《老子解略》

Heaven and Earth follow Heaven; Heaven follows the Dao (the Way); the Dao follows what is natural. The natural has no fixed form. If people insist on depicting it, they will distort it. Thus, “the nameless” is the beginning of Heaven and Earth, while the natural state reaches its utmost. At first, there were no things; then, suddenly, things came into being. Once things existed, they could be given names, though one could not yet say that there were many things. Names thus became the mother of the myriad things.

People of ability are the instruments of the state. If they are not employed at all, a large state will be weakened and a small state will grow weaker still. How could people of ability go unused? Of course they could not. The sage can employ people of ability to govern the world, yet does not make “ability” the standard of honor. To employ the able in governing the world is to make use of ability; not treating ability as a standard of honor is what it means to “not exalt the able.” For admiration of reputation for ability is the beginning of contention and the root of pretense.

Even when halls are filled with gold and jade, no one can keep them for long. Thus rare and precious goods are not regarded as worthy of honor. If rulers can remain quiet and practice Wuwei (non-action), the people will naturally become simple and sincere, and will not turn to theft.

Before “one and three” had yet begun, there was still a source whose form had not appeared. I do not know where it came from. Once the myriad things came into being and showed their forms, I named them according to those forms. The imperial Qi (vital energy) emerged from the Zhen position—the eastern position of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), associated with spring thunder—and so I called it “Emperor.” But in the beginning it was boundless and silent. Unable to name it, I called it “Dao,” and forced myself to call it “great.”

Too much speech often brings trouble. Speaking at the wrong time is needless; when the moment is right, one can speak without annoying others and without falling into difficulty.

Although Heaven and Earth are vast, as long as they remain within the bounds of form and number, their duration must ultimately have limits. The “lasting” Laozi speaks of takes Heaven and Earth as its utmost extent, perhaps describing things as far as people can observe them. But if we speak of truly ultimate duration, that is what is called “the beginning of Heaven and Earth.”

Heaven and Earth can last because they do not strive for their own survival; therefore, they are able to endure.

Someone asked, “If Heaven and Earth do not strive for their own survival, who created them? Perhaps they came into being naturally?” The answer was: “This is precisely the subtlety of Laozi’s words; he was likely using this to convey his meaning. People live by clinging to their own survival. The more they value life, the more easily they become burdened by the business of staying alive. To be unburdened by survival is to stop clinging to one’s own survival. This is the way not to perish. When Laozi says that Heaven and Earth do not live for themselves, he is perhaps using them to make this point.”

“The reason I have great troubles is that I have a body. Once I have no body, what troubles could I have?”

The sage places the self among the myriad things. Dwelling among the myriad things, one no longer has fixed boundaries; without boundaries, there is no mind of distinction. In the state of no-mind, one can no longer tell whether the myriad things belong to me or I belong to the myriad things. This is called “no-self.” No-self means completely forgetting oneself. When one forgets oneself, there is no desire, no opening for troubles to enter, and no source from which calamity can arise. What troubles, then, could accumulate?

Yan Hui said, “Before, when I had not yet entered that state, there was indeed a ‘self.’ Once I entered it, there was no longer a ‘self.’” After entering the state, Yan Hui still felt there was a “self,” which shows he had not yet forgotten himself. Now he says there is no longer a “self,” meaning that he has forgotten himself. Thus, while others cannot bear their troubles, Yan Hui does not lose his joy. This is what it means to be free of troubles.

Looking at it, one cannot see it; this is called “Yi.” Listening to it, one cannot hear it; this is called “Xi.” Touching it, one cannot feel it; this is called “Wei.”

What I can see, everyone can see. But what Liju (a legendary figure with exceptionally keen eyesight) can see must include things others cannot; his sight surpasses the ordinary. This is called “Yi.” What I can hear, everyone can hear. But what Shikuang (a legendary musician with exceptionally keen hearing) can hear must include things others cannot; his hearing surpasses the ordinary. This is called “Xi.” Everyone strains to wrestle Wu Huo (a legendary figure of immense strength), yet no one can hold him. When Wu Huo wrestles everyone in return, he too gains nothing. This is true wrestling. It is called “Wei.” The Dao, then, cannot be heard or seen, nor can it be seized. You look for it, but cannot see it; listen for it, but cannot hear it; try to grasp it, but cannot catch it.

In ancient times, those who were skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and mysterious, far-reaching and profound. They were so deep that others could hardly know them.

A “shi” is someone who cultivates the Dao. “Wei” refers to the Dao’s fundamental intent; “miao” means subtlety brought to its utmost; “xuan” is the gateway to the realm of wonder; and “tong” is the way that mysterious realm works. When such a person comes, there is no path alongside them; when they leave, they leave no trace; when they withdraw, they hide in deep obscurity. Perhaps such people have understood the Dao, which is why they are so hard to know.

Only by encompassing everything can one be impartial.

If nothing lies beyond one’s embrace, the boundaries between things dissolve. When all things merge into one, how could there be any partiality?

Vast beyond measure—it has no end!

If the corners of the four directions are taken as boundaries, a center will appear. My Dao is supremely vast: it has neither gates nor borders, but opens in every direction and stretches without limit. Why, then, would one need to mark out a center?

The people are lively and bustling, as if enjoying a lavish sacrificial feast or ascending a terrace in spring.

People are often captivated by the taste of rich foods, yet do not know how to appreciate flavorlessness. They wander through spring outings, yet do not know what true freedom in wandering is. In the end, they find the flavors dull, and they never truly roam, because they have not yet understood the utmost flavor or the utmost freedom of wandering. The Realized Person, one who embodies the Dao and acts accordingly, makes the heart-mind full yet remains unassuming, and can savor the true flavor within flavorlessness. The Realized Person’s roaming has no fixed direction or boundary, and others cannot see it.

What bends remains whole

A tree with crooked branches and a sparse crown does not meet a carpenter’s standards for timber, nor is it worth cutting for firewood. Instead, it is left intact and lives out the full span granted to it by nature. This is an example of “what bends remains whole.” Zhuangzi said, “The straightest trees are the first to be cut down.”

What is bent becomes straight

If you reach out to save your sister-in-law when she is drowning, does that violate ritual propriety? The answer is that it accords with the right way: this is what is meant by “what seems to go against convention is, in fact, upright.” If a father steals someone else’s sheep and his son comes forward to testify against him, is that upright? The answer is that it does not accord with the right way: this is what is meant by “what seems upright is, in fact, contrary to reason.”

What lies low becomes full

It is precisely because the ground is low that it fills when water flows into it.

What is worn away becomes new

After stripping away comes renewal; after decay comes flourishing; after danger comes clarity; after difficulty comes release. These changes show that new possibilities may follow decline and hardship.

What lies low becomes full

It is precisely because the ground is low that it fills when water flows into it.

What is worn away becomes new

After stripping away comes renewal; after decay comes flourishing; after danger comes clarity; after difficulty comes release; and after Completion comes Incompletion. The names of the hexagrams from the Book of Changes are used here to show how things cycle and transform: even after completion, a new stage of incompletion begins.

A gale does not last all morning; a downpour does not last all day

A fierce wind cannot blow for an entire morning, and a torrential rain cannot fall for an entire day. And that is not all: when the sun reaches its highest point, it begins to descend westward; once the moon is full, it begins to wane. High ground becomes deep valleys, soil is depleted, and streams dry up.

Therefore, the sage is always skilled at helping people, and so abandons no one.

Someone asked, “It says, ‘Those who are always skilled at helping others leave no one abandoned.’ A noble person can still be helped, but how can a petty person be helped?”

The reply was, “That is not what the saying means. When you judge people by the standards of a sage, everyone appears ordinary; only when you judge them by ordinary standards can you recognize a sage. The small can fulfill what is small, and the great can fulfill what is great. It is like plants and trees: each has its own differences. So helping a noble person means enabling them to learn the Way and care for others; helping a petty person means enabling them to learn the Way and become easier to teach. This is what is meant by ‘leaving no one abandoned.’”

Know what is strong, yet remain steadfast in weakness, willingly becoming the valley of the world.

The Dao De Jing says, “The meeting place of the world is the female of the world.” All things come together there, and the valley simply receives them; that is why it is called a “valley.”

Those who seek by force to seize and govern the world, I think, cannot remain steadfast in weakness and become the valley of the world.

The Dao De Jing says, “The meeting place of the world is the female of the world.” All things come together there, and the valley simply receives them; that is why it is called a “valley.”

Those who seek by force to seize and govern the world, I think, will ultimately fail.

The examples of Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou are like this.

Deliberate action leads to failure; determined grasping leads to loss.

In ancient times, those who attained the world usually did so through not acting recklessly. Once they began to act and intervene, they were no longer capable of attaining it.

Those who assist a ruler through the Dao do not use force to dominate the world.

Weapons are inauspicious things. War goes against Virtue, and a love of killing is an ill omen. Those who carry weapons, act against Virtue, and bring misfortune will not be followed by a person of the Dao. Confucius said, “I have not studied the conduct of military campaigns.” Mencius said, “Why resort to war?”

Such conduct brings a fitting retribution.

As Mencius said, “As you treat others, so others will treat you.”

Those who love killing cannot prevail in the world.

Mencius said, “Only one who does not love killing can unite the world.”

Only by not abandoning one’s roots can one endure.

Was Yan Hui perhaps close to this ideal? He did not take his anger out on others, nor repeat the same mistake. Throughout the day, he did not stray from his principles, and so did not lose what was properly his.

On governing the world, Mencius said, “Only one who does not love killing can unite the world.”

Only by not abandoning one’s roots can one endure.

Yan Hui truly came close to being a sage. He did not let anger toward one person spill over onto another, nor did he repeat the same mistake. Throughout the day, his words and actions never departed from what was right, and he never lost sight of his proper role. To go three months without departing from benevolence—that was a long time indeed!

Though the body dies, its spiritual or moral influence does not perish. Only this can be called longevity.

When things grow too strong, they turn toward decline, because by the time they grow old they have already departed from the Dao. My revered teacher! You endure through the ages, yet do not claim longevity for yourself. Can it be that you have truly died? Someone says, “Though he has died, there is something that makes him imperishable.”

The Great Dao flows everywhere and is vast; in its use, it has no fixed direction. It can be applied to the left or to the right.

When the Dao is put to use, there is nowhere it cannot reach. That is why it can be applied in any direction.

The Dao expressed in words is bland, without flavor.

Travelers stop because food tempts them. The Dao is bland and flavorless; what benefit can travelers gain from it? So only a True Person, one who embodies the Dao in action, can perceive meaning in what has no flavor.

The soft and yielding can overcome the hard and strong.

