve what is genuine; apply it within the household, and the family estate will have a surplus. So long as the Dao of cultivation is not cast aside, the sphere in which it is practiced gradually widens; and so it is in other respects as well. To govern the people of the world by this Dao follows the same principle. By observing the hearts of the world’s people, one can thereby come to know the condition of the world. The principles by which the world moves, together with what is favorable or contrary, auspicious or baleful, are likewise of a piece with the principles by which an individual makes his way in life. This is the meaning of what was said above.

By what means do I understand the world? By observing my own person I can know the world; there is no need to seek outside. This is what is called “Without stepping beyond the doorway, one can understand the world.”

Like an infant, free of craving and desire and unwilling to offend external things, he is not stung by poisonous creatures. A person of profound De (Virtue/Power) does not contend with external things, and so nothing can damage his wholeness. Precisely because he is soft and yielding, he can hold fast completely and securely; because external things do no harm to him, he can preserve his life and endure for a long time. What is meant here is that a person of profound De does not let external things injure his own De or alter his original authenticity. Soft and uncontentious, one is not broken; the principle is always the same.

With no mind of rivalry or desire, one may cry out all day and the voice will still not grow hoarse. The myriad things take harmony as their constant condition, so one who understands harmony can grasp the constant Dao (the Way). Neither dazzlingly bright nor dimly obscure, neither warm nor cold—this is the constant condition. The constant Dao has no form and cannot be seen directly; one who understands it may be called wise. Life cannot have its span deliberately increased; forcing it to be prolonged will instead bring an early end. The mind should remain empty, still, and Wuwei (non-action); if one deliberately drives Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), one becomes strained and rigidly forceful.

Chapter 56

Accord with what is natural, and do not deliberately stir up affairs. Preserve simplicity and remove the roots of contention. If nothing is deliberately exalted, the myriad things will not incline toward rivalry; if nothing is deliberately belittled, the myriad things will not incline toward shame. What can draw people close may also set them apart; what can bring benefit may also cause harm; what is regarded as noble may also be treated as base. In this way, nothing can set itself above the myriad things.

Chapter 57

Governing the state by the Dao (the Way) keeps the state stable; governing it by strict and rigid laws instead provokes military turmoil; when administration is tranquil and affairs are few, one can gain the world. The previous chapter says that one who wishes to gain the world should ordinarily govern through Wuwei (non-action) and few affairs; once edicts multiply and affairs grow tangled, one is no longer able to gain the world.

Therefore, governing the state by strict laws cannot secure the world, whereas the use of cunning and unorthodox strategies in warfare is another matter. To govern by the Dao is to honor the root and still the disturbances of peripheral matters; to govern by laws is to set prohibitions and suppress problems on the surface. If the root has not been established, peripheral problems are hard to manage; the people have nothing to follow, and in the end one resorts to cunning military methods.

What are called “sharp instruments” refer broadly to means advantageous to the ruler. When the people grow powerful, the state instead weakens; when the people become clever and ingenious, craft, deceit, and hypocrisy arise; once craft, deceit, and hypocrisy appear, deviant practices spring up with them. The ruler establishes laws, intending to quell wickedness, yet ends by deploying unorthodox troops; multiplies taboos, intending to make the people ashamed of poverty, yet the people grow poorer still; employs every advantageous means, intending to strengthen the state, yet the state grows more muddled, disordered, and weak. All these outcomes come from abandoning the root and treating only surface problems.

Whatever the ruler desires, the people tend to pursue in turn. Therefore, what I seek is only to be without desire, and the people too will be without desire and return to plain simplicity. These four points are all ways of honoring the root and stilling the disturbances of peripheral matters.

Those skilled at governing a state do not deliberately display their own names and titles, do not stir up extra affairs, and do not set their decrees and measures out in the open. They govern instead in a generous, deep, and quiet way, and in the end bring the world to great order. Hence it is said that “government is generous.” The people have no mind for contention and rivalry; they are plain and sincere. Hence it is said that “the people are simple and honest.”

If one establishes penal names and makes rewards and punishments strict and clear so as to restrain treachery, wickedness, and hypocrisy, government comes to seem harsh and probing, and the people, because of distinctions and divisions, give rise to a competitive spirit, each falling short of the other. Hence it is said: “When government is harsh and probing, the people are wanting.”

