《老子道德经河上公章句》

The Heshanggong Commentary on the Dao De Jing: Chapter One, Embodying the Dao

“The Dao that can be explained in words is merely the Dao of canonical teachings, government orders, and instruction; it is not the Dao that remains constant. The constant Dao follows the natural course of growth. It does not act recklessly, but nurtures the spirit; it does not stir up affairs, but brings peace to the people. It conceals its radiance and hides its traces, and cannot be fully expressed in words.

“A name that can be spoken is merely a name for wealth, rank, honor, or fame beyond the ordinary world; it is not a name that remains constant. The constant name should be like an infant who has not yet spoken, or an egg whose parts have not yet separated: bright within, yet outwardly seeming dull and ignorant. It is also like a pearl hidden inside an oyster, or fine jade buried in stone.

“Namelessness is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. Here, ‘namelessness’ refers to the Dao: the Dao has no form, and so cannot be named. It is the root of the Dao. From emptiness, it breathes forth primordial Qi and brings about transformations, becoming the origin of Heaven and Earth.

“Having a name is the mother of the myriad things. Here, ‘having a name’ refers to Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth have form and place, and contain Yin-Yang, softness and strength; therefore, they can be named. Heaven and Earth hold primordial Qi within them, bring forth the myriad things, and nurture them to maturity, just as a mother raises her children.

“Thus, by being constantly without desire, one can observe the Dao’s subtlety. ‘Subtlety’ means its essential principle. When people can remain without desire, they can perceive the Dao’s essential principle—that is, the ‘One.’ From the ‘One,’ the Dao unfolds in transformation, revealing the many names and principles and making distinctions between right and wrong possible.

“By being constantly filled with desire, one can observe where things ultimately lead. Here, ‘outcomes’ means destinations: those who have desires can see what people in the ordinary world pursue and where they direct themselves.

“These two states, being without desire and having desire, arise from the same human mind, but have different names. What is called being without desire can endure; what is called having desire may bring harm upon oneself.

“Both are called ‘mysterious,’ because both receive primordial Qi from Heaven. ‘Mysterious upon mysterious’ means that within Heaven there is a still deeper Heaven. The primordial Qi received differs in its purity and measure: those nourished by what is balanced and harmonious may become worthy people or sages, while those who receive confused and impure Qi may develop greed and indulgence.

“To understand that there is a still deeper Heaven, and to remove desires and preserve inner balance, is to grasp the gateway to the Dao’s essential principle. This is ‘the gateway to all subtleties.’”

Everyone in the world knows that beauty is beautiful. Once people boast of it and display their own beauty, beauty becomes conspicuous, and its opposite, ugliness, appears. This brings danger. Everyone knows goodness is good, and goodness gains fame and recognition; then what is not good also becomes apparent and turns into an object of people’s competition.

Being and nonbeing give rise to each other: only when we see being do we think of nonbeing. Difficulty and ease take shape in relation to each other: only when something seems difficult can we speak of ease. Long and short are measured against each other: only where there is shortness does length become apparent. High and low set each other off: only where there is height does lowliness become visible. Sounds answer one another: when one voice sings first, another responds. Before and after follow one another: when one moves ahead, another follows.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and governs by following the Dao (the Way). The sage teaches without words and guides through personal example. The myriad things grow and act on their own, and the sage does not obstruct them. The sage gives life to and nurtures the myriad things without claiming them as their own; acts without relying on those actions or expecting a return; and, when achievements are complete, does not claim their fame or position. Precisely because the sage does not claim credit, their merit and virtue do not depart, but remain with them over time.

The Riverbank Lord’s commentary explains that once a ruler sets up a starting point for the relative distinctions discussed above—high and low, long and short, and so on—many changes arise below, and these can easily lead to turmoil. In plain terms, the sage’s refusal to claim credit is a way to avoid the competition and disorder that follow.

They do not esteem those said to be worthy and capable. Here, “worthy” refers to people whom the world praises for their eloquence and skill in embellishing words. They depart from the Dao, resort to expedient manipulation, abandon what is simple and substantial, and pursue ornate appearances. “Do not esteem” means not elevating them with stipends and official rank.

Then the people will not contend for fame and office, and can return to their natural state.

They do not treat rare goods as precious. This means that the ruler does not covet treasures: gold may remain in the mountains, and pearls and jade may be cast into the depths.

Then the people will not become thieves. When those above are quiet and free of greed, those below will have no one who covets such things.

They do not display things that might stir desire. This means rejecting Zheng music, regarded as licentious, and keeping away from physical beauty.

Then the mind will not be disturbed or ensnared by depravity and delusion.

Thus, the principles by which the sage governs the state are the same as those by which he cultivates himself: he does not covet, does not display things that incite desire, and keeps the mind undisturbed.

To make the mind empty and still is to remove cravings and restless afflictions. To make the belly full is to embrace the Dao and maintain single-mindedness, thereby bringing the Five Spirits within the body to rest.

To make the will gentle and humble is to be mild and yielding, and not to occupy a position of power. To strengthen the sinews and bones is to cherish one’s vital essence and exercise restraint in its release, so that the marrow is abundant and the sinews and bones are firm.

Always keep the people simple and honest; do not nurture clever knowledge or desire. Then even those who are deep in their calculations and skilled at scheming will not dare to act recklessly. Here, “not dare to act” means that, after careful deliberation, they do not act rashly.

Follow the way of Wuwei (non-action), refrain from contriving, and let action accord with nature. Then nothing under Heaven will be beyond governance. When the transforming influence of De is profound, the people can live in peace.

The Dao is empty and formless, yet it can function. Its power lies in remaining centered and open. The Dao conceals itself, seeks no fame, and is always humble, never making itself full or self-satisfied.

The Dao is profound and mysterious, as if it were the source of all things. Those who single-mindedly seek advancement and pursue fame and status should rein in their sharpness and follow the Dao’s example of not showing itself.

To resolve disputes and old resentments, remember that the Dao dissolves entanglements through Wuwei (non-action). Even when you have distinctive insights, you should temper your radiance and avoid using your cleverness to unsettle others. You should also live among people without setting yourself above them or making a show of being different.

The Dao is deep and still, seeming to exist yet difficult to perceive. Laozi said, “I do not know where the Dao came from.” The Dao existed before the Heavenly Emperor appeared; in other words, it preceded Heaven and Earth. The Dao endures to this day because it is quiet and settled, undisturbed by exertion or desire. In cultivating oneself, one should follow the Dao’s example.

Heaven and Earth show no favoritism. They treat all things like straw figures used in sacrifices (chugou). Heaven and Earth bring all things into being without expecting anything in return.

The sage, too, shows no favoritism and treats the people like straw figures. The sage cares for the people and follows the example of Heaven and Earth, allowing all things to follow their natural course. He does not claim credit for his kindness or expect the people to repay him or show gratitude.

The space between Heaven and Earth is vast and open. Harmonious Qi flows through it, allowing all things to grow naturally. If people can rid themselves of desires, moderate their appetites, and quiet the Five Viscera, Shen (spirit) can dwell peacefully within.

The space between Heaven and Earth is like a bellows and its air tube (tuoyue): empty inside, yet able to stir Qi and produce sound. It is empty but never exhausted; the more it is worked, the more Qi surges forth.

Too much talk often brings trouble. Too much activity harms the spirit, and too many words injure oneself. Even opening one’s mouth and moving one’s tongue can invite misfortune. Better to keep the Virtue within, nourish the spirit, cherish original Qi, and speak sparingly.

The Valley Spirit refers to the spirit that nourishes body and mind and keeps them from declining. Here, “spirit” means the spirits of the five organs: the liver stores the Hun, the lungs the Po, the heart the Shen, the kidneys the Jing, and the spleen the Zhi. When the five organs are damaged, the five spirits depart as well.

This is the “Mysterious Female.” Commentators believe that human vitality is connected with the Mysterious Female: the “Mysterious” belongs to Heaven and corresponds to the nose, while the “Female” belongs to Earth and corresponds to the mouth. Heaven nourishes people with the five Qi, which enter through the nose, are stored in the heart, and transform into innate qualities such as essence, spirit, acuity, clarity, and voice. The Hun governs movement in and out through the nose and connects with Heaven, which is why the nose is called “Mysterious.” Earth nourishes people with the five flavors, which enter through the mouth, are stored in the stomach, and form the body, bones and flesh, blood vessels, and other features. The Po governs movement in and out through the mouth and connects with Earth, which is why the mouth is called “Female.”

The “Gate of the Mysterious Female” is the passage through which the roots of Heaven and Earth communicate. “Root” means the source; here it refers to the nose and mouth as channels through which primordial Qi of Heaven and Earth passes in and out.

Breathing should be long and fine, almost imperceptible. “Use it without strain” means that when working with the breath, one should remain relaxed and unhurried, without breathing sharply or exerting oneself to the point of fatigue.

Chapter Seven: Concealing One’s Brilliance

The enduring existence of Heaven and Earth illustrates the principle of their long life and teaches people to model themselves on them. Heaven and Earth endure because they do not seek to preserve themselves. They last because they remain still and practice Wuwei (non-action), giving to all things without seeking anything in return. Unlike people, they do not eagerly pursue their own interests, even taking from others to satisfy themselves. That is why they can endure.

So the sage places himself behind others: he lets them go first and takes his place after them. In this way, he comes to stand ahead of everyone, because people throughout the world respect him and raise him up as their leader. The sage sets his own interests aside, thinking less of himself and more of others, and thereby preserves himself. The people cherish him as they would their parents, and the spirits protect him as they would a baby, so his life can endure.

Is this not because he has no selfish intentions? Is the sage not loved by the people and protected by the spirits because he is impartial and selfless? Precisely for this reason, he ultimately fulfills himself. When ordinary people speak of pursuing private interests, they mean seeking a better life for themselves. The sage has no selfish intentions, yet naturally receives generous care—and so fulfills himself.

