《老子指归》Vol. 2

They conceal themselves deeply and do not seek to control external things, wandering at ease in the boundless realm. They cast aside their own desires and take in what Heaven wishes to receive. Amid the profusion of things, each attends only to what lies within earshot and sight. The ruler governs through Wuwei (non-action), his expression calm and composed. Heaven and Earth are like a furnace; the Qi of great harmony is like the bellows; the spirits are like the wind that drives them; and the myriad things are like metal to be worked. De is the master craftsman, and the Dao is the art of making. Thus all things under Heaven brim with vitality, and none goes unnourished.

Therefore, the ruler can shape the people’s dispositions and transform the customs of the age. Above, he encompasses all; below, he brings all things to completion, handling every matter with just measure. He moves all living beings and stirs the eight directions. The world stretches wide, and people no longer cling to distinctions between beauty and ugliness. The subtle, mysterious workings do not reveal their traces, yet patterns of order arise naturally.

On Birth and Death

People move from birth toward death. Of every ten, three belong to the long-lived, three die young, and another three could have lived but, through reckless action, head toward death. Why is this? Because they pursue the preservation of life too avidly and pamper the body excessively. I have heard that those skilled at preserving life walk on land without avoiding rhinoceroses or tigers, and enter battle without donning armor. Rhinoceroses cannot gore them, tigers cannot claw them, and weapons cannot wound them. Why? Because they do not place themselves in situations that bring death.

The wondrous power of the Dao and De, together with pure and turbid Qi and the Qi of Great Harmony, blends as one to become the substance of all things. From it, all things receive their form. The vital Qi on which form depends surges forth in abundance, yet its shape cannot be seen and its name cannot be known; therefore it is called “life.” This existence called life belongs to neither Yin nor Yang. It cannot be calculated or measured. “Profound and subtle” is not enough to describe it, and “mysterious and wondrous” cannot name it. It glimmers and shimmers, elusive and indistinct, without fixed form or sound. Lacking shape and appearance, it is not bound by any fixed direction in movement or stillness. It moves through the realm of emptiness and stillness, and dwells in what has neither form nor being. With it, life endures; without it, life perishes.

“Life” is the name given to this existence. It glimmers and shimmers, elusive and indistinct, without fixed form or sound. Lacking shape and appearance, it is not bound by any fixed direction in movement or stillness. It moves through the realm of emptiness and stillness, and dwells in what has neither form nor being. With it, life endures; without it, life perishes.

Life resides within the body: Shen (spirit) is its root, Jing (essence) its foundation, and Ying and Shuang—the refined Qi that sustains the activities of body and mind—its dwelling place. The Nine Apertures (the two eyes, two ears, two nostrils, mouth, and the front and rear openings) are its gates. Intelligence is its dispatched messenger; feelings and intentions are the carriage it rides. The hun and po souls attend it, while blood and Qi are like its troops. When life advances, it moves in accord with the Dao; when it withdraws, it gathers and unfolds in accord with De. It moves gently, rests in emptiness, and harmonizes its bending, stretching, bowing, and raising with the seasons.

To take death lightly is to turn away from life; to crave life is also to make an enemy of it. If life is not treated as a tool for gain, it will not depart; if it is deliberately put to use, it becomes difficult to keep. Thus Wuwei (non-action) is the dwelling place of life, while action is the dwelling place that leads to death.

When standing, forget the self; when sitting, forget the thoughts of the mind. Be plain and pure like an infant, tranquil and unimpeded as though without form. Do not look or listen; do not act deliberately or speak at length. Follow the waxing and waning of change, with neither movement nor stillness bound to convention. Act with the Dao’s ebb and flow, rise and fall with the changes of De, unite with the spirits, and bend and stretch in accord with harmonious Qi. Do not look down on things, or esteem people’s status. Have no part in the interests pursued by princes and nobles, or the troubles that weigh on living beings. Regard life and death as one, making no distinction between living and dying. This is the Wuwei (non-action) way of cultivating oneself.

In spring, things sprout; in summer, they grow; in autumn, they are harvested; in winter, they are stored away. This is the rule followed by those who direct affairs, in accord with Heaven’s design. Within, cherish your parents; outwardly, abandon the pursuit of fame and profit. Do not deliberate deliberately, compete with others, or make demands. Come and go alone, at ease in body and mind. Leave deference to others, and do not contend with the times for supremacy. This is the Wuwei way of governing a household.

Honor Heaven and Earth, and dare not forget your ancestors. Cultivate yourself and set standards in order; set aside personal preconceptions and entrust matters to others. Examine the facts and establish proper distinctions. Follow things as they are, bringing the spirit to peace. Take account of all sides, joining what comes before with what follows. Act in season and according to reason, adapting with care to the fitting state of things. All things grow and change together, and in the end return to nature. This is the Wuwei way of governing a state.

Wear “nonbeing” as a cap and “formlessness” as a robe; embrace emptiness and tread upon Great Clarity, the Daoist realm of pure emptiness. Carry Dao and De, with the spirits at your side; uphold the Qi of Great Harmony and harness Heaven and Earth. Set Yin-Yang in motion, turn the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water), follow all things, and travel through the deep and mysterious realms. Wander where no achievements are sought, and return to a realm where no fame is pursued. This is the Wuwei way of governing the world.

Clinging to life and praying for longevity, fearing that one’s wish may go unfulfilled; forcefully gathering the mind and closing off the eyes and ears; practicing daoyin exercises and walking, moving every joint in the body; expelling old Qi and drawing in new, blowing, exhaling, and inhaling—these, too, are said to be the Wuwei way of governing the world.

Clinging to life and recklessly seeking longevity, fearing that one might fail to attain it; forcibly gathering the mind and spirit, shutting the ears and eyes; practicing daoyin exercises and stepping routines, moving all the joints; exhaling turbid Qi and inhaling fresh Qi, directing the breath and circulating Qi; wearing garments that symbolize the Five Stars and drinking in the essence of the sun and moon; engaging body and spirit together without ever resting—these are ways of nourishing the body through deliberate effort.

Ignoring the changes of the seasons and relying solely on human arrangements; looking down on the powerful while stubbornly seeking status; straining after wealth in times of poverty; constantly dwelling on fame and authority; living extravagantly in food and clothing and doing more than is needed—these are ways of managing a household through deliberate effort.

Expanding territory and annexing lands, taking war lightly and delighting in military campaigns; establishing prestige and making laws to magnify one’s reputation and power; imposing harsh punishments and enforcing the law severely; weaving a tight legal net and using ruthless methods with little mercy—these cause the feudal lords to fear and dread the ruler. The ruler often considers himself powerful and exceptional: one who holds the title of duke seeks to become a hegemon, and once a hegemon, seeks to become king. These are ways of governing a state through deliberate effort.

Esteeming filial piety and fraternal duty, making benevolence and righteousness the foundation, practicing ritual propriety, and teaching the people to refine their appearance; attending to the color, fragrance, and flavor of food to gratify the people; playing bells, drums, zithers, and lutes to harmonize their minds—these are ways of governing the people through deliberate effort. The ruler gives orders and the ministers obey; the ruler acts and the ministers follow. Achievements are praised and conduct encouraged, while generous favors are used to guide the people. Commands and reputation lead the people to draw near and submit. The ruler personally manages everything, while people from all quarters come to pay homage and look up to him. These are ways of governing all under Heaven through deliberate effort.

Thus, emptiness, nonbeing, clarity, stillness, subtlety, fewness, softness, weakness, lowliness, reduction, timeliness, harmony, and frugality—these thirteen are ways of following the course of life. Fullness, being, turbidity, agitation, conspicuousness, multitude, hardness, strength, highness, excess, overstepping, indulgence, and waste—these thirteen lead toward decline. Why is this so? The sage acts in accordance with the conditions of things, and in stillness can respond to changes in the world around him. The four limbs and nine apertures are visible conditions of life and death that belong to the body’s exterior. Changes between emptiness and fullness, hardness and softness, are inner patterns that govern life and death. This is why the number “thirteen” is used here to sum up these principles concerning life and death.

Emptiness can generate fullness, and nonbeing can sustain things for a long time. When the mind is clear, hearing becomes discerning and understanding opens; when the heart is still, one can see how things truly are. What is subtle can become manifest; little can give rise to much; softness can give rise to strength; weakness can give rise to firmness. From a low position one can rise to a high one; loss can bring gain. By following the times, one can make one’s way through; by bringing things into harmony, one can remain centered; by being frugal, one will have something left over. This is called “nourishing life”: a way of living that benefits life. Those able to practice this Way accord with Heaven and Earth. Applied to self-cultivation, it can endure; applied to governing a state, it can last. Even if one wishes to go against it, the patterns of creation and transformation will not comply.

Fullness turns into emptiness; being turns toward extinction. Turbidity dulls the hearing, and turmoil clouds the mind. What is conspicuous turns subtle; much turns into little; strength turns into weakness. Great power invites decline, high rank brings lowliness, and fullness invites loss. Excess leads to obstruction; too much ease brings hardship; excessive spending invites misfortune. These are all inauspicious conditions. Anyone who follows this contrary path will eventually find their actions leading to difficulty. Applied to self-cultivation, it cannot endure; applied to governing a state, it cannot bring stability. Even if one wishes to avoid such an outcome, the patterns of Heaven and Earth will not comply.

Yet everyone has life and keeps seeking to increase it; everyone has a self and clings to cherishing it. So, in their actions they are always trying to make things happen, while their intellect and schemes continually arise. They abandon emptiness and stillness in pursuit of fullness, leave nonbeing to attach themselves to being, turn from clarity and enter turbidity, forsake quietude and create turmoil. They make what is subtle conspicuous and turn little into much; they leave gentleness for forcefulness, give up weakness in pursuit of strength, and abandon lowliness to reach for high rank. They reject loss and seek fullness, indulge their desires and invite wrongdoing, turn from harmony in pursuit of excess, and try to accomplish everything through action, while casting aside frugality and spending without restraint. Why is this? Because people value themselves too highly and forget the fundamental principles of nourishing life.

Thus, those who understand the Way of nourishing life have minds that are free and expansive, standing apart from the entanglements of the world. They are not bound by customs or burdened by worldly affairs. They let the body rest in a state of nonattachment, while the spirit roams through a realm without bounds or limits. They are also frugal in their use of resources and do not spend recklessly. Why is this? Because they know the fundamental principles of nourishing life deeply; they do not simply value themselves and then forget what they know.

Those who understand how to preserve life are open-minded and detached from worldly concerns, traveling alone and far. They are not constrained by conventional rules or burdened by the world. They let their bodies merge with the boundless and their spirits roam in the realm beyond limits. They do not regard life as a benefit or death as a calamity. They treat all things alike, great or small, as they would themselves, without aversion or preference. Their spirits are vigorous, and good fortune and De gather around them. The Dao governs them within, and its radiance appears outwardly. They can sense and respond to the changes of nature, so nothing under Heaven can thwart them.

Walking on land, they cannot be harmed by rhinoceroses or tigers; entering the ranks of an army, they cannot be harmed by weapons of war. This is not because they possess something that can overcome weapons, nor because they can be thrown about without being controlled. Rather, they are attuned to the spirit and Qi of all things, and the impulse to harm them has already faded away. Why is this so? Sound and echo answer one another; things naturally gravitate toward their kind. Rhinoceroses and tigers do not attack what has no form, and weapons do not strike what has no substance. Those who understand how to preserve life harbor no intention of harming any thing; outwardly, there is therefore no trace of injury or death.

The Chapter on the Dao’s Giving Birth

The Dao gives birth to all things, and De nurtures them. Each thing takes on its own form, while its surroundings and conditions bring it to maturity and completion. Thus all things honor the Dao and cherish De. The Dao is honored and De is prized not because anyone has bestowed titles or ranks upon them, but because they are naturally so of themselves.

The Dao gives birth to all things, and De nurtures them, helping them grow, develop, mature, and reach completion, then nourishing and sheltering them. The Dao and De enable all things to grow without possessing them; they act without relying on their accomplishments, and help things flourish without ruling over them. This is called “profound De,” the far-reaching and natural power of virtue.

The wisdom of the sage is neither acquired from the world above nor born from the earth below. It resides within oneself and is also present in all things. By following the patterns of nature, nothing is beyond reach; by acting in accord with the forms and changes of things, nothing is depleted. Thus, the Dao takes emptiness as its foundation, and De puts non-action to use, without losing its original nature. Heaven is high and Earth is low, each in its proper place, and neither departs from its own order. Why? Because the sage recognizes the principle of the formless through formed things, and understands all things through people. All things arise from nonbeing into being, and take shape from emptiness into substance. The sage sees great changes in what is subtle and infers the end from the beginning.

This does not depend on contrived skill, but on following nature. By following nature’s principles, the sage can accord with the Way of Heaven. To understand the Dao is to know that nothing cannot be borne within the vast, empty expanse of Great Void. To understand De is to know that nothing cannot be given through the utmost formlessness and non-action. Through Wuwei (non-action), the Dao allows all things to belong to their own kinds, without claiming to stand above them. Through freedom from contrivance, De brings all things to take their own forms, without displaying its actions. In this way, Dao and De can nurture people’s nature and life, regulate their feelings and intentions, shape their aspirations and desires, and transform the myriad affairs of the world.

What are nature, destiny, emotion, intention, will, and desire?

Taking shape from what is received from the Dao (the Way), things come to belong to different kinds. Human beings and all things differ as male and female, sage and foolish, wise and ignorant, brave and timid, large and small, long and short, benevolent and honest or greedy and cruel, strong and weak, light and heavy. They also differ in sound, color, form, appearance, refinement, and coarseness. These differences are called “nature.”

What is received from De (Virtue/Power)—wealth and rank or poverty and low status, early death or long life, hardship or joy, and circumstances that prove favorable or unfavorable—is called “heavenly destiny.” The favorable or adverse turns, rise and decline that come with encounters with rulers and fathers, or with changes in Heaven and Earth, and that affect one’s survival or destruction, are called “encountered destiny.” In the midst of the myriad things, one acts by taking or setting aside, accepting or rejecting, going forward or withdrawing; good or ill fortune then follows. This is called “responsive destiny.”