The softest thing under Heaven can pass through and master the hardest thing under Heaven. Before his death, Chang Cong asked his disciples, “Is my tongue still there?” They answered, “It is.” He asked, “Are my teeth still there?” They answered, “They are gone.” Chang Cong said, “The teeth fell out because they were hard; the tongue remains because it is soft.” This proves that the soft and yielding can overcome the hard and strong.

Fish cannot leave the deep pool, and the vital powers of governing a state must not be displayed to others.

An ancient book says, “One who can wield exclusive authority over the state may be called king; one who can command rewards and punishments, and the distribution of benefits and harms, may also be called king.” If these powers are displayed and exercised openly, the ruler’s title and standing are diminished. Thus, when a ruler shows others the powers by which the state is governed, they may seize those powers along with the ruler’s authority. Once the powers are taken, the title and standing shift as well, and no state can avoid decline and ruin. In Qi, people came to speak only of the power of the Tian clan, and no longer of the King of Qi; in Qin, they spoke only of the power of Lord Rang, and no longer of the King of Qin. This is the calamity that comes from displaying the powers of the state. The Book of Changes says, “He loses his wealth and his axe and hatchet.” It describes precisely this situation.

In ancient times, all things that attained the One were transformed by it: Heaven attained it and became clear; Earth attained it and became calm; spirits attained it and became efficacious; valleys attained it and became full; the myriad things attained it and grew; and lords and kings attained it and became the rightful rulers of all under Heaven. The One refers to the Dao that all things follow together. All things come into being through it.

If Heaven lost its clarity, it might collapse; if Earth lost its calm, it might quake; if spirits lost their efficacy, they might vanish; if valleys lost their fullness, they might dry up; if the myriad things lost their vitality, they might perish; and if lords and kings lost the foundation that made them rightful rulers of all under Heaven, then however high and honored their position, they might fall from it.

The scripture goes on to say: People in Qi heard only that Qi had the Tian clan, a powerful ministerial family, and did not hear that it had a ruler. People in Qin heard only that Qin had the Lord of Rang, the fief-title of the powerful minister Wei Ran, and did not hear that it had a ruler. This happened because the ruler exposed to others such “sharp instruments” as political authority, bringing disaster upon himself. The Book of Changes says, “He loses his provisions and his ax”—provisions and ax representing the means and authority at one’s disposal. This describes precisely that situation.

The meaning of “the One” is difficult to explain, though its workings are vast. I cannot know for certain what it is like when a sage reaches this state. I can only venture a thought: the principle of “the One” may be like water. Water itself has no divisions, yet as it flows it does indeed branch east and west. The One does not exist to serve any particular purpose, yet every practical use depends on it.

When water surges forward and meets an obstruction, it divides and flows in every direction. In this way it forms rivers and seas, and it can also be diverted into ditches and channels. Though its courses and uses differ, water’s nature remains unchanged. This is how the One works. A noble person who wishes to attain this One must cultivate themselves and thereby investigate the principles of things. Through investigating those principles, they can fully realize their human nature. To fully realize one’s nature is to bring sincerity to its utmost. When sincerity reaches its utmost, the One, too, is brought to its utmost.

When the One is attained, nothing among the myriad things cannot return to it. An ancient text says, “What can be joined with the One returns to the One; what seems unable to be joined with the One also returns to it.” The sage must grasp the principle that runs through all things. This is the work of probing to the utmost and attaining the One. Whoever attains the One can understand every matter under Heaven; whoever does not attain it cannot truly understand anything under Heaven.

One apprehends it in what is subtle and profound, yet its workings are clear and manifest. Through it, one can understand the roots of darkness and light, the principles of life and death, and the nature of ghosts and spirits. Hidden within Heaven, it makes Heaven’s workings manifest; hidden within Earth, it makes Earth’s workings manifest. Could this be something imposed on a person from outside?

The noble person knows that the vastness of the One cannot be fully expressed in words. Before Yin and Yang have divided, it may be called the One; when the Dao begins to generate the myriad things, it may also be called the One. Yet neither can be fully explained by the name “One.” The sage provisionally uses this name to show how it runs through and brings to completion the transformations of the myriad things.

Thus, when Heaven attains the Dao (the Way), it becomes clear and pure; when Earth attains the Dao, it becomes settled and calm; when spirits attain the Dao, they manifest their powers; when valleys attain the Dao, they become full; when the myriad things attain the Dao, they grow; and when the lords and kings attain the Dao, they become rightful rulers of the world. This is because they all return to the same root. Without this, some would split apart, some would scatter, some would wither, some would perish, and some would collapse.

Zisi said, “To reach understanding through sincerity is human nature; to reach sincerity through understanding is the work of education.” Sincerity and understanding do not begin from two different roots. The principle that unites them was already present in Zisi’s heart; it was not imposed from outside. Confucius said, “My Way is threaded through with one guiding principle.” The fundamental principle by which sages connect all things is often hard to put into words. The scripture says, “Hold fast to the One, and make it the standard for all under Heaven.” To “hold fast to the One” is to hold fast to the root that does not shift with the changes of the world.

Ah! When we investigate the starting points from which Confucius and Laozi each grasped the Great Dao, do their paths not converge even if their sources differ? Later Confucian scholars followed only the sayings passed down on the surface and concluded that Confucius and Laozi were at odds. Were their fundamental insights truly different? They were not. Laozi chiefly spoke of the Dao through “form,” while Confucius spoke of it chiefly through concrete things and their norms—in other words, through “vessels.” Confucius proceeded from concrete things to reach “form,” ultimately returning to “form.” Laozi proceeded from “form” toward concrete things, while striving not to be confined by them. This is where Confucius and Laozi were in accord from beginning to end. Their difference lay only in the paths by which they ultimately returned to the same root. An ancient book says, “Grasp the One, and all things become clear.” What could those Confucian scholars understand of this?

The Dao’s movement is reversal

Indeed, the Dao is empty. Emptiness brings clarity, and clarity brings spiritual subtlety. “Spirit” means the capacity to let each thing reveal its own subtle qualities and fulfill its function. To turn inward and attain sincerity is to truly realize my Dao. This is what is called “movement brought to its utmost”—change and motion carried to their limit. Zhuangzi said, “Refine the refined, and in turn accord with the Way of Heaven.” This is what he meant.

The Dao’s function is weakness

Those who are rigid and strong belong to the way of death. How could someone who is dying hear the Great Dao? Therefore, without softness and weakness, one cannot put the Dao to use.

The myriad things under Heaven are born from being; being is born from nonbeing

By understanding the principles through which the myriad things come into being and change, we know that the Dao has both a “being” aspect and a “nonbeing” aspect. At first, the myriad things have no form or trace. Before long, Qi (vital energy) arises; Qi gathers and takes form; form changes and life appears; life changes and gives rise to all kinds of things. This is like the succession of the four seasons. I can return the Dao from “being” to “nonbeing”: by applying the Dao in a yielding and gentle way, I can forget external things. Forgetting external things, I no longer cling to the forms of life. Without that attachment, form and Qi no longer bind me. Thus the myriad things under Heaven arise from “being,” while “being” arises from “nonbeing.”

The Clear Dao Seems Dim

The most subtle Dao is deep and remote; the ultimate Dao is dark and still. This is form without fixed shape, and so it appears dim and indistinct.

Advancing on the Dao Seems Like Retreat

Ordinary people regard moving forward as progress, but they may rush ahead and then retreat just as quickly, as Mencius said: “They press forward eagerly, and retreat just as swiftly.” Yan Hui, by contrast, treated yielding as progress. Confucius praised him for never departing from his teacher’s teachings throughout the day, though he seemed dull-witted.

The Level Dao Seems Ordinary

Zhuangzi said, “Use what is uneven to make things level.” The Great Dao is level and even, yet it appears much like ordinary things.

The Highest De Is Like a Valley

A valley can hold water and be filled by it. The sage, having attained the Dao and reached the highest De (Virtue/Power), is also open and receptive, like a valley.

The Myriad Things Carry Yin and Embrace Yang; Their Blending Qi Brings Harmony

The Guliang Commentary says, “Yin alone cannot bring forth the myriad things, nor can Yang alone; only when the three come together can generation and transformation occur.” The “three” here refers to Yin, Yang, and blending Qi—the Qi that harmonizes Yin and Yang. The classic also mentions that “one, three, five, and seven belong to Yang, while two and four belong to De,” indicating that the myriad things take shape through the joining of Yin and Yang and the harmonizing action of blending Qi.

The Master of the Guliang Commentary said, “Yin alone cannot bring forth the myriad things, and Yang alone cannot bring them forth either. Only when Yin, Yang, and the harmonizing Qi that balances them come together can the myriad things grow.” The “threefold union” means Yin, Yang, and harmonizing Qi. The odd numbers one, three, five, and seven belong to Yang; the even numbers two, four, six, and eight belong to Yin. Without five, four is insufficient for completion; without ten, nine cannot be established. The numbers of Heaven and Earth add up to fifty-five. Five lies at the center and serves to harmonize: the spleen uses the Qi of the Five Phases to harmonize the organs; the five tones harmonize the sounds of music; and the five flavors harmonize the tastes of the myriad things. Harmonizing Qi flows through them, allowing the myriad things to come into accord. Thus, the myriad things carry Yin on their backs and embrace Yang, using harmonizing Qi to achieve balance.

The softest thing in the world can pass through what is hardest in the world.

Because it does not contend, no one under Heaven can contend with it.

Which brings greater worry, gain or loss?

People say, “To gain is to gain; to lose is to lose.” The realized person, one who has understood the Great Dao, says, “There is gain in loss, and loss in gain.” Seen this way, gain and loss do not truly increase or diminish anything. Which brings greater worry, gain or loss?

The more one stores up, the greater the loss is likely to be.

Mencius said, “Those who prize pearls and jade will surely bring disaster upon themselves.”

In the pursuit of learning, one adds something each day. In cultivating the Dao, one subtracts something each day. Continue subtracting until one reaches Wuwei (non-action, following nature without imposing one’s will). When Wuwei is attained, nothing remains unaccomplished.

Knowledge can be gained through study, but study cannot bring it to its utmost. The Dao can be realized, but cannot be learned as knowledge. Since the Dao cannot be forcibly sought through external methods, people cannot clearly say what it is. Better to turn back toward oneself and set the heart straight. Reflecting inward and returning to what is right is also a matter of daily subtraction; continue subtracting until the heart returns to purity. In this way, one can reach Wuwei. Only in the state of Wuwei can one accomplish what may naturally be accomplished. After that, one neither thinks deliberately nor acts rashly; by responding in accord with what arises, one can understand the principles of all things under Heaven. This is what is meant by “through Wuwei, nothing remains undone.”

Therefore, those who govern the world generally do so through non-interference—refraining from forced action and from disturbing the people. Once they interfere in everything and act rashly, they are no longer fit to govern the world.