Chapter Eight: Changing One’s Nature

Is the sage not loved by the people and protected by the spirits because he is impartial and selfless? Precisely for this reason, he ultimately fulfills himself. When ordinary people speak of pursuing private interests, they mean seeking a better life for themselves. The sage has no selfish intentions, yet naturally receives generous care—and so fulfills himself.

The person of highest character is like water. Water excels at nourishing all things, yet does not compete with them.

In the sky, water becomes mist and dew; on the earth, it becomes springs. It settles in low, damp places, amid filth and murk, that everyone despises. In its nature, water is close to the Dao.

It makes its home in low places: water flows downward with the lay of the land, like the feminine quality of yielding and remaining below, never striving for a higher position. Its heart is deep as an abyss: pools of water are profound and clear. It treats others with benevolence: all things rely on water to grow and thrive. The word “give” also carries the sense of not being complacent or overflowing.

Its words are trustworthy: water reflects things and shows their true shapes. It is skilled at bringing order: nothing cannot be cleansed by water, which leaves things clean and smooth. It is capable in its work: it can be square or round, curved or straight, taking the shape of whatever contains it. Its actions accord with the proper time: in summer it spreads and flows; in winter it freezes into ice. It moves with the seasons and does not go against the time of Heaven.

Water can do all this because it does not contend. When someone blocks it, it stops; when someone opens a channel, it flows, following human direction. Thus, no one under Heaven resents or blames water.

The chapter “Yunyi” (“Holding to What Is Level and Preserving What Has Been Achieved”) teaches that when things reach fullness and prosperity, one should know when to stop rather than keep seeking more.

It is better to stop in time than to cling tightly to a vessel that is already full. “Full” means filled to capacity, and “stop” means to bring something to an end. To keep something full indefinitely will eventually lead to its overturning, so it is better to let go at the right moment.

Repeatedly polishing and embellishing something that has already taken shape makes it difficult to preserve for long. “Cui” means to work on or refine something. What has been deliberately embellished is often later discarded.

No one can guard a hall piled high with gold and jade forever. Craving pleasure harms the spirit, while excessive possessions become a burden on the body and in life. After gaining wealth and status, pride and arrogance invite trouble. The wealthy should help those in poverty, and the honored should show consideration for those of low status. If instead they become overbearing and unrestrained, they will surely bring calamity upon themselves.

Once one’s achievements are complete and one’s reputation has risen, one should withdraw and yield one’s position. This is to follow the course of Heaven. If someone refuses to step back after achieving success and fame, they may suffer harm; this too is a common pattern in the way things unfold. Just as the sun begins to move westward at noon, the moon wanes after becoming full, all things decline after reaching their height, and joy turns to sorrow when it reaches its extreme.

Can you carry the hun and po (soul aspects) and keep them from separating? Here, “nourishing the hun and po” refers to a person’s soul. People depend on them to live, so they should be cared for and nurtured. Excessive joy or anger can disturb the hun, while sudden fright can harm the po. The hun belongs to the liver, and the po to the lungs; overindulging in fine wine and rich food can also damage the liver and lungs. When the mind and Shen (spirit) are settled and one’s aims accord with the Dao (the Way), the hun does not become disturbed. When the po is settled, a person can live a long life.

Can you hold fast to the One and keep from straying? The “One” refers to the source from which the Dao gives rise to things, and also to the harmonious, unified Qi (vital energy) between Heaven and Earth. If people can hold fast to it and keep it within themselves, they can endure for a long time. The principle of the One extends throughout the world: Heaven receives it and becomes clear; Earth receives it and becomes peaceful; lords and kings receive it and can govern with fairness and equanimity. When it enters the heart, it becomes a person’s original nature; when put into practice, it becomes De (Virtue/Power). The One means being focused and undivided.

If you focus on guarding your Qi and keep it from becoming scattered, your body will become supple in response, like that of an infant. If you can be like an infant, with no distracting thoughts in your heart and no outside affairs disturbing you, your spirit will not be depleted.

Wash the heart and make it pure. “Mysterious mirror” refers to the heart, hidden deep within, that perceives all things. Can you keep your heart pure and unblemished, free from the intrusion of harmful desires?

Can you care for the people and govern the state without blemish? Those who cultivate themselves cherish their Qi and so preserve their bodies; those who govern the state care for the people and so bring the state peace.

Can you practice Wuwei (non-action)? In self-cultivation, regulate the breath and guard the Qi, without letting the senses lead the mind and spirit. In governing the state, put benevolence and good governance into practice without making a show of them, so that the people naturally benefit.

The “Gate of Heaven” refers to the Purple Enclosure at the North Pole; “opening and closing” refers to the changing cycles of Heaven and Earth. In self-cultivation, the Gate of Heaven refers to the nostrils: opening is exhalation, and closing is inhalation.

Can you be like the female? In self-cultivation, be quiet and yielding, like the female. In governing the state, respond to change and excel at bringing things into accord, without forcing yourself to lead.

Be clear-sighted and perceptive, like the light of the sun and moon shining in all directions, reaching even the farthest corners of the world. The Dao cannot be seen or heard, yet it moves everywhere, radiant and immense.

Can you avoid thinking that you know everything? No one can fully know the great Dao that extends throughout the world.

The Dao brings all things into being and nurtures them. It gives life to and nourishes all things, yet does not claim them as its own. It acts, yet does not rely on its achievements or expect a return. It helps all things grow, yet does not rule them or cut them down to use as implements. This is called “Mysterious De,” a profound virtue that is difficult to perceive. The classic uses this to urge people to emulate the Dao’s way of acting.

Thirty spokes converge at a wheel hub. In ancient times, a wheel had thirty spokes, corresponding to the number of days in a month. The hub has a hole in its center, and all the spokes meet there. Those who cultivate themselves should remove emotional desires and empty the five viscera, so that the spirit can return to the body. Those who govern a state should have a small number of capable people lead the many, bringing the strength of the people together.

It is precisely because the hub is hollow that the wheel can turn and move forward; the carriage can carry people because there is space inside it. Here, “nothing” means emptiness.

Clay is kneaded to make vessels. “Knead” means to work the clay, and “clay” is the material itself. A vessel can hold things because its interior is empty.

Doors and windows are cut into walls to make a house. The openings allow people to enter and leave, and to look out; the space inside lets them live there. This is what makes a house useful.

Thus, tangible things provide practical benefits, but their usefulness depends on empty space: a vessel holds things, a house shelters people, and the body contains the spirit. People also worry that their house may be destroyed or their body may perish. Empty space allows a vessel to hold things and a house to shelter people. Because emptiness can accommodate all things, “nothing” enables tangible things to serve their purpose. The Dao itself, too, is like emptiness.

Greed harms both the body and the mind.

The five colors dazzle the eyes. Craving beauty depletes Jing and Qi (essence and vital energy), and may even damage one’s sight.

The five sounds dull the hearing. Becoming absorbed in pleasing music disturbs inner calm and makes one unable to hear the soundless sound. Here, “the soundless sound” refers to a state of stillness undisturbed by external noise.

The five flavors make the mouth and tongue lose their natural balance. “Shuang” means to lose or be deprived of something. Greedily indulging in many flavors can make the mouth and tongue lose restraint, and can also lead one’s words and actions away from what accords with the Dao (the Way).

Riding at a gallop and chasing game in a hunt can throw the mind and spirit into turmoil. A person’s spirit should be at rest. Becoming absorbed in pursuits and activities that leave one breathing hard dissipates the spirit, making it easier for the mind to become disordered.

Hard-to-obtain possessions can undermine one’s conduct. “Undermine” here means to cause harm. Precious things such as gold, silver, pearls, and jade can stir greed. When desire goes unsatisfied, it can lead people to harm themselves and suffer humiliation.

So the sage seeks only the necessities of life, safeguards the five innate dispositions, lets go of the six emotions and desires, regulates the mind and breath, and nourishes the spirit. The sage does not let the eyes chase external things or allow the gaze to wander at will, lest Jing and Qi be dissipated outward. Thus, one should relinquish craving for external things and turn instead to safeguarding the body and mind within.

Both favor and disgrace can unsettle the mind. When a person receives favor, they may feel alarmed; when they suffer disgrace, they may feel alarmed as well. One should regard great trouble as seriously as one regards oneself. Here, “to value” means to fear, and “as if it came” means that it arrives: great trouble has come upon oneself, and so one is alarmed.

What are favor and disgrace? Favor means being honored and glorified; disgrace means suffering shame. The Jing explains this with the words, “Favor is above; disgrace is below”: favor occupies a place of honor, while disgrace signifies low status.

When you receive favor and honor, be as cautious as if startled. In a high position, act as though standing at the edge of a deep abyss, without daring to become proud; even when wealthy, do not dare to live extravagantly. When favor is withdrawn and you fall into disgrace, you may also feel alarmed, fearing that calamity will strike again. This is what “favor and disgrace unsettle one alike” means.

Why should one fear great trouble as seriously as one regards oneself? Because having a body brings worries: one must fret over hunger and cold, and be driven by emotions and desires, which may invite calamity. If one can reach the state of “having no body”—that is, no longer clinging to the body or personal interests, but following the Great Dao and naturally attaining the Dao—these troubles will not arise.

Thus, someone who esteems themselves and looks down on others may perhaps govern the realm for a time, but cannot do so for long. Only someone who cherishes themselves and, through that care, takes on the responsibility of looking after the people—regarding the common people as their own children—can be entrusted with the realm and avoid missteps over the long term.

Look at it, but it cannot be seen: this is called “Yi” (colorless). Here, “Dao” or “the One” is meant. It has no color and so cannot be seen. Listen for it, but it cannot be heard: this is called “Xi” (soundless). It has no sound and so cannot be heard. Reach out to touch it, but it cannot be grasped: this is called “Wei” (formless). It has no body and so cannot be seized by hand.

These three qualities—Yi, Xi, and Wei—cannot be pursued to their ultimate depths. Because it is colorless, soundless, and formless, words cannot explain it clearly, and writing can scarcely convey it. One should experience it with a tranquil mind and seek it through the spirit; it cannot be attained through questions and answers. Thus these three blend into one.