Acting in accordance with one’s nature, coming into contact with external things and being moved by them, one gives rise to love and aversion, liking and dislike, alarm and fear, joy and anger, sorrow and delight, worry and resentment, as well as decisions to advance or retreat, accept or reject. These are called “emotions.” Acting according to the circumstances of one’s destiny, one forms thoughts and plans, judges safety and danger, manages all kinds of affairs, distinguishes right from wrong, and separates what is alike from what is different. This is called “intention.”

When emotions and intentions arise and express themselves outwardly, connecting with external things and repeatedly developing preferences, they bring about good fortune or calamity and contribute to one’s work and reputation. This is called “will.” Following one’s nature and destiny, gratifying emotions and intentions, and being drawn along by all kinds of things and entangled in countless affairs, one’s inner knots grow ever tighter and harder to undo. This is called “desire.”

These six categories of things all arise from Dao and De, and their transformations are myriad and without end. Only those who have heard of and understood Dao and De can follow their patterns. Those endowed with refined nature and far-reaching destiny can transform and change; those with coarse nature and limited destiny can also have something diminished or increased. As long as they grasp the root, they will not be trapped between being and nonbeing.

Thus Heaven and Earth, people and things, and all beings that contain mind and spirit and enclose an inner core come into being by attaining the Dao. Yet the Dao does not claim ownership of their De. All things take hold of the One—the root of wholeness and unity—and thereby take form, but the One demands no reward from them. All things honor and cherish the Dao, draw near to it, and depend on it, yet none can grasp or possess its De. Why is this? Because the Dao is lofty and De is vast, so profound that they are hard to describe. Material wealth cannot make them more abundant, and noble rank cannot make them more exalted. Through Wuwei (non-action), the Dao brings all things to completion without treating them as tools. It is not compelled by any force; the nature of all things has always followed its own course.

As an existent, the Dao (the Way) has no gate to be found by seeking, no entrance to be found by observing. It has no substance to be touched and no fixed form to be traced. The human mind cannot fully fathom it, and language cannot express it completely.

All things are born through the Dao, yet the Dao is not diminished. All things return to the Dao, yet the Dao is not increased. The Dao extends without end above and below, vast and boundless. Its waxing and waning, fullness and decline, cannot be measured or reckoned. It moves through what is as fine as an autumn hair without seeming narrow, and contains countless heavens and earths without seeming vast. The splendor of blue and purple does not alter its nature; dwelling amid darkness and decay does not alter it either.

The Dao moves through and transforms all things without favoring any of them. It gives each thing its own nature and life, bringing everything to fulfillment. Its Virtue (De) flows through all things, yet cannot be drawn back; its grace and nourishment reach everywhere, yet cannot be gathered in. It satisfies all things under Heaven without being depleted and brings all endeavors to success without being exhausted.

What does the Dao do for things—merely bring them into being? It gives them form, orders and brings about their formation, sorts them into kinds and lets each grow, then settles them and brings them to completion. It gives things beginnings and endings, what comes before and what comes after. The Dao is both behind all things, bringing them to completion, and before all things. Through it, the spirits find their dwelling, and Great Harmony—the state of harmonious interpenetration—is preserved. Clear Qi (vital energy) gathers above, while turbid Qi condenses below. Thus Heaven becomes round and Earth square; Yin becomes Yin and Yang becomes Yang. The sun and moon shine, and the stars move; the seasons change, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) restrain one another. Through it, fire is hot and water cold; plants are supple and metals and stones hard. Flavors are sweet or bitter, colors black or yellow, and sounds high or low; things change by extending lengthwise or crosswise. Mountains and hills stand still, while wind and rain move. Scaled creatures swim, feathered creatures fly, beasts run, and human beings possess intelligence and skill.

All things, though different in kind and diverse in their groups, exist through the Dao. Things that turn away from the Dao and oppose one another also perish through it. The countless heavens and earths differ in form; their waters and soils are unlike; their customs conflict, their benefits and harms vary, their appearances differ greatly, and their thoughts and wishes do not accord. None of this can be fully encompassed by Yin-Yang or fully illuminated by the sun and moon. Yet all things begin through the Dao, and all come to an end through it.

When people open their mouths and eyes, bend, stretch, or turn their bodies; in every bow and rise, every breath; wherever the spirit reaches and the mind dwells; wherever affection is bestowed, and in the acts of mating and reproduction—all are guided by the Dao, and nothing comes about without it. The Dao grows and nourishes all things, yet does not claim them as its own. It acts, yet asks nothing of them; it nurtures them, yet does not possess them. People under Heaven are bewildered by this, and no one truly understands.

Someone asked: “Dao and De are the divine spirits of Heaven and Earth, while Heaven and Earth are the forms in which Dao and De appear. How can this be demonstrated?” Dao and De encompass all of Heaven and Earth.

Zhuangzi said: “Heaven and Earth have concrete forms, but Dao and De have no shape. Things with form have definite number; things without form are inexhaustible. If finite things rest within the infinite, this is like plants separated from the earth or stars separated from the sky: it still does not explain their relationship. To say otherwise is to misunderstand how being and nonbeing contain one another, and how emptiness and substance embrace one another.

“Consider the segments of a melon or fruit: one cannot see where they join the vine. Lice hiding in coarse cloth do not know that a city contains so many people. Thus, beyond the cosmos and within its bounds, nothing is limited or constrained; safety and danger, flourishing and decline, have no distinction between inside and outside. All things share the same Qi (vital energy) and move toward the same end, harmonizing with one another and relying on Dao to govern them. In this way, they preserve life and manifest beauty, without injury or decay. Every kind of good fortune is sheltered and protected by Dao. Its workings are deep and subtle, beyond the world’s awareness. People everywhere cannot see what it does, yet through it all things continue to come forth without end.”

The Chapter on the Beginning of All Things

All things under Heaven have a beginning, and this beginning may be regarded as their root. Once you know the root, you can understand the things that arise from it. After understanding those things, return to the root and hold fast to it; then you will avoid danger throughout your life. Block the openings through which desire leaks out, and close the gates through which the senses rush outward. In the end…

All things beneath heaven share a common origin, which may be regarded as the source from which they arise. Once you understand this origin, you can understand the things it gives birth to. After coming to know the myriad things, return to the origin and hold fast to it; then, throughout your life, you will face no danger. Block the openings through which desires enter and leave, and close the gates through which the senses engage with the external world; then you will not be troubled by toil and disturbance. If you indulge the senses and pursue external things, busying yourself with one affair after another, you will find it difficult to save yourself throughout your life. To perceive the principle in what is subtle is called clarity; to remain yielding and weak is called strength. Use brightness without being obscured by it, and in the end return to inner clarity. Then you will bring no calamity upon yourself. This is called following the constant Dao (the Way).

The Zhigui explains: The Dao has no form, no intentions, thoughts, knowledge, direction, or activity. It is empty, still, tranquil, elusive, and pure. As the Dao transforms and gives birth to the myriad things, change is contained within what does not change, and movement within stillness. Things give rise to one another through their repeated comings and goings: being arises from nonbeing, and nonbeing can also give rise to being. They cycle around, each giving rise to the other; this is the natural constant. When things accord with Wuwei (non-action), the myriad things flourish. When human contrivance does not interfere with them, they grow smoothly. Thus Wuwei embodies the substance of the Dao and is the beginning of all things between Heaven and Earth.

Wuwei (following nature without imposing one’s will) is subtle and mysterious, thorough and without omission. It is flexible and free-flowing, calm and steady, able to bring anything into harmony. It is full of vitality, perceptive and clear-sighted, skilled at handling affairs. It reaches in every direction and can nourish everything. Hence it is said: what is deliberately undertaken has its root in that which gives birth to all things.

The sage understands this and can return to the source of things. He knows the intent of the Great Dao and the laws of the Way of Heaven, grasps the root from which all things arise, and opens the paths for dealing with affairs. With wisdom that reaches in every direction, he exhausts the arguments of all people and applies every kind of ingenious art and skill. In governing human affairs, he changes with the times, adapting to things and bringing them into order, again and again. His transformations are swift and unfathomable, as though he could command spirits and ghosts. Though he leaves no trace, he enables every matter to find its proper order. He investigates the boundless and reaches the realm of nonbeing. When he acts, he shapes the myriad things, then returns once more to the source. In this cycle of return, he becomes the foundation of all under Heaven. He wanders in the deep and mysterious realm and remains free from danger throughout his life.

Therefore, he gathers in his intelligence and closes the gates of his innate senses, using speech as a barrier and intention as a lock. When the time is not right, he does not act; when Qi is not in harmony, he does not stir. In this way, the state endures, and he lives his whole life without calamity. Why? By not deliberately listening, he hears everything, as Heaven does; by not deliberately looking, he sees everything clearly, as Heaven does. By not teaching through words, he shares Heaven’s De; by not acting willfully, he shares Heaven’s accomplishments.

He holds fast to the essential principles and handles affairs with complete care. The radiance of his virtue is never obscured, and he understands the intentions of Heaven and Earth. Thus he responds to all things like an echo answering a sound, like a shadow following a form, observing things without end. He is the beginning of good fortune and the source of transformation, flowing everywhere and expanding into the vast realm of harmony. He himself remains secure, all things proceed smoothly, and all under Heaven need not labor over it.

Therefore, deliberately straining to see harms the eyes, and deliberately straining to hear harms the ears. Impatient speech damages De (Virtue/Power); cunning and deceit undermine one’s achievements. When the mouth is opened wide and the ears and eyes are keenly alert, every kind of cleverness and calculation rises at once, and the myriad things grow and flourish. People strain their minds and stir up their thoughts to make their names known. Once fame and achievement are secured, calamity follows, and good fortune comes to an end. To act is to run afoul of Heaven’s net; to remain still is to fall into earthly disaster. The spirits cannot protect such people, and the workings of creation cannot keep them alive. The people lose their lives, and the state is destroyed.

Therefore, the sage puts deliberate action last and handles affairs as though there were nothing to do. He takes the Dao (the Way) as his mind and De as his intention. He governs the inexhaustible source and grasps the essentials of nature, roaming where Heaven and Earth had not yet separated and resting in mystery. He hears what seems not to have been heard and sees what seems not to have been seen. Before anything stirs in its earliest beginnings or any sign appears, he alone clearly sees the changes without form. He reaches beyond the bounds of the formless and arrives at what has no limits. He allows even the slightest evil thought no chance to arise, and prevents great calamities from coming to pass.

The sage puts this way into practice by cutting off speech, quieting thought, gathering gentleness, remaining supple, and returning to a state free from attachment to knowledge and distinctions. He punishes the violent and aids the weak, transforming along with the spirits. No adversary can overcome him, and there is nothing he cannot accomplish. Cleverness and strength cannot prevail over him, nor can the schemes of the world constrain him. He governs the people and brings the myriad things into balance, harmonizing them with Yin-Yang.

Within, he makes use of his own light; in his outer life, he does not neglect the needs of food and clothing. He has ample means to grow and harvest crops, raise silkworms, and weave cloth. He builds up good fortune and dispels calamity, bringing abundance to the people and prosperity to every household. He does not covet in his heart, seek eminence because his position is low, or envy the wealthy because he is poor. He handles matters with care and respect for frugality, keeping within proper bounds both inwardly and outwardly. He serves his elders and cares for the young, fulfilling every duty of human relationships.

By returning inward, his spirit is not depleted. He firmly preserves what he has gathered, yet does not dare claim it as his own. His wisdom is as deep and vast as rivers and seas, and he thinks in accord with the Way of Heaven. He cuts off the things that bring harm and seals them away, so that people cannot detect their traces. He transforms like a dragon and abides with Heaven and Earth; profound and silent, he is fully joined with the Dao. He keeps clear of danger and error, avoids calamity and removes harm. He bears De and nurtures a harmonious Qi (vital energy); nothing can overcome him.

Thus, a person can enter the Dao, and the Dao can enter a person. I and the Dao merge with each other, until at last we become one without distinction. By remaining still and pure and reaching a state of emptiness, I become a dwelling place for the Dao. Together with all things, I abide in this state, whole and complete, with no distinction between us. Returning to the beginning and going back to the source, the Dao joins with me.

Walking the Great Dao

If I understand the Dao even slightly, then as I walk the Great Dao, my greatest concern is straying from the right path. The Great Dao is level and easy to follow, yet people prefer taking side paths. The court lies neglected, the fields lie barren, and the granaries are empty; meanwhile, people wear fine clothes, carry sharp swords, eat and drink to excess, and possess wealth in abundance. This is called forceful display and arrogance. It is not a way that accords with the Dao.

The Zhigui says: “Dao and De do not rely on cleverness. Thus they can nurture Heaven and Earth and set Yin-Yang in motion, and Heaven and Earth cannot deceive them. Heaven and Earth do not rely on cleverness. Thus they can encompass and bring about transformations, causing the myriad kinds of beings to grow or perish, and no thing can escape their influence.

“If the Dao abandoned what is natural and relied on cleverness, it could not preserve its original nature. How, then, could it bring forth Heaven and Earth and set Yin-Yang in motion? If Heaven and Earth abandoned what is natural and relied on cleverness, they could not sustain their own ceaseless generation. How, then, could they encompass transformations and preserve all things?

“Therefore, emptiness, Wuwei (non-action), absence of knowledge, and absence of desire are the original nature of Dao and De, and the intent of Heaven and Earth. Stillness, taking nature as one’s model, and acting without contrivance while adapting to change are the workings of Dao and De, and the process by which Heaven and Earth nurture and transform all things.”

Zhuangzi says: “The Dao is the source from which all things arise, and Heaven is brought forth through the Dao. The beginning of things starts where there is no beginning; their generation comes from what has not been generated. Their continuance depends on what does not continue, and their extinction, too, returns to what does not perish.” These words describe the signs of nature and the constant principles of change.

Therefore, if people do not act in accord with the Dao, the Dao will not protect them; if they do not act in accord with De, De will not support them; if they do not accord with Heaven, Heaven will not shelter them; and if they do not accord with Earth, Earth will not bear them. When the Dao and De offer no protection or support, and Heaven and Earth provide neither shelter nor sustenance, calamity will not stay far away, and blessings and virtue will be difficult to approach.

