《老子道德经（晋王弼）》

The Laozi Commentary consists of two volumes and was written by Wang Bi of the Wei state. The Bibliography of the Sui History records the book under the title Laozi’s Dao De Jing, in two volumes, with commentary by Wang Bi. The Bibliography of the Old Tang History calls it New Notes on the Primal Words and Dao De, also attributing the commentary to Wang Bi. The Bibliography of Arts and Letters in the New Tang History, however, identifies New Notes on the Primal Words and Dao De as a work by Wang Su, and gives the title New Notes on the Primal Words and Dao De to a separate book with commentary by Wang Bi. These records are confused; perhaps one book was mistakenly divided into two, with its title and contents wrongly assigned. The Bibliography of Arts and Letters in the History of the Song lists Wang Bi’s Commentary on the Laozi, which is the same work as this one. I therefore use that title here.

Qian Zeng writes in his Notes on the Pursuit of Books that Wang Bi’s Laozi Commentary had been lost. Yet during the Wanli era of the Ming dynasty, Zhang Zhixiang of Huating did in fact publish it. Its wording agrees with the passages preserved in the Klassische Erläuterungen and the Yongle Encyclopedia. For example, when Zhang Zhan cites six lines from the chapter “The Valley Spirit Never Dies” in the Tianrui chapter of the Liezi, he explains them by quoting Wang Bi’s commentary. Although a few phrases contain additions or omissions, the meaning is unchanged. This shows that the book was not forged by later writers; Qian Zeng had probably simply never seen it.

This text was copied from the Three Classics with Jin Commentaries, compiled and printed by Zhang Zhixiang. It still contains omissions and corruptions, but remains broadly legible. Two postscripts are included at the end. In the yichou year of the Zhenghe era, Chao Shuozhi observed that the text contained many errors. In the gengyin year of the Qiandao era, when Xiong Ke republished the book, he wrote that it had seldom been seen in recent times, and seemed to have been recovered after a long interval. These accounts suggest that by the Song dynasty the book had already become difficult to find.

Both postscripts, however, say that the text does not divide the Dao Jing from the De Jing. The current upper volume of the Klassische Erläuterungen is titled Pronunciation and Meaning of the Dao Jing, and the lower volume Pronunciation and Meaning of the De Jing, which conflicts with this book and its postscripts. Perhaps those who later transmitted and printed the Klassische Erläuterungen added these titles to match the commonly circulating editions. Chen Zhensun’s Explanatory Notes on Books also says that this text is not divided into the Dao Jing and the De Jing. A postscript to this work is also preserved in Lu You’s collected writings. Chao Yidao held that Wang Fusi’s (Wang Bi’s) Laozi Commentary, titled Dao De Jing and not divided into upper and lower parts called “Dao” and “De,” was closer to the ancient edition; but the version Lu You had seen was already divided. It therefore seems possible that later editors also made unauthorized additions, deletions, and revisions elsewhere in the text.

In the second month of the forty-third year of the Qianlong era, this work was collated by imperial command.

General editors: Ji Yun, Lu Xixiong, and Sun Shiyi

Chief proofreader: Lu Feichi

The Dao (the Way) that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be defined is not the eternal name. Whatever Dao or name can be explained and named already points to particular things and takes on a particular form, so it cannot remain constant. The true Dao cannot be spoken or named.

The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; the named is the source of the myriad things. All existence begins in nonbeing. Before the myriad things appear in form or receive names, they are at their beginning. Once they take shape and are named, the Dao nurtures them, allowing them to grow and mature; in this way, it becomes the source of the myriad things. The Dao begins and brings all things to completion through the formless and nameless, but people do not know how it begins or accomplishes this. This is a principle profound beyond measure.

By constantly remaining free of desire and keeping the mind calm and empty, one can observe the subtle state of things as they first emerge. “Subtle” means hidden and profound to the utmost degree. The myriad things gradually take shape from what is hidden and subtle: they begin in nonbeing and then come into being. Thus, by constantly remaining free of desire and keeping the mind calm and empty, one can see the subtlety of their beginnings.

By constantly having desires, one can observe the ultimate destination of the myriad things. “Extent” refers to the final outcome of things. For anything that has form to function, it must depend on “nonbeing.” Desire, too, can achieve its aim only when grounded in the Dao. Thus, by constantly having desires, one can observe the ultimate destination of the myriad things.

“Nonbeing” and “being” both arise from the Dao; they differ only in name, and both are equally profound. Within the profound lies a still deeper principle: the gateway to the countless wonders.

“Beginning” and “Mother” are names for the same source at different stages: at the outset it is called the “Beginning,” and at the end, the “Mother.” Both emerge from the “Mysterious” (the deep, unspeakable source), though they have different names. The Mysterious is dark and still, without form or name; it is the source from which the Beginning and the Mother arise. Since no definite name can be given to it, it is reluctantly called the “Mysterious.” But to treat “Mysterious” as a fixed name would lose the very sense that it cannot be named. Thus it is called “the Mysterious upon the Mysterious,” to convey its depth and the difficulty of speaking of it. The wonders of all things arise from this shared source, so it is called the “Gate of All Wonders.”

When everyone under Heaven recognizes beauty as beauty, ugliness comes into being; when everyone recognizes goodness as goodness, what is not good comes into being. For being and nonbeing give rise to one another, difficulty and ease take shape through one another, long and short are seen in comparison, high and low depend on one another, sounds answer one another, and what comes before is followed by what comes after.

Beauty is what people’s hearts delight in and appreciate; ugliness is what they dislike. Beauty and ugliness are like joy and anger; goodness and what is not good are like right and wrong. Joy and anger share a common source, and right and wrong, too, arise from the same place. Thus one side should not be emphasized to the exclusion of the other. These six pairs of opposites are all features of how things naturally appear, and neither side alone can serve as the basis for judgment.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action). Following the natural course of things is enough; deliberate intervention can easily spoil them. The sage teaches without relying on words, lets the myriad things grow naturally without interfering, helps them grow without claiming them as his own, and acts without taking pride in his achievements. When one deliberately acts by relying on cleverness and skill, one easily lapses into artificiality.

Once an undertaking succeeds, the sage takes no credit. Its effects come about through the changes inherent in things themselves, so the sage does not claim the achievement as his own.

Only by not claiming credit does one’s achievement endure. If one takes the credit for oneself, the achievement cannot last.

Chapter Three (called “Keeping the People at Peace” in the Heshanggong edition)

When people known for their abilities are not exalted, the people will not compete with one another. When rare and precious goods are not prized, the people will not steal. When things that provoke covetousness are not displayed, the people’s hearts will not be disturbed.

“Worthy” refers to someone with ability, and “exalt” means to praise and honor. “Prize” means to value and elevate. If people are appointed according to their abilities, why give special honor to the reputation of being worthy? When the value of goods is raised beyond their actual use, the greedy will compete to obtain them, even stealing or taking risks to do so. Thus, when things that arouse covetousness are not displayed, the people’s hearts will not be thrown into confusion.

Therefore, the Sage governs the people by keeping their minds simple and their food sufficient; weakening their urge to compete and win, and strengthening their bones and sinews. “Empty their hearts” means not allowing their minds to be filled with clever schemes and stratagems. “Fill their bellies” means providing them with the necessities of life. “Weaken their wills” means diminishing the competitive drive that breeds trouble and unsettles the heart, while “strengthen their bones” means keeping their bodies strong.

The people are continually kept simple and unspoiled, without developing excessive cleverness or desire. This preserves their original nature. Even those who consider themselves clever and know how to scheme and take action will not dare to act rashly.

By following the principle of Wuwei (non-action), there is nothing that cannot be governed well.

Chapter Four (called “Without a Source” in the Heshanggong edition)

The Dao is empty and formless, yet it can be put to use; it seems never to become full. It is deep and still, as though it were the source of all things. It draws in its sharp edges and dispels confusion, softening its radiance and blending with the world of dust. It is hidden in the depths, seeming to exist yet difficult to grasp. I do not know where it came from; I only feel that its form seems to have preceded the Heavenly Emperor.

If one acts only by the measure of a single household, one cannot care well for an entire household; if one acts only by the measure of a single state, one cannot govern the whole state well. Once one has exhausted one’s strength lifting a heavy object, one can no longer put that strength to use. Thus, even if people know they must govern the myriad things, unless they follow the principles by which Heaven and Earth operate, their governance cannot be complete. Although Earth has a physical form, if it does not take Heaven as its model, it cannot securely preserve itself. Although Heaven has subtle and wondrous forms, if it does not take the Dao as its model, it cannot preserve its own subtlety.

The Dao is empty and formless, yet it can be used; its workings never run out. If it were filled up and made into a solid thing, that thing would overflow as soon as it grew. So although the Dao is at work, it remains unfilled. It is endless and has reached the utmost limit. No matter how vast the physical form, it cannot burden the Dao’s essence; no matter how numerous the affairs, they cannot fill the Dao’s capacity. If the myriad things were to leave the Dao and seek another master, where could that master be found? The Dao is deep and hidden, as though it were the source of all things: it draws in its sharp edges without being harmed and dispels disorder without effort; its radiance is softened but not stained, and it blends with the world of dust without altering its true nature. It is hidden in the depths, seeming to exist yet difficult to grasp.

Earth bears physical forms, but its De (Virtue/Power) cannot exceed its capacity to bear them; Heaven displays the myriad phenomena, but its De cannot exceed its capacity to cover them. If even Heaven and Earth cannot go beyond the Dao, does this not show that the Dao seems to have preceded the Heavenly Emperor? Here, “Emperor” refers to the Heavenly Emperor.

Heaven and Earth have no partial, preferential benevolence; they regard the myriad things as straw dogs, the grass figures used in ritual offerings. Heaven and Earth follow what is natural. They do not impose actions without warrant or deliberately contrive things, and the myriad things then each follow their own patterns and regulate themselves. That is why it is said that Heaven and Earth are “not benevolent.” Benevolence often involves human arrangements, the imparting of teachings, the granting of favors, and deliberate action.