Above, it does not appear bright; below, it does not appear dark. “Shengsheng” describes its ceaseless movement and endless change. It cannot be named: it cannot be distinguished by blue-green, yellow, white, or black, nor recognized by musical notes such as gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu. It cannot be measured by length, shortness, size, or scale.

Ultimately, it returns to “no thing”—having no concrete material form. This is called “the shape of the shapeless”: it has no shape of its own, yet can give rise to the shapes of all things. It is also called “the image of no thing”: it has no material form of its own, yet enables all things to appear in forms. This is “Huhuang,” describing something that seems both present and absent, and is difficult to see.

Walk toward it, and you cannot see its head; follow behind it, and you cannot see its tail. It has no beginning or end, nor any trace by which it can be discerned.

Grasp the Dao that has existed since ancient times and use it to guide the things that exist in the present. The sage holds to the ancient Dao, knowing that all things arise from the One and that the existence of all things in the present depends on it. To know the source of antiquity is to understand the guiding principle of the Dao.

The ancient rulers who were skilled in cultivating the Dao (the Way) were able to hold fast to the ancient Way and use it to govern the affairs of the present. Knowing that all things originally come from the One—the Dao—they understood that the Dao is the fundamental principle of all things.

Those who attain the Dao have minds of deep and subtle insight, in communion with the Way of Heaven. Their De (Virtue and Power) is profound and difficult to fathom. They look inward as though they see nothing, and listen inwardly as though they hear nothing; others cannot know their true abilities. So we can only make a tentative attempt to describe them through images.

They act with the care of someone crossing a river in winter, weighing every step and hesitation. They move with restraint, as though afraid of being noticed by those around them. They are solemn, like guests who revere their host, and do not act rashly. They are like ice about to melt, letting desires dissolve and gradually returning to emptiness and stillness. Their inner nature is honest and unadorned; they preserve their spiritual essence and make no display of outward refinement. Their hearts are spacious and empty, like a valley. They do not claim merit or fame, yet can contain all things. They are deep and indistinct, preserve their true nature, and accord with others without imposing their own will.

Who can still muddy water and wait for it to clear gradually? Who can remain at peace for a long time, then let life slowly emerge? Those who hold to this Dao do not seek fullness or excess. Because they are not self-satisfied, they can keep their radiance hidden and avoid boasting of recent accomplishments. Heshang Gong’s commentary explains that “conceal” here means to hide one’s glory, while “recent accomplishment” means placing importance on fame and achievement.

Making the mind utterly clear and still means that a person who has attained the Dao (the Way) can set aside desires, keep the five organs pure and quiet, and reach a state of emptiness and stillness. Hold steadfastly to this purity and stillness, and act with sincerity and solidity.

All things are growing. From this, I observe their cycles of change and see that they ultimately return to their roots. Therefore, people should value the root. Plants and trees flourish, then eventually wither and fall; each returns to its root, from which it grows again.

Returning to the root is stillness. The root is quiet and yielding, humble and lowly; therefore, it can continually bring forth new life. This is called returning to life’s nature. Returning to one’s nature is the constant Dao. Understanding this constant Dao is called wisdom. Failing to understand it and acting recklessly or scheming cleverly invites danger.

One who understands the constant Dao can cast off desires and embrace all things. Embracing all things, one can be impartial and free of selfishness, untouched by what is crooked or harmful. Being impartial and free of selfishness, one can become ruler of the world. When one governs oneself with integrity, the body becomes unified, and the many spirits gather within. As a ruler, one’s De (Virtue/Power) accords with the spirits, then reaches to Heaven. Reaching to Heaven, one becomes one with the Dao. Becoming one with the Dao, one can endure.

One who can be impartial, become a ruler, reach to Heaven, and become one with the Dao has De that is vast and profound. Even throughout life, until death, there will be no calamity or danger.

In ancient times, under the best ruler, the people knew that such a ruler existed, yet did not feel that they were serving him. This shows that they were simple and natural.

The next best ruler was one whom the people felt close to and praised. His virtue was evident and his kindness could be seen, so the people loved and celebrated him.

The ruler below him made the people fearful. He governed them through punishment.

A still worse ruler was scorned and bullied by the people. He imposed many prohibitions and issued cumbersome orders, so the people could not sincerely submit to him. They deceived and looked down on him instead.

When a ruler lacks trustworthiness, the people respond in kind, and go on to deceive him.

The best ruler acts with care and speaks sparingly. He does not issue orders lightly, for fear of straying from the Dao and disrupting what is natural.

When his work is done and all is in order, peace prevails throughout the realm, yet the people all say, “We have always been this way.” They do not know that this is because the ruler’s De is deep and pure; they assume that everything has happened naturally.

The Decline of the Way

Only when the Great Dao (the fundamental principle governing the natural course of things) had fallen into decline did people begin to speak of benevolence and righteousness. When the Great Dao flourished, every family had filial children and every household upheld loyalty and trustworthiness, yet no one went out of their way to proclaim benevolence and righteousness. Once the Great Dao was abandoned and no longer put into practice, rebellious and harmful conduct arose, and benevolence and righteousness became principles that had to be preached.

When wisdom is held in high esteem, great deceit follows. A ruler who prizes cleverness looks down on De (Virtue/Power) and values eloquence; looks down on what is simple and genuine and values ornament. Those below adapt to this climate and become deceitful and cunning.

Only when relatives fall out do filial devotion and affection come to the fore. When the six bonds that sustain family and social relationships are broken, relatives cease to care for one another, and rebellious, harmful conduct follows. Only then is there a need to preach benevolence and righteousness. When the six close relationships are discordant, filial devotion and affection become matters of caring for and tending to one another.

Only when the state is in turmoil do loyal ministers appear. When government orders are unclear, those above and below resent one another, and crooked people struggle for power; then loyal ministers step forward to set the ruler right.

The passage means that when peace prevails throughout the world, people do not make a point of speaking about benevolence; when no one is greedy, they do not make a point of speaking about integrity; and when everyone keeps to what is upright, they do not make a point of speaking about steadfastness. In an age when the Great Dao flourished, the names of benevolence, righteousness, filial devotion, and affection were all hidden from view, just as the light of the stars cannot be seen when the sun shines brightly.

Returning to Simplicity

“Abandon the sages” means to stop creating rules in the name of sage wisdom, return to our original state, and hold fast to the root. The Five Emperors left behind various ritual forms, and Cangjie invented writing, but neither was as simple as the age of the Three Sovereigns, when people kept records by tying knots and had no written language.

“Discard cleverness” means to relinquish contrived cleverness and return to Wuwei (non-action, following nature without forcing things).

In this way, the people’s gains will increase a hundredfold: farming will be well managed, and public-mindedness will be free of selfish desire.

Abandon the labels of benevolence and righteousness. This means not making a point of proclaiming one’s generosity or relying on fine-sounding moral rhetoric. Then the people can recover the simple virtues of honoring their parents and caring for their children.

Abandon cunning and the pursuit of profit. Cunning distorts what is true through deceit. Giving up profit means blocking the path of greed and closing off opportunities to use power for private gain. When those in authority teach and govern justly, those below will not act crookedly or selfishly, and thieves will not arise.

“These three” refers to the three things just said to be abandoned. Yet setting these requirements down as rules is not enough: words cannot teach the people by themselves. They must also be directed toward something more, taking root in actual self-cultivation.

“To reveal the unadorned and hold to the uncarved” means to show a pure and simple heart, to preserve one’s unspoiled nature, and not to prize embellishment. It also means keeping to one’s plain nature and setting an example for those below, as a standard they can follow.

“To have few private interests and little desire” means to set one’s thoughts straight and harbor no selfish motives; to lessen one’s desires and learn to be content.

Only by abandoning superficial learning can one preserve one’s original simplicity, avoid violating the principles of the Dao, and remain free of troubles.

“Wei” and “a” are both words used to answer someone. How far apart can they really be? How different are a kind word of praise and a harsh word of blame? People in the world scorn plainness and prize ornamentation. They dislike honesty and uprightness, yet appoint the treacherous and corrupt.

What people fear, I too cannot help but fear. What the world fears is a ruler unwilling to abandon superficial learning: he draws close to those skilled in disguise and flattery, and kills the benevolent, virtuous, and wise. The customs of the age have fallen into disorder, and this state of affairs has yet to end.

Everyone is exuberant, indulging their desires, as though after a long fast they were eager to feast at a lavish sacrificial banquet; as though climbing a high terrace in spring to take in the view, their hearts stirred by the burgeoning of all things. I alone am quiet and cautious, with no sign of desire beginning to stir, like an infant who has not yet learned to answer or play.

I am adrift, with nowhere to turn, as though riding in something without knowing where it is bound. Everyone seems to have more than enough: with surplus wealth, they grow extravagant; with surplus cleverness, they toy with cunning schemes. I alone seem left behind, as though I have nothing to spare.

My heart is truly like that of a fool! I do not turn with the ways of the world; I hold to the Dao without changing, and so seem muddled and without distinctions. The people of the world are clear-sighted and perceptive; I alone seem dim. They are sharp and eager; I alone am quiet and unhurried, in no rush to sort things into what to choose and what to reject.

My spirit is hazy and distant, vast and boundless like the sea; I drift without direction, with nowhere to rest, as though my intent were entrusted to a wondrous realm. Everyone is capable and productive; I alone seem slow and clumsy, as though lacking ability. I differ from everyone else: I alone value drawing upon the Dao—here, “Mother” refers to the Dao, the source of all things.

A person of great De has a broad and generous spirit, able to embrace all things and accept what is impure, while placing himself in a humble position. He does not follow worldly practices, but follows only the Dao (the Way).

The Dao is elusive and indistinct, without any fixed form. Yet within this indistinctness are the images of all things; within what has no definite shape, all things exist. Though the Dao is deep and obscure, invisible and without form, it contains subtle and authentic Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). Yin-Yang Qi converges, and the spirits respond to one another. The Dao’s Qi is utterly real, not something contrived for show. Though the Dao conceals its achievements and hides its name, its truth and reliability are contained within it.