Who understands the highest realm of good government? It is this: there are no decrees or measures that need to be deliberately advertised, nor does one rely on all manner of names and categories to constrain the world; rather, in a generous, deep, and quiet way, one lets the myriad things transform and nurture themselves of their own accord. This is the utmost of governance.

Governing the state by ordinary methods may instead turn into using troops by cunning and extraordinary means; hence it is said that “the straight Dao (the Way) turns into clever artifice.” Setting clear standards of good and evil in order to harmonize the myriad things may instead invite strange portents and misfortunes. This is to say that people have been confused and have lost the Dao for a very long time, and that one cannot at once demand of them according to rigid standards of good government. One should accord with the actual circumstances of things and guide their transformation, so that the deviant and perverse gradually recede, rather than forcibly cutting and trimming the myriad things with rules. This is “the great square has no corners”: true great squareness has no edges or corners.

“Lian” means incorruptible purity, and “gui” means harm. Guiding the people by purity, one leads them to cast off what is foul, yet does not let the name of purity injure things. This is “great straightness seems bent”: true great uprightness looks, on the contrary, as though it were somewhat curved. Using brightness to illuminate the reasons people have lost their way, one does not use that brightness to search out hidden places. This is “the bright Dao seems dim”: one who truly understands the great Dao appears, on the contrary, not to show a cutting edge. All these practices honor the root and quiet the branches; without relying on forceful attack, they bring the myriad things back to the proper Dao.

Nothing is better than being frugal as a farmer is. In tending the fields, a farmer always clears away weeds and whatever does not belong, so that the land is brought back into order. At the same time he follows the pattern by which all things naturally grow: he does not rush them on, nor does he leave them to run wild, but removes whatever causes barrenness and harms the crops. To receive the mandate of Heaven above and to settle the people below—there is no better way than this.

“Early adherence” means following the constant Dao (the Way). Only by prizing the steady accumulation of De (Virtue/Power), and not pressing for quick success, can one be said to practice “early adherence”; for this reason “early adherence” is also called “valuing De.” The Dao is inexhaustible. If one governs the state by limited methods, one cannot truly keep hold of it. The root by which a state is made secure is like the root of a tree. To value the accumulation of De is to give one’s whole attention to nurturing that root; only afterward, in ordering the branches and lesser matters, can one gain the efficacy of De and come to a good end.

Chapter 60

In governing a state one should add no disturbance. Restlessness readily brings harm; only quiet can preserve the original nature of things. Thus the greater the state, the more the ruler should remain quiet, for only so can he broadly win the hearts of the people.

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish: one must not keep turning it and fussing over it. When the world is governed by the Dao, ghosts and spirits can no longer stir up trouble. That “ghosts and spirits do not display their power or work mischief” is because all things are able to follow their own natural course. When each thing keeps to its own nature, ghosts and spirits have no way to intervene; and when ghosts and spirits exert no influence, people no longer feel that there is anything numinous about them.

When this principle prevails, ghosts and spirits do not harm people; and because ghosts and spirits do not harm people, people do not regard them as numinous. In the same way, the sage does not harm people; and because the sage does not harm people, people do not regard the sage as in any way extraordinary. That is to say, people find neither ghosts and spirits nor the sage numinous. To drive all things by means of intimidating power and the net of the law shows that governance has already declined. To bring it about that people find nothing numinous in either ghosts and spirits or the sage is the utmost of the Dao. Ghosts and spirits do not injure people, and the sage does not injure people; since neither ghosts and spirits nor the sage injure people, the two are said not to injure one another. Ghosts and spirits and the sage alike accord with the Dao, and in the end return to the Dao.

Rivers and seas lie where the many waters gather, yet they are content to dwell in low places; therefore the hundred streams all flow toward them. A great state is the same: though its standing is lofty, it is able to treat others with humility, and the world will then give it allegiance. Thus it is said that a great state is like the lower reaches of the rivers, the place where the people of the world converge and turn. It is quiet and does not press for what it seeks, and the multitude naturally turns toward it. Because it is quiet, it is able to be humble; this is like the female, who often overcomes the male’s restlessness by means of quietness. A great state that is both quiet and humble therefore receives the allegiance of the multitude.