When Heaven and Earth follow their natural course, acting without intervention or deliberate contrivance, the myriad things can regulate themselves and grow. Thus Heaven and Earth do not display a heart of benevolence. Those who are called benevolent often deliberately establish institutions and carry out instruction, but this causes the myriad things to lose their original nature. If they bestow favors everywhere and act with intention, the myriad things cannot be preserved and cannot fully sustain and nurture one another.

The Earth does not grow fodder specifically for wild beasts, yet wild beasts eat grass. Nor does the Earth produce dogs specifically for human beings, yet people eat dog meat. Heaven and Earth do not deliberately arrange the myriad things, yet each thing adapts to its circumstances and makes use of its capacities; thus nothing goes without nurture. A person’s cleverness and talent alone are not enough to take on this responsibility.

The sage does not intervene deliberately out of benevolence, but regards the people as sacrificial straw dogs—straw figures used in ritual offerings.

The sage’s De accords with that of Heaven and Earth. Therefore, the sage regards the people as straw dogs, allowing them to follow their natural course.

Is not the space between Heaven and Earth like a bellows? It is empty, yet never exhausted; the more it is worked, the more breath it gives forth. The tuo is a bellows, and the yue is a tube for blowing on a fire. The bellows and the blowing tube are hollow within, without will or deliberate action. They may seem empty, yet they are never depleted; the more they are worked, the less they are exhausted. The space between Heaven and Earth is vast and open, allowing the myriad things to move according to their nature. It is therefore difficult to exhaust, like a bellows.

Too much talk often leads to difficulty. It is better to hold fast to inner emptiness and stillness.

The more one acts with deliberate intent, the more readily one loses one’s original nature. If the myriad things are allowed to develop their own deviations while affairs and words are stirred together, nothing can be accomplished. Yet silence and inaction also lead to difficulty. Both outcomes come from insisting on pursuing things to their limits and acting with deliberate intent. If one remains empty and still, like a bellows, one can be inexhaustible. Set aside your own intentions and let the myriad things develop on their own, and there will be no affair that cannot be set in order. If a bellows deliberately produced a particular sound, it could not meet the musician’s need for breath.

Chapter Six (the Heshanggong commentary names this chapter “Forming Images”)

The Valley Spirit—the ceaseless, empty, still, and formless activity within the valley—does not die. This is called the Mysterious Female, the wondrous mother. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth and the myriad things. It continues without end, seeming to exist yet remaining difficult to grasp. Use it, and it is never exhausted.

The “Valley Spirit”—the power that is empty and still like a valley, yet able to nourish and sustain all things—dwells at the valley’s center, but has no fixed form or shadow. It resists nothing and goes against nothing. It rests in a low place without moving, and holds to stillness without ever being exhausted. The valley takes shape through it, yet its form cannot be seen. It is the most subtle presence among all things, dwelling in a lowly place and difficult to name; therefore it is called “the root of Heaven and Earth.”

It continues without end, seeming to exist while remaining unseen and formless. Yet if one were to say it does not exist, all things are born from it. Nothing fails to take shape through it, and its action expends no effort. Hence the saying, “Use it, and it is never used up”: it is put to work without any sign of strain. From it comes the “Mysterious Female,” the deep, generative motherly source that gives birth to all things. The source and ultimate end of all things in Heaven and Earth are one, and so it is called the root of Heaven and Earth.

Chapter Seven (titled “Concealing the Light” in the Heshang Gong commentary edition)

Heaven and Earth endure for a long time. The reason they can endure is that they do not live for themselves. To live only for oneself is to contend with all things; to live without doing so draws all things toward oneself, and thus one can endure.

Therefore, the sage puts himself last and yet comes first; he sets himself aside and thereby preserves himself. Is this not because he has no private motives? Precisely because he is selfless, he brings his own fulfillment.

Here, “selflessness” means not acting for one’s own sake. Thus the sage can place himself behind others and yet take the lead among them, and preserve himself. That is why it is said that he brings his own fulfillment.

Chapter Eight (titled “Transforming One’s Nature” in the Heshang Gong commentary edition)

The highest good is like water. Water excels at nourishing all things, yet does not contend with them; it stays in places that people all dislike—the low ground. People dislike what is low, so water is said to be close to the Dao (the Way).

Water is good at choosing low places to dwell; at keeping the mind deep and still; at showing kindness in how it treats others; at keeping its word in speech; at bringing order through governance; at making good use of its abilities in its work; and at acting in accord with the right time. Because it does not contend, it makes no mistakes.

This passage says that people should follow the way of good governance.

Holding on to what one already has and making it full is not as good as knowing when to stop. Here, “holding” means not losing one’s existing De. Once one has kept hold of De, to push everything further toward fullness will inevitably lead to a reversal of fortune and danger. It is therefore better to stop in time—or even better not to seek De and accomplishment at all, so as to avoid bringing danger upon oneself.

What has been sharpened and honed cannot stay that way for long. Sharpen the tip, then grind it to an edge, and in the end it will surely be damaged and break. A state of sharpness is therefore hard to sustain.

No one can keep a house filled with gold and jade forever.

It is better to know when to stop.

Pride and arrogance after gaining wealth and rank bring disaster upon oneself.

Whatever reaches its peak cannot remain there for long.

When one’s work is complete, withdraw. This accords with the Dao of Heaven. The seasons turn in succession; once an achievement is complete, one should give way.

Chapter Ten (called “Able to Act” in the Heshang Gong commentary)

Can the body and spirit dwell together and hold fast to their original nature, without separating? “Bearing” means dwelling in a settled state. “Nourishing the corporeal soul” refers to where a person’s body and spirit reside, while “the One” refers to a person’s original nature. The question is whether one can live an ordinary life, preserve a tranquil spirit, and remain true to one’s original nature. If so, all things will naturally come to one.

Can one focus the use of vital energy and bring body and mind to such gentleness that one becomes like an infant? “Focus” means to concentrate; “bring to” means to attain. The question is whether one can follow the Qi of nature and bring gentleness to its utmost, becoming as free of desire as an infant. Then all things can be preserved, and each can fulfill its own nature.

Can one wash away distracting thoughts and artificial adornments, so that the mind’s subtle insight is not obscured and remains without flaw? “Mysterious” refers to the deep and subtle Dao. The meaning is to remove perversity and artificial ornament, and let insight reach into the depths without allowing external things to cloud the mind’s clarity. In this way, the spirit can accord with the mysterious Dao.

Can one care for the people and govern the state without relying on clever schemes? Using tactics to achieve one’s aims and concealing one’s tracks are forms of artifice. Even with clear insight and a flawless mind, one must put aside the impulse to rely on one’s own cleverness. Nor should one use clever schemes to govern the state. Without such artifice, the people will not stray into perversity, and the state can be at peace.

When Heaven’s Gate opens and closes, can one remain yielding? “Heaven’s Gate” refers to the portal through which Heaven and Earth move according to nature.

“The Gate of Heaven” is the portal through which all things under heaven come and go and move. It is the fundamental principle that governs them all. Its opening and closing bring change, and these bear on order and disorder in the world. Because it reaches throughout the world, it is called “the opening and closing of the Gate of Heaven.” If one can respond like the female—following rather than taking the lead, acting in accordance with circumstances and not forcing things—then all things will naturally submit, and the place where one resides will be at peace.

Can you see clearly in all directions and understand all affairs, yet still practice Wuwei (non-action)?

That is, even with the clearest insight and understanding, free from confusion, can you refrain from acting by imposing your own will? If so, all things will transform of themselves. This is what is meant by “the Dao (the Way) is always Wuwei”: if rulers can hold to Wuwei, all things will nurture and develop themselves.

To give life to all things

is not to block the source of their growth.

To nurture all things

is not to suppress their individual natures.

To give life to all things without claiming them as one’s own, to act without relying on one’s achievements, and to let all things grow without ruling over them—this is called “Mystic De” (profound and subtle Virtue/Power).

When the source of all things is not blocked, they grow naturally. What achievement could there be in that? When their natures are not suppressed, they can fulfill themselves. What is there to rely on? All things grow and flourish by themselves, fulfilling themselves without being ruled. Virtue exists without a master who claims it as their own. What could this be, if not Mystic De, profound and far-reaching? Whenever “Mystic De” is spoken of, it means having virtue without claiming the credit for oneself. This virtue comes from a place deep and mysterious.

Chapter 11 (The Heshanggong Commentary calls this chapter “The Chapter on Usefulness of the Useless.”)

Thirty spokes converge at a single wheel hub; it is precisely because the hub’s center is empty that the cart is useful.

The hub can gather thirty spokes because of the empty space within it. Since that space can receive them, the hub can unite its parts and enable the cart to serve its purpose.

Clay is kneaded into a vessel, but it is the empty space inside that lets the vessel hold things. Doors and windows are cut into a house, but it is the open space within that makes the house fit to live in. Thus, solid objects such as vessels and houses bring convenience, while the empty spaces within them allow them to serve their purpose. Wood, clay, and walls form vessels, houses, and other things, yet each depends on “nothing” (empty space) to be useful. This “nothing” is the key to how tangible things function.

Chapter Twelve

The five colors dazzle the eyes; the five sounds dull the hearing; the five flavors unsettle the palate. Racing on horseback and hunting wild animals can throw the mind into turmoil.

“Unsettled” means out of order or abnormal. When the palate is out of order, it is said to be “unsettled.” The ears, eyes, mouth, and mind should each follow their own nature. When they do not, but instead harm their natural capacities, the result is dazzled eyes, dulled hearing, an unsettled palate, and a mind thrown into turmoil.

Rare and precious goods can obstruct people’s conduct and lead them away from the right path.

Therefore, the Sage attends to the body’s basic needs and does not chase after sensory pleasures. To attend to the “belly” is to use material things to sustain oneself; to attend to the “eyes” is to be driven by material things. That is why the Sage does not pursue external sensory desires.

Chapter Thirteen

Receiving favor or suffering disgrace is like being startled; regarding great troubles as precious is like regarding one’s own person as precious.