From ancient times to the present, the Dao has always existed and has never vanished. The beginnings of all things come from the Dao: they receive Jing and Qi from it and are born. How do I know that the beginnings of all things are this way? Because all things now receive the Dao’s Jing and Qi and are born; every movement and action, every aspect of daily life, can be carried out only by following the Dao.

By yielding and bending, one can preserve oneself. Those who know how to accommodate others and avoid acting arbitrarily can keep themselves safe.

Suffering a grievance can, in turn, allow one to unfold. By temporarily placing oneself beneath others and letting them flourish, one too will eventually find room to grow.

By dwelling in low places, one can gather and become full. Water flows toward lower ground; when people are humble and place themselves below others, Virtue gathers around them.

By willingly accepting decline, one can renew oneself. When a person is content with simplicity, does not seek precedence, and lets others go first, the people of the world will respect them. In time, they too can be renewed.

By taking little, one can gain something. The less one takes, the more one may receive. This is because the Dao of Heaven aids those who are humble, and the spirits dwell in places of emptiness and stillness.

Having too much can lead to confusion. Those with abundant possessions may become preoccupied with how to protect them; those who have learned too much may also be bewildered by the many ideas they have encountered.

Therefore, the sage holds fast to the Dao—the fundamental principle of all things—and takes it as the standard for the world. “Embrace” means to hold fast; “standard” means a guiding rule. By holding fast to the Dao, the sage understands the myriad affairs and can thus become a model for the world.

The sage does not show off, and so can see clearly. Rather than relying only on their own eyes, they observe through the eyes of everyone in the world, and so attain understanding.

The sage does not insist on being right, and so becomes known to the world. They do not regard themselves as right and others as wrong, and so they can shine forth.

The sage does not boast, and so can accomplish things. “Boast” means to claim credit for oneself. The sage’s Virtue and teaching spread widely, yet they do not claim the fame or credit for themselves; in this way, they contribute to the world.

The sage does not exalt themselves, and so can endure. “Exalt” means to regard oneself as noble and powerful. By not elevating themselves, the sage can endure without falling into danger.

Precisely because they do not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with them. This means that neither the worthy nor the unworthy can prevail over someone who does not contend.

Could the ancients’ saying, “Bending allows one to remain whole,” really be empty words? It is an expression passed down from ancient times: those who know how to bend themselves and accommodate others can preserve themselves. This is indeed true.

Those who can truly do this can preserve their bodies and return safely to their parents, unharmed.

Speak little, in keeping with nature.

“Few words” means speaking sparingly and treasuring one’s words. To speak little is to follow the natural course of the Dao.

A gale does not last the whole morning; a downpour does not last the whole day. A gale is a fierce wind, and a sudden rain is a violent shower. Things that surge with great force cannot continue for long. What brings about gales and downpours? Heaven and Earth. Even the gales and downpours brought about by Heaven and Earth cannot last. How much less can human beings? The power of Heaven and Earth is so wondrous that even it cannot make a gale or downpour persist from morning until night. How much less can people force things and suddenly expect success?

So, in carrying out any undertaking, follow the Dao and remain calm and peaceful. Do not act in haste, like a gale or a sudden downpour.

Those who cultivate the Dao accord with the Dao; those who cultivate De accord with De. Those who turn away from the right path and act as they please accord with the loss of the Dao. The Dao welcomes those who accord with it; De welcomes those who accord with it; and the loss of the Dao, too, welcomes those who accord with it.

When those in authority lack trust in their subordinates, the subordinates respond with distrust. This means that things naturally come together according to their shared qualities: like sounds answer one another, and like breaths attract one another. Clouds, for example, rise with dragons, winds stir with tigers, water flows toward damp places, and fire moves toward dry things. These are all natural correspondences.

Chapter Twenty-Four of Kuen

Those who rise onto their toes cannot stand firm. This refers to people who covet power and fame and devote themselves to pursuing rank and glory. They cannot establish themselves and follow the Way for long.

Those who take strides that are too large cannot walk far. People who consider themselves noble and superior to others are rejected by the crowd, and so cannot act with ease.

Those who show themselves off cannot see themselves clearly. They think their appearance is attractive and their actions accord with the Way, without realizing that their conduct is actually coarse.

Those who insist they are right cannot make themselves known. They believe they are correct and blame others, only to be obscured by the crowd and find it difficult to stand out.

Those who claim credit for themselves have no merit. By constantly taking credit for their achievements, they lose the merit that others might have recognized.

Those who boast of themselves cannot endure. People who like to show off and think highly of themselves cannot last.

From the perspective of the Dao, these ways are like extra food and burdensome actions. Heshanggong explains that if such people govern a state, they will continually impose taxes and covet additional stipends.

People often despise such people. Once in office, they readily seek to harm others, so everyone fears and loathes them.

Therefore, a person who has the Dao does not reside in such a state.

There is something whole and undivided that existed before Heaven and Earth took shape. It has no sound and no visible form. It exists on its own without changing, and moves and circulates without pause.

The Dao moves through Heaven and Earth, reaching everywhere. In sunlight it is not scorched; in the shade it does not decay. It runs through all things without being depleted. It can be the source of everything under Heaven and nourish the vital energy within all things, as a mother nourishes her child.

I do not know what it was originally called, so I call it “Dao.” I have also reluctantly named it “Great.” The Dao is vast and boundless: nothing lies beyond it, and nothing is beyond its embrace.

“Great” means moving without end. Moving without end, it reaches far; having reached far, it eventually returns. The Dao’s movement extends throughout Heaven and Earth, reaching everywhere, and ultimately returns to the human being.

Thus the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is great. The Dao is vast and embraces everything; Heaven covers all things, Earth bears all things, and the king governs all things. For this reason, the king too is called “great.”

Between Heaven and Earth there are four kinds of greatness: the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king (in some versions, “the human being”). The king is one of these four. Here, “king” refers to a person who holds a position of governance.

Whatever can be named and called by a particular term is not the Dao in its ultimate state. Calling it “Dao” is only a way of pointing to it. The truly nameless, boundless realm is the fundamental domain in which Heaven, the king, and all things exist.

People should take the Earth as their model in its stillness, gentleness, and generous depth. It yields the five grains when seeds are sown, and clear springs when it is dug. It labors without complaint and, having accomplished its work, does not claim the credit.

And the king is one of them.

Within the farthest reaches of the eight directions, there are four most important beings: the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and humanity. The king is one of them.

Humanity models itself on Earth.

People should model themselves on Earth’s quiet, peaceful, and yielding nature. Plant seeds, and the five grains can be harvested; dig into the soil, and clear springs can be found. Earth labors without resentment. Though it accomplishes much, it does not claim the credit for itself.

Earth models itself on Heaven.

Heaven is detached and still. It gives without seeking anything in return, bringing all things to life without claiming them as its own.

Heaven models itself on the Dao.

The Dao is quiet and wordless. It silently sets the essence and Qi in motion, allowing all things to arise naturally.

The Dao models itself on what is natural.

The Dao’s nature is simply to be as it is. There is nothing it needs to model itself on.

Valuing De: Chapter Twenty-Six

Gravity is the foundation of lightness.

If a ruler is not dignified, he will not be respected. If someone cultivating the self is not steady, their spirit is easily scattered. The flowers and leaves of plants are light, so they wither easily; their roots are deeply anchored, so they endure.

Stillness is the master of agitation.

If a ruler is not composed, he loses his authority. If someone cultivating the self cannot be still, their body will be endangered. The dragon is still, and so can transform; the tiger is restless, and so is easily cut short and harmed.

Therefore, the sage travels all day without leaving the baggage cart—the vehicle carrying provisions and heavy loads, here a symbol of steadiness and calm.

Even when surrounded by splendid palaces and beautiful scenery, the sage remains detached and does not become absorbed in them. “Glorious sights” refers to magnificent palaces; “resting quarters” refers to the dwellings of the consorts. To remain detached is to keep one’s distance and not become attached.

As the ruler of ten thousand chariots, why treat the world so lightly? “How could one?” expresses lament and reproach; “lord of ten thousand chariots” means the king. Here, the passage criticizes the rulers of that time for extravagance, indulgence, and frivolity.

Lightness leads to the loss of the people’s support.

When a ruler acts frivolously and without restraint, he loses his ministers. When someone cultivating the self is frivolous and unrestrained, their essence and Qi are depleted.

Agitation leads to the loss of one’s position as ruler.

When a ruler acts rashly, he loses his position. When someone cultivating the self is agitated and unsettled, their spirit is harmed.

One truly skilled at traveling leaves no wheel tracks or footprints. One skilled at following the Dao (the Way) knows to seek within and need not leave home, so there are no outward traces to follow.

One truly skilled at speaking leaves no cause for reproach. Such a speaker chooses words with care and so avoids flaws and criticism.

One truly skilled at calculation uses no counting rods, the bamboo or wooden pieces used in ancient times. One skilled at planning in accordance with the Dao remains focused and does not keep changing course. Since there is little to plan, counting rods are not needed to understand what must be done.

One truly skilled at closing uses no bolt, yet the door cannot be opened. One skilled at following the Dao to restrain desires and guard the spirit is more secure than a door locked with a bolt, which can still be opened.

One truly skilled at tying uses no rope, yet the knot cannot be undone. One skilled at following the Dao in handling affairs can settle them in the heart, unlike a knot tied with rope, which can be undone.

Thus the sage is always skilled at saving people and abandons no one, allowing each, whether esteemed or lowly, to find their proper place. The sage is also always skilled at nurturing all things, teaching the people to follow the four seasons so that nothing is harmed, and so abandons no thing. The sage does not disdain reputation or prize jade above all else, but regards them equally. This is called inheriting and illuminating the Great Dao.

Therefore, a good person can be a teacher to one who is not good; one who is not good can also serve as a lesson and support for a good person. Here, “support” means something one can rely on, or a source of aid: the sage still teaches those who act badly, guiding them toward goodness and helping them fulfill their purpose. To fail to honor a teacher is to lose support; to fail to value someone who can serve as a lesson is to lose a useful resource.