Cold and heat are formed through the long accumulation of winter and summer. When people speak of summer, they often ask, “Why is the heat so fierce?” When they speak of winter, they ask, “Why is the cold so severe?” They do not realize that cold and heat alternate, and that each has its useless and useful moments. It is precisely for this reason that bitter winters and scorching summers arise. If we regard cold and heat only in terms of their immediate usefulness, we cannot understand winter and summer in their entirety. Likewise, if we govern the world by focusing only on particular affairs, we cannot truly attain the world.

“The good I treat well; the not good I also treat well.” (I treat kind people well, and I treat unkind people well too.)

When people make use of things outside themselves, those things seem to comply, and people come to believe they are naturally that way. Zhuangzi said, “Where is anything absolutely wrong? What is wrong is so only in relation to something else that is wrong.” This shows that when people are ruled by external preconceptions, they decide that certain things are wrong. Yet all things have their own reasons for being as they are, and each has something worth appreciating. If we are not stubbornly constrained by things outside ourselves, we can regard all things equally. When we can regard all things equally, nothing is absolutely wrong or wholly without merit. Hence the saying: “The good I treat well; the not good I also treat well.”

“Dao gives birth to them, De nourishes them, things give them form, and circumstances bring them to completion.” (Dao generates all things; De nurtures them; particular things give them physical form; and the circumstances surrounding things bring them to fulfillment.)

Dao is the source of all things, and De is the way Dao manifests its efficacy. The myriad things are the concrete forms that De sustains, while circumstances are the patterns and conditions through which things develop. The source can give rise to its efficacy; that efficacy can nurture concrete forms; those forms can in turn reveal the patterns of things; and, ultimately, these patterns and conditions bring all things into being.

“The world has a beginning, which may be regarded as the source of all things in the world.” (The world has a beginning that can be seen as the source of all things.)

Zhuangzi said, “There is a beginning, and there is also what came before the beginning.” What came before the beginning is a state without names, beyond description. Once the world has a beginning, it also has names. The Dao De Jing says, “The named is the mother of the myriad things.” Therefore, the beginning of the world may be regarded as the source of all things.

“Once you have grasped the source, you can use it to understand what it generates.” (Having understood the source, you can thereby understand the myriad things it brings forth.)

Ordinary people focus on what they encounter through their eyes and ears. The sage, by contrast, remains as simple and free of desire as an infant.

Once you have recognized the “child”—the secondary branches and outward manifestations of things—you must also hold fast to the “mother,” their root and source.

When the “mother” loses the “child,” the “child” also loses the “mother,” and the world falls into decline. What should be done when the world declines? One should return to the root. So am I different from everyone else? What I value is nourishment sought from the root.

Then one remains safe throughout life.

Understanding the relationship between “child” and “mother” is enough. What does it mean to remain safe throughout life? Such a person does not fall into a fatal predicament.

Block the openings of the senses and close the gates through which desires enter and leave, and you can live your whole life without exhausting your mind and strength. Open these openings and gates, and you will be busy satisfying desires, unable to escape them for the rest of your life.

“Dui” refers to the openings of the senses and also carries the meaning of delight; external things enter through them. Thus, the realized person blocks these openings. Zhuangzi says, “Open the nature bestowed by Heaven; do not open the nature made by human contrivance.” This means blocking the sensory openings and closing the gates. Conversely, to open the nature made by human contrivance and not the nature bestowed by Heaven is to open the senses and busy oneself chasing external things. Follow your nature, and De will grow; then you will not exhaust your mind and strength throughout life. Let artificial desires govern you, and life will be damaged; then you will be beyond saving for the rest of your life.

Seeing signs while they are still minute is called discernment.

When King Zhou of Shang began using ivory chopsticks, Jizi grew fearful. When Chu stopped offering wine and food to welcome Mu Sheng, Mu Sheng left. When Zhao killed Mingdu, Confucius could no longer pursue his ambitions there. Hence the saying: “Seeing signs while they are still minute is called discernment.”

Being able to hold fast to weakness is called strength.

Tang was once imprisoned at Xiatai; later, Jie of Xia was defeated. King Wen of Zhou was once imprisoned at Youli; later, the Shang dynasty fell. King Goujian of Yue once served as a groom for the king of Wu. After ten generations, Yue finally rose to power. Hence the saying: “Being able to hold fast to weakness is called strength.”

In this way, descendants can continue to make offerings to their ancestors.

Liu Zizheng said, “When a gentleman preserves his spirit, good fortune descends upon his descendants.”

Cultivate the Dao within yourself, and your De will become pure. Cultivate it in your family, and your De will become abundant. Cultivate it in your community, and your De will endure. Cultivate it in your state, and your De will flourish. Preserve your spirit, and good fortune will descend upon your descendants.

Cultivate yourself, and your De (Virtue) will become pure. Put your household in order, and your De will be abundant. Govern your community, and your De will endure. Govern the state, and your De will grow rich. Extend your De throughout the world, and it will be universally put into practice.

An ancient book says, “Those in antiquity who wished to make virtue shine throughout the world first governed their own states well. To govern their states, they first put their households in order. To put their households in order, they first cultivated themselves. To cultivate themselves, they first set their minds straight.” To establish the roots well and hold fast to the Great Dao is to set the mind straight. Thus, cultivate yourself and your De becomes pure; put your household in order and your De becomes abundant; govern your community and extend good governance to the state, and your De grows rich; ultimately, make virtue shine throughout the world, and your De will prevail everywhere.

One whose heart contains profound De is like a newborn baby.

When the spirit remains inwardly still, the innate harmony of Qi (vital energy) can be kept steady. When harmony is steady, body and mind can remain empty and still. This is how one guards pure, harmonious Qi. That is why it says, “One whose heart contains profound De is like a newborn baby.” The Dao De Jing asks, “Can you remain in the state of an infant?” Zhuangzi asks, “Can you be like a baby?” Both express this idea.

Venomous creatures will not sting such a person; fierce beasts will not seize them; birds of prey will not attack them.

When one maintains emptiness and stillness, both movement and rest can accord with wondrous transformation. When movement and rest are measured, transformation follows its proper course, and all things can settle into their rightful places. Ah, is this not the working of the wondrous? The rhinoceros need not use its horn: this is what it means for venomous creatures not to sting. The tiger need not use its claws: this is what it means for fierce beasts not to seize. Humans and animals do not disturb one another: this is what it means for birds of prey not to attack.

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish.

Fish want to rest undisturbed in the pot, just as the people hope to live in peace in their state. If fish are turned too often while cooking, they fall apart; if the people are repeatedly disturbed in the course of governing, the state cannot be governed well. Though this saying begins with a small matter, it can explain a great principle.

When the Dao governs the world, spirits and ghosts do not manifest to cause trouble.

Governing a state by the Dao is like cooking a fish without turning it too often. If the fish in the pot are repeatedly disturbed, none will remain whole; if the people are frequently disturbed, the state cannot be governed well. Though this saying begins with a small matter, it can explain a great principle.

When the world is governed according to the Dao, the spirits and ghosts do not display their power to cause trouble.

When the world is governed according to the Dao, the people can live in peace and prosperity, understanding how to follow nature. Zhuangzi said, “The people understand the joy of nature.” This means that people do not blame one another, nor do they incur punishment from the spirits and ghosts. Thus the spirits and ghosts do not manifest their power to cause trouble.

It is not that the spirits and ghosts lack supernatural power; rather, their power does not harm people.

An ancient book says, “The people are the masters of the spirits.” The spirits rely on the people in order to act. When the people each rest in their proper place, the spirits, too, act in accordance with what is right. The spirits harming their own masters is something that has never happened.

It is not only the spirits who do not harm people; sages, too, do not harm the people. When neither spirits nor sages harm them, the De (Virtue/Power) of both gathers among the people.

The Explanation of the Laozi says: “When the people break the law, this is called the people harming their ruler. When the ruler punishes the people, this is called the ruler harming the people. When the people do not break the law and the ruler does not impose punishment, this is called the ruler not harming himself.” This is like the spirits not encroaching upon the people, and the people not offending the spirits. Neither side intends to harm the other; this is a sign of flourishing De. Thus, when neither side harms the other, their De gathers between them.

A great state should place itself downstream.

Water always flows toward low ground, so the rivers and seas can become the place where the waters of countless valleys gather and flow.

Why cast away those who are not good?

I treat the good with goodwill, and I treat those who are not good with goodwill as well. This is precisely Laozi’s teaching that neither side should harm the other and that De gathers between them.

A great state should place itself downstream.

Water always flows toward low ground, so the rivers and seas can become the place where the waters of countless valleys gather and flow.

Why cast away those who are not good?

I treat the good with goodwill, and I treat those who are not good with goodwill as well. Laozi said this to save all things and to correct the prejudices of the ordinary world. Hence it is said: always skilled at saving people, he leaves no one abandoned.

When planning difficult things, begin where they are easy; when undertaking great achievements, begin with what is small.

What is clearly visible begins in what is obscure and hard to discern; what is orderly begins before it has taken shape. As for things that are already plain to see and clearly ordered, I have no time to examine them, because I did not examine them early, while they were still unseen and indistinct. The difficult things under Heaven must first show their signs where they are easy; the great things under Heaven must first show their signs in what is minute.

Therefore, the sage wishes to stand above the people, yet speaks humbly; wishes to lead them, yet places himself behind them. Though the sage occupies a high position, people do not feel burdened by him; though he leads, they do not feel obstructed. Thus, people throughout the world are glad to elevate him and do not grow weary of him. Because he does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with him.

Others hold fast to their own views, and I hold fast to mine. When I do not speak, it is not because I dare not, nor because I cannot prevail in an argument. Instead, I would rather set aside my own view and help bring about the other person’s. Setting aside my own view to make room for another’s is how I receive all the views under Heaven. People throughout the world are then glad to elevate me and do not grow weary of me. This is the way I act, too. Guan Zhong said, “If you use your own virtue to place yourself above others, no one can truly win people’s hearts. If you use your virtue to treat others with humility, there is no one whose heart you cannot win.” That is precisely the point.

People throughout the world say that my Dao is so vast that it resembles no particular thing. It is precisely because it is vast that it resembles no particular thing.

The Jing says, “Everyone has something to rely on; I alone seem dull and ignorant.” This is what is meant by “resembling no particular thing.” What did the sage attain here? He attained precisely this quality of “resembling no particular thing.” Thus, eloquence does not necessarily mean cleverness, and broad knowledge does not necessarily mean wisdom. Yet when put into practice, its effects are inexhaustible. What kind of person is this? What kind of person is this? This is what the Commentary means when it says, “Dim and indistinct, he does not reveal his thoughts, and it is difficult to plan with him.” (This describes someone who does not display cleverness, but keeps his depths concealed.)

If it resembled some particular thing, it would be far too small!