What does it mean to say, “Favor and disgrace are like being startled”? Favor itself places one in a lowly position: when it is received, one is as if startled; when it is lost, one is also as if startled. This is what it means for both favor and disgrace to inspire fear.

Favor can turn into disgrace, and honor always comes with trouble. If disgrace and honor, trouble and good fortune, are regarded as equally ordinary, then gaining or losing favor, disgrace, honor, or trouble will not disturb one’s rule of the world.

What does it mean to say, “Regard great troubles as precious as one’s own person”? Great troubles are things such as honor and favor. Treating oneself with excessive indulgence inevitably leads toward death. This, too, is the meaning of favor and disgrace being like a cause for alarm.

Glory and favor are great calamities. Excessive pursuit of personal pleasure leads to danger; that is why they are called great calamities. Those who become infatuated with glory and favor end up harming themselves. Thus, a great calamity is as close to us as our own body.

The reason I have great calamities is that I have this body.

Because I have a body, I can suffer misfortune. When I no longer cling to the body and return to my natural state, there is no calamity.

Therefore, only someone who values himself more than the world can be entrusted with the world. He will not sacrifice his body for anything else; this is what it means to be precious. Only then can the world be entrusted to him.

Only someone who cherishes himself more than the world can be entrusted with the world. Nothing can harm his care for himself; this is what it means to cherish. Only then can the world be entrusted to him. Only someone who does not let favor and disgrace, or glory and calamity, harm or alter him can be entrusted with the world.

To look for it and not see it is called “Yi”; to listen for it and not hear it is called “Xi”; to touch it and not feel it is called “Wei.” These three cannot be investigated to their furthest point, so they merge into one.

It has no shape, image, sound, or resonance, and so it reaches everywhere and passes through all things. It cannot be known or named through what the ears, eyes, and body perceive. Since it cannot be investigated to its furthest point, it can only be called the undifferentiated One.

Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark. It extends without end and cannot be named, then returns at last to a state without form or substance. This is called “the form of the formless, the image of what is without concrete things.”

If we call it “nonbeing,” all things nevertheless arise from it. If we call it “being,” its form cannot be seen. That is why it is called “the form of the formless, the image of what is without concrete things.”

This is called “Being elusive” (a state that is vague and hard to grasp).

Everything is impossible to grasp or determine. Face it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. Hold to the Dao that has existed since ancient times, and use it to govern all affairs in the present.

To know the beginning of antiquity is to grasp the guiding principles of the Dao.

The formless and nameless Dao is the source of all things. Although times change from past to present and customs also change, all things take shape and are governed by following the Dao. Thus, one can hold to the Dao that has existed since ancient times and use it to govern all affairs in the present. Though the age of high antiquity is far away, the Dao has always been present. So even those living today can know the beginning of antiquity. This is Chapter Fifteen. [The editor notes: The Heshang Gong commentary edition calls this chapter “Manifesting De.”]

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and profound, attuned to the mysteries, and unfathomable. Since they could not be seen through, one can only try to describe them: cautious, as if crossing a river in winter.

When crossing a river in winter, one hesitates and takes care, seeming at once to want to cross and not to want to cross. This means that their intentions and true appearance were hard to discern.

Hesitant, as if wary of those all around them.

When the neighbors on all sides join forces to attack the ruler at the center, the ruler still cannot know their intentions. The words and actions of a person of superior De—one whose Virtue is deep and who accords with the Dao—are hard to discern, and their inner aims are hard to detect. They are like this.

Dignified, as if ill at ease when visiting as a guest; yielding, like ice about to melt; honest and simple, like uncarved wood; open and spacious, like a valley; indistinct, like muddy water.

All these comparisons say that their appearance cannot be described with precision or defined by fixed names.

Who can let muddy water grow still and slowly become clear? Who can preserve a settled state for a long time, then gradually bring forth change within it? To bring order to what is dim is to make it bright; to still what is muddy is to make it clear; to transform what is settled is to make it grow. This is the Way of nature. “Who can” indicates that this is difficult to do; “slowly” means carefully and without haste.

Those who hold to this Dao do not seek fullness. What is full will inevitably overflow.

It is precisely by not seeking fullness that they can remain covered and avoid rushing to renew their achievements.

“Covered” means concealed. This is Chapter Fifteen. [The editor notes: The Heshang Gong commentary edition calls this chapter “Returning to the Root.”]

Make the mind utterly empty and still, and firmly hold to quietude. This means bringing emptiness and stillness to the utmost degree things can reach, and firmly holding to quietude as the fundamental state.

All things are growing and changing. By observing their repeated transformations, I have come to understand that they ultimately return to their original state. When we observe change with a mind that is empty and still, we see that things arise from emptiness and stillness, then return to them. Though all things arise, move, and grow together, in the end they return to stillness. This is the ultimate course of their development.

As all things flourish, each returns to its own root—to the place from which it began. Returning to the root is called “stillness.” To become still is to return to life’s original nature; this is called “returning to one’s destiny.” Returning to one’s nature allows one to follow the constant pattern of life, and this is called “the constant.”

Understanding the constant Dao is called “clarity.” Failing to understand it and acting recklessly brings danger. The constant Dao is impartial and unseen, with no fixed appearance such as brightness or darkness, warmth or cold. To understand it, then, is to be truly clear. Only by returning to the constant Dao can one embrace and encompass all things, leaving nothing outside its reach. When the Dao is lost, deviation and imbalance take hold, and all things stray from their proper place.

Understanding the constant Dao makes one able to embrace all things. Embracing all things leads to impartiality; impartiality reaches everywhere; reaching everywhere enables one to accord with Heaven; and according with Heaven enables one to connect with the Dao. By exhausting emptiness and embodying the Dao’s constancy, one can attain enduring, inexhaustible life.

The most skillful ruler governs the people so that they know only that such a ruler exists. Here, “the highest” means the most skillful ruler. Though he occupies the position above them, he handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without speaking. All things grow naturally, and he does not claim to have brought them into being. Thus the people know only that he is there.

A ruler one step below this is one whom the people draw near to and praise. This is because he cannot handle affairs through Wuwei or teach without speaking. Instead, he sets up good deeds and bestows favors, so that the people draw near to him and commend him.

A ruler below that is one whom the people fear. No longer able to win their allegiance through favors and benevolence, he can rely only on force and authority.

A ruler below that is one whom the people slight. Unable to govern them by the right way, he uses clever schemes to rule the state. The people then think only of avoiding him. His orders go unheeded, and so he is treated with contempt.

When a ruler lacks integrity, the people naturally will not trust him. This is like the body falling ill when it loses its normal condition, or things becoming impaired when they are regulated in ways that go against their nature. A lack of integrity leads to distrust; this is simply how things are. A deficiency within oneself cannot be corrected by cleverness.

When people force their bodies against their nature, illness arises; when they attend to external things but lose their true nature, calamity follows. If they lack sincerity, others will not trust them. These are all natural consequences. Cleverness cannot change the conditions of insufficiency.

“Unhurried, how highly he valued words!” When things were done and achievements completed, the people all said, “We were like this all along.”

Nature is the beginning and sign of things, yet it cannot be seen directly; its workings cannot be observed directly either. Nothing can alter the course of nature. Once words are spoken, they bring corresponding consequences. Hence the saying, “Unhurried, how highly he valued words!” The sage rests in Wuwei (non-action, following nature without imposing undue effort), and teaches without relying on verbal instruction. Nor does he establish standards for things through outward forms. Thus, when things are done and achievements completed, the people do not know how they came about.

Only after the Great Dao declined did benevolence and righteousness—compassion and fitting ethical conduct—appear.

When the practice of governing through Wuwei was lost, people turned instead to cleverness, setting standards of goodness and guiding the multitude by them.

When cleverness and acute discernment arise, great hypocrisy follows. People use stratagems and scrutinize details to identify deceit and pretence; they pursue outward appearances, judge things by them, and try to avoid them. Thus, when wisdom arises, great falsity arises with it.

Only when families fall into discord do filial devotion and parental kindness become conspicuous; only when a state is in turmoil do loyal ministers appear. The greatest renown for goodness arises only after the greatest evil has appeared. This is what is meant by beauty and ugliness coming from the same source. When the six relationships within a family—parent and child, siblings, and spouses—are naturally harmonious, and a state is naturally at peace, filial children, kind parents, and loyal ministers have no occasion to stand out. It is like fish in rivers and lakes, unaware of one another; only when they leave the water do their acts of moistening and sustaining one another become evident.

When people stop parading their wisdom and deliberately showing off their cleverness, they can gain more practical benefits. When they stop making a show of benevolence and righteousness, people naturally recover filial devotion and kindness. When they stop using deceit and pursuing profit, thieves will no longer appear. But stating these three points is not enough, so it is also necessary to explain what people should return to: preserve simplicity and genuineness, keep private desires in check, and reduce desire.

Wang Bi explains: “‘Sages and the wise’ are qualities of talent and intelligence regarded as good; ‘benevolence and righteousness’ are conduct people consider virtuous; ‘cleverness and profit’ are abilities thought to be useful. If one says only that these should be abandoned, without saying what people should return to, the point is not fully expressed. Therefore, one should also return to simplicity and have few desires.”

Chapter Twenty: “Different from the Common Way”

Set aside the learning and knowledge conventionally praised, and anxiety will diminish. How great is the difference between the respectful “wei” and the casual “a”? How far apart are what people call good and what they call bad? There are things the world fears that one cannot help but fear as well.

The second part of the Dao De Jing says that those who pursue learning add to their knowledge day by day, while those who cultivate the Dao reduce their desires and attachments day by day. Learning is pursued to increase one’s abilities and sharpen one’s intelligence. But if one is already without desire and content, why seek to acquire more? If one can respond aptly without deliberately pursuing knowledge, why press constantly for further progress? Swallows and sparrows pair off; doves and pigeons keep each other company. People in cold places naturally know to wear fur. Following one’s nature and living in contentment is enough; seeking more only brings anxiety. Lengthening a wild duck’s legs is as contrary to nature as shortening a crane’s. How is forcing oneself to pursue advancement out of fear of disapproval any different from doing so out of fear of punishment? How great is the difference between “wei” and “a,” or between what is called beautiful and what is called ugly? Thus, I too have things that the world fears, but I dare not treat such distinctions and judgments as reliable standards.