What is called “the great state placing itself below” means that the great state treats small states with an attitude of humility. The small states therefore attach themselves to it, and the great state receives them. Only by maintaining humility can each party realize its own wishes. The humility of a small state can at most preserve that state itself; it cannot bring the world to give allegiance. Only when a great state is humble will the world turn toward it. Therefore, when each party can obtain the result it desires, the state of lofty standing ought all the more to be humble.

“Ao” means deep and secluded, warm, and able to shelter people; “bao,” as treasure, means taking the Dao (the Way) as a precious thing and putting it to use, while “bao,” as preservation, means keeping safe and intact. What is said here is that the Dao is present everywhere, and that nothing is more precious than the Dao. Even treasures, fine jade, and fine horses cannot compare with the Dao. Beautiful words can surpass the value of abundant goods and wealth; hence it is said, “Fine words can be exchanged for goods and wealth.” When one honors the Dao and practices the Dao, people from afar will also respond; hence it is said, “One can obtain the recognition of others.” Those who are not good ought also to hold fast to the Dao, so as to avoid banishment or calamity.

This is to say that the Dao is worthy of being honored and practiced. The ancients established the Son of Heaven and appointed the Three Dukes (high officials who assisted the Son of Heaven), respecting their positions and valuing their persons, precisely in order to put the Dao into practice. Nothing in the world is more precious than the Dao; therefore, even if someone comes offering fine jade held in the hands and driving a team of four horses, this is not as good as sitting calmly and presenting the Dao. If, in seeking, one acts in accordance with the Dao, one can obtain something; if one wishes to be spared calamity, acting in accordance with the Dao can likewise bring preservation. There is nowhere the Dao cannot be carried out, and so it is what the world prizes most.

To take “Wuwei” (non-action)—conforming to the natural course and not acting arbitrarily—as one’s way of conducting oneself in the world, to take “not speaking” as the means of instruction, and to take tranquil simplicity as the savor of life: this is the highest realm that governance attains.

A minor grievance is not sufficient reason for retaliation; a major grievance is what everyone under Heaven wishes to punish. Only by conforming to principles jointly recognized by all under Heaven does one realize De (Virtue/Power). Even with a sage’s ability, one still dare not treat lightly the handling of what is subtle and easy—how much less should one whose ability falls short of the sage’s wish to regard such matters as simple? Hence it is said that handling them remains difficult.

Chapter 64

When affairs are stable, one still does not forget danger; when affairs have not yet taken shape, one plans how to deal with them beforehand—and so they are said to be easy. Even when something passes from non-being into being, because it remains at a subtle and fragile stage, it is not yet enough to cause great harm—and so it is said to be easy. These four points all concern treating the outcome of affairs with caution. One must not withhold support merely because no problem has yet appeared, nor allow a problem to develop merely because it is small. If what has not yet taken form is left unguarded, it will become actual; if subtle problems are not dispersed in time, they will grow and expand. Therefore, if one considers in advance the problems that may arise at the end, just as one takes seriously the troubles present at the very beginning, one will not spoil the undertaking.

What is called “stability” means that danger has not yet become apparent; what is called “subtle and fragile” means that the problem is still small and weak. One should handle the outcome of affairs with caution and remove subtle problems, and handle what is subtle with caution so as to prevent disorder. If one relies solely on contrived governance and clings to titles, social roles, and legal institutions, one will instead give rise to further trouble; the more ingenious expedients and extreme measures there are, the more readily they lead to failure. This is precisely a failure to handle the outcome of affairs with caution.

Even a slight craving will provoke contention; even a small store of rare goods will cause the impoverished and thieves to arise on account of it. What can be accomplished without study is conformity to the natural course; to take study as clear discernment may instead lead one too far. One should therefore study “not studying,” help the multitude return to the natural state, and correct their excessive action.

Chapter 65

To display cleverness and ingenuity, and to practice schemes and deceit, is to obscure the plain and simple nature of human beings. What is called “foolishness” is not confusion or dullness; it is refraining from showing off knowledge, holding fast to genuine simplicity, and according with the natural course of things. When people abound in clever tricks and deceit, they become difficult to govern.