The Dao has no form, so it resembles no particular thing. Once it resembles something, it is constrained by form. The Dao is not constrained by form; if it were, would it not be small?

I have three treasures, which I have always guarded and held fast: the first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to place myself ahead of all under Heaven.

This passage describes how the De Jing differs from the Dao Jing, and expresses principles Laozi put into practice himself. Compassion takes practical form as benevolence; frugality takes practical form as virtue kept in reserve and out of sight; and not daring to put oneself ahead of everyone under Heaven takes practical form as the virtue of humility.

Because one is compassionate, one can be courageous.

King Wen of Zhou showed compassion by carrying out benevolent government and being unable to bear the people’s suffering. Even when King Wen was stern and angry, he was ultimately able to shoulder the responsibility of bringing peace to all under Heaven. Hence the saying: “A benevolent person must have courage.”

By not putting oneself ahead of everyone under Heaven, one can become the leader of great powers.

The great powers of the world cannot be brought about by force; deliberate action only makes matters worse. I follow things as they are and am not burdened or constrained by the affairs of these great powers. That is why I can lead them. This is what is meant by “putting oneself last, and thereby coming first.”

One who is skilled at defeating an enemy does not fight with others.

The Book of Changes, in the Shi hexagram, says: “Water lies within the earth: this is the Shi hexagram.” The Shi hexagram teaches how to lead a multitude by the right way. Water nourishes all things yet does not contend for victory. To prevail without contention is the highest of the high.

One who is skilled at employing others willingly takes the lower position.

Mencius said: “In terms of rank, you are the ruler and I am the minister; in terms of virtue, you have come to learn from me.” Given this, how could I dare to stand on equal footing with him and contend for superiority? King Tang made Yi Yin his minister; King Wen of Zhou made Jiang Wang (Jiang Taigong) his minister; King Wu of Zhou made the Duke of Zhou his minister; and Duke Huan of Qi made Guan Zhong his minister. Though they placed themselves below others, they were entrusted with office because they did not attach importance to rank and status.

Rulers in later generations, though rulers, often could not employ worthy ministers. And ministers with the abilities of the Duke of Zhou or Guan Zhong were not necessarily employed by their rulers. The reason is simple: rulers like their ministers to obey their orders, but do not want ministers to earn the right to be entrusted with responsibility through their own talent and virtue.

This is called the virtue of non-contention.

An ancient text says: “Fighting is the lowest way to handle a matter.” The way of Heaven does not contend, yet is skilled at prevailing. The way of the sage follows things as they are, and therefore does not contend. The “De” spoken of here is what becomes visible through the Dao: the Dao is hidden, while De is manifest.

This is called drawing on the strength of others.

I follow things as they are, yet can make use of the strength of all under Heaven. Who among the people under Heaven, then, would act on my behalf? This is precisely because I am skilled at drawing on the strength of others.

This is called being in harmony with the way of Heaven and attaining the highest principle established since ancient times.

Yao asked Xu You, “Can Nie Que measure up to the Dao of Heaven?” Xu You replied, “He is extolling cleverness and ingenuity, pursuing them with the urgency of fire. He will also change along with external things. How could such a person measure up to the Dao of Heaven? Still, if he does not contend for fame or victory, is good at making use of others, and follows the Dao of Heaven in this way, that will do.”

A saying among military strategists goes: “I dare not take the initiative in attacking; I would rather be the one who responds.”

“Not daring to attack first and preferring to respond—isn’t that too timid?” The reply was: “How can you say that? Only by treating others with humility can a gentleman earn their respect. Does this not accord with the principle of the ‘Army’ hexagram in the Book of Changes?”

The six in the third place of the Army hexagram says: “The army carries corpses in its carts. Misfortune.” This is because a yielding line has risen above a firm one, committing the error of forceful, reckless advance. The campaign will achieve nothing, and the blame incurred will be out of proportion to the circumstances. This is the fault of provoking war and vying to take the lead.

The six in the fifth place of the Army hexagram says: “There is game in the field. It is fitting to announce the command and capture it. No blame.” This line is yielding while occupying a firm position, and does not rashly take the lead. Once it sets out and captures the game, it will gain something. This is the principle of responding rather than being first to provoke conflict.

Taking the lead in warfare brings these harms. That is why one says, “I dare not.”

“To push back without arms” means reaching out to ward something off, yet being unable to exert force, as though one had no arms.

One must be able to endure; only then can things be accomplished.

“To cast away without an opponent” means pushing an adversary aside, only to find that there is no opponent to fight.

Only by not contending can one become the one to whom all under Heaven turn for guidance. Seen in this light, taking the lead in warfare brings the harms described above. That is why one says, “I dare not.”

“To push back without arms”: reaching out to ward something off, yet being unable to exert force, as though one had no arms.

One must be able to endure; only then can things be accomplished.

“To cast away without an opponent”: pushing an adversary aside, with no opponent left to fight.

Only by not contending can no one under Heaven contend with you for strength or achievement.

“To hold without weapons” means holding no weapon in one’s hands.

Without weapons, there is no means to attack. Why, then, go to war? The most skillful ruler responds to war through Wuwei (non-action); emperors respond through De (Virtue/Power), and lords through righteousness. Why, then, would they need to take up weapons?

No calamity is greater than underestimating the enemy. To underestimate the enemy is nearly to lose one’s own treasure.

Weapons are inauspicious things. Admiring weapons can make people obsessed; obsession leads to arrogance and complacency, and arrogance and complacency make people lose their strength and resolve. Therefore, no calamity is greater than underestimating the enemy. When strength and resolve are lost, defeat follows; defeat brings decline, and then disorder and ruin arrive one after another. Those who underestimate the enemy will nearly lose their most precious treasure.

When two armies meet in battle, the side that feels compassion will prevail.

A person of benevolence feels compassion and cannot bear to harm others; they do not delight in killing. The purpose of using arms is to stop killing. So when two armies face each other, if someone says, “I am skilled at forming ranks; I am skilled at fighting,” this is a grave offense. Therefore, the side that feels compassion will prevail.

My words are easy to understand and easy to put into practice, yet no one under heaven can understand them or put them into practice.

The Great Dao is level and easy to follow. Here, “level” also means “easy.” Thus, the Dao is a plain and simple principle, the most concise of guidelines. What is plain is easy to understand; what is concise is easy to put into practice. Yet people still cannot understand it or put it into practice.

The Great Dao is level and easy to follow. Here, “level” also means “easy.” Thus, the Dao is a plain and simple principle, the most concise of guidelines. What is plain is easy to understand; what is concise is easy to put into practice. That is why it is said, “My words are easy to understand and easy to put into practice.” Ordinary men and women, even if dull-witted, can understand the principle; even if their abilities are modest, they can act in accordance with it. But though their confidence is firm at first, they suddenly give up later. This is not their own fault. The people have long been confused, and so no one under heaven can understand or put it into practice.

It is precisely because people lack true understanding that they do not know me.

The sage observes the spirit without being burdened by it, and rises above ordinary people without deliberate striving. Thus, the heart follows Qi, Qi follows Shen, and Shen follows the Dao. No one else can fathom his comings and goings; this is true understanding. Others do not know me because they lack true understanding. Even so, what is there to worry about if others do not know me? Zhuangzi said, “If they take me for a horse, then I am a horse; if they take me for an ox, then I am an ox.” Do they truly know me, or do they not?

Therefore, the sage wears coarse cloth on the outside and holds jade within.

The leopard’s coat is marked with striking patterns. Zhuangzi said, “If people call me a horse, I accept that I am a horse; if they call me an ox, I accept that I am an ox. Do they truly understand me, or do they not?”

Thus the sage wears coarse cloth on the outside, while keeping jade within. The leopard’s coat is too conspicuously patterned, and the words of scholars are often too ornate. Because their words stand out, no scholar in the world can preserve himself; because its coat catches the eye, no leopard in the wild can preserve itself. I grieve for both of them: how can they escape misfortune? They are both in danger, for displaying their refinement has become a source of calamity. The sage, therefore, appears and disappears like a dragon. He usually remains hidden, conceals his traces, and leaves no mark behind. Does this mean he does not wish to display his worth? This is what is meant by “wearing coarse cloth on the outside, while keeping jade within.”

Knowing that there is something one does not know is insight.

To know that you do not know is true wisdom.

The courage to take reckless risks brings death; the courage to restrain oneself and refrain from rash action preserves life.

To fight a tiger barehanded or cross a river on foot is the courage of reckless risk-taking. Even if one dies without regret, the result is simply the loss of one’s life. Not standing beneath a wall about to collapse is the courage of restraint. Because one fears shortening one’s allotted lifespan, one can preserve oneself.

The people often do not fear death. How, then, can death be used to frighten them?

Laozi’s lament was likely prompted by the state of affairs in his time. When rulers lose the Way, they prize schemes and manipulation. Once they prize schemes, they inevitably impose strict surveillance and punishment. When surveillance and punishment are severe, the people cannot live in peace and are more likely to break the law rashly; then those put to death follow one after another. How could they still fear death? If schemes and manipulation were abandoned, there would be no severe surveillance. Without harsh oversight, rulers could uphold stillness and Wuwei (non-action); when stillness and Wuwei are valued, the people naturally settle, and there are no punishments for them to incur—so how much less would they fear death?

Suppose the people all feared death, yet someone still did something out of the ordinary. If I seized and killed him, who would dare do the same?

The people already fear death, yet some still behave perversely. It is as if someone were trying to impose strange practices on the people and disturb their minds. But is disturbing the people with perverse practices not like weeds choking the grain? Remove the weeds, and the grain will flourish; remove the strange conduct that disturbs people’s minds, and the people will settle. So I seize and kill such a person.

The people go hungry because the rulers impose excessive taxes; that is why the people go hungry.

Mencius said, “There are taxes on cloth, taxes on grain, and levies of labor. If a ruler exempts the people from one of these but continues to demand the other two, some people will starve to death.” This means that excessive taxes and labor service can leave the people in hunger and hardship.

The aim is for the people to value life and not wander far from home.

If the opposite happens, the fault lies with tyrannical rulers and corrupt officials. When the old and the young are driven from place to place and even die in ditches, the people cease to value life. When adults scatter in every direction to make a living, they cease to feel attached to their homeland.

Even if there are boats and carts, there is nowhere to use them.

In that age, there were no paths or tunnels in the mountains, and no boats or bridges across lakes and marshes. It was an age of pure, abundant De.

Neighboring states could see one another, and the cries of their chickens and dogs could be heard across the borders.

Zhuangzi said, “All things flourished and grew, while the people lived close together in their own villages.” Thus neighboring states could see one another, animals roamed in herds, and the cries of chickens and dogs could be heard across the borders.

Truthful words are not ornate; ornate words are not truthful.