Thus, sages who have attained the Dao and lofty recluses who live apart from the world are clear-minded and discerning, with keen ears and eyes. They follow the Great Dao and practice De. They abandon clever schemes, do not place themselves at the center of their concerns, and remain steadfast in purpose, ever mindful of reverence and fearful of straying from the Dao. They strive to cultivate a kind of skill that makes no show of itself, and seek a wisdom that does not flaunt its cleverness. They remain faithful and compliant, humble and yielding, and support themselves through their own labor. Knowing when to stop and being content, they return to a life that seeks no fame. They are cautious and vigilant, afraid of losing their natural nature.

Auspicious signs and the arrival of good fortune follow one another like a shadow following a body or an echo answering a sound. They are not agreed upon in advance; action and outcome simply seem to arise together. The Great Dao is therefore level and easy to follow, and its transformations leave no trace. It may seem far away, yet it is close at hand; it may seem obscure, yet it can be made clear. The Dao is upright and free of stain, simple and easy to put into practice. When one follows the Dao through Wuwei (non-action), accomplishments arise of themselves; when one does not stir up needless affairs, blessings naturally abound. Heaven and Earth move in accordance with the Dao, and all things thereby grow.

The people, however, turn away from the Dao and rely on their own cleverness and talent. They let deceitful arts take the place of the Dao, violate the nature of the Earth, and rebel against the way of Heaven. They exalt cleverness, deceive spirits and gods, embellish wicked and licentious practices, and abandon truth for falsehood. They establish new rules and alter old ones, stirring up affairs in pursuit of fame and achievement. They build spacious houses and splendid towers, set up towering gates and grand courtyards, adorn them with strange objects, and lay out brilliant patterns and colors. They take schemes as their standard and clever devices as their measure, using deceit and falsehood as their tools.

They rely entirely on political tricks and contrived calculations, while scorning weaving and farming. Fields lie fallow, choked with useless weeds; crops fail to grow, and granaries stand empty. People wear brocades in every color, their garments luxurious and bright. They equip themselves with sharp swords, sturdy armor, powerful crossbows, and strong bows; they ride in light chariots and on fine horses, gathering around them many violent and combative men. Trusting in their power, they pursue illustrious reputations, throw their weight around in the local community, and enslave the people. They envy integrity and humility, hate loyalty, poison trustworthiness, join with the wicked, and shield one another, while treating good people as enemies. They prize combat and worship force, bullying others without restraint and even speaking casually of regicide and rebellion.

They crave strong flavors and slaughter living creatures of every kind, cutting open pregnant animals and killing young birds in defiance of Heaven’s will. In daily life they seek food and drink to excess, their appetites never satisfied, and hoard gold and jade until they pile up like mountains. Their treasures rival those of a ruler; they make extravagant entrances and exits, showing off their wealth and status. They distance themselves from ordinary people and withdraw from the world, imagining themselves above everyone else. In a chaotic age, people even praise them as “great men.”

Such people commit many wrongs, bear grave guilt, and bring far-reaching calamity upon themselves. A worthy father would not raise them, and a wise ruler would not employ them. The Dao does not protect them; spirits and gods do not shelter them; Heaven does not cover them, and all things resent them. While alive, they suffer misfortune, and after death they cannot escape calamity. Even if they do not bear it themselves, disaster will reach their descendants.

Those skilled at establishing things will not see their foundations shaken; those skilled at holding fast will not lose what they hold. Their descendants can therefore continue the ancestral sacrifices from generation to generation. Cultivate the Dao within yourself, and your De will become genuine. Cultivate it in your household, and your De will abound. Cultivate it in your village, and your De will grow. Cultivate it in your state, and your De will flourish. Cultivate it throughout the world, and your De will be practiced everywhere.

Therefore, observe yourself by looking at yourself, a household by looking at that household, a village by looking at that village, a state by looking at that state, and the world by looking at the world. How do I know that these principles are indeed so? I know by applying this principle.

[Commentary on the Meaning] The surviving text contains only the phrases “between Heaven and Earth” and “use a household to observe a household, a village to observe a village, a state to observe a state, and the world to observe the world.” The meaning is that things should be observed at the appropriate scale: to observe a household, look at that household; to observe a village, a state, or the world, look within each corresponding scope.

The world between Heaven and Earth is vast and profound. Customs differ from place to place, the kinds of things are numerous, change has no end, and the relations between benefit and harm are tangled and hard to predict. Thus, people can sometimes control things and sometimes cannot; sometimes they can act, and sometimes they are powerless.

I stand at the center of the world, and the world is connected to me. When we meet, the things outside me are many, while I myself am limited. When the limited faces the many, the world outside remains at ease, but I am easily brought into danger. So if I rely on my own insight to establish myself, that insight will be stifled; if I rely on my own cleverness, it will invite attack; if I rely on my own strength, it will be threatened. Only by refraining from presumptuous action can I remain undefeated.

How can this be shown? If I sit in silence and seek an echo, none answers me; if I hide in the shade and seek a shadow, none follows me. But if I fear having no echo and strike metal, an echo answers; if I dislike my shadow and stand in the sunlight, it follows me instead. From this we can see that Wuwei (non-action) cannot make blessings vanish, and action cannot keep misfortune away.

Therefore, the sage gives up forcing his strength, showing off his cleverness, flaunting his insight, and striving for a reputation for virtue. He follows the Dao (the Way) and holds to De (Virtue/Power), gathers and conserves Jing (essence), and nurtures Shen (spirit). He remains balanced and at peace, keeps to gentleness and weakness, stands with his feet on the earth and his head beneath the sky. Empty and still, seeming to be there and not there, he keeps both his inner and outer worlds quiet, responding to change amid the deep and mysterious.

The sage acts without forcing and does not meddle, returning to simplicity and what is genuine. He does not cling to rules and measures, but responds to change. He holds to the way of gentleness and smallness, yet can entrust himself to great undertakings and govern and care for the people. In handling all manner of affairs—round and square, before and after—he always keeps himself in accord with the Dao. In this way, his body is upright, his spirit is at peace, and his De is passed down to his descendants. As his virtue accumulates, its teaching spreads widely and its influence endures without end. Even if it declines for a time, it can flourish again, until it lasts as long as the Dao of Heaven.

Cultivating oneself by these principles makes one’s nature simple, one’s emotions easy to settle, one’s thoughts clear, and one’s aspirations free to unfold. What once seemed far away no longer seems distant, and what once seemed hard to understand becomes clear. One cherishes the spirit and preserves primordial Qi (vital energy), regards outer things lightly, and places no value on empty fame. Thoughts remain clear, and Qi and blood are balanced. The sinews and bones are supple, the ears and eyes keen, the skin moist, and the face radiant. The spirit is focused and steady, vitality abundant, and the body light and strong. Such fine qualities are difficult to exhaust or diminish over time.

Applying these principles to family life brings mutual trust between husband and wife, loving parents, filial children, harmony among siblings, and peaceful relations throughout the clan.

Farming and silkworm raising proceed smoothly in their proper seasons. Stores are abundant, the six domestic animals—horses, cattle, sheep, chickens, dogs, and pigs—thrive, and productive affairs are well managed, with a surplus often left over. For this reason, people throughout the villages look to this kind of governance with longing.

When governance is practiced in a village, it grasps the main principles and clarifies the details. Affairs are conducted according to the principles of balance and harmony, bringing the clan into close and peaceful relations. People distinguish titles from realities, and black from white; right and wrong each have their own standards, so what is fair and unfair becomes clear of itself, leaving no room for treachery. The one who governs is dignified and respected; commands are carried out, and prohibitions are enforced. Those above set an example, and those below follow their teaching. They are close to one another like father and son, showing mutual respect, affection, trust, and obedience, so that all, above and below, are pleased. The people live together in harmony, government offices have no overdue or backlogged work, and officials fulfill their duties and earn a good reputation, being called exemplary persons. They retain an excess of De (Virtue/Power) and remain free from danger throughout their lives.

When governing a state, the ruler is made worthy and the ministers loyal. The court does not overlook worthy people, and scholars do not envy others’ achievements. False doctrines cannot obscure the right way, and slander cannot undermine justice. Those above and below live in harmony and obedience, bearing no resentment toward one another. Officials are glad to fulfill their duties, and all things follow their natural course. People in distant lands feel admiration; the customs of the world become unified; the state grows prosperous and the people well supplied, becoming strong without resorting to conquest. The ancestral temple is honored, and the altars of soil and grain—the symbols of the state and its land gods—remain secure for generations. Yin-Yang is harmonious, calamity and disorder do not arise, and all things ripen in abundance. The land is peaceful and stable. Neighboring states are willing to entrust their safety to it, and prosperity flourishes in generations to come. Its De is abundant and endures with the Way of Heaven.

When governing the world, the ruler occupies the Yin position and the ministers the Yang position. The ruler remains still while the ministers act; the ruler is accommodating while the ministers are upright; the ruler responds to the times while the ministers advocate and implement policy; the ruler is silent while the ministers offer counsel. Government is conducted with impartial justice, bringing harmony and free communication between those above and below. Affairs are handled with ease and Wuwei (non-action), in quiet stillness. The transformation through De spreads naturally, passing from one person to another. The subtle teaching circulates swiftly, moving without a fixed beginning and changing like the Way of Heaven. Even without traveling in person, one can know what is happening; without contrived action, one can accomplish what is needed. Achievements accord with the Great Way, and the world returns to its original nature, with few disturbances or worries. Peace arises of itself.

Thus, my own circumstances can serve as a measure for understanding others; the affairs of my family can set a standard for understanding other families; the customs of my village can be a guide to understanding other villages; and the affairs of my country can be a yardstick for understanding other countries. The ruler is the center of all under Heaven, and the condition of all under Heaven is like a mirror that reflects the ruler himself. All under Heaven and the ruler share in benefit and harm, in going astray and returning to what is right. When both ruler and people are at peace, all under Heaven is at peace as well. Family and state sustain one another, and ruler and people are bound together. If each keeps faithfully to their proper place, all under Heaven will follow its natural course.

Therefore, those who understand themselves can understand all things; those who govern themselves can govern everything. What benefits oneself is also fitting for all under Heaven. If something is unsuitable for oneself but suitable for others, then no such thing exists under Heaven.

The Chapter on Abundant De (Virtue/Power)

A person of deep De is like a newborn infant: poisonous insects do not sting it, birds of prey do not seize it, and wild beasts do not harm it. Its bones are weak and its tendons soft, yet its grip is firm. It knows nothing of sexual union, yet its sexual organ can become erect—evidence of abundant Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). It cries all day without its voice growing hoarse, showing that body and mind are in perfect harmony.

To understand harmony is to understand what is constant. To understand what is constant is to be clear-sighted. Craving the pleasures of life without restraint brings calamity; forcing the breath to follow one’s desires is to overexert oneself. When things reach the height of their strength, they begin to grow old. This is called being out of accord with the Dao (the Way); what is out of accord with the Dao soon perishes.

Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) dwell in the realm of emptiness. The spirits are still and at peace; the transformations of purity and turbidity are profound and subtle, while the Qi of Yin-Yang flows in harmony, gentle and supple. Listen for it, and it seems utterly silent; look for it, and it seems like nothing at all. It extends upward and downward without end, eastward and westward without boundary. Heaven cannot contain it, and Earth cannot enclose it. A compass cannot draw its circle, nor a carpenter’s square measure its angles. No scale can weigh it, and no instrument can calculate it.

Gold and jade cannot obscure it; water and fire cannot obstruct or harm it. Nothing among the myriad things can govern it, and calamities cannot injure it. It sinks and rises, soars and flies, vast in its primordial chaos. The mind has nowhere to settle, and the body has no fixed dwelling. Like a potter and a metalworker, it brings forth and transforms the myriad things, endowing them with their innate natures and enabling Heaven and Earth to come into being. The myriad things receive it and flourish.

Human thought cannot grasp it, and deliberate action cannot attain it. The more one thinks about it, the farther away it seems; the harder one strives for it, the more elusive it becomes. Try to seize it, and it cannot be seized; try to let it go, and one cannot truly escape it. Only those without desire can make themselves its dwelling and hold it within their hearts. This is why it is called “containing De”: the heart holds within itself the De of the Dao.

De’s influence within a person is like that of parents on their children. In relation to all things, De is like a pearl or jade compared with tiles and lead. Those who embody De treasure themselves and regard the world’s fame and profit lightly, like a loving father or devoted child who would never trade something precious for an ordinary object from a neighbor. To value oneself and regard external things as insignificant is like being a shrewd merchant who carefully judges the goods and would never trade pearls and jade for tiles and lead.

Those who embody De have no desires, not because they detest wealth and favor a life of purity, but because nothing in the world can gladden their hearts. Their inner selves are empty and still, not because they prefer quiet and dislike turmoil, but because nothing in the world is worth troubling themselves over. Why is this? Because they value themselves and regard the world’s external things lightly. Once they understand how to weigh what matters and grasp how benefit and harm shift, nothing can make them its servant, and the world cannot drive them.

So they do not deliberately pursue emptiness and stillness; these arise naturally. They do not deliberately pursue quiet; quiet takes shape on its own. They do not deliberately steady the spirit; the spirit settles of itself. They do not deliberately harmonize the breath; the breath becomes even on its own. Thus, without listening, they comprehend the soundless sound; without looking, they see the formless form. Without thought, they grasp the principles of right and wrong; without weighing matters in their minds, they understand the realms of sameness and difference.

Their spirit pervades Heaven and Earth, and their De rises above Yin-Yang. They seek no blessings, yet Heaven and Earth protect them. They do not turn away from misfortune, yet calamities depart. They do not kill, yet the world still stands in awe of them. They do not deliberately bestow kindness, yet the world loves them. Their bellies are full and their lives joyful. In every movement, they find contentment: even grass tastes savory, and even water tastes sweet. Beneath a tall tree, their spirit is preserved; in a rocky cave, their hearts remain joyful.

In poverty, they are at ease with their lot; in low station, they forget their lowliness. Even in adversity, they face death calmly and are not troubled by danger. Their achievements accord with their place, and their De is level with the Dao of Heaven. They return to uncarved simplicity, like an infant.