How bewildering this life, contrary to worldly custom, seems—apparently without end.

Everyone is in high spirits, as if attending a lavish sacrificial feast or climbing a high platform on a spring day to admire the view.

People are absorbed in chasing beautiful things and misled by honor and profit. They compete to advance and strive to outdo one another, so everyone is delighted, as though enjoying a lavish sacrificial feast or climbing a high terrace on a spring day to admire the view.

I alone remain detached and quiet, with no thoughts yet revealed, like an infant who has not learned to smile.

This means that I am empty and formless, with nothing that can be named and no sign that can be pointed to, like an infant who has not learned to smile.

I am weary and without support, as though I had nowhere to return to.

Everyone feels they possess a great deal; I alone seem to have lost something. Everyone’s heart is filled with wishes and ambitions, so they are said to have “more than enough.” I alone am empty, acting without purpose and free of desire, as though I had lost something.

I truly seem like a fool. The utterly foolish person makes no distinctions or calculations in his heart, and has no preferences or desires; his true nature is hard to discern. I am listless and without intention—roughly, this is what I am like.

Muddled and indistinct, without distinctions, impossible for others to see clearly.

People of the world are perceptive and radiant, displaying their brilliance.

I alone am dim and unassuming, seeking no clarity.

People of the world are astute and sharp, skilled at distinguishing and analyzing.

I alone am dull and withdrawn, keeping my thoughts from view; vast and boundless, like the sea.

I drift without direction, as though I had no end and nothing to bind or constrain me.

Everyone has something to rely on.

Because usefulness matters, people all want to make something of themselves. Only I seem dull and uncultivated.

I have no particular desires. My mind is quiet and hazy, as though I know nothing. That is why I call myself “stubbornly dull and uncultivated.”

Only I am different from everyone else: I cherish the source that nourishes all things.

“Feeding on the Mother” compares the Mother’s nurturing of her children to the source that nourishes all things. People cast aside the root of life and pursue outward beauty before it has been refined. That is why I say I alone wish to be different from everyone else.

Chapter Twenty-One

The form of great De follows only the Dao.

“Emptiness” means being empty. Only by taking emptiness as one’s De can one act in accord with the Dao.

The Dao as a presence is elusive and indeterminate.

“Elusive” means having no fixed form and being impossible to grasp.

Within the elusive, there are images; within the elusive, there are things.

The Dao brings all things into being without form, then brings them to completion without constraint. All things are born from the Dao and completed by it, yet people do not know how this happens. That is why the Dao is said to be elusive: within it there seem to be images and things.

Within the deep darkness, there is a subtle essence.

“Deep darkness” describes what is distant, obscure, and hard to see. Yet all things are born from it, so we can recognize its reality through them. That is why a subtle essence is said to lie within the deep darkness.

Its subtle essence is utterly real, and within it there is evidence that can be verified.

“Evidence” means verification or proof. When all things return to the depths of obscurity, they reach the utmost in what is real and subtle. The nature of all things is established from this, which is why its subtle essence is said to be real and to contain evidence.

From ancient times to the present, its name has never disappeared.

When reality reaches its utmost, it can no longer be named. Having no name is precisely its name. From ancient times to the present, all things have come into being through it; that is why its name is said never to have disappeared.

Through it, we can observe the source of all things.

“The beginnings of all things” refers to the origins of all things. Through the nameless Dao, we can explain how all things began.

How do I know what the beginnings of all things were like? Through this principle.

What was said earlier is this: How do I know that all things begin in “nothingness”? I know it on this basis.

Chapter Twenty-Two (called “The Chapter on Increasing through Humility” in the Heshang Gong commentary)

What is bent can be preserved.

Those who do not try to display themselves are seen clearly. Those who do not insist they are right are shown to be right. Those who do not boast of their achievements accomplish things. Those who do not exalt themselves allow their Virtue to endure.

What is low can be filled. What is worn out can be renewed.

With little, one may gain; with much, one is easily confused. The natural course of the Dao is like that of a tree: the more abundant its branches and leaves, the farther they are from the root. With fewer branches and leaves, one can grasp the root. The farther one strays from what is true, the easier it is to become confused. To grasp the root is true gain.

Therefore, the sage holds to the Dao (here represented by “the One”) and makes it the standard for all under Heaven. “The One” is a state of utmost simplicity; “standard” means a rule or guiding principle.

Because the sage does not display himself, he is understood. Because he does not insist he is right, his rightness is recognized. Because he does not boast, he establishes achievements. Because he does not exalt himself, his Virtue endures. Precisely because he does not contend, no one under Heaven can contend with him. The ancients said, “What is bent can be preserved.” Could this be empty talk? Indeed, one can preserve oneself and ultimately become whole.

Chapter Twenty-Three (called “The Chapter on Emptiness and Nothingness” in the Heshang Gong commentary)

Few words accord with nature.

“Rare” means scarce, or too faint to hear. The passage below says that the Dao’s words are bland and tasteless; look for it and it cannot be seen, listen for it and it cannot be heard. From this we can understand that words that are bland and tasteless, and barely audible, are precisely the words most in accord with nature.

A gale does not last all morning, and a downpour does not last all day. What brings these things about? Heaven and Earth. If even Heaven and Earth cannot make them last, how much less can people do so?

Words, violence, impatience, and ostentatious display cannot last.

Thus, those who act in accordance with the Dao are in harmony with the Dao.

Here, “act” refers to a person’s conduct. The Dao is formless and acts without action, yet it brings things to completion and helps all things. Therefore, those who follow the Dao make Wuwei (non-action) their guiding principle. They do not teach through words; they endure without interruption and seem to be present. They allow all things to remain true to their own nature and to become one with the Dao. This is why it is said that they are “in harmony with the Dao.”

They are in harmony with De.

“De” carries the sense of something gained. Even a little gain is still something acquired, hence the word “gain.” When conduct yields something, it accords with what has been gained; this is why it is said to be “in harmony with De.”

They are in harmony with loss.

“Loss” means a reduction or depletion. When depletion accumulates, something is lost, hence the word “loss.” When conduct brings about loss, it accords with that loss; this is why it is said to be “in harmony with loss.”

Those in harmony with the Dao are gladly received by the Dao; those in harmony with De are gladly received by De; those in harmony with loss are gladly received by loss. The meaning is that people become aligned with whatever they follow in their actions, and receive a corresponding response.

When trustworthiness is lacking, distrust follows.

If those in subordinate positions are not treated with sufficient loyalty and trust, they will become distrustful.

Chapter 24 (called “The Chapter on Bitter Grace” in the Heshanggong commentary)

Those who rise onto their toes cannot stand firm.

When things press constantly forward and rush to advance, they cannot remain steady. Hence, those who rise onto their toes cannot stand firm.

Those who take giant strides cannot walk far. Those who display themselves cannot see clearly; those who insist they are right cannot make themselves known; those who boast of their achievements have no merit; those who exalt themselves cannot endure. From the perspective of the Dao, all these are like leftover food and superfluous growths. Just as walking backward or eating what remains after a feast is repellent, even something originally good can become distasteful. And even if someone has done something worthy, once they boast of it, their achievement becomes like a growth on the body: an unnecessary burden.

People dislike these ways of acting, so those who have the Dao do not act this way.

Chapter 25 (called “The Chapter on the Image of the Origin” in the Heshanggong commentary)

There is a whole, undivided existence that was already present before Heaven and Earth took shape. It is undifferentiated and impossible to know, yet it is the source from which all things arise; hence it is called “the formed from chaos.” We do not know where it came from, so we say it was born before Heaven and Earth.

It is silent and still, empty and without form. It exists alone, with nothing that can match it, so it is called “independent.” It runs through change and through beginning and end without losing its constant nature, so it is called “unchanging.”

It moves everywhere, reaching every place, and can therefore avoid danger. It gives rise to the forms of all things and preserves them, so it may be called the “mother of all under Heaven,” the source of everything in the world.

I do not know what it is called. A name is used to identify a form; since it is formless and cannot be identified by a name, we say that we do not know its name.

For the time being, let us call it the Dao. A name identifies a form, while a designation is used to speak of something. The designation “Dao” conveys that it is everywhere and that nothing comes into being apart from it. In describing this formed-from-chaos existence, it is the greatest designation available.

Reluctantly, I give it the name “Great.” It is called the Dao because that is the greatest designation available. If we pursue the specific meaning underlying this designation, we arrive at “great.” But once we confine it to some particular kind of greatness, distinctions arise, and we depart from its inexhaustible nature. Thus we can only reluctantly call it “Great.”

“Great” means moving without end. “Passing on” means moving: it does not cling to any fixed form but reaches everywhere, so we say it moves without end.

Moving without end, it seems far-reaching; far-reaching, it returns. “Far-reaching” means that its movement extends everywhere without limit and favors no particular place. “Returning” means that it is not constrained by wherever it reaches and always remains independent.

Thus the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is also great.

Among all things under Heaven, the human being is the most honored, and the king is the ruler of humankind. Though the king may not bear any especially weighty duties, he still stands alongside Heaven, Earth, and the Dao as one of the “great,” so the king, too, is great.

There are four great things in the world.

Whatever has a designation and a name is not the most fundamental or ultimate existence. To say “Dao” is already to point to something; because it is pointed to, it is called “Dao.” Thus, among things that have names, Dao is the greatest, yet it is still not as great as what has neither name nor designation. What has neither name nor designation cannot be spoken of directly; it can only be called the “domain,” an unrestricted scope. Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the king are all contained within this nameless, designationless domain. That is why the world has four great things.

The king is one of them.

This means that the king occupies the position of ruler among human beings and is therefore one of the great.

Human beings take Earth as their model; Earth takes Heaven as its model; Heaven takes Dao as its model; Dao takes what is natural as its model.