To govern a state by clever techniques instead becomes a calamity for the state; the “cleverness” spoken of here refers precisely to this manner of governing. The people are hard to govern because those who rule them have resorted to too much calculation and artifice. One ought to block the channels through which desire and clever contrivance arise, so that people are not pulled along by knowledge and desire. If one drives the people with political tricks and stirs up their wayward impulses, and then uses cunning methods to guard against their falsity, once the people see through these devices they will find ways to evade them, and will go on to devise methods still more hidden and ingenious. Deceit and hypocrisy will only multiply. Hence it is said that governing a state by clever techniques is a calamity for the state.

Ji means to come together, to accord. The standard jointly followed in ancient and modern times cannot be cast aside. To recognize this standard and abide by it is called xuande (profound De: a virtue deep, far-reaching, and subtly hidden). Xuande is deep and enduring because it leads people back to genuine simplicity.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

If a thing long continues to shrink and decline, it loses the vast form it originally possessed. Hence it is said: if over a long time it tends toward likeness to others and toward minuteness, it will lose its greatness.

When compassionate care is used to lead the many, victory can be won; when it is used to hold one’s ground, the defense can be made secure. Through frugality and care for material goods, the world will not fall into want, and one is therefore able to bestow kindness widely. Only by placing oneself behind and regarding oneself lightly can one become the one to whom the multitude turns; and only when the multitude has turned to one can one establish achievements, become a beneficial instrument for the world, and become the chief of the myriad things. Qie means to take or to seek. When people cherish one another, they do not shrink from hardship when they meet it, and for this reason they are able to prevail.

Chapter Sixty-Eight

One who commands soldiers should not exalt martial force or rush ahead to overpower others. One should remain behind and not contend to be first, responding rather than taking the initiative to provoke. Thus one does not act out of anger, nor contend with others. If one makes use of others yet is unwilling to place oneself beneath them, their strength will not be available for one’s use.

One treats yielding humility and loving-kindness as precious qualities, and dares not push ahead of the myriad things. In the use of arms, one is as if there were no ranks to deploy, no arm to raise, no weapon to grasp, and no opponent to face, and one does not contend with others. This is said because I hold compassion and loving-kindness in my heart and yield in every situation; it is not that I wish thereby to become a person whom none under Heaven can match. Only when there is no alternative does one at last reach a state in which no one can stand against one. This is precisely what I regard as the greatest calamity. What are called the “Three Treasures” means cherishing these three qualities; hence it is said, “I am all but about to lose my treasures.” Here kang means to raise or to put forward, and ruo means to meet or to face. Those who hold compassion cherish one another; they do not rush to contend for advantage, nor do they shrink from misfortune, and therefore they are able to prevail.

Chapter 70

Without leaving one’s house or looking out the window, one can still understand all under Heaven; hence it is said that “the principle is easy to understand.” Without reckless action, affairs accomplish themselves of their own accord; hence it is said that “the principle is easy to practice.” People are confused by impatience and desire, and so no one can truly understand the Dao (the Way). People prize glory and profit, and so no one can act in accordance with the Dao.

The Dao is the root of the myriad things and also the master of all affairs. Because what the Dao says has a root, and what the Dao does has a master, those who truly possess insight cannot fail to understand it. The principle is profound and far-reaching, and therefore few understand it. The fewer those who understand me, the more precious I appear. The sage wears coarse cloth and is one with the dust of ordinary life, yet within the heart holds a fine jade and treasures the true nature. The reason the sage is hard for others to understand is that outwardly there is no difference from the dusty world, while inwardly there is never any change.

Chapter 71

Being hard for others to understand, one therefore appears precious. Not knowing that there is something one does not know, yet supposing that one knows—this is a defect.

Chapter 72

Clarity, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action) may be called the way of dwelling in peace; yielding, stepping back, and not being self-satisfied may be called the way of establishing oneself. If one departs from clarity and stillness and lets impatience and desire take control, and if one abandons yielding and stepping back and relies on power and position, then the myriad things will be thrown into disorder and the people will be oppressed. When awe and authority are unequal to the heavy charge they must bear, that itself is a kind of defect.