Those who think themselves clever may in fact be caught in great delusion. Understanding these principles is called grasping the Dao’s subtle and essential nature.

Know what is strong, yet willingly remain gentle, and you can become the valley of the world. Here, “masculine” symbolizes honor and prominence, while “feminine” symbolizes lowliness and gentleness. Even if a person knows they are honored and distinguished, they should remain humble and gentle rather than striving to dominate. Then people throughout the world will turn toward them, as water flows into a deep valley.

As the valley of the world, one’s constant De will never depart. If a person can be humble like a deep valley, De can remain with them for a long time. In the end, they return to the pure, unknowing state of an infant.

Know what is bright and evident, yet willingly remain dark and quiet, and you can become the model for the world. Here, “white” symbolizes clarity and visibility, while “black” symbolizes quietness and concealment. Even when a person understands how things are, they should remain quiet and inward, without showing off their brilliance. Then they can become a model for the world, and their De will not go astray.

As the model for the world, one’s constant De will not falter, and in the end one returns to a realm without limits. Heshanggong holds that when De does not falter, a person can live a long time and extend their years.

Know what is glorious and honored, yet willingly remain in a lowly position, and you can become the valley of the world. Here, “glory” symbolizes honor, while “disgrace” symbolizes lowliness. Even if a person knows they enjoy honor, they should remain humble. Then people throughout the world will turn toward them, as water flows into a deep valley.

As the valley of the world, one’s constant De will be full and settled within, and in the end one returns to simplicity, no longer seeking ornamentation.

When the whole of simplicity is divided, it becomes the many kinds of implements and their uses. Heshanggong explains this by saying that when the Dao differentiates, it appears as spirits and deities, the sun and moon, and is distributed through the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). When sages put the Dao of simplicity into practice, they can become leaders of all the officials.

Thus, truly great governance does not create divisions. When sages govern the world through the great Dao, they do not harm the myriad things. When they cultivate themselves, they use the great Dao to restrain their desires without damaging their spirit.

If you want to possess all under Heaven and rule it, and intend to govern the people through deliberate action, I believe this will not work. It accords neither with the Dao of Heaven nor with the human heart. The Dao of Heaven abhors turmoil and disorder, while the human heart abhors excessive desire.

All under Heaven is a wondrous vessel: it cannot be handled as one pleases or controlled by force. Here, “vessel” means things. Human beings are the spiritually aware beings of the world; they cherish peace and stillness, and cannot be governed through force. Forcing action damages human nature. Forcing control and instruction causes people to lose their true disposition and instead breed deceit and hypocrisy.

Some things move ahead, while others follow behind. What those above do, those below often imitate. Some are warm, others cold; some are strong, others weak; some are secure, others precarious. Heshanggong uses these mutually opposing conditions to explain that neither governing the state nor cultivating oneself calls for presumptuous action.

Thus the sage casts aside excess, extravagance, and arrogance. Excess means indulging in sights and sounds; extravagance means fussing over clothing and food; arrogance means building grand palaces and towers. Once these three habits are removed, and one rests in harmony and moderation and practices Wuwei (non-action), all under Heaven will transform and flourish of its own accord.

Thrifty Use of Force, Chapter 30

To assist a ruler by means of the Dao means that the ruler governs by following the Dao. Such a ruler does not use military force to assert power over the world, but follows the order of Heaven and practices rule through De, so that enemies submit of their own accord.

Using force easily brings corresponding consequences. After waging war, one should reflect on one’s actions rather than shift the blame to others. Wherever an army is stationed, brambles grow thick, farming is neglected, and fields are left untended. After a great war, famine often follows. According to Heshang Gong’s interpretation, this is because the baleful Qi brought by war damages the five grains and harms the people.

Those skilled in the use of arms seek only to achieve what is necessary. They do not boast of it or seek a reputation for strength through boldness. Once the task is done, they do not become self-satisfied, boastful, or arrogant, and they do not use force to oppress others. They act only when there is no alternative. Even when they act decisively, they do not regard themselves as powerful, nor do they rely on strong armor and weapons to bully others.

When things reach the height of their strength, they grow old: plants that become too lush wither, and people who reach the peak of their vigor grow old as well. Strength cannot last. This is called being contrary to the Dao; what is contrary to the Dao soon comes to an end.

Weapons Laid Down, Chapter 31

“Fine weapons” refers to sharp, well-made arms. Even excellent weapons are not worthy of praise; relying on force to assert one’s strength cannot last. Excessive strength eventually declines because it is contrary to the Dao, and what is contrary to the Dao soon comes to an end.

Ornately decorated weapons are not auspicious things. Weapons disturb the spirit and harm the Qi of peace. They are tools used by people who lack goodness and should not be adorned. Once war begins, lives are harmed, so nothing in the world fails to loathe it. A person who follows the Dao does not dwell in such a state.

In ordinary life, the gentleman regards the left as honorable, for the left symbolizes gentleness and humility. In warfare, however, the right is regarded as honorable, for the right symbolizes strength and force. This shows that military practice runs counter to the Dao of the gentleman and values different things. Weapons are inauspicious things, not objects the gentleman prizes. Only when decline and disorder arise and calamity threatens the people should arms be taken up, and then only as a last resort for self-defense.

In the use of arms, calmness and restraint are best. One should not covet territory or plunder another’s possessions. Even in victory, one should not regard it as a source of personal glory. To glory in victory is to delight in killing. Those who delight in killing cannot fulfill their aims under Heaven. A ruler who takes pleasure in killing cannot prosper under Heaven either. Since a ruler is responsible for people’s lives, he must not impose punishments arbitrarily or kill the innocent indiscriminately.

In joyful ceremonies, the left is honored because it symbolizes life. In funerals, the right is honored because it symbolizes Yin and death. The assistant general holds a lower rank and is placed on the left, indicating that he does not have sole responsibility for killing. The supreme general holds the higher rank and is placed on the right, indicating that he bears responsibility for commanding the forces of death. This arrangement treats war according to the rites of mourning: in mourning rites, the right is honored because the dead belong to Yin.

When many people have been killed, one should feel grief and weep. This is because the ruler recognizes the shallowness of his De: he has failed to transform the people through the Dao and has instead brought harm upon the innocent. After victory, one should observe the rites of mourning. In ancient times, a victorious general took the place of the chief mourner, wore plain clothes, and wept for the dead. This showed that the gentleman values De and regards arms lightly. Arms are used only to eliminate disorder when there is no alternative; one takes no pleasure in doing so. To grieve as if one had suffered a death in the family is also to mourn the endless wars that await future generations.

Sagely Virtue, Chapter 32

The Dao (the Way) exists always, yet has no fixed name. It can bring about the transformations of Yin-Yang, cause things to unfold or contract, and preserve or destroy them. For this reason, it cannot be called by any fixed name.

The source of the Dao is simple and subtle. Though minute, it has no form; no one under Heaven can rule or command it. If lords and kings can hold to the Dao and practice Wuwei (non-action), the myriad things will naturally submit to them and follow their virtue.

When the Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth mingle, sweet dew descends. If the conduct of lords and kings accords with the Way of Heaven, Heaven will send down auspicious signs such as sweet dew. Without anyone needing to command them, the myriad things will naturally come into harmony, each finding what is fitting.

The Dao is the source of the myriad things, while each thing has its own name. Though the Dao is nameless and formless, it can govern the myriad things that have names and forms. Once things each acquire their own distinctions, desires readily arise. They turn away from the Dao and De (Virtue/Power), and ultimately bring ruin and disgrace upon themselves.

If people model themselves on the Dao and put De into practice, Heaven will naturally protect them. With Heaven’s protection, they will not fall into danger or hardship.

As the Dao moves through the world, it is like streams in valleys flowing together into rivers and seas, all connected.

Discernment of Virtue, Chapter 33

To understand others is cleverness; to know oneself is true wisdom.

Being able to see others clearly is cleverness. Truly discerning is knowing yourself—recognizing your strengths and shortcomings. This self-knowledge is like reflecting inward without relying on sounds from outside, and examining yourself without judging by outward appearance.

Overcoming others shows only that you have strength; restraining your own desires is what makes you powerful. No one can contend with such a person and prevail.

One who knows contentment can keep good fortune and a generous stipend for a long time; this is what it means to be truly wealthy.

Those who strive to practice the good Way are people of resolve. When they devote themselves to the Dao, the Dao, too, will look favorably upon them.

Those who can discipline themselves and care for body and mind, without squandering the Jing and Qi bestowed by Heaven, can endure for a long time.

If the eyes do not gaze carelessly, the ears do not listen indiscriminately, and the mouth does not speak recklessly, one will not incur the resentment and hatred of the people under Heaven. Even after such a person dies, their name and influence endure; this is called longevity.

The Great Dao is vast and boundless, moving without a fixed course. It seems to rise, then sink. Its form cannot be seen, and it is difficult to describe clearly. It may be to the left or to the right, and it is useful everywhere.

All things depend on the Dao to grow, yet the Dao neither refuses them nor stands in their way. When their work is complete, the Dao does not claim the credit. It cares for and nurtures all things, yet does not rule over them.

The Dao is always free of desire, so it may seem small. All things return to it and receive their original Qi from it, yet the Dao neither forbids nor controls them. Because all things come and go, change, and find their proper place, the Dao may also be called great.

Thus the sage never claims greatness. The sage takes the Dao as a model, conceals De and reputation, and neither grows self-satisfied nor exaggerates. In this way, the sage is able to achieve true greatness. By setting an example, the sage guides the people; without relying on words, the sage transforms them, brings order to every affair, and accomplishes great things.

Chapter Thirty-Five: Benevolence and Virtue

Hold fast to the Great Image—the Great Dao—and people throughout the world will come and turn toward it. Here, “hold” means to keep and maintain, while “image” refers to the Great Dao. When a sage holds fast to the Dao, the people’s hearts turn toward it in longing. If one uses it to cultivate the self, the spirits will descend and accompany one in their comings and goings.