“To take as a model” means to follow and emulate. Human beings can live securely only by not going against the patterns of Earth; this is taking Earth as their model. Earth can bear all things only by not going against the patterns of Heaven; this is taking Heaven as its model. Heaven can fulfill its role of governing all things only by not going against Dao; this is taking Dao as its model. Dao can preserve its nature only by not going against what is natural; this is taking the natural as its model. “What is natural” is not some external object. It is the state in which things are as they are in themselves, without human contrivance: where there is a square, it appears square; where there is a circle, it appears round. It does not go against what is inherent in things.

“Natural” is a way of speaking about what has neither name nor designation, and a word that expresses the ultimate. The use of cleverness is inferior to ignorance and Wuwei (non-action); concrete form is inferior to subtle image, and subtle image is in turn inferior to having no form or image. Visible patterns and principles are also inferior to what has no form or image. In this way, all things take what is more fundamental as their model, layer by layer: Dao follows what is natural, Heaven models itself on Dao, Earth models itself on Heaven, and human beings model themselves on Earth. The king can occupy a place among the four great things precisely because he holds the position of ruler.

Chapter Twenty-Six (in the Heshanggong commentary edition, this chapter is titled “The Chapter on Weighty De”)

Weight is the foundation of lightness; stillness is the ruler of agitation.

A light thing cannot bear a heavy load, and a small thing cannot steady something large. What does not travel can provide a support for what travels, and what is still can restrain what moves. Thus weight must be the foundation of lightness, and stillness must be the ruler of agitation.

Therefore, though the sage travels all day, he does not leave his baggage wagons behind.

Holding firmly to steadiness is fundamental, so one does not depart from the root.

Even while living in a splendid palace, one can remain at ease and detached from worldly affairs, keeping such things from occupying the mind.

How can a ruler who commands ten thousand chariots treat the realm lightly? If he is careless, he will lose the root; if he is restless, he will lose his throne.

One who is frivolous cannot remain calm and steady. Lose the root, and one’s life is lost; lose the ruler’s Way, and the throne is lost.

Chapter Twenty-Seven (called “Skillful Use” in the Heshanggong commentary)

One who is skilled at walking leaves no wheel tracks or footprints.

Acting in accord with nature, one does not deliberately initiate or force a beginning. Thus the myriad things each reach where they should, yet leave no human-made traces.

One who is skilled at speaking has no faults that can be criticized.

Following the nature of things, one makes no distinctions and offers no analysis, so there are no flaws to point out or criticize.

One who is skilled at calculation uses no counting rods, the devices used in ancient times for keeping count.

One calculates according to the quantities inherent in things, without relying on external forms.

One who is skilled at closing needs no bolt, yet no one can open what is closed. One who is skilled at tying needs no rope, yet no one can undo the knot.

This means following the natural qualities of things without making other arrangements or applying artificial means. Thus, without bolts or ropes, one can still keep a door from opening and a knot from coming undone. These five points all concern avoiding deliberate invention and imposed action: follow the nature of things without using artificial forms to constrain them.

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

The sage does not establish fixed categories to constrain the myriad things, nor set directions for advancement that distinguish and exclude those deemed incapable. The sage assists the myriad things in following their own nature and does not force them to begin, so it is said that no one is cast aside. If people do not elevate the reputation of the worthy, they will not compete; if they do not prize rare goods, material desires will not become…

The sage does not set up distinctions of status to constrain the myriad things, nor artificially direct their course so that they are ranked above or below one another or cast aside. Instead, the sage assists all things in developing according to their nature, without forcibly initiating or directing them. Thus it is said that no one is cast aside. If so-called worthy and capable people are not exalted, the people will not compete. If rare and precious goods are not prized, the people will not become thieves. If things that stir up desire are not put on display, the people’s minds will not be thrown into confusion. Always keep the people free of greed and delusion, and no one will be cast aside.

The sage is always of benefit to the myriad things and skilled at rescuing them; therefore, no thing is cast aside. This is called following and bringing the Great Dao to light. The good person is the teacher of the person who is not good.

The good person makes their good conduct an example for the person who is not good, and is therefore called a teacher.

The person who is not good is a model and resource for the good person.

The word “resource” means something one draws upon or relies on. The good person uses goodness to put right what is not good, and also uses goodness to set aside what is not good. Thus, the person who is not good is precisely someone from whom the good person can learn.

If one does not honor one’s teacher or value those who can serve as resources, then even if one considers oneself clever, one will fall into great confusion.

Even with intelligence and talent, if one relies on one’s own cleverness, fails to accord with things, and cannot act in keeping with the Great Dao, one will ultimately lose the Dao. Thus it is said that even the clever can fall into great confusion.

This is called a subtle and profound principle.

Chapter Twenty-Eight (in the Heshang Gong commentary edition, this chapter is titled “Returning to the Uncarved Block”).

Know what is strong, yet hold to what is weak: then you can become the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, your constant De will never depart, and you will ultimately return to the childlike state of natural simplicity.

The “male” belongs to what takes the lead and is strong; the “female” belongs to what follows and is yielding. Know how to take the lead in the world, yet willingly stay behind: thus the sage places himself behind others, yet ends up before them. The valley does not actively seek to obtain the myriad things, yet they naturally turn toward it. The infant relies on neither cunning nor cleverness, yet is in accord with the wisdom of nature.

Know what is bright, yet hold to what is dark: then you can become the standard of the world.

“Standard” means a rule or measure.

As the standard of the world, your constant De will not go astray.

“Deviation” means error.

In this way, you return to the limitless: that is, to a state without end or bounds.

Know what is honorable, yet hold to what is humiliating: then you can become the valley of the world. As the valley of the world, your constant De will be sufficient, and you will ultimately return to the genuine state of natural simplicity.

These three sayings all teach that by constantly returning to the root of things and willingly staying behind, one can keep one’s De whole. The next chapter says, “Returning is the movement of the Dao.” That is, the Dao moves by way of return. One cannot claim achievements as one’s own; by always dwelling low, like a valley, one’s De becomes sufficient, and one ultimately returns to the uncarved block.

“Uncarved simplicity” (the genuine state before it is shaped) disperses into the various kinds of implements. The sage follows this differentiation and puts each to use, enabling each to serve its purpose, while appointing officials to govern them. “Uncarved simplicity disperses into implements” means that things divide from a unified state into many different categories. The sage takes the good as a teacher and the not good as a lesson, transforms customs and ways of life, and ultimately leads people back to unity.

Thus, the highest form of governance does not divide things apart. What is called “great shaping” takes the intentions of all under Heaven as its own, and so does not forcibly divide the world.

To try to take possession of the world and govern it through human contrivance, I think, is difficult to achieve. The world is a marvelous vessel: it cannot be acted upon arbitrarily or claimed as one’s own. The Dao has no shape or direction, yet the myriad things under Heaven are formed through the coming together of different things. The formless Dao joins with formed things, which is why the world is called a “divine vessel.”

The nature of the myriad things is to be natural. One may guide them by following their course, but one cannot force them into being; one may communicate with them smoothly, but one cannot insist on controlling them. To go against their inherent nature and forcibly alter them is bound to fail. Things have their own comings and goings and changes; cling to them and try to seize them, and in the end they will be lost.

Thus, among the myriad things, some advance and some follow; some exhale and some inhale; some are strong and some weak; some are frustrated and some fall. The text here has xu (“exhale”), while the Heshanggong commentary reads hou (“breathe out”). These different conditions show that the movement of things proceeds sometimes with the current and sometimes against it, through repeated change. The sage understands the principles of nature and the conditions of the myriad things. Therefore, the sage follows them without forcing action, and neither divides nor controls them. By removing practices that lead to delusion and confusion, the sage keeps the heart-mind undisturbed, allowing the myriad things to preserve their own natures. The sage thus casts aside extremes, extravagance, and excess.

Those who assist a ruler through the Dao do not use military force to dominate the world. If even one who assists a ruler through the Dao should not use arms to impose control over the world, how much more so should the ruler refrain from doing so when personally following the Dao?

“Those who begin with forceful action find that things return” means that those who begin with weapons and coercive power often bring corresponding consequences upon themselves. Those who have the Dao, by contrast, hope for things to return to a state of Wuwei (non-action). The consequences of warfare ultimately tend to return to those who wield the weapons.

Wherever armies have been stationed, brambles will grow thick; after a great war, years of famine often follow.

The army is an instrument that brings calamity. It cannot truly bring benefit and will inevitably cause harm. It lays waste to the people and leaves fields uncultivated; hence the saying, “brambles will grow thick.”

One skilled in the use of arms seeks only to bring calamity to an end and does not dare to flaunt military might before the world. Here, “accomplishing the aim” means completing a task or reaching an objective; “relieving distress” means ending a crisis.

Even when the aim is achieved, one does not boast or claim credit, nor become proud. For I do not regard the use of arms as something worthy of praise. If arms are used only as a last resort, what is there to boast about or take pride in?

Military action succeeds because it was unavoidable. Even if arms must be taken up again, they should be used only to quell disorder; victory must not become an excuse for showing off one’s strength.

When things reach the height of their strength, they begin to decline. This is called being out of accord with the Dao. What is out of accord with the Dao soon perishes. Here, great strength serves as a metaphor for the sudden rise of military power: it means using force to assert dominance over the world. A gale cannot last through the morning, and a downpour cannot last all day. A sudden display of military force cannot endure; because it goes against the Dao, it will soon decline and perish.

Chapter Thirty-One (in the Heshang Gong commentary edition, this is called “The Chapter on Setting Aside Arms,” meaning a chapter on ceasing to revere military force).

Fine weapons are ominous instruments. People generally detest them, so a person of the Dao (the Way) does not use them. In ordinary life, the gentleman honors the left; when using weapons, he honors the right. Weapons are ominous things, not instruments for a gentleman. They are used only when there is no other choice, and calm detachment—remaining peaceful and untroubled, taking no joy in victory—is best.