Thus, in governing oneself and governing the state, if one can remain as pure and innocent as an infant, people throughout the world will honor the Dao and value De. They will cherish themselves, regard fame and power as filth, and see the myriad things as dust. Those who crave fame and gain will give up their titles; those who are brutal and harm others will turn to benevolence. People will gather gentleness, restrain their strength, and cultivate only De. Where, then, could deeds that bring well-being yet give rise to disaster come from? How moving! The workings of Heaven and Earth are deep and hidden. Fame and power are filth; the myriad things are dust. Those who crave fame and gain give up their titles; those who are brutal and harm others turn to benevolence. People gather gentleness, preserve weakness, and cultivate only De. How, then, could doing good to bring blessings give rise to disaster? How moving! The Dao of Heaven and Earth is profound and subtle. Few can recognize it, and few can put it into practice. Intelligence alone cannot grasp it; only those as pure and innocent as infants can understand it.

In the infant, the mind has not yet come to the fore. Though able to understand, the infant does not insist on understanding; though capable, does not act rashly; though clever, is content with simplicity. It lives without clinging to life, is newly born without displaying freshness, and acts without acting deliberately. In this way, it is closely joined with the Dao. It is life without attachment to life, a body without attachment to the body, action without attachment to action, and hearing without attachment to what is heard. It is Wuwei and without affairs, with no deliberate intent and no calculating mind. It seeks no moral reputation and accumulates no spiritual power. It neither plans nor deliberates, and nothing obstructs or separates it. Its Shen and Qi do not stir recklessly; its intelligence and cleverness do not show themselves. It is soft and weak, empty and still, with the hun and po at rest and undisturbed. It delights in having no mind, seeks no moral reputation, and accumulates no spiritual power. It neither deliberates nor meets obstruction; its Shen and Qi do not stir recklessly, and its intelligence and cleverness do not show themselves. It takes joy in wanting nothing.

While alive, it does not deplete its spirit; after death, its mind is not confined in darkness. Thus, the infant can bear the Dao and nurture De, in accord with the patterns of Heaven and Earth. Bees, scorpions, venomous insects, and snakes do not deliberately poison or harm others; birds of prey and wild beasts do not set out to seize and fight. The infant’s sinews and bones are soft and weak, yet it can grip tightly. It does not yet know sexual union, yet Yin and Yang arise and transform within it of their own accord. Its spirit is full, and all things and people return to their natural state. When it cries, its voice does not grow hoarse; this may be called harmony of mind and will.

By following the Dao and putting it into practice, one can remain constantly aligned with it. By holding fast to the Great Dao, the mind gradually grows clear over time. As time passes, vitality increases, and one’s actions come into accord with all that is auspicious. The mind is deep and its movements arise naturally; Qi flows harmoniously, and the body grows strong. Because one does not act with forced intent, nothing proves insurmountable; because one has no greedy desires, one’s actions do not go astray. In accord with nature, one moves freely without obstruction, and all that is good begins to flourish. Heaven and Earth offer their protection, and calamity and disorder naturally fade away.

Why is this so? Because De is held within, the spirit is at peace, and body and mind remain as pure and unspoiled as those of an infant. Once distinctions and cleverness begin to arise, one leaves wholeness and moves toward division, leaving obscurity and simplicity to chase after what is conspicuous. Outward adornments increase day by day, while De diminishes; the more cleverness one acquires, the deeper one’s confusion becomes. People then regard the affairs of the world as weighty and their own spirit as light, valuing fame and power while discounting themselves. Deep calculation and far-reaching schemes scatter the spirit. They turn away from softness, abandon humility, and pursue strength alone; they become caught in greed for gain and consumed by an obsession with staying alive. They open the gate to danger and block the path to preserving themselves.

Thus, blessings may be as vast as Heaven and Earth, yet go unseen, while calamity approaches like thunder and people still fail to hear its warning. People keep turning away from stillness and emptiness to pursue tangible things, bringing about disaster day after day. Actions lead toward hardship, and forced efforts toward ruin. In trying to cultivate themselves and govern the state, they may instead bring misfortune upon it. They perform sacrifices and burn offerings, yet seem to offend Heaven and Earth; they pray and make ritual appeals, yet harm the spirits. Such guilt does not arise from fate. It comes from people acting against the inherent patterns of all things, with consequences that follow naturally.

Those who know the great Dao do not speak of it lightly; those who love to talk grandly do not necessarily understand it. Stop up the openings of the senses and close the gateways of desire. Soften your sharpness, resolve resentment, temper your radiance, and merge with the dusty world. This is called “Mysterious Oneness” (Xuántóng), a profound state of complete harmony.

Those who reach this state cannot be drawn near or driven away, benefited or harmed, honored or slighted by others. For this reason, they are respected throughout the world.

The Dao (the Way) has no fixed laws, De (Virtue/Power) has no fixed form, Shen (spirit) has no fixed substance, and harmony has no fixed appearance. You cannot see it, hear it, gaze at it from afar, or touch it with your hand. Thus, one who understands the Dao can perceive it alone and comprehend it alone, through personal experience; a father cannot pass this understanding to his son, nor can a minister pass it to a ruler.

It is like a mother recognizing her child and an infant recognizing a loved one. Mother and child recognize one another through what is natural; the principle behind this is difficult to explain through words or knowledge. The five flavors are on the tongue, and the five tones are in the ear: not everyone can explain the taste of sweetness, and the same is true of bitterness. Nor can the tones shang and yu be distinguished by their names alone, yet Yi Ya, skilled in discerning flavors, and Shi Kuang, a musician skilled in discerning tones, could tell them apart. What enabled them to distinguish these things cannot be put into words.

So the shape without form can be perceived, though it cannot be seen directly; the image without appearance can be followed, though it is hard to express fully in words. Actions accomplished through Wuwei (non-action) can serve as a model, though they cannot be fully described; effects with no apparent use can be put into practice, though they cannot be taught to others.

One who has attained the Dao perceives it as a child recognizes a loved one, and follows it as one walks on the earth beneath the sky. The Dao is worn like clothing and made part of oneself. In action, one rises and falls, rests and moves, bends and extends, advances and withdraws along with the Dao. The spirit moves as all things change, and the will turns in accordance with De. Within, one is clear-sighted and keen; outwardly, one seems deaf and blind. One’s thoughts are profound and mysterious, yet one appears almost mad. What one says cannot convey it, and what one means in the heart is hard to understand.

This is like dreaming that you are a ruler, facing danger and standing in a deep place, with sorrow and joy mingling and your inner feelings vividly real. When you wake and tell the dream to a neighbor, you cannot make the other person truly understand it. Those who have lost the Dao are different: they see only appearances and not what lies within; they recognize change but not its source; they cling to the end and cannot reach the root. They regard the Dao as something external, believing it does not reside within themselves.

A ruler of middling capacity has an unsteady will and weak principles. He hesitates inwardly, and external things easily sway his emotions. He thinks himself clever and his views seem profound, yet he mistakes falsehood for truth. One moment he says yes, the next no; his spirit is at times present and at times absent.

The harmony within him is easily disturbed, as though an illness had taken root in his body. His Yang Qi leaks outward, his spirit scatters, and he dislikes silence but enjoys speaking. Whenever he opens his mouth, he becomes troubled by doubts, and his thoughts follow after them. His intelligence and talent rush outward, and his spirit is depleted in turn. His inner voice and breath gradually dry up, while outwardly he appears to have an excess. His virtue disperses and recedes farther with each passing day. The more urgently he speaks, the less he understands; the more he does, the less he understands. Speech, then, is a major path away from the Dao and a means of damaging De. It is like a tool that defies Heaven’s way and an instrument that overturns the order of Earth.

Those who have attained the Dao therefore diminish their cleverness and acuity. They do not cling to seeing or hearing, as though they neither saw nor heard. They close their mouths and gather in their tongues, as though they knew nothing of speech. They draw in their sharpness and let go of the directions they pursue. Their minds cling to nothing, open and spacious as though they had no self. They untangle their thoughts and disperse their worries, becoming still as though ignorant and indistinct as though standing alone. They leave no opening for misfortune to seize, returning to Great Simplicity—the uncarved, undivided state of original nature. They do not deliberately alter their appearance or dress in an affected manner.

They accord with Heaven and Earth and adapt as customs change, delving into the Dao and walking alongside De. They express meaning without words and bring about a government of Great Simplicity through Wuwei (non-action). In their dealings with the world, their appearance is ordinary and their dress unremarkable. They cultivate themselves in stillness, meet changing circumstances with a calm mind, mingle freely with others, and remain deeply in accord with worldly customs. They grasp the root of things and the source of action. Though unlike the crowd, they do not let the people of the world notice. They move between intimacy and distance, pass through the thresholds of gain and harm, and inhabit circumstances of both honor and lowliness, all the while firmly guarding their spirit.

He dwells hidden in a realm without form or trace, roaming freely in vast and unconfined places. He does not regard poverty or low status as shameful, nor does he covet wealth and honor. Nothing can contend with him, and neither ingenuity nor strength can challenge him. He does not demand or give; there is no question of gain or loss. He shuts his door and stays within, cutting off every beginning and entanglement. He takes the divine as his standard and the Dao as his inner master. In action, he keeps pace with change; in stillness, he accords with nature. By following the times, he endures; at ease and free, he too endures. He is free and unconstrained by convention, and so cannot be measured by any sequence of before and after.

Those who admire him cannot draw near, and those who detest him cannot distance themselves from him. Rewards cannot be bestowed upon him, nor taxes levied from him. Rank and salary cannot make him noble, and poverty and low status cannot make him base. Nothing can compel him or put him to service. He takes no interest in the affairs of the world, and so the world cannot possess him.

Governing the State through the Upright Way

Govern the state through the upright way, direct warfare through stratagem, and gain the world through Wuwei (non-action). How do I know this is so? The more prohibitions there are throughout the world, the poorer the people become. The more weapons among the people, the more chaotic the state becomes. The more people prize clever techniques, the more strange things arise. The more intricate and detailed the laws, the more thieves and robbers appear.

The sage says, “When I do not act recklessly, the people transform themselves. When I do not trouble the people, they become prosperous of their own accord. When I cherish stillness, the people become upright of their own accord. When I have no desires, the people become simple and sincere of their own accord.”

When a ruler’s decrees are broad and restrained, the people are generous and tolerant. When the ruler’s decrees are strict and exacting, the people become cunning and anxious. Disaster conceals good fortune, and good fortune also harbors disaster. Who can know how they will ultimately change? There is no absolutely fixed uprightness: the upright way may turn into the strange, and goodness may turn into the uncanny. People have long been lost amid these changes.

The nature of the Dao and De is grounded in uprightness and sincerity. All things change: sometimes they move, sometimes they are still; sometimes they appear, sometimes they disappear. The Dao covers and supports Heaven and Earth, harmonizes Yin-Yang, sets the sun and moon in motion, and nurtures all things. Those who go against it move toward ruin; those who follow it can flourish.

The patterns governing Heaven and Earth are therefore the alternation of Yin-Yang. Yang Qi governs the virtue of generating and nurturing life; Yin Qi governs the punishment of harshness and killing. Punishment and virtue are opposed, yet they must be harmonized at the center. In spring, all things sprout; in summer, they grow; in autumn, they are harvested; in winter, they are stored away. This cycle repeats, with decline and flourishing alike. When Yang reaches its limit, it turns into Yin; when Yin reaches its limit, it turns into Yang. Yin and Yang transform into one another in an endless cycle.

Thus, in governing human affairs, a ruler must employ both softness and firmness, civil administration and military force, taking balance and uprightness as the fundamental principles. Firmness and softness oppose one another, while military force and virtuous governance are connected: when military action ends, one must return to virtuous governance; when virtuous governance reaches its limit, it may in turn give way to military action. Force and virtue sustain one another, and the key is to apply laws and standards from a centered position. When laws and standards work in harmony with the various institutions, governance can proceed smoothly.

An enlightened ruler should therefore lessen desire and quiet the mind. When the mind is empty and still, the spirit can be at peace; when the spirit is at peace, one can know the Dao. Having come to know the Dao, one can set the mind straight, then put oneself, one’s family, and the laws and standards in order, and go on to clarify names and roles and govern the state. The ruler should put the state’s guiding principles in order, distinguish matters clearly, trace things back to their roots and connections, bring the different aspects together, compare what comes before with what follows, and ensure that each thing takes its proper place.

Clarifying names and roles makes it possible to verify actual conditions; examining actual conditions makes it possible to test whether the names and roles correspond to them. Names and realities should match one by one, and decisions should be fair and careful. The square, the round, the curved, and the straight each have their proper bounds and must not be confused with one another. Rewards and punishments should be applied appropriately, neither excessively nor insufficiently. Names and realities should be as clear as the sun and moon. When names and roles are properly ordered, the state flourishes; when they are confused, the state falls into difficulty.

The essentials of governing a state cannot be confined to fixed methods. One must adapt what to advance or yield, accept or reject, in response to changing circumstances. When the state is in turmoil, rely on laws and standards; when faced with rebellion, use military force; when the situation is stable, govern by the Dao and take virtuous governance as the constant way. Whether dealing with great matters or small ones, measure them by the right path. If there is a deviation, guide people through instruction; if they do not comply, restrain them; if they still persist, impose penalties; and if they refuse to submit, send out troops to subdue them.

When a small state is caught between great powers and faces a ruler who disregards what is right, it should deal with him by proper means. If he has strayed from the right path, educate him; if he refuses to listen, restrain him; if he still does not stop, keep him in check. Only when he remains utterly unyielding should troops be sent to punish him.

If a small state is caught between great powers and encounters a ruler who disregards what is right, and proper negotiation proves ineffective, then leave him. If leaving is impossible, cede territory to him. If he refuses to accept the land, lead the people away to safety. If they cannot escape, set off on foot with a staff. If even flight is impossible, disaster will fall upon the people and threaten one’s own life as well; then one has no choice but to plan vigorously for a response. This is how disputes arise, and how war begins.

I would select commanders, train soldiers, sharpen weapons, prepare armor, store provisions, raise the walls, and set up camps for defense. This would burden the people and drain the state. This is how war begins, and how efforts to quell disorder get underway.