The Dao cannot be probed through words; even when questioned, it has no fixed answer. Those who truly possess De do not express it through argument. Questions about what cannot be put into words have no end; answers forced out for what cannot be answered have no limits. Therefore, those skilled in argument do not understand the real principle.

The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; the named is the mother of the myriad things

Earth takes its model from Heaven, Heaven takes its model from the Dao, and the Dao takes its model from what is natural. “What is natural” has no fixed form. If people insist on depicting its form, they will inevitably distort it. Thus, “the nameless” is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. What is natural reaches its utmost, as though the myriad things had not yet appeared. Later, when the myriad things came into being, they could be given names. Yet even after they appeared, all specific things could not be reduced to a single name. Thus, “the named” became the source of the myriad things.

Do not esteem the worthy, and the people will not contend

Do not deliberately exalt those regarded as worthy and capable, and the people will not compete with one another for status and recognition.

The worthy are instruments of the state. If a great state does not employ the worthy, it will be weakened; if a small state does not employ them, it will decline. Can a state do without the worthy? The answer is: How could it? A sage can employ the worthy to govern all under Heaven, yet cannot treat all under Heaven as private property or honor people merely because they are worthy. The sage employs the worthy to govern all under Heaven, and for that reason makes use of them; but does not make them objects of reverence. This is the meaning of “not elevating the worthy”—not raising them to a position that makes people compete for recognition. Such elevation is the beginning of rivalry and the source of pretense.

When goods that are difficult to obtain are not prized, the people will not become thieves.

Even when a hall is filled with gold and jade, no one can keep it safe. Therefore, do not prize goods that are difficult to obtain. When the ruler is quiet and acts through Wuwei (non-action), the people naturally become simple and honest, and so they do not become thieves.

I do not know whose descendant the Dao (the Way) is. It seems to have existed before the Lord of Heaven.

Before Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things began, there seemed to be something already present, though it had not yet appeared. I do not know where it came from. Once the myriad things came into being and took shape, I came to know them by their forms. The Lord of Heaven arose from the Zhen position—the eastern direction among the Bagua (Eight Trigrams)—so I use that account to call him the Lord of Heaven. But tracing things back to their beginning, all is vast and boundless, silent and soundless. I cannot name it; I can only call it the Dao, and reluctantly describe it as Great.

Too much talk often leads to difficulty.

Excessive speech is out of step with the moment. When one speaks at the right time, people do not grow weary, and speech therefore does not lead to difficulty.

Heaven and Earth endure for a long time.

Though vast, Heaven and Earth have not escaped form and number, so they too can be described with names and words. They are called the Dao, and are reluctantly described as Great.

Too much talk often leads to difficulty.

Excessive speech is out of step with the moment. When one speaks at the right time, people do not grow weary, and speech therefore does not lead to difficulty.

Heaven and Earth endure for a long time.

The endurance of Heaven and Earth is still limited, because they remain within form and number. Laozi’s “endurance” takes Heaven and Earth as its limit, speaking only of what people can observe. To discuss the ultimate endurance, one must trace things back to what is called the beginning of Heaven and Earth.

Heaven and Earth can endure because they do not live for themselves, and so they are able to endure.

Someone asks, “If Heaven and Earth did not bring themselves into being, who created them? Did they arise from nothing?” The answer is that this is precisely Laozi’s subtle meaning. He is probably using Heaven and Earth only as an analogy. Human beings often become burdened by life because they cling too tightly to it and place too much care on themselves. Heaven and Earth have no such attachment to their own continued existence, and so are not burdened by it. This is why they do not perish. Here, Heaven and Earth are simply used to illustrate the point.

The reason I suffer greatly is that I have this body. If I had no body, what worries would I have?

The sage dwells among all things, lodging himself in them, and is therefore constrained by no realm. Unconstrained by any realm, he has no mind that makes distinctions. When he reaches a state of no-mind, he can no longer tell whether all things belong to him or he belongs to all things. This is called “no-self.” No-self means forgetting oneself completely. Once the body is forgotten, there is no desire and no source from which worry can arise. What worries, then, could gather?

Yan Hui said, “Before I received my teacher’s instruction, I truly thought I was Yan Hui. After receiving it, I realized there was no fixed, unchanging Yan Hui.” Even after being taught, Yan Hui once still believed there was an “I,” and so remained attached to himself. Now he is no longer attached to “Yan Hui”; he has forgotten his body as well. Thus, what others cannot bear—poverty and sorrow—does not disturb Yan Hui’s joy. This is called having no worries.

To look at it and not see it is called “yi”; to listen for it and not hear it is called “xi”; to reach for it and not grasp it is called “wei.”

What people see is usually only what everyone can see. Liezi, whose eyesight was said to be extraordinarily keen, saw what others could not; but could what he saw encompass everything? This is what “yi” means. What people hear is usually only what everyone can hear. Shi Kuang, whose hearing was said to be exceptionally keen, heard what others could not; but could what he heard encompass every sound? This is what “xi” means. People compete with one another in strength to seize things, but Wu Huo, the legendary strongman, did not rely on competition to take hold of them. Even if Wu Huo grasped something with his own hands, he might not truly obtain anything. This is what “grasping” really means. This is what “wei” means.

Therefore, the Dao cannot be heard with the ears, seen with the eyes, or seized with the hands. Hence it is said: to look at it and not see it, to listen for it and not hear it, to reach for it and not grasp it.

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle, mysterious, and penetrating, their depths impossible to fathom. Here, “adepts” means those who practice the Dao. “Subtle” refers to the Dao’s inner essence; “wondrous” means subtlety brought to its utmost; “mysterious” is the gateway to the mysterious; and “penetrating” is the mysterious put into practice. When the Dao comes, it has no bounds and cannot be grasped; therefore it cannot be seen, heard, or touched.

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle, mysterious, and penetrating, their depths impossible to fathom. Their coming had no bounds, and their going left no trace. They withdrew into hidden depths, and so were truly difficult to discern.

Only through tolerance can one attain impartiality.

By embracing everything, one can bring all things into harmony. When self and other become one, how could selfishness remain?

How vast it is, with no end.

People often try to define corners and a center. But the Dao is boundless: it has neither gate nor border, and opens freely in every direction. Why draw boundaries around a center?

Everyone is caught up in the excitement, as if attending a great feast or climbing a high terrace on a spring day.

They savor the feast, but do not experience the taste of what has no flavor. They stroll on the spring terrace, but do not know true, unrestricted wandering. In the end, they cannot taste the true flavor or truly wander, because they do not know what the ultimate taste and ultimate wandering are. What fills the heart of a perfected person who embodies the Dao is the Dao’s plainness and lack of flavor. The perfected person’s wandering has no fixed bounds, and others cannot see its traces.

Yielding can bring preservation.

A tree that bends and twists, with sparse branches, is no use to a carpenter and not worth a woodcutter’s effort to fell for firewood. It can therefore preserve itself and live out its natural span. This is the value of yielding in order to remain whole. Zhuangzi said, “The straightest trees are the first to be cut down.”

Bending down can make one stand straight again.

If one’s sister-in-law falls into the water, is it against ritual to reach out and save her? It may seem to violate ritual, but in fact it accords with the right way. This is what is meant by “one must bend before one can be made straight.” If a father steals a sheep and his son comes forward to testify against him, is that uprightness? It may seem upright, but in fact it violates family feeling. This is what is meant by “what appears upright may in fact be a kind of bending.”

Lying low can bring fullness.

Precisely because a hollow lies low, it can fill when water flows into it.

Decay can give way to renewal.

In the sequence of the hexagrams in the Book of Changes, Return follows Stripping, Approach follows Decay, Clarity follows the Abyss, and Deliverance follows Obstruction. After Already Fulfilled, the sequence ends with Not Yet Fulfilled. Things turn from decline toward revival, from obstruction toward openness; after completion, new change begins.

A gale cannot last through the morning; a downpour cannot last all day.

And this is not true only of wind and rain. When the sun reaches its highest point, it begins to set; after the moon is full, it wanes. High ground becomes a hollow, land dries out, and water, too, runs dry.

Therefore, sages are always skilled at guiding and helping people, and never abandon anyone.

Someone says, “Sages are skilled at helping people, so virtuous gentlemen can still be guided. But how can petty people be saved?” The answer is: that is not so. Measured by a sage’s standards, everyone falls short; measured by ordinary standards, one may be called a sage. Sages help people in small ways so they can accomplish small things, and in great ways so they can accomplish great things. They treat each person as they would different kinds of plants, each requiring its own care. Thus, they guide gentlemen so that they learn the Dao and care for others; they guide petty people so that, once they learn the Dao, they become easier to govern. This is what it means to abandon no one.

Know the strong, yet hold to the weak; be willing to become the valley of the world.

The place where all things in the world meet and gather is like a mother: everything that comes to it is received and nourished. Apply this principle to plants and trees, and their differences become clear. Thus, when a cultivated person of virtue and learning studies the Dao, they become more caring toward others; when ordinary people study the Dao, they become easier to govern and guide. This is called abandoning no one.

Know what is strong, yet remain in the place of the weak. Then you will be like the valley of the world, able to receive all things.

The scripture says, “The place where all things in the world meet and gather is like a mother; when they return, they are welcomed.” That is why it is called a valley.

To seize the world and govern it by force, I believe, will not succeed. The examples of King Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou show this.

Forceful action often brings failure; insisting on holding on only leads to loss.

In ancient times, those who gained the world generally did so through Wuwei (non-action) governance, avoiding needless interference in people’s lives. Once government became oppressive and intervened at every turn, it was no longer possible to gain the world.

Those who use the Dao to assist a ruler do not rely on military force to dominate the world.

Weapons are ill-omened things, and war runs counter to virtue. The desire to kill is inauspicious. A person of the Dao would not wield deadly weapons, act against virtue, and undertake the inauspicious business of killing. Confucius said, “I have not studied the business of commanding armies.” Mencius, too, asked, “Why use war?”

The consequences of war often return to those who started it. As the saying goes, “As you treat others, so will they treat you.”

Those who delight in killing cannot realize their ambitions in the world. Mencius said, “Only one who does not delight in killing can unite the world.”

Only those who do not depart from their roots can endure.

Yan Hui, a disciple of Confucius, perhaps came closest to this ideal: he did not take his anger out on others, nor repeat his mistakes. All day long he did not stray from the Dao, and so he never lost his roots. And to remain in accord with benevolence for three months—how enduring that was.

Only when the body dies but the spirit and the Dao do not perish can one be called long-lived.

When things reach the height of their strength, they grow old. They grow old because they have taken a path contrary to the Dao. My teacher, my teacher, you endure throughout the ages without claiming longevity. Could it be that you have died? Though your physical form has died, something has not perished.

The Great Dao flows widely and is everywhere; it can be put to use in every direction.

When the Dao is put to use, there is no place where it is unsuited. That is why it can be followed in every direction.