Even after winning a battle, one should not regard victory as something admirable. To see victory as admirable is to delight in killing. Someone who delights in killing cannot realize their ambitions under Heaven.

For auspicious occasions, the left is honored; for funerals, the right. The deputy general stands on the left, and the supreme general on the right. This means that war should be treated with the rites used for funerals. When many people have been killed, one should mourn and grieve; even after victory, the dead should be treated according to funeral rites.

The Dao (the Way), the constant source of all things, has no name or form. It is plain and uncarved, like a block of wood. Though it seems small, nothing under Heaven can rule it. If lords and kings can hold fast to the Great Dao, all things will naturally come to them.

The Dao has no fixed form and is not bound by constraints. It exists eternally, yet cannot be defined by a name. Because there is no fixed name by which to call it, we say, “The Dao is always nameless.” “Uncarved wood” refers to its natural state, untouched by carving. Its nature is Wuwei (non-action), and it too has no fixed name. Another version reads, “Uncarved wood has no thoughts, and so has no name.” Therefore, to attain the Dao, there is no better way than to preserve one’s uncarved nature.

Those with wisdom can be appointed as ministers; those with courage can be sent to fight; those with skill can be assigned tasks; those with strength can bear heavy responsibilities. Uncarved wood remains undivided and does not favor any side. It is close to formlessness and nonbeing, so no one can rule it as a subordinate. Preserve what is uncarved and follow nature. Do not let external things burden your nature or desires damage your spirit, and all things will naturally submit; the Dao, too, can then be attained.

When the Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth harmonizes, sweet dew descends. The people need not be given commands; they will naturally become balanced. This means that when the Yin-Yang of Heaven and Earth harmonizes, sweet dew descends without anyone seeking it. If I preserve my true nature and follow Wuwei, the people will likewise become balanced without being commanded.

When things begin to be divided and categories established, names also arise. Once names have appeared, one should know when to stop. Knowing when to stop makes it possible to avoid danger.

“Beginning to establish institutions” refers to the time after the uncarved wood has been divided and a system of officials begins to take shape. Once officials are appointed, distinctions must be established to mark rank and status; hence the phrase “beginning to establish categories.” But as this process develops, people may struggle over the smallest gains. So after establishing categories, one must also know how to restrain them. If one relies entirely on names to classify all things, the foundation of governance will be lost. Knowing when to stop is what allows one to avoid danger.

The Dao’s workings in the world are like streams flowing into rivers and seas. Streams flow into the rivers and seas, not because they are summoned by them. They need neither be called nor make a deliberate effort to seek them out; they flow together naturally. The Dao should be put into practice in the world in the same way: the people naturally become balanced without being commanded, and naturally find something to turn to without deliberately seeking it. This is how the Dao works in the world, like streams flowing into rivers and seas.

Chapter 33

Understanding others shows wisdom; knowing yourself shows true insight. Understanding others counts as wisdom, but knowing yourself goes beyond ordinary wisdom.

Overcoming others shows strength; overcoming yourself shows true power. Defeating others is simply a matter of strength; overcoming yourself is far more difficult. It is better to use wisdom to understand yourself than to speculate about others, and better to use strength to restrain yourself than to overpower others. When wisdom is turned inward, you do not evade your own problems; when strength is turned inward, your actions are not easily swayed.

Those who know what is enough are inwardly rich. Knowing contentment keeps you from losing what you already have through greed, and so you may be called rich.

Those who persist in moving forward have firm resolve. Through diligent effort, their aims will eventually be realized; that is why those who press on are said to be resolute.

Those who do not leave their place or neglect their proper duties can endure. Understand your circumstances, measure your abilities before acting, and remain in your proper place: then you can endure.

When the body dies but the Dao does not perish, this is longevity. Even if the body dies, as long as the “Way of life” one follows does not perish, longevity has been preserved. How much more so when the body remains and the Dao has not come to an end.

Chapter 34

The Great Dao flows everywhere, reaching all places, in every direction.

The Dao flows everywhere; there is nowhere it cannot reach. Whatever direction it is put to work in, it extends throughout.

All things depend on the Great Dao to come into being, yet it does not refuse them or claim credit. It nurtures all things without ruling over them.

In variant versions of the scripture, “All things depend on it to come into being” also appears as “All things depend on it for life,” while “It does not claim ownership” also appears as “It does not claim ownership and does not take up a position of authority.” In the Heshanggong commentary edition, “It clothes and nourishes all things” appears instead as “It cherishes and nourishes all things.” All these variants express the idea that the Great Dao nurtures all things without claiming credit or ruling over them.

All things depend on the Dao (the Way) to come into being, yet the Dao takes no credit for this. Once things have come into being, they do not know where they came from, so the Dao does not regard itself as their creator. It nurtures all things without ruling over them.

All things are born from the Dao, yet they do not know that they come from it. When the Dao makes no demands and lets things grow naturally, each thing finds its place. The Dao does not deliberately act upon things, and in this sense it may be called small.

In the end, all things return to the Dao, yet the Dao does not rule over them. They return to it and are nourished, but do not know how it enables them to grow. In this sense, the Dao may also be called great.

Precisely because the Dao never considers itself great, it achieves greatness.

To accomplish great things, begin with what is small; to resolve difficulties, begin with what is easy.

“To hold fast to the great image” means to grasp the Dao as the fundamental principle. Like the mother of all things, the Dao is neither hot nor cold, neither warm nor cool. It can therefore contain and encompass all things without harming them. If a sage can grasp the great Dao, all under Heaven will turn toward them.

When all things turn toward it without being harmed, all under Heaven becomes peaceful, harmonious, and abundant. The Dao has no form or awareness, favors no side, and does not seek to make itself known. Thus, when all things turn toward it, nothing stands in their way.

Music and delicacies can make passersby stop, but words spoken about the Dao (the Way) are so plain that they have no flavor. Look for it and it cannot be seen; listen for it and it cannot be heard. Yet in use, it can never be exhausted.

This passage describes the Dao as vast and far-reaching. People who hear it discussed often find it less moving than music and delicacies. Music and food appeal to people’s preferences, bringing them pleasure and even making passersby linger. Words about the Dao, by contrast, are plain and flavorless, offering little to delight the eye or ear. Yet although the Dao cannot be sensed, seen, or heard, its practical use is inexhaustible.

Chapter 36 (called “Subtle Illumination” in the Heshang Gong commentary)

To make something contract, first let it expand fully. To weaken something, first let it grow strong. To cast something down, first let it rise. To take something away, first give it. This is called “subtle illumination”: discerning the signs of change in things through close attention to what is small.

If one wishes to remove the overbearing and quell disorder, one can follow the course of things themselves, allowing them to meet ruin through their own actions, without relying on punishment to suppress them by force. This is why it is called “subtle illumination.” If something has already been allowed to expand fully, yet is still pressed to expand further, people will eventually find ways to shrink and suppress it. If it has not expanded enough and one changes course to keep encouraging its growth, it will only become more dangerous.

The soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot leave the depths of the water; the state’s important instruments and means of power should not be displayed lightly to others.

Weapons of war are tools by which the state governs the people. Only by following the inherent nature of things, governing all things without recourse to punishment, and allowing each thing to find its proper place without visible coercion can the state truly govern to its advantage. To display punishments openly is to govern through punishment; governing the state by means of punishment means losing its foundation. When fish leave the deep water, they are bound to be caught. Likewise, when the tools of governing the state are turned into punishments and displayed openly, they are bound to be lost.

Chapter 37 (called “Governing” in the Heshang Gong recension)

The Dao (the fundamental pattern by which all things in the universe operate) always follows nature. It does not act deliberately or recklessly, yet nothing is left undone. All things are governed, grow, and come to completion through this natural operation.

If a ruler can hold fast to this principle, all things will transform of themselves. If desire arises amid this transformation, and all things begin striving to achieve something, I will settle them with the nameless Uncarved Block (the natural state untouched by human shaping). All things are governed, grow, and come to completion through this natural operation. If a ruler can hold fast to this principle, all things will transform of themselves; if desire arises amid this transformation, I will settle them with the nameless Uncarved Block, without placing myself in the position of a ruler over them.

The nameless Uncarved Block also makes people free of desire—here, “desirelessness” means not striving or contending. When people cease striving and return to stillness, the world will settle of itself.

The Upper Part of the Daodejing

Imperially Commissioned Complete Library of the Four Treasuries

The Lower Part of the Daodejing

Commentary by Wang Bi of the Wei state.

Chapter 38 (called “On De” in the Heshang Gong recension. The editorial note states that the Yongle Encyclopedia’s text from this chapter onward lacks commentary. The Wang Bi commentary compiled by Zhang Zhixiang contains many errors, and no other version is available for collation; the old text is therefore retained for now.)

Those of the highest De do not cling to displaying their virtue, and so truly possess De. Those of lower De fear losing their virtue and deliberately maintain its appearance, and so in fact lack De. Those of the highest De follow things as they are, without consciously striving to do anything. Those of lower De take action with a clear purpose in mind. Those of the highest benevolence actively practice benevolence without deliberately seeking anything in return. Those of the highest righteousness actively practice righteousness with a clear intention. Those of the highest propriety act according to ritual; if others do not respond, they roll up their sleeves and forcefully pull them along.

Thus, only when the Dao is lost do people speak of De; only when De is lost do they speak of benevolence; only when benevolence is lost do they speak of righteousness; only when righteousness is lost do they speak of ritual. Ritual is a sign that loyalty and trust have grown thin, and the beginning of disorder. So-called “foreknowledge” is the clever discernment of those who imagine themselves wiser and more perceptive than others. It is merely the Dao’s flashy surface, and the beginning of folly. Therefore, the great person makes their home in what is solid and unadorned, and does not linger in what is shallow. They value inner truth and do not pursue outward display. So they let go of the latter and choose the former.

“De” means gaining something and being able to keep it over time without losing it. Since this gain brings benefit without harm, it is called De. How can De be attained? Its foundation is the Dao. How can De be brought fully into play? By taking Wuwei (non-action) as one’s guiding principle. When Wuwei is the guiding principle, all things can be sustained and nourished.