When people turn toward the Dao without suffering harm, the state can be settled and peaceful, attaining great peace. Heshang Gong also says that if, while cultivating the self, one does not harm the spirits, the body will remain secure and enjoy a long life.

Music and fine food make passersby stop. “Bait” refers to beautiful things, while “passerby” here means “the One.” When a person delights in the beauty of the Dao, the One will stay. “The One” means maintaining singleness of purpose, keeping clear of fullness and returning to emptiness and stillness. It may also be said to come and go suddenly, like a passerby.

The Dao, when spoken of, is bland and without flavor. Look at it, and it cannot be seen; listen for it, and it cannot be heard. The Dao has no form: it is unlike colors such as blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black, which can be seen, or tones such as gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu, which can be heard.

Put the Great Dao to use, and it will never be exhausted. Use it to govern the state, and the state will be settled and the people will prosper. Use it to cultivate the self, and one’s lifespan can be extended without end.

To restrain something, one must first let it fully expand. It is allowed to flourish so that it grows excessively extravagant and unrestrained. To weaken something, one must first let it grow strong, so that it encounters calamity. To bring something to ruin, one must first let it prosper, so that pride leads it into danger. To take something, one must first give it; it is given so that its greed swells to the utmost. These methods are called “subtle illumination”: the principle is hidden, but its effects are plain to see.

The soft and yielding can overcome the hard and strong. Soft and yielding things can endure for a long time, while hard and strong things often decline first.

Fish cannot leave the deep water. He Shang Gong explains that “fish escaping from the depths” means leaving strength and turning toward softness; once it leaves the deep water, it cannot return to its former place.

The state’s political stratagems must not be casually displayed to others. “Sharp tools” refers to the arts of expediency; the techniques used to govern the state should not be shown to ministers in charge of its affairs. Nor should methods of self-cultivation be casually revealed to those who are not suited to receive them.

The Dao (the Way) operates by following nature. It may seem to do nothing, yet nothing remains unaccomplished.

If rulers can follow the Dao, all things will transform naturally and take it as their model. If, after transforming, all things give rise to various desires and contrivances, the rulers should personally use Dao and De to calm and govern them.

Dao and De are plain and unadorned, without display or labels. When rulers use this unadorned Dao and De to calm all things, their desires will gradually diminish. With fewer desires, the heart can become still, and all under Heaven will naturally settle into peace.

Chapter 38: On De

True and profound De does not deliberately proclaim its virtue. The “highest De” here refers to the nameless rulers of ancient times. Their De was supreme, yet they did not use moral instruction to govern the people. Instead, they followed nature and nurtured the people’s life and destiny, so their De remained unseen. In this way, the people too could preserve their own De.

A lesser kind of De deliberately maintains and displays virtue. It therefore appears virtuous on the surface, but is in fact inferior to the highest De. The commentary of Heshang Gong also explains “lower De” as referring to rulers who had names and posthumous titles. Their De was not equal to that of the highest De, but their achievements could be seen and spoken of, which is why it is called “lower De.”

The highest De follows the Great Dao, remaining quiet and practicing Wuwei (non-action); it does not rely on titles to establish itself. Lower De, by contrast, issues laws and promotes moral instruction, thereby seeking a reputation for itself.

The highest benevolence actively bestows kindness on others without claiming credit. The highest righteousness actively judges right and wrong; it may even establish authority through killing and warfare, harming the people to sustain itself. The highest ritual establishes rules and arranges formal observances. When people do not respond, ritual becomes elaborate and ornate: flourishing in appearance but empty within. People then grow resentful of one another and fight, even rolling up their sleeves and stretching out their arms to grapple and clash.

Thus, only after the Great Dao declined did De become a means of instruction. Only after De declined was benevolence emphasized; only after benevolence declined was righteousness brought to the fore; and only after righteousness declined did people devote themselves to ritual. When ritual values form alone and neglects its roots, loyalty and trust gradually fade, and ritual becomes the beginning of disorder. Because ritual treats plain, genuine substance lightly and prizes outward ornament, the spirit of uprightness diminishes, and deviance and disorder take root.

“Foreknowledge” refers to those who do not truly understand but imagine that they know. Such people have obtained only the outward ornament of the Great Dao. They are products of the Dao’s decline and can become the beginning of folly, encouraging deviance and disorder to grow.

Therefore, the great person—the ruler who has attained the Dao—should establish himself in what is solid and plain, rather than remain amid superficiality and turmoil. He should value the substance of loyalty and trust, rather than seek ornate words. He should abandon superficial glitter and choose what is solid and genuine.

Of old, those who attained the “One”—the root of the Dao, the Way of Wuwei (non-action)—were these:

When Heaven attained the One, it became clear and bright. Heshanggong explains that Heaven could display its clarity only because it had attained the Dao.

When Earth attained the One, it became settled and still. Earth could remain stable and unshaken only because it had attained the Dao.

When the spirits attained the One, they became numinous. They could bring about transformations unseen only because they had attained the Dao.

When the valleys attained the One, they became full. They could store up flowing water without end only because they had attained the Dao.

When the myriad things attained the One, they grew and flourished. All things depend on the Dao for their generation.

When the feudal lords and kings attained the One, they became the right way for all under Heaven. They could bring order and fairness to the world only because they had attained the Dao.

To understand these principles, one must heed the following:

If Heaven cannot maintain its clarity, it may collapse. Heaven has alternating Yin and Yang, changes of expansion and contraction, and the succession of day and night. It cannot remain forever clear without change; otherwise, it may split apart and cease to be Heaven.

If Earth cannot maintain its stillness, it may be thrown into turmoil. Earth has high and low, firm and yielding, as well as seasonal cycles and changes in the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). It cannot remain motionless forever; otherwise, it may break apart and cease to be Earth.

If the spirits cannot remain active and responsive, they may be depleted. The spirits pass through different states: flourishing, supporting one another, being constrained, declining, and coming to rest. They cannot remain forever wondrously transformative; otherwise, they will be exhausted and lose their function.

If the valleys cannot remain full, they may run dry. Valleys shift between fullness and emptiness. They cannot remain full forever; otherwise, they will eventually dry up and cease to be valleys.

If the myriad things cannot grow, they may perish. All things should follow the seasons, with life and death in turn. They cannot remain alive forever; otherwise, they will ultimately die out and cease to be the myriad things.

If feudal lords and kings are given over to pride in their exalted status, they may fall and lose their positions. They should humble themselves, show courtesy to worthy people, and earnestly seek the talented. They cannot expect to remain forever above everyone else; otherwise, they may fall and lose their thrones.

Thus, nobility has lowliness as its root, and high position has low ground as its foundation. To become noble, one should make humility one’s foundation. Yu the Great and Hou Ji worked the fields with their own hands; Shun once made pottery by the Yellow River; and the Duke of Zhou treated people of humble origins with respect. To occupy a high position, one must also build on low ground. As with constructing a wall or house, only a firm foundation laid low can support something tall. If the foundation is unstable, it will eventually collapse.

For this reason, feudal lords and kings call themselves “orphan,” “widower,” and “unworthy.” “Orphan” and “widower” are humble self-designations that suggest being alone and lacking virtue. “Unworthy” means being unable to gather many spokes around oneself as a wheel hub does. Though feudal lords and kings hold the highest position, they use these humble titles. Is this not making lowliness their foundation? Indeed, it is.

So, if one takes a carriage apart and counts its parts, one can count the spokes, wheels, hub, axle, and carriage body, yet none of these parts alone is called a “carriage.” Only when they are assembled together does a carriage come into being. This serves as a metaphor for feudal lords and kings: by not boasting of themselves through exalted titles, they can attain true nobility.

Do not appear precious and dazzling like fine jade, nor coarse and base like stone. Heshanggong explains that “lulu” describes scarcity, while “luoluo” describes abundance: jade is scarce, so it is considered precious; stone is plentiful, so it is considered lowly. The point is not to seek the esteem given to jade, nor to sink into the contempt shown toward stone, but to remain between the two.

“Lu” is used as a metaphor for scarcity, while “luoluo” is used as a metaphor for abundance. Jade is rare, so it is regarded as precious; stones are plentiful, so they are regarded as lowly. The point here is that people should neither be valued like jade nor scorned like stones, but should find their place between the two.

Chapter Forty: Leaving Things to Their Use

“Returning is the movement of the Dao”: the Dao’s movement takes the form of returning to the root. “Returning” means the source. All things come into being through the movement of the Dao; if they depart from the Dao, they perish.

“Weakness is the Dao’s way of acting”: gentleness and weakness are the Dao’s usual means, which is why they can endure.

“All things under Heaven are born from being”: all things under Heaven arise from Heaven and Earth. Heaven and Earth have form and position, so they are called “being.”

“Being is born from nonbeing”: the spirits between Heaven and Earth, as well as living things such as flying insects and crawling creatures, all arise from the Dao. The Dao has no form, so it is called “nonbeing.”

The meaning of this passage is that the root is superior to outward display, gentleness and weakness are superior to strength, and humility is superior to fullness.

A person of the highest capacity who hears of the Dao (the Way) diligently puts it into practice. On hearing of the Dao, such a person labors earnestly and devotes all their strength to following it.

A person of middling capacity who hears of the Dao is sometimes committed to it and sometimes not. At first, they welcome it gladly, hoping to cultivate themselves and secure lasting well-being, and to govern the state so that peace may prevail. But later, when they encounter wealth, beauty, and honors, they are distracted by desire and gradually set the Dao aside.

A person of the lowest capacity who hears of the Dao laughs aloud. Such people are greedy and full of desires. Seeing that the Dao is gentle and yielding, they take it for cowardice; seeing that it is plain and unadorned, they take it for crude ignorance. So they laugh at it.

If people of the lowest capacity did not laugh at it, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao.

Thus, the teachings of old say:

The bright Dao appears dim. Advancing along the Dao appears to be retreating. The level road appears rough and uneven.

A person of the highest De (Virtue/Power) is like a deep valley, open and accepting, unashamed of what is turbid. The purest white seems stained, concealing its purity. The most abundant De seems insufficient. The person who establishes De seems idle and ineffectual. The plain and genuine seems to have changed and lost its true nature.