The Dao, when spoken of, is bland and tasteless. Passersby stop for food that tempts the appetite; but the Dao is bland and tasteless—what benefit can passersby gain from it? Only those who truly embody the Dao can, on their own, grasp the meaning within this “tastelessness.”

The weak can overcome the strong.

The softest thing in the world is sufficient to control the hardest thing in the world.

As Chang Cong lay near death, he said to his disciples, “Is my tongue still there?” They replied, “It is.” “Are my teeth still there?” They replied, “They are gone.” Chang Cong said, “The teeth fell out because they were hard; the tongue remains because it is soft.” This shows that the soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong.

Fish cannot leave the deep water. The vital powers of the state, too, must not be casually shown to others.

An ancient book says that the person who holds sole power over the state is called a “king.” Only one who can control rewards and punishments and decide what brings benefit or harm can serve as a model ruler. If these powers are handed over to someone else, the king’s title is compromised. Thus, if a ruler reveals his powers to others, they will take those powers along with his authority. Once the powers are taken, the ruler’s title will pass to someone else, and no state can avoid destruction. That is why people living in Qi heard only of the Tian family, not of the king of Qi; and people living in Qin heard only of Lord Rang, not of the king of Qin. This is the calamity that follows from revealing the state’s powers to others. The Book of Changes says, “He loses his resources and axe.” This refers to just such a situation. Here, “resources and axe” means the powers and means on which one can rely.

In ancient times, all things that obtained the “One”—the fundamental order of the Dao—were settled in their proper state. Heaven obtained the One and became clear; earth obtained the One and became peaceful; spirits obtained the One and became efficacious; valleys obtained the One and became full; all things obtained the One and grew; and rulers obtained the One and became rightful masters of the world. They could do so because they had obtained the One. If heaven could not remain clear, it might collapse; if earth could not remain peaceful, it might quake and sink; if spirits could not remain efficacious, they might vanish; if valleys could not remain full, they might dry up; if all things could not grow, they might perish. And if rulers could not be rightful masters of the world, yet still claimed a lofty and honored position, they might be overthrown.

The meaning of the Dao (the Way), or of “the One,” is difficult to explain, though its significance and effects are vast. How the sages attained this state, I cannot know for certain. For now, I will try to explain: the One is perhaps like water. Water itself takes no distinction between one thing and another, yet it can flow east or west according to the terrain. The One itself does not exist for any particular function, yet particular functions cannot do without it.

Water flows with great force, and when it meets an obstacle, it divides in every direction, forming streams, rivers, and seas; it can also be channelled into ditches. Though water flows through many places, its nature does not change. This is the result of the One at work. To attain the One, a noble person must cultivate the self in order to investigate the principles of things. Investigating those principles is a way to fully realize human nature. To fully realize one’s nature is to reach the utmost sincerity; when sincerity reaches its utmost, the One has also been fully attained. Once the One is attained, all things can be understood as connected. The Commentary says, “What was unified remains one; what seems not to be unified is also one.” The sage must have grasped the principle that connects them. This is what it means to investigate and realize the workings of the One.

By realizing the workings of the One, one can know everything; without realizing them, nothing can be truly understood. When attained as the Dao, it is deep and unseen; when put to use, it becomes clear and visible. From this, one can recognize the patterns of darkness and light and the principles of death and life, and understand the nature of ghosts and spirits. Through it, Heaven conceals the Dao of Heaven, and Earth conceals the Dao of Earth.

Ah, could this really be something imposed from outside? The noble person knows that the meaning of the One is so vast that words cannot exhaust it. Before Yin and Yang have divided, it may be called the One; when the Dao first becomes manifest, it may also be called the One. Yet none of this can be fully expressed by fixing it to the single word “One.” The sage merely borrows the name “One” for the moment to describe how it connects the transformations of all things. Thus, Heaven attains the Dao and becomes clear; Earth attains the Dao and becomes settled; spirits attain the Dao and become numinous; valleys attain the Dao and become full; all things attain the Dao and grow; and rulers attain the Dao and become the rightful lords of the world. All this is because they have attained the One. Without it, things may split apart, collapse, decline, or perish.

Zisi, Confucius’s grandson, said, “To become clear through sincerity is called nature; to reach sincerity through clarity is called instruction.” Sincerity and clarity are not two unrelated things. Zisi had a principle in mind that connected them; this was not imposed from outside. Confucius said, “I use one principle to connect everything.” Confucius, too, had a fundamental principle that linked all things. The meaning here is difficult to express in words.

The Daodejing says, “Embracing the One, one can serve as a model for all under Heaven.” “Embracing the One” here means not changing with the shifts of worldly custom. Ah, if we trace back to the beginnings of Confucius’s and Laozi’s respective realizations of the Great Dao, might they have been like branches of the same river, flowing at last toward a common source by different routes? Later Confucian scholars followed the teachings passed down in their respective traditions and concluded that Confucius and Laozi differed from one another. Were the fundamental teachings of Confucius and Laozi truly different, or were they the same? Laozi spoke of the Dao mainly through form and appearance, while Confucius spoke of it mainly through things and their uses. Confucius proceeded from practical uses to an understanding of form, ultimately returning to form; Laozi proceeded from form to an understanding of practical uses, while seeking not to be confined by them. This is the difference between Confucius and Laozi as they pursued, from beginning to end, the realization of unity. The Commentary says, “Once you understand the One, you understand all things.” How much, then, did those Confucian scholars understand of this?

To understand the Great Dao, one must turn back and return to the root; this is how the Dao moves. When the heart sincerely accords with the Dao, it becomes empty and still. In emptiness and stillness it can grow clear; with clarity, it can communicate with Shen (spirit). “Shen” means the wondrous ability to put the myriad things to use. Only by turning inward to observe oneself and cultivating with sincerity can one truly accord with the Dao I have described. This is what is meant by “when movement reaches its utmost, it turns back.” Zhuangzi said, “Refine essence ever further, return to original truth, and accord with the Way of Heaven.” He was speaking of the same principle.

Softness and weakness are how the Dao works. The strong move toward death. How could those who are moving toward death hear of the Great Dao? Therefore, without understanding softness and weakness, one cannot put the Dao into practice.

All things under Heaven arise from “being,” and “being” arises from “nonbeing.” Understand how the myriad things come into being and change, and you will see that the Dao runs through both being and nonbeing. At first, the myriad things have neither form nor existence; before long, Qi (vital energy) appears. From Qi, form takes shape; form changes and life emerges, and life changes into the myriad things. This is the principle behind the turning of the seasons. If I can return to the Dao’s principle of movement and put it into practice through softness and weakness, I can forget external things. Once I forget external things, I am no longer burdened by life and death or attached to form and Qi. From this we can see that the myriad things arise from “being,” and “being” arises from “nonbeing.”

Those who understand the Great Dao may appear dim and unclear. The Dao is subtle, far-reaching, and obscure; at its utmost, it is still and silent. It has no fixed form, so it may seem as though it gives off no light.

Those who walk the Dao may appear to be retreating. People of the world regard moving forward as progress. Mencius’s words, “Those who advance too hastily also retreat too quickly,” describe this kind of person. Yan Yuan, by contrast, regarded yielding as progress. Confucius said that throughout the day Yan Yuan never contradicted his teacher and seemed foolish; this is the kind of person he meant.

The level Great Way may appear uneven and rough. Zhuangzi said that if you measure flatness by a standard of unevenness, what is called flat will also appear uneven. Because it is truly level, it may instead seem to have rises, dips, and bends.

The highest virtue may appear like a low-lying valley. A valley receives “the One”—that is, the root of the Dao—and becomes full. When a sage attains the Dao, he reaches the highest virtue.

All things turn their backs to Yin and face Yang; the two Qi mingle and surge, forming harmony. The Commentary on the Spring and Autumn Annals of Guliang says that Yin alone cannot give birth, nor can Yang alone; the myriad things come into being only when three converge. These three are Yin, Yang, and the blending Qi formed when Yin and Yang mingle. Here, odd numbers—one, three, five, and seven—are also associated with Yang, while even numbers—two, four, six, and eight—are associated with Yin. Yin and Yang unite, and from this the myriad things are born.

The ancients said: Yin alone and Yang alone cannot bring forth the myriad things. Only when Yin, Yang, and the harmonizing Qi—the Qi formed when Yin and Yang join and blend—come together can the myriad things be generated. The “threefold union” means Yin, Yang, and harmonizing Qi. The odd numbers one, three, five, and seven belong to Yang; the even numbers two, four, six, and eight belong to Yin. Without five, the four directions cannot be complete; without ten, the number nine cannot be established. The numbers of Heaven and Earth add up to fifty-five. The Qi of the Five Phases is put to work: the spleen uses it to harmonize the organs, the five tones harmonize the many kinds of music, and the five flavors harmonize the many kinds of food. Harmonizing Qi flows through them all, allowing the myriad things to reach harmony. Thus the myriad things bear Yin on their backs, embrace Yang, and attain harmony through harmonizing Qi.

The softest thing in the world can pass through what is hardest in the world.

Because it does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with it.

Which brings greater anxiety: gain or loss?

People say, “To gain is to gain; to lose is to lose.” The True Person, one who has realized the Dao, says instead, “Loss can also be gain, and gain can also be loss.” Considered in themselves, gain and loss involve no real increase or decrease. Which brings greater anxiety: gain or loss?

The more one accumulates and stores, the heavier the loss is likely to be.

Mencius said, “Those who prize pearls and jade will surely bring calamity upon themselves.”

In pursuing learning, knowledge increases day by day. In cultivating the Dao, one diminishes day by day. Diminish and diminish again, until reaching Wuwei (non-action, acting without contrivance). When Wuwei is attained, nothing remains unaccomplished.

Learning can be gained through study. But which brings greater anxiety: gain or loss?

The more one accumulates and stores, the heavier the loss is likely to be.

Mencius said, “Those who prize pearls and jade will surely bring calamity upon themselves.”

In pursuing learning, knowledge increases day by day. In cultivating the Dao, one diminishes day by day. Diminish and diminish again, until reaching Wuwei. When Wuwei is attained, nothing remains unaccomplished.

Learning can be acquired through study, but the Great Dao cannot be attained directly through learning. The Dao can be reached, but it cannot be studied like ordinary knowledge. The Great Dao cannot be forced through external methods, so words cannot make clear what it truly is. It is better to turn inward, reflect, and bring the heart into alignment. To keep reflecting and setting oneself right is to diminish day by day, until the heart is wholly aligned and free of bias. Gradually, one reaches Wuwei, allowing the principles inherent in oneself to emerge naturally. After that, one no longer adds deliberate thought or action, yet can respond in harmony and understand the transformations of all things under Heaven. This is what is meant by “acting without action, yet leaving nothing undone.”