Without “nothingness,” nothing can connect all things. Clinging to “being,” by contrast, cannot keep life from hardship. Thus, although Heaven and Earth are vast, they take emptiness as their foundation; although sage kings are exalted, they make humility their guiding principle. Return to the root and observe, and you will see the original mind of Heaven and Earth. Reflect on it at the winter solstice, and you will understand the fundamental principle followed by the ancient kings. Let go of selfishness and do not place yourself first, and people throughout the world will look to you and rally around you; those both near and far will come. If you attend only to your own private concerns, you cannot even preserve your own person; even your bones and sinews will work against one another.

Those of high De follow only the Dao and do not make a show of their De. They do not cling or force things, and so, though they possess De, nothing fails to be accomplished. They do not seek to acquire, yet things come to them naturally; they do not act deliberately, yet things are accomplished of themselves. Thus, though they have virtue, they do not consider themselves “virtuous.”

Lower De depends on seeking in order to gain and on action in order to accomplish. It therefore sets standards of goodness to govern all things and claims virtue for itself. What is gained by seeking may eventually be lost; what is achieved through deliberate effort may fail. Once goodness is named, its opposite, badness, arises alongside it. Thus those of lower De act and pursue things deliberately. Whatever does not follow its natural course but is done by design belongs to lower De. The norms of benevolence, righteousness, and ritual propriety are examples of this.

When discussing higher and lower forms of De, lower De is often used as a contrast to high De. Within lower De, the highest is benevolence. Although it cannot yet attain complete Wuwei, it still takes action. Though it acts without deliberate intent, it nonetheless acts, and so cannot avoid the drawbacks that action brings. The foundation lies in Wuwei, the source in namelessness. Abandon the foundation and chase after its branches, and even great achievements may fail; even a good reputation can give rise to pretence.

When one cannot accomplish things naturally through Wuwei, one deliberately practices benevolence. To give broadly and care for everyone without favoritism is supreme benevolence: it involves action, but no deliberate intent. If care cannot extend to everyone, some will advocate correcting right and wrong and upholding righteousness, resenting injustice, supporting the upright, and helping one side attack the other. Such conduct mixes in personal feelings. Thus supreme righteousness involves action, but also deliberate intent. If uprightness still cannot be maintained to the end, people begin to emphasize ritual forms and refinements, treating one another with respect and repeatedly checking the propriety of their exchanges. When the other person does not respond in kind, anger arises. So when supreme ritual is practiced and no one responds, its practitioners roll up their sleeves and force others to accept it. At this point, ritual has reached its extreme. The Dao is the highest foundation. Why, then, should these successive levels be revered?

Even when achievements flourish, wealth abounds, and one possesses all things, each thing should be allowed to retain its own De. Though the exalted govern through Wuwei, they must not abandon “nothingness,” the foundation. To abandon Wuwei as one’s foundation is to lose the truly vast and profound realm. This is what is meant by “when the Dao is lost, De appears.” The Dao functions through Wuwei and is the source of De. It does not labor, yet all things are brought into order.

Further down comes the loss of this source, Wuwei. Unable to practice Wuwei, people prize the broad dispensation of benevolence. Unable to extend benevolence broadly, they prize upholding righteousness. Unable to uphold righteousness, they prize ritual refinement. This is what is meant by “when De is lost, benevolence appears; when benevolence is lost, righteousness appears; when righteousness is lost, ritual appears.” Ritual originally rests on loyalty and trust, but when these are no longer deep, the open and straightforward way of conduct ceases to be genuine. People begin to judge others by their outward appearance and make demands of them, and disputes arise from this. Benevolence and righteousness arise from within, yet even their deliberate practice may become false. How much more so when people pursue nothing but outward display—how could that last? Ritual, then, is a sign that loyalty and trust have grown thin, and the beginning of disorder.

“Foreknowledge” means seeing things earlier than others: people of this kind belong to lower De. They exhaust their intelligence and ability, believing themselves to be far-sighted, and expend their energy handling every sort of affair. Even when they appear to possess virtue, their inner cunning grows ever more elaborate. Even as they win more praise, they lose ever more of their honesty and sincerity. People grow weary while affairs become more confused; the more they busy themselves with governance, the more disorder results. Even if they exhaust the wisdom of sages, the people may suffer greater harm as a result.

Set aside the self and let all things follow their own course, and you can live in peace through Wuwei. Hold fast to simplicity and your original nature, and do not force everyone to obey fixed rules. If you heed only what you learn from outside and abandon what you hold within, you know only the Dao’s superficial adornments and make yourself a source of folly. Once you grasp the root of efficacy, all things grow naturally without hindrance, and all affairs endure without wearing people out. The Dao is put to use without relying on outward signs to control things, and all things are guided without being controlled by names. In this way, benevolence and righteousness can emerge, and respect for ritual can become clear.

When the Great Dao sustains all things and the nameless Dao brings them to rest, they do not compete to exalt anything, and people’s hearts are not pulled by desire. Each preserves its original nature and acts with complete sincerity. Benevolence then grows deep of itself, conduct accords with righteousness of itself, and respect for ritual remains pure of itself. Abandon the foundation that sustains all things and set aside the Dao from which they arise, relying only on formed things and on cleverness to drive people, and benevolence becomes a calculated pursuit, righteousness becomes rivalry, and ritual becomes contention.

Deep benevolence cannot be achieved simply by deliberately practicing benevolence; upright conduct cannot be achieved simply by deliberately advocating righteousness; and pure respect cannot be achieved simply by deliberately observing ritual. Take the Dao as what sustains all things and let the foundation govern them; then benevolence, righteousness, and ritual will emerge without giving rise to reverence, rivalry, or comparison. Follow the nameless Dao, and distinctions can become substantial; follow the formless Dao, and concrete forms can take shape.

Hold fast to the foundation, and you can preserve what arises from it. Honor the foundation, and you can bring its branches along with it. Then forms and distinctions can both be maintained in good order, and perverse disorder is less likely to arise. The greatest beauty can match Heaven and Earth without becoming ornate or affected. The foundation must not be left behind, and the Dao must not be lost. Benevolence and righteousness arise from the foundation, but cannot take its place; concrete objects are made by artisans, but cannot in turn become the artisans. Abandon the foundation and use only what it produces; leave the source and chase after its branches, and distinctions will separate from one another, while forms will be limited. However great one’s accomplishment, something will necessarily be left unattended; however splendid, it will necessarily bring worry. What is there in achievements gained through deliberate effort that makes them worthy of complacency?

Things that once attained “One”:

“One” is the beginning of number and the root of all things. Each thing is born by relying on it and takes it as its governing principle. Only by each thing attaining its own “One” can it take shape. Once formed, if it casts aside its root and clings only to its completed state, it will lose its source and ultimately fall into division, decline, exhaustion, and extinction.

Heaven attains “One” and thereby becomes clear and pure; Earth attains “One” and thereby becomes tranquil; spirits attain “One” and thereby become numinous; valleys attain “One” and thereby become full; all things attain “One” and thereby grow; rulers attain “One” and thereby become rightful masters of the realm. Each achieves clarity, tranquility, numinous subtlety, fullness, growth, or legitimacy by relying on the “One” it has attained.

If Heaven cannot remain clear and pure, it may collapse. Heaven is clear and pure by holding fast to “One,” not by pursuing clarity and purity for their own sake. Hold to the root, and clarity will not be lost; cling to the appearance of clarity, and collapse may follow. Thus “One” is the root by which all things are brought to completion and must not be cast aside. If things rely only on the effects they have already achieved and forget their root, they may lose their source.

If Earth cannot remain tranquil, it may become unstable; if spirits cannot remain numinous, they may dissipate; if valleys cannot remain full, they may run dry; if all things cannot remain vital, they may perish; if rulers cannot remain honored and exalted, they may be overthrown. Thus honor has lowliness as its root, and exaltation has lowliness as its foundation.

That is why rulers call themselves “orphaned,” “widowed,” or “unworthy”—these are all humble titles. Is this not to take lowliness as their root? Indeed it is. People call a collection of parts assembled into a whole a carriage; take the carriage apart, and there is no longer a complete carriage. Do not seek to stand out and be treasured like fine jade, nor to lie scattered and misshapen like rough stone.

Purity cannot exist by itself, nor can fullness exist by itself. Each depends on what is fundamental in order to maintain its form. So purity is nothing to boast about, and fullness is nothing to prize. What is truly precious is the root, which itself has no outward form that can be prized. The honored have the lowly as their foundation; the high have the low as their base. Thus, if you count every part of a cart one by one, you no longer have a complete cart. Though jade shines brilliantly, it is ultimately confined by its particular form, and so is not something to cling to.

Chapter Forty (Note: In the Heshang Gong commentary, this chapter is called “Removing Use.”)

Returning is the way the Dao moves.

The high rests on the low; the honored take the lowly as their root; being has nonbeing as its function. These are all relations in which opposites complete one another. The movement of all things can be understood through the “nonbeing” on which they depend. Once this is understood, the principles of all things become clear. Hence it is said: “Returning is the way the Dao moves.”

Weakness is the way the Dao acts.

What is gentle and weak can connect with all things, and so is inexhaustible.

The myriad things under Heaven arise from “being”; “being” arises from “nonbeing.”

All things under Heaven come into being through “being,” but “being” has its beginning in “nonbeing.” To make “being” complete and whole, one must return to “nonbeing.”

Chapter Forty-One (Note: In the Heshang Gong commentary, this chapter is called “Sameness and Difference.”)

When people of the highest capacity hear of the Dao, they diligently put it into practice. (Wang Bi’s commentary says this is because they have resolve.)

When people of middling capacity hear of the Dao, they seem to remember it, yet seem to forget it. When people of the lowest capacity hear of the Dao, they burst out laughing. If they did not mock it, it would not deserve to be called the Dao. Thus, those who established teachings of old put it this way. (“Jian” means “to establish”; some versions have an additional “yue” after “zhi.”)