If we want to send out troops in the name of what is right, but have fewer men and weaker forces than the other side, it is like striking a rock with an egg: we would only invite the enemy’s blows. The three armies would surely be defeated, and the soldiers killed and wounded. We would fail to comply with Heaven’s will, and the ancestral temple would be destroyed. To think of the lives of the people below is heartbreaking; to think of Heaven’s will above is awe-inspiring. For this very reason, one has no choice but to employ expedient measures and win through surprise.

Thus one devises plans that depart from convention and brings about unexpected results; opens the hearts of the people and advances the plans of the feudal lords; makes clear that we have the protection of De and explains how we have Heaven and Earth’s assistance. This brings people throughout the four seas together in purpose and unites the intentions of the various states. The people respond to us like an echo answering a sound; neighboring states follow us like shadows following a person; even birds and beasts travel alongside us. This is how stratagems are put to use and unexpected tactics carried out.

Above, align with the intent of Dao and De; below, accord with the original nature of Heaven and Earth. Whatever changes may come in the security or peril of the state, or in its gains and losses, regard the people as you would yourself. Give form to what is formless; dwell in the deepest, most hidden Yin; practice Wuwei (non-action); and utter sounds without sound. Distinguish offenses that defy the Way of Heaven and destroy moral instruction, and see through conduct that seems to follow Heaven’s will but in fact goes against it. Make clear what Heaven sends down and perceive all that Earth brings forth and nurtures.

Some have a reputation but no substance; others have substance but no reputation. Name and reality do not always correspond: some are upright, others crooked. Affairs shift and turn in every direction, secretly accord with hidden and subtle principles, and so natural disasters arise, followed by strange phenomena. People turn fathers and sons against one another and sever the bonds between brothers; they kill violent generals and loyal ministers alike. The people under Heaven grow resentful, and no one is willing to join their cause. The ruler stands alone, facing the punishment sent down by Heaven. When he wins the battle, he rejoices, and the four seas are then at peace. This is the superior use of the unexpected.

Stir the anger of the generals under Heaven and kill loyal ministers, so that the people grow resentful and no one stands with their ruler. He stands alone, facing the punishment sent down by Heaven. When he wins the battle, he rejoices, and the four seas are then at peace. This is the superior use of the unexpected.

Rouse the anger of the people under Heaven and gather those skilled in unexpected stratagems. Send people to gather intelligence and observe what is happening in secret, sharpening their eyes and ears and improving their judgment. Dispatch persuasive envoys in every direction to make friends and build ties with those close to the enemy. Set events in motion and bring about strange occurrences, adapting to the momentum of the Dao to counter the enemy’s schemes. Display authority and build up strength, using them to secure the support of your own people. Spread rumors and provoke incidents to confuse the enemy. Use humble words to feign weakness and lull the ruler of the enemy state into lowering his guard. Send swift envoys bearing generous inducements to persuade the enemy’s ministers to open their doors. Once a rift appears between ruler and ministers, seize the chance to control their intentions. Change takes place in secret, and strategy operates in the smallest details. Gain control of the enemy’s vital points of life and death, exploit decisive openings, and leave the enemy confused and unable to act.

Advance or withdraw according to circumstances, with no fixed method. There is no need to attack: the enemy will submit of its own accord. There is no need to fight: the enemy will fall into danger on its own. When subduing the ruler of an enemy state, do not implicate his ministers; when executing its generals, do not bring harm upon its troops. After victory, the people rejoice and the feudal lords stand in awe. This is the next best use of the unexpected.

“Using the unexpected” means employing strategies that take the enemy by surprise. The passage describes winning by making secret alliances, creating divisions, and throwing the enemy into confusion.

Study and exploit the enemy’s terrain, and control the relationship between its ruler and ministers. Lower your own posture and give generous rewards, thereby meeting the enemy’s apparent needs. At the same time, make plans in secret to turn those close to the enemy against one another. From wherever the enemy’s spies come, our own path can be opened. After capturing several cities, reward the generals; assign neighboring states to the spies. The enemy’s spies come and go mysteriously, their plans deep-laid. Our own strategy is hard to predict, and its changes have no end. Find ways to scatter the enemy’s forces and sow suspicion among them. Our moves seem to rise suddenly from beneath the earth or descend from the sky. Turn the enemy’s trusted allies against one another and sever their lines of communication.

Adapt to circumstances and strike at the enemy’s vital points, disrupting its plans and making it impossible for its leaders to win people’s trust. Weaken its powerful advisers and leave its ambitions isolated. Follow the course of events to victory, changing without end. Seize the right moment to act, always making coordination your rule. When advancing, attack the enemy’s weak points; when holding your position, cut off its supplies. Take its resources, leaving it hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and burdened. Harass it with floods and fire, bitter cold and scorching heat; wear it down with hardship and freeze it with the cold. Tempt it with benefits until it loses its bearings and becomes confused, then press your advantage and drive it into dire straits.

Attack from high ground toward low, and use superior numbers against fewer troops. Put the camps and units in good order, with each formation supporting the others. Those above protect those below, and those below aid those above; the whole army supports itself, bound together like father and son. Formations that combine the ordinary and the extraordinary shift between gathering and dispersing, while ambush troops lie concealed in every quarter. Some camps stand to the front, others to the rear; seize the left and defeat the right. Use banners to display your force, then confuse the enemy with the sound of drums and gongs. Advance like surging waves and withdraw with the speed of wind and rain; strike like a collapsing mountain, and fight with the ferocity of a tiger.

Such an army is hard to break when it defends and hard to resist when it attacks. After victory, its fame spreads far and wide, striking fear throughout the realm. This is the lowest method of employing extraordinary troops.

After disorder has subsided, all things are abundant and at peace, and Heaven’s heart can unfold. The whole world flourishes. People no longer hide unusual skills or show off their cleverness, but make trustworthiness their priority. They esteem stillness and simplicity, meddle less in affairs, and speak less. Why is this so? Because the transformations of Dao and De are inexhaustible, and all things arise from them. Things differ in rank and direction; the paths people choose differ too, with some heading west and others east. Each person follows their own nature to preserve themselves.

The kind make themselves content through good deeds; the wicked make a name for themselves through evil deeds. The honest gain standing by keeping their word, while the crooked conceal themselves with deceit. Everyone uses their own wits to avoid disaster. When their desires go unsatisfied, even the clever may resort to fraud. When toil never ceases, even the honest and kind may turn to treachery. Under restraint, oppression, pain, and sorrow, even the trustworthy may become careless and break their word. When hardship has no end, even the worthy may lose their benevolence.

Thus, when a ruler prizes cleverness, the people resort to deception; when a ruler prizes wealth and profit, the people invite calamity; when a ruler prizes rewards, the people are left impoverished; when a ruler prizes punishment, the people grow resentful. Why is this so? The ruler initiates affairs of government, but the people carry them out. The ruler decides on rewards, but the resources come from the people. The ruler makes the laws, but the people must bear them. When the ruler desires something, people throughout the world follow the direction he sets.

Therefore, sincerely seeking justice is less effective than having no self-interest and practicing Wuwei, allowing all things to return naturally to great unity. Trying to prevent wrongdoing through desire and prohibition is less effective than having no greed and naturally remaining faithful and trustworthy. Deliberately regulating joy and anger is less effective than following their natural course, practicing Wuwei, and allowing things to be accomplished. Taking pains to consider how to harmonize one’s Virtue is less effective than remaining free of affairs, practicing Wuwei, and reaching an understanding of the Dao (the Way).

Treating illness with the medical skills of Yu Fu, the legendary ancient physician, and the medical knowledge of Qibo and Bian Que, renowned doctors of antiquity, is less effective than reducing illness throughout the realm through abundant rule by Virtue. Having the strategies of the Yellow Emperor and the Grand Duke (Jiang Taigong), and winning through the military methods of Sun Wu and Wu Qi, is also less effective than relying on a realm free of turmoil, where intelligence and strength need not be exerted.

Thus, what the Dao and Virtue bring forth and nourish cannot be benefited simply by cherishing it; what Heaven and Earth bring to completion cannot be brought about through human action. Only by not clinging to love can one truly benefit all things; only through Wuwei can all things come naturally to completion.

Therefore, enlightened kings and sage rulers do not covet or take, do not deliberately devise or recklessly initiate, do not act rashly or stir up trouble, do not impose burdens or establish a tangle of rules. They return to the beginning and come back to simplicity, and the realm naturally finds peace.

How can this point be explained? The Zhuangzi says: When people devote themselves entirely to works that bring blessings and pursue profit, insisting that everything be completed and brought to its fullest, and stockpiling all kinds of goods for use, they become wealthy, while extravagance spreads unchecked throughout the world. Material goods grow scarcer, yet the people live in greater hardship. Works that bring blessings pile up like mountains, and gold and jade accumulate in heaps, but the state grows more unsettled and the people receive fewer benefits.

People flaunt their cleverness and deceive one another, using fraud to threaten and coerce each other. The more they guard against evil and sexual misconduct, the more intricate the ways of deceit and hypocrisy become. As people keep dividing things into same and different, and arguing over shifting notions of right and wrong, the state falls into confusion, its administration declines, and the people suffer even more.

People devise all kinds of rules and arts, carving and embellishing things in pursuit of refinement. They also make ingenious and bizarre objects to reward those deemed virtuous and distinguish between high and low status. In this way, cleverness and pretence flourish, and striking novelties emerge one after another. Rewards come swiftly and are lavish, while punishments are harsh and laws severe: people’s skin is injured and their limbs severed. People grow estranged and cannot live in peace; even those close to one another fall into discord. Punishments become so grave that entire clans are wiped out, and rewards so high that people are made nobles. Heaven and earth are shaken by this, yet thieves grow ever more numerous.

Therefore, the sage says, “When I practice Wuwei (non-action), the people transform themselves naturally.”

Why is this so? The ruler is the heart of all under Heaven. When breaths resonate with one another, the body responds accordingly; when the heart moves, the body follows. Just as a sound is answered by its echo, the sage’s words, “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform themselves naturally,” express this very principle.

Why is this so? The ruler is the master of the hearts and minds of all under Heaven. When breaths resonate, the body responds; when a thought arises, the body follows; when a sound is made, it finds an echo; when a form appears, its shadow follows. Yet none of these fully explains the relationship between ruler and people.

If the ruler can truly practice Wuwei (non-action), acting without imposing personal will, people’s hearts will seek nothing else. They will be nourished by the Dao and contain De within themselves. With no excessive thoughts or desires, and no commands or laws driving them, the people will transform naturally. If the ruler can truly engage in “doing without doing”—governing without deliberate interference—there will be no models for people to imitate deliberately, nor clever schemes for them to use in competing for advantage. Without relying on rewards or gifts, the people will naturally become prosperous. If the ruler can truly rest in the stillness of Wuwei and enjoy an unadorned calm, people will not pursue learning or compete over what they know and hear, and they will not need to be restrained by punishments. The people will naturally become upright.

If the ruler can truly hold only desires that do not grasp or covet, the hearts of the people will be empty and still, and their aspirations will be at peace. They will value themselves and think lightly of external things; after acting, they will be able to stop, and in stillness they will know contentment. Free from constraint and control, the people will naturally become simple and sincere.

Therefore, when governing the world, the ruler does not deliberately praise filial piety and benevolence or bestow favors and gifts. Political rule remains gentle and unobtrusive; the people are not disturbed, their hearts are calm, and they do not deliberately distinguish good from bad or argue over right and wrong. They can thus be content with what they seek and preserve their inborn nature and life. By contrast, if the ruler widely dispenses kindness and benefits, and scrutinizes every detail, the people become wary at every turn. Everyone calculates fortune and misfortune, stresses filial piety, fraternal respect, and benevolence and righteousness, and classifies everything into categories. People grow restless and unsettled, competing to display pretense; shortcomings multiply in turn. They lose their peace, and their inborn nature and life are cut short.

Good fortune often arises from misfortune, and misfortune often arises from good fortune. They are bound up with one another, yet each has its own destination. They perish together and exist together; their circumstances differ, but both are governed by the same principles. They accompany and alternate with one another, arriving together yet leading to different outcomes. Without a sage—someone who understands the Great Dao and sees how things change—it is difficult to grasp the truth of the matter.

Therefore, when the pursuit of good fortune is abandoned, misfortune has no way to arise. Without good fortune, there can be no such thing as misfortune. Good fortune that remains unseen is subtle, quiet, and profound. Everyone under Heaven wants to understand it, yet no one can investigate it to the end. Only those who practice Wuwei (non-action)—following nature without imposing their own designs—can act in accordance with its principles. They stand amid the alternation of good fortune and misfortune, and so there is nothing they cannot meet. When the right Dao is lost, strange things take root and confuse the people. Good people are taken for demons; right and wrong are repeatedly turned upside down, and all under Heaven sinks into deep confusion, unable to regain clarity.

Chapter: Square Without Cutting

Be upright without harming others, sharp without wounding, straight without being unrestrained, and bright without dazzling. In governing the people and serving the Way of Heaven, nothing matters more than restraint. Only by understanding restraint can one align with the Great Dao early. By continually accumulating De (Virtue/Power), there is nothing one cannot meet. When De is deep without end, one can govern a state. Grasp the foundations of governing a state, and the state can endure. Only when its roots run deep and its base is firm can it survive and retain its vitality over time.

The Zhigui says, in essence: the Dao is everywhere, yet does not display itself. In governing the people and following the Way of Heaven, restraint is paramount; restraint allows one to align with the Great Dao early. Accumulating De enables one to meet all things; when De is deep and boundless, one can govern a state. Grasp the foundation of enduring peace and stability for the state and make its roots firm, and it can survive for a long time.

The Dao is everywhere, yet it grants no favors to the myriad things, and so they are preserved. The Dao can do anything, yet it acts with no deliberate intent, and so the myriad things take their natural course. How do we know this? The Dao’s essence is empty and formless, while each thing has its own form. The Dao has no fixed shape, while things may be square or round. The Dao is still and silent, while things can make sounds. From this we can see that the Dao grants no favors and gives nothing, yet the myriad things continue to exist; it acts with no deliberate intent and does not rule over things, yet they continue to grow and change naturally. Form arises from the formless, and what exists arises from what has not yet come to be: this reveals the principle of the Dao.