The most perfect square has no corners. The greatest vessel is completed only after a long time. The greatest sound is scarcely heard; the greatest image has no fixed form. The Dao lies hidden and cannot be named.

Only the Dao is skilled at bestowing vital energy and bringing all things to completion.

The Dao gives birth to “one,” and the Dao brings all things it has produced back into unity. The Dao alone is skillful at giving and enabling all things to flourish. What is meant by “bringing to fruition” is helping something succeed: the Dao bestows Jing and Qi on people, allowing them to grow and come to completion.

“One” gives rise to Yin and Yang. Yin and Yang, in turn, give rise to three kinds of Qi: harmonious Qi, clear Qi, and turbid Qi. These differentiate into Heaven, Earth, and humanity. Heaven, Earth, and humanity together transform and bring forth the myriad things: Heaven bestows, Earth nurtures, and humanity raises and cares for them. The myriad things turn their backs on shade and face the sun, turning themselves toward its light. Within each thing is primordial Qi, the fundamental vital energy that constitutes life, enabling it to be balanced and supple. It is like the organs within the chest, marrow within the bones, or hollows within plants, which allow breath to circulate and thus make long life possible.

People dislike being called “orphan,” “alone,” or “without worth,” yet lords and princes use these terms for themselves. All three are inauspicious self-designations. By calling themselves this, lords and princes take a humble position and emulate the Dao’s emptiness and softness.

At times, a thing gains by being diminished. Draw it back, and it may withdraw; push it away, and it may return. At times, an increase brings harm. Striving to rise too high may lead to a fall; greed for abundance may invite disaster.

What the world teaches is to abandon weakness and softness in pursuit of strength and hardness. What I teach, by contrast, is to leave strength for weakness and hardness for softness. Those who act with domineering force often fail to meet a good end. Here, “overbearing force” refers to people who do not believe in the mysterious Dao, turn away from De, disregard the teachings of the scriptures, and act only through power and brute force. Their mandate from Heaven may be cut short, they may be killed by weapons, or they may be punished by the law of the ruler; they cannot enjoy the full span of their lives.

I will take this as the root of instruction. Here, “father” means root or beginning: Laozi takes the warning against those who act with domineering force as the starting point of his teaching.

The softest thing in the world can pass through and overcome the hardest things in the world. The softest thing refers to water; the hardest things refer to metal and stone. Water can penetrate what is hard and enter places that are strong and firm. There is nowhere it cannot reach.

What has no form can enter where there is no gap. “What has no form” refers to the Dao (the Way). The Dao has neither shape nor substance, so it can pass in and out without obstruction, reach the spirits, and save all living beings.

Thus I know that Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial. I see that when the Dao does not act deliberately, all things are naturally transformed, nurtured, and brought to growth. So I know that Wuwei benefits people.

Teaching without words means following the Dao in not speaking, and setting an example through one’s own conduct. The benefit of Wuwei means following the Dao in its non-action: used to cultivate oneself, it benefits the spirit; used to govern a state, it benefits the people, without the need to exhaust one’s mind or strength. Few in the world can achieve this.

Reputation and life—which is closer to you? Once reputation is secured, people often lose themselves. Life and possessions—which matters more? Accumulating too many possessions can instead damage one’s life. Gaining and losing—which is more harmful?

Compared with the body, which is closer and more important: reputation or the body? When reputation reaches its peak, people often have to withdraw.

Compared with possessions, which is more precious: the body or possessions? Too many possessions can harm the body.

Which causes more worry: gaining or losing? Pursuing profit single-mindedly damages one’s conduct and way of life.

Excessive attachment always comes at a great cost. An excessive attachment to beauty depletes the spirit; an excessive attachment to possessions readily invites calamity. What one gains is limited, while what one loses is greater—so the cost is high.

Hoarding too much is bound to bring heavy losses in the end. In life, people store great quantities of possessions in their treasuries; after death, they bury many things in their tombs. While alive, they may be robbed; after death, their tombs may be looted and their coffins opened.

Those who know contentment will not suffer disgrace. They put an end to greed for profit and cast off excessive desires, so they do not bring shame upon themselves.

Those who know when to stop will not fall into danger. When one knows the right time to stop, wealth and profit will not become a burden, and sights and sounds will not disturb the eyes and ears. The body, in turn, will not be placed in peril.

In this way, one can endure. When people know contentment and when to stop, they can preserve their blessings and emoluments. Those who cultivate themselves do not exhaust their spirit; those who govern a state do not disturb the people. Thus, all can endure.

Those whose De is fully developed and complete appear, paradoxically, to have something lacking. This refers to a ruler whose moral cultivation has reached perfection: he does not make his reputation known or flaunt his honors, and so seems somehow deficient. When his De is put to use in this way, it is never exhausted.

Those who are inwardly full and abundant appear, paradoxically, to be empty. This refers to a ruler whose De is abundant: though his position is exalted, he does not become arrogant; though he possesses wealth, he does not grow extravagant. When his De is put to use in this way, it has no end.

Those who are truly upright appear, paradoxically, to be bent. This refers to someone who follows the standards of the Dao and remains steadfastly correct. He does not argue with worldly people and seems, on the surface, willing to yield.

Those who are truly skillful appear, paradoxically, to be clumsy. Such a person has many talents but does not readily display them.

Those who are truly skilled in argument appear, paradoxically, to be inarticulate. They understand things inwardly and have no doubts, yet they speak without extremity or haste.

Restlessness can overcome cold. Here, “overcome” means to reach an extreme. In spring and summer, Yang Qi rises and all things flourish. When this reaches its height, it turns into cold, and all things wither and die. This teaches that people should not press forward with force and agitation.

Stillness can overcome heat. In autumn and winter, all things lie quiet beneath the earth. At the extreme of stillness, warmth returns, and this warmth is the source from which life begins to sprout.

Stillness and purity can serve as the standard for all under Heaven. Those who can remain still and practice Wuwei can become leaders of all under Heaven. By keeping themselves upright, they can endure without end.

When the world is governed by the Dao, those in power can follow the right path, and warhorses can be retired to plow the fields. Those who cultivate themselves gather in their Yang essence and use it to nourish themselves.

When the world is without the Dao, warfare never ceases. Warhorses breed in the countryside and cannot return for a long time.

No fault is greater than indulging desire; here, this means craving sexual pleasure. No trouble is greater than never knowing when one has enough; even if wealthy and honored, one must not let oneself run wild. No calamity is greater than always wanting more; this means coveting possessions and pursuing profit without restraint.

Therefore, knowing what is enough and being content with it is how one holds fast to life’s root. With no greed in the heart, one can always be content.

The sage understands the world without leaving home and grasps the Dao of Heaven—the patterns governing the movement of Heaven and Earth—without peering out the window.

The sage can do this because he understands others by reflecting on himself, and other households by reflecting on his own. The Dao of Heaven and the human way are connected, and their vital energies flow through one another. When a ruler is calm and free of desire, the signs in the heavens are peaceful; when a ruler’s desires multiply, those signs grow disorderly and clouded. Good and ill fortune, benefit and harm, all depend on one’s own conduct.

The farther one travels, the less one may come to know. If one leaves home to observe other households, or leaves oneself to observe others, the range of one’s view may seem wider, yet one may truly see less.

Thus the sage need not travel far to understand things. Without seeing them with his own eyes, he can judge and explain how they work. He does not ascend to Heaven or descend into the depths, yet he can comprehend the world through his mind.

When those above honor the Dao, the people honor De (Virtue/Power). When those above honor military force, the people honor strength. The sage infers the great from the small and sees the outer through insight into the inner.

The sage does not act rashly, yet things are accomplished. When those above refrain from arbitrary action, there is less turmoil below; every household has enough to live on, and all things grow and flourish of themselves.

Learning increases knowledge day by day. “Learning” here refers to the study of government, moral instruction, ritual, and music, as well as the gradual growth of desires and ornamental refinement. Cultivating the Dao, by contrast, means gradually diminishing the desires within the heart and the ornamentation without.

Reduce them again and again, until reaching Wuwei (non-action): a state of calm simplicity like an infant’s, without deliberate contrivance. Once one reaches Wuwei, nothing remains undone. Desires fall away, De (Virtue/Power) accords with the Dao, and one can act in each situation without being constrained by selfish wants.

In governing the realm, one should take doing nothing as the guiding principle and avoid burdensome decrees that trouble the people. A fondness for excessive activity leads to unrest in government and instruction, leaving the people unable to live in peace—and making the realm impossible to govern.

The sage has no fixed opinions. Instead, he values adapting to circumstances and following nature, as though he had no personal agenda. He takes the people’s wishes as his own: when they consider something appropriate, he goes along with them.

When the people are kind, the sage affirms their kindness. Even when some are unkind, he treats them with kindness, guiding them toward goodness. In this way, the people are taught through De (Virtue), and the sage brings his own virtue to fulfillment.

When the people are trustworthy, the sage trusts them. Even when some are untrustworthy, he still treats them with trust, guiding them to become trustworthy. In this way, the people are taught through honesty, and the sage treats others with honesty.

When governing the world, the sage is always cautious and vigilant, never daring to become arrogant or extravagant because of wealth and status. He keeps his intentions from showing, appearing simple and unknowing, and does not use his intelligence to overpower others. The people entrust their eyes and ears to him, letting him observe and judge on their behalf. The sage cares for the people as he would for infants, nurturing them without asking for anything in return.

When human desires and emotions disperse outward from within the body, the Hun is calm and the Po is settled: this is life. When desires and emotions invade the heart, Jing and Qi are depleted, and Shen becomes confused: this is death.

There are thirteen kinds of things that belong to life, and thirteen that belong to death. These are the thirteen places connected with life and death: the nine apertures and the joints of the four limbs. A living person does not let the eyes wander, the ears listen indiscriminately, or the nose smell indiscriminately; does not speak carelessly or crave flavors; does not grasp at things with the hands or wander with the feet; and does not let the spirit dissipate at will. For someone nearing death, the situation is exactly the opposite.