Therefore, in governing the world, one should often leave things alone and refrain from contrived action. If one deliberately intervenes everywhere, one is not fit to govern the world.

Cold and heat arise through the continual accumulation of winter and summer. When people speak of summer, they say, “Why is the heat so fierce?” When they speak of winter, they say, “Why is the cold so biting?” They do not consider that cold and heat alternate in their course, each serving its purpose. It is precisely because each passing spell of cold or heat seems useless in itself, yet contributes to the whole, that deep winter and high summer come about. Thus, if we regard cold and heat only in terms of their usefulness, we cannot bring winter and summer to completion. Likewise, if we govern the world through deliberate action everywhere, we cannot govern it.

I treat those who are good to others with kindness; I also treat those who are not good to others with kindness.

When people are led by external things, they take the judgments those things impose for granted and act in accordance with them. Zhuangzi said, “How could anything be wrong in itself? We call it wrong only because a standard has been imposed from outside.” Yet each thing does indeed have its own reasons for being as it is, and its own qualities worth valuing. So long as things do not bind me, I can regard all things on equal terms. When I can regard all things equally, there is nothing I cannot understand and nothing I cannot accept. That is why it is said: “I treat those who are good to others with kindness; I also treat those who are not good to others with kindness.”

The Dao gives life to and nourishes all things. De nurtures them. Through this, all things take shape; the conditions and patterns that govern their development bring them to completion.

The Dao is the source of all things; De is the Dao made manifest; all things are the forms in which De takes shape; and the circumstances of things are the patterns that govern their development. The source of all things can bring them forth; the Dao made manifest can nourish them; all things take shape through this, and the patterns of their development bring them to completion.

There is a primal beginning in the world that may be regarded as the mother of all things.

Zhuangzi said that there is a beginning, and there is a time before there was any beginning. “Before there was any beginning” means that there were not yet any names. Once the world had a beginning, it also had names. The Jing says, “The named is the mother of all things.” Thus the beginning of the world may be regarded as the mother of all things.

Know the mother of all things, and you can know the things she gives birth to.

Ordinary people focus on what they encounter through their eyes and ears, while the sage remains in a simple, natural state, like an infant.

After knowing all things, one must return to their mother and hold fast to her.

When a mother loses her children, and the children lose their mother, the principles of the world fall into decline. The source of all things is their mother, so the beginning of the world may be regarded as the mother of all things.

Know the mother of all things, and you can know the things she gives birth to.

Ordinary people focus on what they encounter through their eyes and ears, while the sage remains in a simple, natural state, like an infant.

After knowing all things, one must return to their mother and hold fast to her.

When a mother loses her children, and the children lose their mother, the principles of the world fall into decline. What should be done when the ways of the world have declined? One should return to the root. So am I truly different from others? What I value is seeking nourishment from the mother of all things.

In this way, one will remain free from danger throughout life.

Understanding the relationship between all things and their mother is enough. Why is it said that one will remain free from danger throughout life? Because such a person will not come to a fatal end.

Close the openings of the senses and shut the gates of desire, and you will never be trapped in toil. Open the openings of the senses, pursue external things, and busily attend to affairs, and you will never be able to save yourself.

“Dui” means joy, and also refers to the feelings that enter the heart from the outside world. A perfected person, one who has attained the Dao, blocks the openings through which external things affect the senses. The Zhuangzi says that if one can open oneself to one’s inborn nature and keep artificial desires from ruling, one should close the apertures of the senses and shut the gates of desire. If artificial desires gain the upper hand and one fails to follow one’s inborn nature, one gives free rein to the senses and rushes about in all kinds of affairs. Following one’s inborn nature allows De to grow, so one never feels worn out throughout life. Giving free rein to artificial desires damages life, leaving one unable to recover throughout life.

The ability to discern what is subtle is called clear-sightedness.

When King Zhou began using ivory chopsticks, Jizi grew worried. When the state of Chu stopped serving sweet wine at banquets for Musheng, Musheng left. When the state of Zhao killed Mingdu, Confucius was thwarted in his ambitions. These examples show that recognizing the consequences hidden in subtle signs is what is meant by “seeing the small is clarity.”

To hold fast to weakness is called strength.

Tang of Shang was once imprisoned at Xiatai, and Jie of Xia suffered defeat. King Wen of Zhou was imprisoned at Youli, and the Shang dynasty later fell. Goujian, king of Yue, once served in Wu as a stable hand, yet within ten generations Yue rose to power. These examples show that holding to weakness, enduring, and yielding can ultimately bring strength. This is what is meant by “keeping to softness is strength.”

Their descendants will be able to continue the ancestral rites for generations.

Liu Zizheng said that when a noble person preserves the spirit and nurtures De, good fortune extends to their descendants. Cultivate oneself, and De becomes genuine and pure; set one’s household in order, and De has room to flourish; govern one’s community, and De grows; govern the state, and De becomes abundant; put it into practice throughout the world, and De becomes universal.

The Book of Rites says that those in ancient times who wished to make luminous De shine throughout the world first governed their states well. Those who wished to govern their states first put their households in order; those who wished to put their households in order first cultivated themselves; and those who wished to cultivate themselves first set their hearts right. The skill of establishing and maintaining what is good lies precisely in setting the heart right. Thus, cultivating oneself makes De genuine and pure; putting one’s household in order gives De room to flourish; governing one’s community and then the state makes De abundant; and ultimately, making luminous De shine throughout the world makes De universal.

One whose inner De is deep resembles a newborn infant.

When the spirit is settled within, the inborn vital harmony can become firm. When this harmony is firm, one can preserve one’s nature and keep the heart empty and still. This is the state of guarding pure primordial Qi. Hence it is said that one whose De is deep resembles an infant. The Dao De Jing asks, “Can you be like an infant?” The Zhuangzi also asks, “Can you be like an infant?” Both refer to this state.

Poisonous insects will not sting such a person; fierce beasts will not harm them; and birds of prey will not seize them.

Cultivate the heart and preserve emptiness and stillness, and a person’s movements and repose will seem wondrous. Within movement and stillness there are patterns; change follows its regular course, and all things can find their proper place. Ah, is this not the effect of what is wondrous? If a rhinoceros has no chance to use its horn, it is as though the venomous creatures do not sting; the tiger, too, has no chance to use its claws. When people and animals do not disturb one another and each keeps to its place, this is what is meant by fierce beasts not harming people and birds of prey not striking.

Venomous creatures do not sting, fierce beasts do not harm people, and birds of prey do not strike.

Cultivate the heart and preserve emptiness and stillness, and movement and repose will seem wondrous. Movement and repose follow patterns; change follows its regular course, and all things find their proper place. Ah, is this not the effect of what is wondrous? The rhinoceros has no chance to use its horn, and venomous creatures do not sting; the tiger has no chance to use its claws—this is what is meant by fierce beasts not harming people. People and animals do not disturb one another’s lives; this is what is meant by birds of prey not striking.

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish.

Fish need to be left undisturbed in the pot, just as the people need to live in peace under good governance. Turn the fish over too often and they fall apart; disturb the people too often and the state cannot be at peace. Though this saying concerns a small matter, it can explain a great principle of governing a state.

Govern the world by the Dao, and spirits and ghosts will not appear to cause trouble.

Govern the world by the Dao, and the people can all live in peace and happiness. Zhuangzi said that when people know how to follow the Way of Heaven and live in contentment, they do not blame one another, and spirits and ghosts bring no calamity. Thus spirits and ghosts do not appear to cause trouble.

It is not that spirits and ghosts lack supernatural powers; rather, they do not harm people.

An ancient book says, “The people are the masters of the spirits.” Spirits depend on people in order to act. When people each keep to their duties, the spirits follow their regular course. The spirits harming their own masters is something that has never happened.

Spirits do not harm people, and sages do not harm people either. When neither side harms the other, their virtue comes together.

The Explanation of Laozi says that when the people break the law, they harm their ruler; when the ruler punishes the people, the ruler harms them. If the people do not break the law and the ruler does not abuse punishment, the ruler does not harm himself. Just as spirits do not disturb the people and the people do not offend the spirits, neither side intends to harm the other. This is great virtue. Thus, when neither side harms the other, their virtue comes together.

A great state should place itself downstream.

Water always flows toward low places, so the rivers and seas can become the meeting place for the waters of many valleys.

Why cast aside those who are not good?

Just as spirits do not disturb the people and the people do not offend the spirits, neither side intends to harm the other. This is great virtue. Thus, when neither side harms the other, their virtue comes together.

A great state should place itself downstream.

Water always flows toward low places, so the rivers and seas can become the meeting place for the waters of many valleys.

Why cast aside those who are not good?

One who treats people well, I treat with kindness; one who treats people poorly, I also treat with kindness. This is Laozi’s way of saving the people, and it is also a response to the customs of the age. Hence the saying: “Always be skilled at helping people; then no one is cast aside.”

When dealing with difficult matters, begin where they are easy. When accomplishing great things, begin where they are small.

What is evident often arises from what is deep and hard to discern; what is orderly also begins in the formless. Once everything has become visible and orderly, it is difficult for me to make distinctions. This is because I failed to discern change early enough. The difficult affairs under Heaven must first show signs in what is easy; the great affairs under Heaven must first show signs in what is small.

Therefore, the sage who wishes to stand above others speaks humbly; the sage who wishes to go ahead of others places himself behind them. In this way, when the sage occupies a high position, people do not feel burdened; when he leads the way, people do not feel harmed. Therefore, the people under Heaven gladly support him and do not grow weary of him. Because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him.

Others insist on their own views, and I too hold to mine. It is not that I dare not state my views, nor that I cannot prevail over the other person. I would simply rather set aside my own views so that the other person’s views may be fulfilled. Setting aside one’s own views to fulfill those of others is my way of bringing together all the opinions under Heaven. Because I do not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with me.

Others insist on their own views, and I too hold to mine. It is not that I dare not state my views, nor that I cannot prevail over the other person. I would simply rather set aside my own views so that the other person’s views may be fulfilled. Setting aside one’s own views to fulfill those of others is my way of bringing together all the opinions under Heaven. For this reason, the people under Heaven gladly support me and do not grow weary of me. This is also the principle I put into practice. The Guanzi says: “One who uses worthy ability to place himself above others can never truly win people’s hearts; one who humbles himself before others through worthy ability can win everyone’s heart.” This is precisely the point.

Everyone under Heaven says that my Dao is vast, yet it resembles no particular thing. Precisely because it is vast, it resembles no particular thing.

The Jing says: “Everyone has something to rely on; I alone am dull and shallow.” This is what is meant by “resembling no particular thing.” What can the sage gain from this? This very quality of not appearing exceptionally clever. Argument need not appear quick-witted, and breadth of knowledge need not appear clever. So long as something can be put to practical use, its effects will not be exhausted. What sort of person is that? What sort of person is that? This is like what a commentary calls “dim and obscure, deep and hidden”: free of fixed opinions, and therefore difficult to assess by ordinary standards.