Therefore, when a ruler raises armies and wages war, or pursues profit, the people develop desires. Once they have desires, they compete to proclaim themselves upright. When everyone competes to be seen as upright, they attack one another. If attacking others is treated as upright, crooked people gain influence while those who are truly upright withdraw. Loyal ministers are poisoned, and the people suffer as well.

When a ruler prizes wealth, the people compete to acquire it. As they contend for wealth, they proclaim themselves incorruptible. Competing to display their incorruptibility makes it easy for them to harm one another. If harming others is treated as incorruptibility, the greedy are honored while the truly incorruptible are pushed aside. Loyal ministers are then found guilty, and the people suffer calamity.

When a ruler delights in strife, the people blame one another. As they accuse each other, they proclaim themselves upright. Proclaiming oneself upright leads to unrestrained conduct. If unrestrained conduct is treated as uprightness, those who distort right and wrong run rampant while upright people retreat. Loyal ministers are then struck by disaster, and the people suffer as well.

When a ruler prizes fame, the people resort to deception. As they deceive, they seek outward splendor. Seeking splendor leads them to show off and embellish appearances. If showing off is treated as openness and integrity, great De (Virtue/Power) is obscured while small acts of kindness stand out. Loyal ministers may lose their lives as a result, and the people suffer disaster.

Once these customs are put into practice, wealth and human relationships begin to flow accordingly. Thus, what is called upright is not necessarily upright; what is called incorruptible is not necessarily incorruptible; what is called truthful is not necessarily truly truthful; and what is called bright is not necessarily truly bright. Names and realities become confused with one another, the way of integrity is lost, and De (Virtue/Power) disappears.

When a ruler is isolated and weak, his ministers act one way in public and another in private. They cater to his wishes, echo his views, and cloud his eyes and ears, so that he cannot see the facts clearly. This is how a state falls into danger and ruin, and its ancestral temples are brought to destruction.

Therefore, an enlightened ruler has his own views but does not impose them on others. He understands what is right but does not use that understanding to lecture his ministers. He is capable but does not make others serve him in every matter. He first takes himself as the measure, but does not use that standard to make excessive demands of others. He is upright and pure in his dealings with all things, but does not claim them as his own. He follows the heart of Heaven but does not presume upon it. His De shines in all directions, but he does not take credit for it. Why is this so?

A sage ruler sets aside partiality and the desire to bestow favors. Though he has his own views, he does not force the people to accept them; though he is perceptive, he does not force his teachings on others; though he is capable, he does not drive others to act in every matter. He takes himself as the measure without demanding too much of others, remains upright without claiming things as his own, follows the heart of Heaven without presuming upon it, and extends his De throughout the four seas without taking credit. Why is this so?

When selfish desires are cast aside and the ruler puts himself in order, his ministers can each conduct their affairs impartially. When a decision must be made, the ruler does not rush to impose one, and the people do not fall into disputes. Affairs then proceed of themselves, and all things move freely in their own way. No one deliberately manufactures good fortune or calamity; the world is broad and at peace, and people no longer cling to fixed rules. This does not mean that no judgments are ever made: what must be stripped away, attacked, or punished still requires the rooting out of arrogance and the restraint of tyranny, but without leaving resentment or wounds behind.

When covetousness is cast aside and integrity maintained, the world can set itself in order. If the ruler does not use harsh measures to force people to give things up, the people will not fight among themselves for possessions. The greedy will restrain themselves, and a spirit of integrity will arise of its own accord. No one deliberately creates corruption or purity; reputations do not become empty pretenses, and people’s circumstances do not become distorted or overturned. This does not mean that integrity is neglected. Rather, honesty and humility are honored, acts of theft are exposed, and disputes and concealment are given nowhere to hide.

When competition is cast aside and uprightness upheld, the ministers can discipline themselves. If the ruler does not abuse his authority, the people will obey of their own accord. Crookedness is corrected and disorder put right; excessive indulgence is curbed and customary ways reformed. No one deliberately creates calamity or blessing; the world is broad and unconfined, and all things find their proper place. This does not mean that corrective measures are abandoned. Rather, the upright are recommended, faults and misdeeds brought to light, crookedness discredited, and what is improper removed, so that people’s failings become clear. The world can thereby return to what is right, and government can proceed without display.

When the desire for fame is cast aside, De can shine forth naturally, and the ministers can each fulfill their duties. If the ruler does not make a show of himself, the people can discern things for themselves. No one deliberately creates brightness or darkness; the world remains unadorned and natural, and all things are able to grow. The ruler’s De accords with Heaven, and his teaching accords with the Dao. This does not mean that he gives off no light: his De extends throughout the four seas and illuminates all things, nurturing them without leaving a trace.

What lies above and below reflects each other, and the outer and inner answer to one another. Things come and go without leaving clear traces, and nothing obstructs their passage, like a shadow following a body or an echo answering a sound. Thus, the principle of governing a state and the foundation for nurturing its people both rest on se—restraint and care, so that one does not recklessly exhaust one’s energy or resources.

A wise ruler therefore pares back outward display and lives in a simple palace, without indulging in the pleasures of fine flavors, music, or beauty. He conceals wisdom beneath an appearance of plainness and shows discernment through silence. He reveals no fixed appearance and displays no specific force, leaving others unable to gauge his depth; he remains hidden from view. As a result, before he acts, all under Heaven responds; before he gives an order, the people rally to him; without going to war, he has already secured victory; without attacking, all under Heaven submits.

The ruler need not toil to drive the people, yet they accomplish their work. Without contention, each person finds their place. Without punishments or executions, the people still respect the law. Without deliberately seeking the mysterious, he receives Heaven’s blessing. Calamities are dispelled before they arise, and every kind of good fortune gathers together. By following Wuwei (non-action), there is nothing that cannot be accomplished; by refusing to contend, there is nothing that cannot be overcome.

Thus, all things return to a profound unity, and all under Heaven lives in harmony. Rising and sinking, interweaving and flowing—all accord with the Dao (the Way). It seems to end and begin again, and to hold order within apparent confusion. It seems empty yet can be filled; it seems to be nothing yet can give rise to things. It seems distant yet can encompass everything; it seems slow yet can be swift. It has no form or trace, and no origin that can be followed. It seems to dwell in chaos, and people cannot know how it operates.

It alone is clear-sighted and perceptive; it alone acts, and it alone refrains from action. Its transformations follow no fixed pattern, and its reserves have no limit. Yin-Yang sometimes separates and sometimes joins, sometimes bends and sometimes extends, sometimes opens and sometimes closes. Its workings are deep and far-reaching, indistinct and hard to grasp, still and mysterious. It is vast as Heaven and Earth and cannot be exhausted. Its self-cultivation is abundant, and so it can possess a state, govern its people, bring order to all things, and ensure the continuity of its descendants for generations. Why is this so? Because it understands se: how to restrain and cherish its own strength.

One who follows the Dao of “being sparing”—practicing restraint and cherishing what one has—does not give lightly or take carelessly. With a simple, frugal heart, one values even the smallest things. Inwardly full yet seeming empty, sincere and open in mind, one can endure for a long time. Though the body is small, the spirit is vast, expanding even ten thousandfold. One body can bear the myriad things, and so can rise lightly and high. By single-mindedly following the nature of all things, one accords with the Way of Heaven. With deep and solid roots, one can dwell alongside the spirits.

This is the Dao followed by the “True Person,” one who has succeeded in cultivating the Way: outwardly full yet seeming empty, sincere and open in mind, and therefore able to endure for a long time. Though the body is small, the spirit expands ten thousandfold; one body bears the myriad things, and so can rise lightly and high. By single-mindedly following all things, one accords with the Way of Heaven; with deep and solid roots, one dwells alongside the spirits. This is the Dao embodied by the True Person and upheld by the sage.

In governing a great state, one should be like someone cooking a small fish: avoid turning it too often or interfering too much. When the world is governed through the Dao, spirits do not manifest to cause trouble. This does not mean that they have lost their numinous power; rather, their numinous power does not harm people. The spirits do not harm people, and the sage does not harm people either. When neither harms the other, their De (Virtue/Power) converges throughout the world and returns to the people.

As the sun moves westward, Yin energy begins to rise; when the weather becomes extremely dry, winds arise in turn. A slight disturbance in a stream or valley can set great waves surging in the sea. The two influence each other across a difference in scale of as much as a hundred xun. This is because their circumstances differ in magnitude.

An ordinary animal that climbs a bank a thousand ren high or a cliff ten thousand zhang deep may cause it to collapse and fall. Mosquitoes, mole crickets, and ants, however, can move about on it with ease. Rhinoceroses, elephants, tigers, and leopards would be smashed to pieces if they fell, because their bodies are heavy.

A fierce gale can tear roofs away, snap trees, send stones flying and iron objects hurtling through the air, and even bring down hills and ridges. Yet it does not damage the blood vessels in the human body, because its force is fierce and far-reaching. A slight draft in a crack or cave cannot stir even a person’s sideburns or eyebrows. But if it enters the body, it can bring on every kind of illness and even cause death, because it is subtle and hard to detect.

A great state is like rivers, seas, and creatures as massive and heavy as rhinoceroses and elephants. Moral transformation—teaching the people through virtuous conduct—is like both a fierce gale and a slight draft in a crack. For this reason, good fortune should not grow too much at once, power should not surge suddenly, a good reputation should not rise too high, and calamities should not be allowed to accumulate unchecked. When good fortune grows too abundant, great decline follows; when power surges suddenly, collapse comes swiftly; when a good reputation rises too high, much of it is lost; and when calamities accumulate excessively, even greater misfortune is brought on.

How can this be explained? Zhuangzi says: If you are hungry, you eat twice as much as usual; if you are thirsty, you drink twice as much as usual. When the heat becomes unbearable, you leap into water; when the cold becomes unbearable, you crawl into a fire. Though the immediate discomfort passes, your body is sure to suffer fatal harm. If a lump has formed in your chest, you cannot cut it out with a knife and chisel; if your throat is ill, you cannot peel it open. If a tiny insect settles on your face, you cannot shoot it with an arrow; if lice cling to your body, you cannot hack them away with a knife. Why not? Because trying to get rid of a minor problem can bring on a far greater calamity.

Thus, when a wise and enlightened ruler governs a great state, he must be as careful as someone handling something exceedingly delicate, and as meticulous as someone clearing a narrow watercourse. He sees the fine new hairs of autumn, yet seems to hear nothing at all. He seems to exist and not to exist, to be wrong and yet right; he seems to appear, yet also to remain still; he seems to act, yet also to do nothing. His governance stands at the boundary between action and inaction, while change unfolds between being and nonbeing. The blessings he brings are subtle, and the gains modest. He speaks little and imposes few prohibitions. He governs without display, yet his effects reach throughout the four seas.

Why is this so? Because he takes the Dao (the Way) as his father and De (Virtue/Power) as his mother; he takes the numinous and discerning power of Shen as his teacher, and great harmony—the balanced accord of Heaven, Earth, and all things—as his companion. He makes stillness his constant state and simplicity his foundation. He takes Heaven and Earth as his measure, and Yin-Yang as his model; he takes the sun and moon as his standards and all things as his signs. He makes following the nature of things his foundation and sincerity his first principle. Each kind of affair has its proper role. The ruler silently follows the profound principles, oversees the guiding structures and grasps their essentials, beginning with himself.

As a result, the people are natural and unspoiled, like unborn infants and newly hatched chicks, while the ruler is as pure and guileless as a baby. No cunning or deceit arises, and no schemes of deception take hold. All things are balanced, neither increasing nor diminishing. Those above and below live in harmony, and all things flourish. Spirits and humans each find their proper place, as though sharing life in the world together. All things follow their nature and fulfill their capacities. The realm is so tranquil that it seems to have no ruler, and so untroubled that it seems to have no spirits. All things can grow, and the people can live long, reaching the full span of their lives without injury or untimely death.

If the ruler seems unbenevolent, and the spirits seem ineffective, it is not that the ruler is truly unbenevolent. He extends kindness widely and cares for everyone, spreading his De throughout Heaven, Earth, and the four directions, without favoring or showing special affection to anyone. Nor are the spirits truly ineffective. Their influence is simply obscure and elusive, present in the smallest things. Thus people can live long and enjoy the full span of their lives, without injury or untimely death.

Rulers may seem unkind, and spirits may seem not to respond. In fact, rulers are not unkind: they bestow favors broadly and care for all, letting their virtue extend throughout heaven and earth without showing special pity or preference for any one side. Nor are spirits unresponsive. Their traces are subtle, dwelling in places too fine to discern. They travel everywhere, adapt to the changing times, and use their wondrous power to nurture all things without harming people.

It is not that spirits never harm anyone. Rather, when a sage rules above, he accords with the Dao of Heaven, enabling people and all things to follow their natural order and allowing the great transformations to unfold on their own. In this way, the wise do not deliberately contrive, and strange phenomena do not arise. No one deliberately seeks abundance and fullness; all under Heaven live in peace, and all things are equal and in harmony. Nothing is exalted, and nothing is brought too low. People do not mine metals and stone, block springs, travel far to resettle, or kill living things for food. Everything in the world finds its proper place, yet none bears a fixed trace by which it can be identified. Plants wither only when they have turned yellow; people, too, come to an end only when their life’s course is complete.

Thus, all things brought forth by Heaven, contained by Earth, governed by the Great One (the source of all things), guided by the Celestial One (the force through which the Dao of Heaven operates), associated with the four seasons, and observed through the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water)—as well as the affairs governed by ministers and the workings of every kind of transformation—each have their own proper limits and must not encroach upon one another. They circulate among all things, and nothing can easily harm them.

Therefore, spirits govern the Yin aspect, while sages govern the Yang aspect. Those who govern Yin punish forces that join in pairs or factions; those who govern Yang punish forces that depart from the proper way and assert themselves alone. When there is emptiness and stillness, spirits protect and nourish it; when there is subtlety, smallness, and weakness, spirits support it. When strength becomes excessive, spirits diminish it; when fullness reaches its limit, spirits bring it to decline. The sage upholds what does not belong to the same kind, welcomes those who are faithful, reasonable, and good, examines those who are powerful, outstanding, and unusual, and punishes those who cause disorder and breed strange phenomena.