In the course of a lifetime, there are thirteen kinds of conduct that push people toward places of death. People intend to seek life, yet their actions lead them instead toward these thirteen places of death. Why does this happen? Because they crave the pleasures of life too much and cling too tightly to survival. In doing so, they violate the Dao and the order of Heaven, act recklessly, and lose their guiding principles.

It is said that those skilled in nourishing life do not encounter rhinoceroses or tigers on the road, and do not put on armor or take up weapons when they enter an army. They have no taste for fighting or killing. Thus, a rhinoceros finds no chance to gore them with its horn, a tiger has no opening to strike with its claws, and weapons have no place to be used against them.

Why can neither rhinoceroses, tigers, nor weapons harm them? Because they have not entered the thirteen places of death. Commentators explain that divine spirits protect them, so these things dare not harm them.

The Dao (the Way) brings all things into being, while De (Virtue/Power), the Dao’s power to transform and nurture, nourishes them. Once things have form, the Dao gives them their shape; changes such as Yin-Yang, cold and heat, and the seasons create the conditions for their growth and development. There is nothing among the myriad things that does not revere the Dao and cherish De.

The Dao is revered and De is cherished not because anyone has commanded it, but because all things do so naturally. The Dao does not summon them, yet they respond to it of their own accord, as an echo answers a sound and a shadow follows a form.

Thus the Dao brings all things into being, and De nourishes them, helping them grow, develop, and mature, caring for them so that they can preserve their inherent nature and life. A ruler governing a state and an individual cultivating body and mind should act in the same way.

The Dao gives life to and nurtures all things, yet does not claim them as its own. It acts, yet does not boast of its accomplishments or demand repayment. It helps all things grow, yet does not rule or dominate them. This is called “Mysterious De”—a profound virtue that remains hidden from view.

All things under Heaven share a common source: the Dao (the Way). The Dao is the mother of all things. Once you know the mother, you should also recognize the things born from it. Having recognized them, you should hold fast to their source and return to the Dao’s Wuwei (non-action). In this way, you will never fall into danger throughout your life.

Block the openings of the senses—that is, do not let your eyes look wherever they please. Close your mouth—that is, do not speak carelessly. If you avoid heedless looking and speech, you will not add needless hardship to your life.

If you let your eyes chase after desire and keep doing things that feed it, you will eventually fall into disorder and calamity, from which it will be difficult to recover.

To recognize disorder while it is still taking shape is called “clarity.” Hold to softness and weakness, and your strength will grow day by day. Turn your gaze toward the world outside to discern the gains and losses in the circumstances of the time; then draw your mind and spirit back within, so that your spirit does not dissipate. In this way, you will not bring calamity upon yourself. This is called cultivating the constant Dao.

If I understood political affairs even a little, I would act in accordance with the Great Dao and personally practice governing through Wuwei (non-action). The one thing I would fear is acting too much, lest I stray from the Dao’s true meaning.

If we tried to reward goodness, people might pretend to be good; if we tried to praise loyalty, people might feign loyalty. What I fear above all is that excessive intervention will give rise to hypocrisy.

The Great Dao is level and easy to follow, yet the people prefer crooked byways.

The court and its palaces are built in great splendor, while the fields lie waste and the granaries stand empty. People wear fine clothes, carry sharp swords, eat lavishly, and accumulate great stores of wealth. Their greed is never satisfied.

This is called “boasting like a robber”: the people lack food and clothing, while the ruler possesses plenty, as though he were plundering the people to adorn himself and display his might. He does not realize that, if he continues this way, he will ultimately ruin himself and his household, and his kin will suffer with him.

Can such “boasting like a robber” accord with the Great Dao? Heshang Gong says that a ruler who acts this way has turned away from the Dao; the repeated questions here express sorrow and regret.

What is well established cannot be uprooted; what is well held cannot slip away. The rites by which descendants honor their ancestors will continue without end.

Those who follow the Dao in ordering their own lives and governing a state will have foundations that are not easily shaken. Those who follow the Dao in safeguarding their spirit will not easily let it scatter. If their descendants also cultivate the Dao in this way, the practice can endure for a long time: generation after generation will honor their ancestors, and the sacrifices at the ancestral temple will never cease.

When one cultivates the Dao in oneself, De becomes genuine and pure. Cultivating the body, nourishing Qi, and tending the spirit can lengthen one’s life. When De reaches this level, one becomes a realized person, accomplished in the Dao.

When one cultivates the Dao in one’s family, De becomes abundant. Family members show parental care and filial devotion, affection between older and younger siblings, and trust and harmony between spouses. This De also brings blessings that extend to descendants.

When one cultivates the Dao in one’s community, De can endure and spread. One respects the elders, cares for the young, and teaches those with little understanding. The influence of this De reaches far, leaving no one untouched.

When one cultivates the Dao in a state, De becomes rich. The ruler is trustworthy and officials are loyal; benevolence and righteousness arise naturally, rites and music take shape naturally, and affairs of state are conducted fairly and without partiality.

When one cultivates the Dao throughout the world, De is put into practice everywhere. A ruler who governs the world through the Dao need not speak at length for the people to be transformed; there is no need for deliberate instruction, and governance still succeeds. The people respond to the ruler like shadows following forms and echoes answering sounds.

Therefore, use a person who cultivates the Dao to observe one who does not; a family that cultivates the Dao to observe one that does not; a community that cultivates the Dao to observe one that does not; a state that cultivates the Dao to observe one that does not; and a world that cultivates the Dao to observe one that does not.

How do I know that this is how things are in the world? By these principles. Laozi says: How can we know that those who cultivate the Dao will flourish and those who turn away from it will decline? We can see it by comparing and observing these five levels.

Those whose De (virtue and power) runs deep are like newborn infants. The spirits protect them as parents protect their babies. Venomous creatures do not sting them, fierce beasts do not harm them, and birds of prey do not attack them. Infants do not harm the things around them, and those things do not harm infants. In an age of great peace, people show compassion regardless of rank; thorny things draw in their sharp points, and venomous creatures do no harm.

An infant’s bones are frail and tendons soft, yet its grip is firm. This is because its mind is undivided and does not waver. An infant does not yet know sexual union, yet its sexual organ can become erect; this is because its essence and vital energy are abundant. It may cry from morning till night without becoming hoarse; this is because the harmony within is abundant.

To understand harmony is to understand the constant Dao (the Way). When people preserve harmony and softness, they grasp the enduring principles of the Dao. Acting in accordance with these principles, their understanding grows ever clearer. Seeking to prolong life without end only makes desire swell, while letting the mind drive Qi (vital energy) into restless motion makes a person grow ever more rigid. When things reach the height of their strength, they grow old and wither; this is called turning away from the Dao. Those who turn away from the Dao bring their lives to an early end.

Chapter “Mysterious De” says that those who truly understand the Dao value putting it into practice rather than speaking at length. Someone who speaks but does not act cannot be said to understand it. Once words have been spoken, they are hard to take back, so excessive talk can easily invite trouble.

To block the openings through which sensory desires enter and close the paths that nourish them is to cut them off at their source. When desire drives you to act in haste, remember that the Dao esteems Wuwei (non-action) and use this to calm the impulse. When turmoil and resentment arise, remember the Dao’s quiet simplicity and use this to dissolve conflict.

Draw in your dazzling sharpness and temper your radiance. Even if you have distinctive insight, let it shine without blinding others or disturbing them. In dealing with the world, do not make a show of being different. This is “mysterious sameness”: bringing your conduct into harmony with the Way of Heaven.

Such a person does not let closeness or distance alter their resolve. They do not take honor as a source of joy, nor grieve when alone. Their heart is calm and free of desire, so they do not incur others’ resentment. They do not covet gain or pursue wealth, status, or fine food. They neither compete for profit with the greedy nor vie in strength with the forceful. They do not contend to become ruler amid disorder, nor occupy the position of a benighted ruler. They are not arrogant when they hold power, nor submissive when fortune turns against them.

For this reason, they are respected by all under Heaven. A person of such De (Virtue) cannot be treated as a subject by the Son of Heaven, nor made to submit by the feudal lords. By adapting to events and preserving themselves, they avoid calamity and are held in high regard throughout the world.

Chapter Fifty-Seven: Pure Wind

Govern the state through the upright way, command armies through stratagem and deception, and gain all under Heaven through the way of Wuwei (non-action).

“Upright” means correcting oneself. Heshang Gong says Heaven will appoint an upright person to govern the state. “Stratagem” means deception. Heaven will appoint someone skilled in deception to command armies. One who practices Wuwei and leaves things undisturbed can become the ruler of all under Heaven.

How do I know these things? From what I see before me.

The more prohibitions there are under Heaven, the poorer the people become. Here, “under Heaven” means the state governed by the ruler, and “taboos” means various precautions and prohibitions. When government orders become complicated, wrongdoing easily takes root; when prohibitions become excessive, the people resort to deceit. Those above and below grow suspicious of one another, and the people are impoverished as a result.

The more power the people hold in their hands, the more disorderly the state becomes. Heshang Gong explains “sharp instruments” as power: when power is scattered among many people, their judgment is easily clouded and they cannot clearly understand one another’s words. Those above and below become suspicious of each other; when they lose their closeness, the state falls into disorder.

The more people esteem technical skill, the more strange and extravagant things appear. Here, “people” includes rulers and feudal lords. The skills in question include building grand palaces and towers, and adorning ceremonial robes with carvings and decoration. When those in high positions pursue ornamentation, those below imitate them, and carved gold and jade, colorful embroidery, and elaborate patterns flourish ever more.

The more conspicuous precious and beautiful objects become, the more thieves there are. Farming is neglected, hunger and cold follow one another, and thieves grow more numerous.

Therefore the sage says:

When I practice Wuwei, the people transform themselves naturally. The sage says: I cultivate the Dao and follow Heaven’s will, making no arbitrary changes, and the people can then nurture and transform themselves naturally.

When I cherish stillness, the people set themselves right naturally. The sage says: I cherish stillness, do not speak excessively, and do not force instruction, …