If the Dao resembled some particular thing, it would long ago have become small.

The Dao has no form, and so has no fixed appearance. Once it takes on a fixed appearance, it is confined by form; but the Dao is not confined by form. Would that not make it small? This is what is meant by “dim and obscure, deep and hidden”: free of fixed opinions, and therefore difficult to assess by ordinary standards.

If the Dao resembled some particular thing, it would long ago have become small.

The Dao has no form, and so has no fixed appearance. Once it takes on a fixed appearance, it is confined by form; but the Dao is not confined by form. Would that not make it small?

I have three treasures to guard and put into practice. The first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to place myself ahead of everyone under Heaven.

This marks a difference between the Classic of De and the preceding text. These are also the virtues Laozi practiced in his own life. Compassion is rooted in benevolence; frugality means keeping virtue within and not displaying it; and not daring to take the lead means humility.

Because one is compassionate, one can be courageous.

King Wen of Zhou showed compassion by governing with benevolence and caring for the people. Yet when the king’s anger blazed forth, he could also step forward and take responsibility for bringing peace to the realm. Thus, the benevolent are sure to have courage.

Because one does not dare to place oneself ahead of everyone under Heaven, one can become the leader of all instruments. The realm is a great instrument; it cannot be handled recklessly through force. To force matters is to invite failure. I follow the Way of Wuwei (non-action) and do not compel the people to govern the realm by force. Therefore, I can stand at the head of all instruments. This is what it means to put oneself behind and thereby come to the front.

Those skilled at overcoming an enemy do not fight with others.

The Classic of Changes, in the “Army” hexagram, says, “Water within the earth: the Army.” The Army hexagram concerns military forces, which should lead the people in accordance with the right way. Water nourishes all things without contending; the advantage it shows in overcoming an enemy is therefore the finest kind of victory.

Those skilled at employing people always place themselves in a lower position.

Mencius said, “In terms of rank, you are the ruler and I am the minister; in terms of virtue, you are the one who serves me. How could I dare to stand on an equal footing with you?” Thus Tang employed Yi Yin as his minister, King Wen of Zhou employed Lü Wang (Jiang Taigong), King Wu of Zhou employed the Duke of Zhou, and Duke Huan of Qi employed Guan Zhong. Though rulers lowered themselves, their ministers still accepted their appointments; this was because they were not bound by distinctions of rank. Most rulers in later ages were unable to employ their ministers, and ministers found it difficult to be employed by their rulers. The reason was simple: rulers liked their ministers to accept appointments, but were unwilling to respect the virtue and ability that made them worthy of receiving them.

This is called the virtue of non-contention.

An ancient text says, “Contention is the last resort in dealing with affairs.” Thus, the Way of Heaven does not contend, yet it excels at winning; the sages practice Wuwei and do not contend with others. It is called “virtue” here because, once one has left the level of the Dao, one has entered the level of De.

This is called drawing on the strength of the people.

I practice Wuwei and can employ the people of the realm. Who, then, would act on my behalf? This is precisely what it means to be skilled at drawing on the strength of the people.

This is called matching Heaven, the highest principle since ancient times.

Yao asked Xu You, “Can Nie Que be fit to match Heaven?” Xu You replied, “He still prizes cleverness and rushes after things like a raging fire. He is still pursuing the threads of things and changing along with external circumstances. How could he be fit to match Heaven?” It follows that not contending or competing, while being skilled at employing the people, is the virtue by which one matches Heaven and reaches the highest state.

In the use of armed force, there is this saying: “I dare not take the offensive; I take the defensive.”

Someone asked, “If you dare not take the initiative in attack and only respond to the other side, isn’t that far too timid?” The reply was, “How can you say that? A gentleman is respected precisely because he can treat others with humility.” This can perhaps be explained through the Jing (classic) of the Book of Changes, in the Hexagram of the Army. Its third line says, “The army carries corpses in its carts. Misfortune.” This is the error of a yielding Yin line that rises above a firm Yang line. A rash attack will accomplish nothing in the end because the claim to act is unjustified; always taking the initiative is the fault of the attacking side. The fifth line says, “There is game in the fields; it is fitting to capture it. This shows that circumstances are appropriate, and there will be no misfortune.” The fifth line is yielding but occupies a firm position, and so does not dare to launch an attack lightly. Once it sets out, it catches its quarry and naturally gains something. This is the principle of responding rather than taking the initiative in attack. If so, can the harm of initiating military action really be so great? That is why it says, “I dare not.”

“To push away without arms” means to reach out and fend off as though one had no arms. “To strike without an opponent” means to attack as though there were no one to fight. “To grasp a weapon without a weapon” means to hold a weapon as though one had none. These sayings all teach that one should not rely on strength to fight. Only by yielding can things be accomplished; only by not contending can no one under Heaven contend with you, whether in ability or achievement. With no weapon to rely on, there is no killing to speak of. Why fight at all? The highest way to wage war is to respond through Wuwei (non-action). An emperor’s war rests on De (Virtue/Power), and a king’s war rests on the Dao (the Way). Why, then, hold a weapon?

No disaster is greater than underestimating the enemy. Those who do so come close to losing their own treasure. Weapons are inauspicious things. It is easy to admire them and treat them as playthings; handle them for long, and pride arises. Pride brings a loss of vigilance, and a loss of vigilance brings defeat and ruin. Defeat weakens one’s strength; weakness invites disorder, which ultimately leads to destruction. Thus, underestimating the enemy nearly causes one to lose one’s own treasure.

When two armies face each other and fight, the side that feels compassion can prevail. The humane person cannot bear to see others suffer and does not delight in killing; military force is used to put an end to killing. Therefore, if someone says amid a battle, “I am skilled at forming ranks; I am skilled at fighting,” that is a grave offense. The one truly able to prevail is the one who grieves for others.

“My words are very easy to understand and very easy to put into practice, yet under Heaven there is no one who understands them or can put them into practice.”

The Great Dao is level and easy to follow. “Yi” means level and easy. Thus the Dao is supremely plain and easy, and its principles are supremely simple. What is plain and easy is readily understood; what is simple is readily practiced. That is why Laozi says, “My words are very easy to understand and very easy to put into practice.” Even ordinary men and women, however dull, can understand them; even those of modest ability can act on them. Yet as soon as the principle is made clear, it is quickly forgotten. This is not the fault of ordinary people. The people have been lost for so long that no one under Heaven truly understands or puts the Dao into practice.

It is precisely because people lack true understanding that they do not understand me.

The sage observes the subtle principle, and his mind is not burdened by it. He lives among the multitude, yet does not join in their schemes. The mind follows Qi (vital energy); Qi follows Shen (spirit); Shen follows the Dao. How these things appear and disappear is beyond people’s knowledge. This is true understanding. Others do not understand me, so they do not understand what I say. Even so, why should I be troubled that they do not understand me? The Zhuangzi says: If others call me a horse, I go along and say I am a horse; if they call me an ox, I go along and say I am an ox. Do they truly understand me, or do they not?

Thus the sage wears coarse cloth on the outside and keeps jade hidden within. The leopard’s coat is vividly patterned; those who prize eloquence often make their words dazzling, too. Because their literary brilliance is conspicuous, no worthy person in the world remains whole and unharmed; because its spots stand out, a leopard in the wild is rarely seen intact. I grieve over both of these conditions: how can they escape calamity? The answer is that both are perilous, for conspicuous markings invite disaster. The sage appears and vanishes like a dragon, revealing no trace; he draws in his shadow and erases his tracks. Does he refuse to let people see his worth? This is what it means to wear coarse cloth outside and keep jade hidden within.

To know that one does not know is admirable.

To know what one knows, and to know what one does not know: this is true wisdom.

To act recklessly and court danger often leads to death; to be cautious and avoid danger can preserve one’s life.

To fight a tiger barehanded or cross a river on foot is to act recklessly and court danger. Even if one dies without regret, the result is simply the loss of one’s life. To stay clear of a wall on the verge of collapse is to be cautious and avoid danger. By guarding against harm to the life one has been given, one preserves oneself.

The people often do not fear death. How, then, can they be threatened with death?

This sigh from Laozi was probably an expression of grief at the state of the world in his time. When those in power lose the Way of governing, they prize political schemes. Once they prize schemes, they inevitably impose stricter surveillance and harsher punishments. As oversight and punishment grow ever more severe, the people can no longer make a living and so come to disregard the penalties for breaking the law. The dead follow one after another, their bodies lying head to head. In such circumstances, how could people fear death?

“If I made the people constantly fear death, and whenever someone acted strangely I seized and killed him, who would dare to do so again?”

The people already fear death, yet some still act strangely. This means trying to change the condition of the people’s fear of death. Remove political schemes, and there will be no harsh surveillance. Without harsh surveillance, one can prize stillness and Wuwei (non-action). When stillness and Wuwei are prized, the people naturally become settled, and there will be no penalties for them to break—much less anyone who does not fear death.

“If I made the people constantly fear death, and whenever someone acted strangely I seized and killed him, who would dare to do so again?”

The people already fear death, yet some still act strangely. This means encouraging deviant conduct among the people and throwing them into disorder. But does strange conduct disrupt the people just as weeds in a field disrupt the grain? Remove the weeds, and the grain will flourish; remove strange conduct, and the people will be settled. I would seize and kill anyone who acted this way.

The people go hungry because the rulers impose excessive taxes.

Mencius said, “There are taxes on cloth, taxes on grain, and levies for labor service. If a ruler, though a gentleman, waives one of these but continues to impose the other two, some among the people will starve to death.”

The people should be made to value life and not lightly leave their homes and migrate elsewhere.

If this does not happen, the blame lies with tyrannical rulers and corrupt officials. Some old people and children wander from place to place, even dying in ditches and ravines; the people then come to value life lightly. Able-bodied adults scatter to different regions, and the people no longer regard migration as a serious matter.

Even though there are boats and carts, no one rides in them.

In the mountains there are no paths or tunnels, and across marshes there are no boats or bridges. This is what an age of deep virtue looks like.

Neighboring states can be seen from one another, and the sounds of their chickens and dogs can be heard across the borders.

Zhuangzi said: “All things grow in groups, each living close together with its own kind. That is why neighboring states can be seen from one another. Birds and beasts live in groups, so the sounds of chickens and dogs can be heard across the borders.”

True words are not necessarily pleasing to the ear; pleasing words are not necessarily true.

The Dao, in itself, offers nothing to ask about; if someone asks, the Dao does not answer. Those who understand the Dao do not rely on words to argue. Questions pursued without end cannot be answered in a way that encompasses everything. Therefore, those skilled at argument do not truly understand the Dao.