Thus, when the Yin aspect acts recklessly, spirits deal with it from all around; when the Yang aspect acts recklessly, the sage restrains it. Only those who do not contrive can be ruined by no force. With a sage ruling above, strange phenomena have no way to arise, and deceit has no way to take root. Spirits therefore use their wondrous power to nurture all things in the dark, while the sage uses the Dao to nurture all things in the light. Blessings begin through the workings of Yin, and the transformation of De is brought to completion through the governance of Yang. Spirits bestow favor, and the sage extends benevolence. Together, they return all things to themselves, as though each grew naturally in accordance with its own nature. In the end, the transformation of the Dao reaches deeply, the grace of De spreads far, and all things unite and return to their original simplicity.

A great state is like a gathering place where all under Heaven’s streams converge, a crossroads for their meeting. It is also like the female, occupying a quiet, yielding, humble position. The female overcomes the male through stillness, and through stillness takes the lower place. Thus, when a great state humbles itself before a small state, it can win the small state’s allegiance; when a small state humbles itself before a great state, it can gain the great state’s acceptance. In other words, some states gain other states by humbling themselves, while others gain acceptance from them in the same way. A great state’s desire is simply to bring its people together and care for them; a small state’s desire is simply to come under the great state’s governance and serve it. Since both can fulfill their desires, a great state should be all the more humble.

The Zhigui says: “Heaven and Earth arose together, and Yin and Yang came into being together. The four seasons share a common root, and the Five Phases—Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water—all spring from one source. Sorrow and joy arise together; calamity and good fortune are bound to one another. Thus, conditions that bring peace may also bring danger, while conditions that bring danger may in turn bring peace. What allows things to endure may also cause them to perish; what causes them to perish may also become the condition for their endurance.”

How can this principle be explained? Tigers and leopards, because they are large in body, with hard, powerful claws and fangs, strong muscles, thick coats, and vivid markings, can prey on all the other beasts, yet they are also brought under human control. Beautiful flowers and plants, dazzling in color and fragrant in scent, are cherished by ordinary people, yet for that very reason their roots are damaged. The ruler of a great state, because its territory is vast and its population numerous, and because its standing is exalted and its reputation imposing, can oppress neighboring states, yet also brings danger upon himself.

Follow the Dao, and you can be as firm as a stone chime and as peaceful as Mount Tai. Lose the Dao, and you are as precarious as a pile of eggs, as easily harmed as a feather. States whose power is weak fall into difficulty first; states whose politics are in disorder move toward ruin first. Thus a great state can be a stepping-stone to supremacy, but it can also be a step toward destruction.

The ruler of a great state stands alone in his domain, without a rival. Famous mountains encircle the land, with strategic passes on every side; three sides are protected by difficult terrain, and great rivers converge. All things follow the terrain and gather in the lowlands, while the state’s security and fortunes seem to hang by a feather. States whose power is weak fall into difficulty first; states whose politics are in disorder move toward ruin first. Thus a great state can be a stepping-stone to supremacy, but it can also be a step toward destruction.

Such a state is the gathering place of the feudal lords. Its storehouses are rich and abundant, the foundation of its strength. It holds power, and possesses defenses beyond measure as well as narrow, strategic passes. The land is fertile and level, stretching for thousands of li in every direction, and is rich in treasures and rare objects. The people are seldom burdened with forced labor; horses and oxen are everywhere, and boats and carts number in the thousands. Its armies and grain supplies are plentiful. The people live in comfort, and travelers are glad to stay. The population flourishes, livestock roam across the hills and fields, and the yields of farming, silkworm raising, and hunting are especially abundant. Therefore, people throughout the realm wish to join it, and ministers and generals are eager to serve it.

Here, chariots and cavalry can launch swift attacks, and there are a million armored soldiers. The plains favor an advance; the rugged ground favors defense. The terrain is advantageous. By sending out troops in accord with the seasons and defending the state by relying on the land, one can control the lives and deaths of others: those who submit may gain power, while those who turn away may lose their ancestral rites and the foundations of their state. Therefore, the feudal lords all wish to ally with it, and people throughout the realm fear it.

By putting the Dao into practice, one can annex other states. With exalted standing and favor, one can issue commands. By attacking other states, one can make one’s benevolence known; by governing the state, one can clarify the principles of the Dao. By annexing land, one can expand one’s territory; by gaining such a state, one can make oneself wealthy. Therefore, the feudal lords cherish it, and ministers and generals see it as a source of advantage.

Thus, from antiquity to the present, the yielding and receptive side of the world has always prevailed through stillness over the forceful and vigorous side. This principle has remained unchanged for thousands upon thousands of generations. Why? Because emptiness and stillness can contain fullness, and Wuwei (non-action) can respond to action. Rather than making oneself seem grand, one strives to be humble and small; rather than placing oneself in a position of honor, one often takes the lower position.

Therefore, when a wise ruler governs a great state, he bestows favors without using them to control others, and takes the lower position without making demands. He embraces the states of the feudal lords within his territory, so that none fails to respect him; through the reach of his De (Virtue/Power), he encompasses their strength, so that they are all willing to serve him. He lowers himself to accord with the people’s wishes. He leads officials by example, acting with loyalty, integrity, and trustworthiness. He sets out lands in every direction and attracts worthy and outstanding people. He encourages diligent farming and weaving to build up reserves. He forms alliances among the feudal lords, using strategies of vertical and horizontal alignment to guard against unforeseen changes.

He opens the granaries and distributes wealth, supports the elderly, provides for the orphaned and vulnerable, aids the poor, and recommends talented and virtuous people who live in seclusion in the mountains and forests. He accepts without claiming ownership and gives without seeking repayment. Gentle, humble, simple, and approachable in his conduct, he governs calmly through the Dao of Wuwei.

Even if some of the feudal lords are greedy and contemptible, cruel and harmful, arrogant and reliant on their own power, unwilling to submit, or even plotting rebellion, the ruler still treats them with quiet humility, drawing on the strength of his civil and military authority and his deep prestige. In response, they will cultivate themselves, act with caution, reform their ways, cede territory, offer precious treasures, submit and serve. They may even pledge their lives in return and ask to become the ruler’s subordinate states and vassals, bound to him as his children.

When a small country is weak, it should act in accordance with the Dao, putting its governance in order and carrying out its duties conscientiously. It should equip itself with boats, ships, and vehicles, and strengthen its defenses with armor and weapons. Ruler and people should be loyal and compliant, trustworthy and plainspoken; they should value simplicity and give priority to farming. Farming and weaving should each have their proper place, and no one should seize the people’s possessions. Those above and below should be united in harmony, drawing as close as father and son. The ruler is the heart of the country, and the people its body. If the whole country is united and harmonious, they can live and die together. When those above and below are mutually compliant, the country can establish relations with its neighbors.

Though a great country’s ruler relies on the strength of his state, occupies an advantageous position, and holds power, he outwardly practices benevolent governance and displays compassion. Within, however, he is like a hungry tiger, and his anger surges like a spring. He is unwilling to give, and often wants to swallow up other countries. Even so, if he can follow Heaven’s will and win the people’s support, if ruler and ministers trust one another and neighboring countries offer their help, hostility can be dispelled at its source and an immeasurable power made manifest. At such a time, even if a small country humbles itself, treats the other with generosity, offers its fullest sincerity, entrusts its life to the other, serves with earnest care, and engages with it in a quiet, Wuwei (non-action) manner, the other will be moved and understand its sincerity. Hostility will fade from its heart, anger will be redirected, and calamity will be averted. In the end, it will form an alliance with the small country.

A country that holds the upper position and can bring others to submit has broad territory, great power, deep moral standing, and high prestige, so others are readily drawn to it. A country in the lower position, dependent on others, has little territory and a small population; its authority is slight and its moral standing weak, so it is easily looked down upon. Thus, without waging war, it can cause other countries’ cities to fall apart; without attacking, it can bring their strongholds to surrender. It can expand its territory and raise its standing, win honor for its ancestral temples, and pass its achievements and virtue down through the generations. These are the hopes of a great country.

A small country dealing with a great country should live in harmony with it and establish friendly ties. When disaster strikes, the great country will be concerned for the small one; when a neighboring country faces danger, the great country will come to its aid. By taking a humble position beneath one person, the small country can extend its power over the ten thousand people, secure its altars of soil and grain—the state itself—and bring honor to its ancestral temples. Its country will grow prosperous, its army strong, and its people and resources will be preserved; its dynastic line will endure. This is what a small country hopes for.

Therefore, when a small country borders a nearby great country, it should weigh the circumstances and refrain from acting rashly. It should take the initiative in humbling itself and first show submission. Though it places itself beneath one person, it can then extend its power over the ten thousand people, win honor for its altars of soil and grain and its ancestral temples, make the country prosperous and its army strong, preserve its people and resources, and ensure the long life of its dynastic line. This is precisely what a small country hopes for.

Therefore, when approaching the land or drawing near a border, one should remain as steady and still as a hanging weight on a scale. By taking the lower position first, one can be the first to gain; those of low rank can overcome the arrogant, and the quiet can prevail over the impatient. When occupying a position of strength, if one can lower one’s bearing, the weaker side may win. Why is this so? Because the principles of nature cannot be reached through force. Water naturally flows to low ground, and people naturally gravitate toward what benefits them. Let go of pride in a high position, take up affairs in step with the moment, and unite many who are weak: then one can win by taking the strong by surprise. This is why the powerful meet their downfall. Therefore, the powerful should humble themselves.

The Dao (the Way) is the hidden root of all things, the treasure of the good, and a refuge on which even those of poor character can rely. Fine words can be used in social dealings, and conduct worthy of respect can serve as an example to all. Even if someone has poor character, what reason is there to cast them aside? So, when establishing an emperor and appointing the Three Dukes—the three highest ministers who assisted the ruler in ancient times—even if someone presents paired jade discs and a chariot drawn by four horses as gifts, this is not as valuable as sitting quietly and offering the Dao. Why did the ancients prize the Dao so highly? Was it not because those who sought the Dao could gain something, and even those who had committed offenses could receive pardon? That is why the Dao is treasured throughout the world.

As a tree grows, its twigs depend on its branches, its branches on its boughs, its boughs on its trunk, its trunk on its roots, and its roots on Heaven and Earth. The source of Heaven and Earth, in turn, lies in the formless. Flowers and fruit arise from Qi (vital energy); Qi arises from the four seasons; the four seasons arise from Yin-Yang; Yin-Yang arises from Heaven and Earth; and Heaven and Earth have their source in the formless.

Thus I understand that the Dao (the Way) has no physical substance or fixed form, yet it can open up the realm of nothingness and guide wondrous transformations, bringing harmony to Heaven and Earth and stability to Yin-Yang. It regulates the four seasons and orders the myriad things, enabling beings of different forms and kinds to come into existence. The transformations, endings, and beginnings of the myriad things all follow Wuwei (non-action) as their constant principle. The Dao shows neither preference nor aversion; it is one with all things. All kinds of beings follow it, each finding its own path of development.

When good people obtain the Dao, they can both draw in and unfold. They are clear and still, gentle and yielding, calm and uncarved, benevolent and mild, nourishing and even-tempered. They are complete in matters both great and small, able to embrace even the finest details, without displaying their sharpness. They understand the affairs of the world, yet return to namelessness. Things end and begin again, and every kind of blessing arises naturally. In action, they attain what they seek; in stillness, they avoid misfortune. They stand above others, and their prestige and De (Virtue/Power) naturally shine forth. They can overcome even hard and powerful things; none can rival them.

When wicked people obtain the Dao, they use it to expand and flaunt their strength. They are rigid and careless, eager to act; arrogant and self-satisfied, taking pride in their might. They keep expanding, as if they had no limits, scrutinizing everything too closely and pursuing brilliance and prominence at every turn. But strength at its height must turn to decline, and disaster comes of its own accord. In action, they fail to attain what they seek; when they grow still, they suffer harm instead. Their hearts fill with sorrow, their resolve is worn away, and only then do they return to the constant way. Their spirit and Qi become agitated and hurried, gradually contracting and losing their capacity to unfold. Their circumstances grow oppressive, their words become servile, their actions constrained, and their standing falls with them.

Caught in danger, they have no choice but to submit. Only after suffering grief do they show themselves loyal and trustworthy. They change their appearance and alter their conduct, acting just like a gentleman. They speak kindly only after their guilt has been established, and cherish life only when they are near death. They can only submit to Heaven’s decree and change their nature and feelings. They resign themselves to poverty and treat low status as normal; they revere Heaven and fear ghosts, and regard human beings as though they were kings. When on top, they are like oxen and horses; when brought low, like dogs and sheep. Once Heaven’s net is spread, none can escape it. How lamentable! This warning has already been made abundantly clear.

The two ways of acting may follow different paths, yet both are set in motion by the Dao (the Way). Some come first and others later; some are preserved, while others perish. Thus, speech and conduct become disciplines for self-cultivation. Whether the time is favorable and the order of one’s actions is fitting can determine a person’s fate.

Therefore, when making his way in the world, the noble person would rather remain inconspicuous, like someone hidden in darkness or unable to hear, and preserve his plain, unadorned nature. He keeps his words in his heart and often dwells in quiet silence. Before speaking, he thinks deeply; when he does speak, he is so solemn it is as though he were about to weep. By acting in accord with the times, he brings good fortune to completion. His replies and refusals are frank and natural, without embellishment. In this way, even when his words spread throughout the world, they do not seem excessive; even when his influence shakes the four seas, he is not eager to force results. He joins with the myriad things without claiming them as his own. His words set the world in motion, and all around him can obtain what they seek.

When the noble person governs worldly affairs, his bearing and purpose are far-reaching and subtle, leaving no trace. He conducts himself with care, as though on guard, and appears outwardly to lack ability. Gentle and still, he is like ice beginning to melt: when the time is right, he acts; when circumstances are unfavorable, he withdraws and remains hidden. He shares Heaven’s concern and carries sorrow within. If his plans cannot be put into practice, he adjusts his advance and retreat as circumstances require. Humble and content, he lowers himself and cultivates his person, like water willingly settling in low places. He persists in this way without change. He continues to humble himself, descending without end; then the world responds to him, and he is able to possess the state.