Clarity and stillness, together with Wuwei (non-action), are called “abiding,” and humility free of self-satisfaction is called “living.” If one leaves clarity and stillness and turns instead to chasing agitation and desire, and if one abandons humility to rely on formidable power and authority, one will throw the myriad things into disorder and drive the people into perversity. When the ruler’s formidable power cannot subdue the people, and the people cannot endure that power, those above and those below fall into great chaos, and Heaven’s punishment will arrive as well. Hence it is said: “When the people do not fear formidable power, a still greater formidable power is about to come.”

Do not slight the root in which one abides securely, nor reject the root by which one lives. This is to say that one must not rely on might at will. Only by not rejecting oneself can one bring it about that no one in the world rejects oneself. Do not display one’s own insight so as to flaunt brilliance and exercise formidable power. To exalt oneself invites being slighted, and in the end one’s abiding grows unsettled and one’s living is impaired.

Chapter 73

To flaunt strength and delight in bravery is sure to make a good end hard to reach. Even when the bravery is the same, different ways of acting lead to different results, and the benefits gained and the harms suffered are not the same. Hence it is said that both benefit and harm are enough to bewilder people. Who can know the intent of Heaven? Probably only the sage can. Even the sage’s clear discernment finds brave action no easy thing—how much less one who lacks such discernment yet wishes to act rashly? Hence it is said that this is truly difficult.

It is precisely because one does not contend that no one in the world can contend with one. To follow Heaven’s Dao (the Way) is auspicious; to go against the Dao of Heaven is inauspicious. Even without many words, a good response is still obtained. When one remains in a low position, the myriad things naturally come and give their allegiance. The signs of Heaven display good and ill fortune. People should prepare and keep faith before events occur, not forget danger even in times of peace, and lay plans before disaster has shown any sign. Therefore it is said: unhurried and at ease, yet skilled in planning.

Chapter 74

Crafty, bizarre conduct that disturbs the community is called “the strange.” It arouses the disgust and anger of those whose actions run counter to constant principle. Those who are not humane are hated by the many. Therefore the scripture (Jing) says that the world always has a power charged with killing.

Chapter 76

To cow the world by violence with a strong army is loathed by the myriad things, and so one is certain not to prevail. Here “the root” means the root of a tree; the branches are the parts that the tree sends forth from that root.

Only by according with the De (Virtue/Power) of Heaven and Earth can one embrace the myriad things as the Dao (the Way) of Heaven does. If one proceeds merely from personal capacity, each person holds a standpoint of his own, and they cannot balance one another. Only by forgetting the self, harboring no private interest, and following the natural course can one unite in De with Heaven and Earth. Who can dwell in fullness and yet remain humble, lessen what is in excess so as to supply what is insufficient, draw in the sharp edge and mingle with the dust of ordinary life, and thereby bring the myriad things to peace and balance? Only one who possesses the Dao. The sage therefore does not deliberately display his own worth and ability, and in this way leads the world toward balance.

Chapter 78

“Use” refers to its function. Here it refers to water: water is soft and yielding and does not contend, and nothing can take the place of its function.

Chapter 79

If one does not understand the principles of affairs and does not handle the contract properly, then once great resentment has already arisen, even if one afterward seeks to reconcile it through De, the harm that has been done cannot be fully repaired, and so resentment will still remain. The “left tally” refers to the contract voucher; commentators use it to explain how the causes of resentment are prevented. A person of De reflects on the contract and on his own responsibility, and does not wait until resentment has arisen before blaming others; he ascertains where the fault in the matter lies.

Chapter 80

If even a state that is small and sparsely populated can lead its people back to a plain and ancient way of life, how much more a great state with a numerous population? That is why the text takes the small state as its example. Even if the people possess all kinds of implements, they need not feel compelled to use them—why, then, worry that the means of life will fall short? Let the people not be driven by implements; let them value only themselves and not covet wealth and goods, each dwelling in contentment, cherishing life rather than moving to distant places. Because they have no excessive desires, they have no need to go seeking in all directions.

Chapter 81

What is genuine lies in plainness, what is fundamental lies in pure simplicity, and what is ultimate lies in guarding the One. The sage is without selfish intent, yet is able to give; he simply bestows what is good upon others and accords with the myriad things. Therefore the myriad things honor him and turn toward him. His actions always bring the myriad things to grow and flourish, accord with the benefit of what is natural, and keep the myriad things from harming one another.