Why is this so? People’s nature inclines them to honor and favor, and turns them away from lowliness and disgrace. They resent loss and rejoice in gain; they feel pleased when placed below others, yet feel inferior when they make no progress. This has been true throughout the ages and is a common response of the human heart. The worthy are like this, and ordinary people even more so. Therefore, honoring people’s good words and conduct brings few troubles. Would those who governed the people well in ancient times lightly abandon them? Even the officials of Jie and Zhou could be made to submit and keep faith; even the soldiers of Qin and Chu could be made to submit and practice goodness. Whoever wins the people’s hearts can possess the world; whoever fails to win them cannot even command his own wives and concubines.

How can this be demonstrated? The highest rank, possession of all under Heaven and wealth spanning the four seas, boundless authority and sole command of power—these are what people fear. Leaving behind a life of walking from place to place and serving in the army, rising to prominence like a wild goose taking flight or a flood dragon soaring, assisting the Son of Heaven, proclaiming the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), putting one’s abilities to use, extending favor to the people, and thereby bringing glory to one’s ancestors—these are what people long for.

If one uses the power people fear to secure the benefits they desire, one’s words will not be beautiful and one’s conduct will not accord with respect and propriety. Even if one comes bearing great jade discs and precious treasures, carried in a steady carriage drawn by four horses, the worthy will grow suspicious and refuse to come. The Dark Sage, who deeply understands the Dao, will withdraw and remain hidden, and gentlemen will not arrive.

If one cultivates oneself inwardly and sets one’s character upright, one’s bearing and spirit will naturally show on the outside. There will be no need to labor over a four-horse carriage or spend precious jade discs. The worthy of all under Heaven will come in great numbers, as all things respond when the wind rises: outstanding and bold figures will arrive one after another, gathering and settling there. When a sage occupies a low position, the court will instead be filled with gentlemen.

Why did the ancients prize the Dao so highly? Because their words accorded with the Way of Heaven and Earth and continued without end; their conduct accorded with the human heart, yet they did not boast of it. Their reputations were established, but they did not seek to display them; their achievements were complete, but they did not claim them as their own. They followed their nature and did not treat everything as a means of private gain. What they did accorded with the Great Dao, rather than serving their own interests. Thus all things gathered around them, and they became rulers of all under Heaven.

“The Chapter on Acting Through Wuwei”: Act by taking Wuwei (non-action) as your guiding principle; handle affairs by taking non-interference as your guiding principle; and experience flavor by taking what is flavorless as your guiding principle.

The laws of the Dao follow nature: Nonbeing does not produce being, and being does not produce nonbeing. Only when nonbeing and being intermingle can the myriad things come into existence. In the same way, sorrow does not arise from sorrow alone, nor joy from joy alone; sorrow and joy transform into one another, and so each becomes manifest. Thus, one caught in calamity may turn toward good fortune, while one enjoying good fortune may turn toward calamity. The roots of fortune and misfortune lie in a person’s first thoughts and actions.

When actions leave no trace and speech leaves no sound, the fewer the traces and sounds, the farther-reaching their influence. Thus, accomplishments achieved without seeking credit are greater, while those pursued deliberately for credit are smaller. One who does not claim to possess De has deeper virtue; one who considers oneself virtuous has less.

The sage does not cling to being or nonbeing, life or death. Moving between being and nonbeing, life and death, the sage responds to the myriad things as they change, taking accord with nature as the constant way. Though the sage does not deliberately look, they see clearly; though they do not deliberately listen, they discern well. They bring stability to Heaven and Earth, nourish the Dao and the spirit, guide the myriad things, and govern the state and its people. They help people set aside private feelings and fixed opinions, so all may return together to their original nature.

The sage does not deliberately arrange a livelihood or rashly stir up affairs, impose benevolence and righteousness, or bestow benefits. The sage teaches through “not striving to act” and guides without clinging to knowledge. Rather than rule the people through artificial desires, the sage follows their nature; rather than forcibly suppress what they dislike, the sage understands their intentions. In this way, people can leave the path of premature death and injury and take the path of long life, roaming freely in a deep and mysterious realm and returning to their original simplicity. The world may seem dim and inactive, yet because of this there is no turmoil.

Only by experiencing what has no flavor and observing what has no form can one distinguish the similarities and differences among things and understand the truth of right and wrong. Deal with matters before they arise; steady a situation before it begins to tip. Do not display courage or accomplishments, or promote wisdom and fame. Then neither fortune nor misfortune easily takes hold: good fortune need not be deliberately summoned, yet can arise of its own accord; misfortune has no way to take root. In silence and obscurity, good fortune flourishes and calamity recedes. The ruler is secure, the people live in peace, and the world can be at peace.

Thus, people bring disaster upon themselves and then worry over it; they increase their blessings and then chase after them. They kill their ruler and thereby lose their own lives; they insult their father and make an enemy of him. They create calamities and then try to avert them; they stir up disorder and then try to put it down. They summon thieves and bandits, only to be killed by them; they provoke rebellion and then set out to suppress it. Those who boast of their courage and achievements may make their names known, but they violate the Way of Heaven. Those who pursue wisdom and fame likewise turn away from the Great Way.

Actions that give the people only brief pleasure often end up exhausting them while cultivating little De (Virtue/Power). Measures that satisfy them only for a moment bring them no lasting benefit. Thus, loyalty and trust are undermined, sound government gradually vanishes, the natural Way is pushed aside and banished, and schemes and contrivances spread everywhere. Those who steal credit rise to prominence; those who seize power win renown. The violent profit, while evil and deceitful practices flourish. When right and wrong are reversed and reason is flouted, the world falls into great disorder. All things lose their natural vitality, and families and states are brought to ruin.

Therefore, it is better to prevent calamity from arising in the first place than to be skilled at removing it after it comes. It is better to remain still and practice Wuwei (non-action) than to stir up affairs and deliberately seek to impose order.

For this reason, the noble person deals properly with matters before they begin to take shape, preventing them from arising, and quietly holds to the natural Way. Poor conduct leads families and states toward ruin. It is better to have no calamity than to be skilled at removing one; it is better to remain silent and practice Wuwei than to stir up affairs and seek to impose order.

Therefore, when the exemplary person acts, they begin with the faint stirrings of a matter, before it has yet become apparent. In stillness, they discern its unseen, traceless source. They spread the Dao and put De into practice, bringing things to change within the mysterious. Though they do not grow angry, they can respond to anger; though they speak little, they can express what is right. They do not strike readily, yet can stop conflict. In protecting things, they do not cling to a fixed starting point. Their authority does not depend on forceful display, and grievances are resolved before resentment has even begun to form. To deal with what is difficult, they begin where it is easy; to govern affairs, they grasp the root. They remove troubles before any sign appears, so that they cannot arise.

A matter may be as small as a hair, yet its outcome may be as great as Mount Tai. Great things are accomplished from the subtle, and governance must be sustained without interruption. Approach each matter with respect and care, as if just beginning and encountering something new. Do not pursue only what you desire or covet immediate convenience. Often refuse to follow private impulses, and hold fast to the root. As circumstances unfold, the effects continue to grow, and progress has no end. Even without deliberately seeking greatness, things will naturally develop and flourish.

Thus, when a great calamity is about to occur, it is like an evil wind entering the body. Guard against trouble before it arises, and you can prevent it from arriving. If the evil wind has penetrated only the skin and hair, it can be driven out with warm compresses and heat treatment. Once it has entered the muscle fibers, fine needles can treat it. When it reaches the organs, various medicines are needed. If it penetrates the marrow, then even Heaven and Earth cannot take heed, and no natural transformation can save the person.

When a great undertaking is about to arise, it is also like water flowing down from a mountain. At first it merely moistens the ground; gradually, small ripples appear. The stream runs on, winding and narrow, then gathers into valleys. After that it surges with such force that it can bear boats and move stones, until at last it flows into rivers and seas, deep and vast beyond measure.

Thus, the sages establish their achievements and renown by beginning with what is subtle: because it is small, it later becomes prominent; because it is hidden, it later becomes clear; because it is weak, it later grows strong; because it is concealed from sight, it later shines forth. The sages place themselves beneath the people, and so are able to become rulers. Their power shakes the world, and all within the Four Seas comes to submit. They hold the destinies of the people in their hands and bring them under discipline, with no one able to oppose them. Their De accords with Heaven and Earth, and their radiance shines alongside the sun and moon.

So, when people say too much and make too many promises, matters become complicated and promises difficult to keep. When they casually dismiss many things, difficulties gradually build up and changes become hard to predict. Thus the sage is inwardly still and does not act rashly; silent and sparing in speech; calm in sight and does not look about heedlessly; quiet in hearing and does not listen indiscriminately. In action, he moves as naturally as Heaven and Earth; in stillness, he is as deep and unfathomable as the spirits. He does not act deliberately, yet things are accomplished; he speaks little, yet earns trust. Advancing, he has no opponent; withdrawing, he encounters no predicament. The individual has not the slightest cause for worry, and the state suffers no harm. Why is this? Because he guards against danger before it takes shape and averts ruin before it occurs. He sees matters clearly, alone perceives their first signs, and makes arrangements beyond what can be seen.

What is stable is easy to hold; what has shown no signs of trouble is easy to plan for. The fragile breaks easily, and the subtle disperses easily. Therefore, deal with things before they come to pass, and bring order before the situation descends into chaos. A great tree that takes two people to encircle grows from a tiny sprout; a nine-tiered tower is built from basketfuls of earth; a mountain rising a hundred fathoms begins beneath one’s feet. Deliberate striving often leads to failure, while clinging to control brings loss. So the sage follows things as they naturally unfold and does not force action; thus he does not fail. He does not cling to control; thus he does not lose. People often spoil their work just as they are about to succeed. If they remain as careful at the end as they were at the beginning, they will not ruin what they have done.

Thus the sage seeks what ordinary people do not seek and does not prize rare goods. He studies what ordinary people do not study and turns back to correct the errors people commonly make. In this way, he assists all things to grow naturally according to their own natures and dares not interfere recklessly.

When a person is not yet ill, it is easy to ask a physician to treat them; when a state faces no imminent danger, it is easy to devise ways to govern it. Trouble is easy to deal with when it has only just emerged, and disaster is easy to contain while it is still small and weak. How can this be shown?

Zhuangzi said: Before a cart is damaged, even a child can drive it. But once it overturns and tumbles down a height into a deep ravine, not even a thousand people can set it upright. Before a bird’s egg hatches, it can be gently touched with a single finger. But once the bird has grown into a wild goose and beats its wings toward the clouds, neither nets nor arrows can catch it. A young beast can be restrained with a single rope; once it has grown into a powerful animal, no net can hold it. A tiger can overpower all other beasts and devour cattle and horses; even blades are hard to use against it. Drops of water gather without cease and, over time, form rivers and seas. If a small snake is not eliminated, it may one day become a divine dragon. Small acts of goodness, accumulated, bring good fortune; if small evils are left unchecked, they will ultimately lead to ruin.

Thus, when a ruler inherits the throne without resentment or ill will, when ministers and generals work in harmony, the people are loyal, neighboring states trade with one another, and there is no slander or treachery; when the political order is stable, and those above and below are united, then governing the state requires no show of authority, and maintaining order demands no force. By following things as they are and refraining from unwarranted action, the ruler can be overcome by no one.

When the state is on the verge of danger and the people are about to fall into hardship, trouble is about to arise but has only begun to show itself and its signs are still unseen, the key to the state’s safety or peril lies with the ruler, not in whether those above and below are in harmony. At such a time, resolving the crisis does not necessarily require the plans of a sage, nor does it require the efforts of brave men. If the ruler promptly begins with himself and corrects matters before they grow, the trouble can be dispelled.

When the ruler has lost the right way, ministers harbor resentment, neighboring states have ceased trading, officials have grown lax and negligent, and trouble has already arisen but remains weak and fragile, a wise person who thinks deeply, acts early, and creates favorable conditions can quell the crisis before it gains momentum and dismantle the trouble before it worsens.

When the ruler has lost the right way, ministers make misguided plans, neighboring states are resentful, and the people are hesitant and unsettled; when trouble has appeared but its foundations are not yet secure, and ambitious schemers are about to rise but have not yet won popular support; when some forces have joined together but remain loosely united, and some have formed alliances that are not yet stable—at such a time, if the ruler honors the worthy and treats others with courtesy, sincerely accepts advice, reflects on his own faults, and does not resent those who voice their concerns, then before advisers and troops are even mobilized, disorder will unravel on its own.

Thus, good fortune and misfortune often begin in subtle things that have not yet become known, while the survival or downfall of a state can arise from changes too obscure to discern. Fortune and misfortune shift and intermingle like howling winds and surging waves, their advances and retreats confused and entangled. When they occur, they cannot be heard or seen; their workings are difficult to counter, and even great intelligence cannot distinguish them.

Thus, the sage uses the Dao (the Way) to transform the world and teaches people through his own conduct. He begins to set things in order before events arise and guards against calamity before disorder becomes visible. He makes no deliberate arrangements, and all things settle naturally; he provides no deliberate support, and all things are naturally preserved. Action goes hand in hand with good fortune, while stillness keeps calamity at a distance. The Dao is deep and hidden; no one can see its source.

The sage governs the world before it falls into disorder and sets the right path straight before it begins to veer. He forbids wrongdoing at its roots, checks the first signs of deceit, closes the gates through which evil might enter, and blocks the paths of improper conduct. While harmful thoughts have yet to arise and their signs have yet to appear, he dispels them, so they cannot take root before they emerge. The sage transforms without deliberate instruction, guides without establishing names, observes without relying on cleverness, and responds without fixed form. In this way, disorder in governance has no chance to occur, and calamity has no chance to take hold. The world follows its natural course, and people’s nature and life each find their proper place.

The trees on Mount Tai have roots planted in the shade and branches reaching toward the sun. Their limbs hang down, their leaves spread wide, and their flowers and fruits are lush and green. Trees so broad that two people must clasp their arms around them, and so tall that they rise nearly a hundred fathoms, grow from what is minute and come to fruition through doing nothing deliberately. A nine-tiered terrace, as vast as a hill, and a hundred-fathom tower, rising bright into the blue sky, both began as things considered low and small; neither appeared towering from the start. Thus, what truly accomplishes great things does not seem great at first, while what appears small may gradually grow into something vast.