The bright Dao seems dim. (It is luminous, yet does not dazzle.)

The advancing Dao seems to retreat. (By not striving to lead, it comes to the fore; by not placing itself first, it preserves itself.)

The level Dao seems uneven. (“Lei” means a bump or an irregularity. Wang Bi explains that the utterly level Dao follows the nature of all things and does not insist on cutting them to fit an artificial flatness. Its evenness does not show itself, and so it seems somewhat uneven.)

The highest De is like a valley. (Those who possess the highest De do not regard their De as De, and have nothing they need to keep hidden in their hearts.)

The whitest thing seems instead to have been stained. One who understands the principle of whiteness yet can hold to the dark side of things truly attains great whiteness.

Great De (Virtue/Power) seems somehow deficient. Truly great De does not become self-satisfied. It is empty and without form, and so cannot be filled.

Firm and vigorous De seems lazy and weak. “Stealing” here means matching or aligning. Firm and vigorous De follows the nature of all things. It establishes nothing deliberately and imposes no action, so it appears to do nothing.

What is simple and genuine seems to have changed. A truly simple and genuine person does not boast of being genuine, so seems to have changed.

The greatest squareness has no corners. Though square, it does not cut or harm things, and so has no sharp edges.

The greatest vessel is often the last to be completed. A great vessel capable of accomplishing all under Heaven does not constrain the myriad things into one complete, fixed form, and so takes a long time to come into being.

The greatest sound seems silent. An inaudible sound is called “xi,” meaning a sound that cannot be heard. Once a sound becomes concrete, distinctions arise; with distinctions come different pitches such as gong and shang, and no single sound can encompass them all. A sound that can be heard, then, is not yet the greatest sound.

The greatest image has no form. Once there is form, distinctions arise; with distinctions come warmth and heat, or cold. An image that appears in a concrete shape, then, is not yet the greatest image.

The Dao is deeply hidden and has no fixed name. It alone is good at giving and enables all things to be accomplished. The various forms of goodness mentioned above are all brought about by the Dao: when the Dao appears as an image, it is the “great image,” yet the great image has no form; when it appears as sound, it is the “great sound,” yet the great sound has no audible resonance. All things rely on the Dao to come to completion, yet no one can see how the Dao brings them about. Thus the Dao remains hidden and nameless. The Dao’s giving does more than make up for what things lack. Once it has given, it enables them to preserve their De for a long time; hence it is said to “lend well.” The Dao also brings things to completion without shaping them as a craftsperson shapes a vessel, first deciding on its form and then working the material. It does not cling to fixed forms, yet can bring all kinds of things to completion; hence it is said to “complete well.”

Chapter Forty-Two

The Dao gives rise to one; one gives rise to two; two gives rise to three; and three gives rise to the myriad things. The myriad things carry Yin and embrace Yang. The two Qi (vital energies) stir and interact, thereby forming harmony. People dislike being called “orphaned,” “bereft,” or “unworthy,” yet kings and lords use these names for themselves. Thus things sometimes gain through being diminished, and sometimes are diminished through being increased.

The scripture repeats here the passage “The Dao gives rise to one … the two Qi combine to form harmony.” The final line, “Things sometimes gain through being diminished, and sometimes are diminished through being increased,” also appears again.

All things and their many forms ultimately return to the “One.” How can one attain the One? Through “nonbeing.” If the One comes from nonbeing, can the One be called nonbeing? Once it is called the One, how can one say nothing has been said? As soon as we speak of “being” and the “One,” have we not already gone beyond the “two”? From the two, the three then comes forth. From nonbeing to being: the count ends here. Beyond this lies outside the course followed by the Dao.

I know what governs the generation of all things: though their forms differ, they are all pervaded by blended Qi (vital energy in harmony and flow). The people each have their own concerns, and the customs of each state differ, yet it is the rulers who can bring everyone together as one. If the One is what governs them, how could it be abandoned? The more one pursues, the farther one strays from the Dao; by reducing multiplicity, one draws closer to it. Only by reducing it to the utmost can one reach its root. Even after speaking of the One, one must go on to reach the three. How much less can things that were never one to begin with draw near to the Dao? The saying that reduction can bring gain is no empty claim.

I teach people as they teach me. [A textual note gives two variant readings for these lines: “What people teach me is also what I teach people”; and “What people teach, I in turn teach with a sense of duty.”]

I teach people this way not to force them to obey, but to follow what is natural and reveal its highest principle. Following it brings good fortune; going against it brings misfortune. So when people teach one another in defiance of this principle, they bring misfortune upon themselves. This is just as I teach others not to go against it.

Those who use force and act aggressively do not meet a good end. I take this as the foundation of my teaching.

Those who use force and act aggressively are bound to meet a bad end. If people urge one another to act aggressively, just as I teach others not to do so, they should be advised against it. Pointing out that the forceful meet a bad end is a way of teaching people: follow my teaching and good fortune will come. Thus those who go against this teaching can themselves serve as a fundamental lesson.

Chapter Forty-Three

The softest thing under Heaven can pass through and move freely among the hardest things under Heaven.

There is nowhere Qi cannot enter, and no crack that water cannot pass through.

“Nonbeing” can enter where there are no gaps. [A textual note says that the Huainanzi reads, “It emerges from nonbeing and enters where there is no gap.”] From this I know that Wuwei (non-action) is beneficial. Emptiness and softness can reach everywhere and exhaust nothing; the softest thing cannot be broken. From this reasoning, one can see that Wuwei truly is beneficial.

Few in the world are able to practice teaching without words and the benefits of Wuwei (non-action).

Chapter 44

Which is closer to you: reputation or life? If you pursue fame excessively and reach beyond your means, your body will suffer harm.

Which matters more: life or possessions? When greed for possessions is never satisfied, life is harmed as a result.

Which causes greater anxiety: gain or loss? If you gain many benefits but lose your life, which is the true source of suffering?

Therefore, cherishing possessions too greatly will surely exact a heavy price; the more you accumulate, the greater your losses will be. If you cherish possessions too greatly, it becomes difficult to remain open to the things around you; if you store up too much, you will be unwilling to share with others. As more people seek to take your possessions, more will come to attack you. You will therefore pay a heavy price and suffer great loss.

Know when you have enough, and you will not be disgraced. Know when to stop, and you will not be in danger. In this way, you can endure.

Chapter 45

What is most complete may seem to have flaws, yet its function never wears out. It takes shape in response to all things and does not settle into any single form, so it appears flawed.

What is most full may seem empty, yet its function has no limit. It is abundant and follows the course of all things, neither hoarding nor boasting, so it appears empty.

What is most upright may seem bent. It adapts to circumstances while remaining upright, without clinging to one fixed expression, so it appears bent.

What is most skillful may seem clumsy. True skill follows nature in shaping things and does not deliberately create strange forms, so it appears clumsy.

What is most eloquent may seem slow of speech. Those who are truly skilled in speaking follow the principles of things in what they say and do not fabricate, so they appear inarticulate.

Restlessness can overcome cold, and stillness can overcome heat. Stillness and clarity are the right course for all under Heaven. Restlessness taken to its extreme brings exhaustion, while quiet Wuwei overcomes heat. From this we can infer that stillness and clarity are the right course for all under Heaven. Stillness can preserve the nature of all things, while restlessness infringes upon it. Only through stillness and clarity can one attain the various forms of greatness described above.

Chapter 46

When the Dao prevails in the world, people know contentment and when to stop. They do not covet things outside themselves, but cultivate their inner nature. Thus, warhorses are retired to plow fields and spread manure.

When the Dao does not prevail in the world, people are insatiably greedy. They do not cultivate their inner nature, but concern themselves only with competing for things outside themselves. Then warhorses breed in the countryside, and warfare never ceases.

No calamity is greater than discontent; no fault is more serious than covetousness. So, one who understands what it means to be content and is content with contentment will always feel satisfied.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Without leaving home, one can understand the world; without peering out the window, one can understand the Dao of Heaven—the patterns of nature’s workings. Every matter has its root, and every thing has what governs it. Though paths may differ, they ultimately return to one place; though thoughts may be many, their underlying principle is one. The Great Dao has enduring standards, and the principles of things have underlying threads. By grasping the Dao as it has been understood since ancient times, one can handle the affairs of the present. Though living in the present, one can recognize the beginnings of things. Therefore, without going out or looking beyond the window, one can understand the principles of the world.

The farther one departs from the root, the less one understands. The Dao is one, yet people seek its manifestations among the multiplicity of things. The Dao cannot be seen, heard, or touched. To truly understand its principles, one need not go out; without understanding them, the farther one travels, the more confused one becomes.

Thus, the sage knows how things work without traveling and explains their principles without seeing them with his own eyes. He grasps the root of how things develop, so he can infer how they work without traveling; he knows the source of the myriad things, so he can discern the principles of right and wrong without seeing them firsthand.

The sage does not act deliberately, yet things are accomplished. He understands the nature of things and acts in accordance with their patterns. He therefore does not forcefully interfere, and things come to fruition of themselves.

Chapter Forty-Eight

In the pursuit of learning, one adds something each day.

The accumulation of knowledge through daily study is meant to increase what one has learned and strengthen one’s abilities. In cultivating the Dao, however, one must diminish day by day, striving to return to a state of emptiness, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action). Diminish and diminish again, until there is Wuwei. Wuwei does not mean doing nothing at all, but refraining from contrived action; then nothing is left undone.

In governing the world, one should generally follow what is natural and avoid disturbing the people. If one deliberately creates political affairs and acts recklessly, one loses the foundation and guiding thread needed to govern the world.

The sage has no fixed opinions, but takes the people’s concerns as their own and responds to circumstances as they are. I treat those who are good with kindness, and I treat those who are not good with kindness as well. In this way, the virtue of goodness is withheld from no one. I treat those who keep their word with trust, and those who do not keep their word with trust as well. In this way, the virtue of trust is brought to light.

Living among the people of the world, the sage restrains personal intentions and allows their thoughts to return to a simple, undivided state. The sage lets everyone make full use of their intelligence and abilities, while helping them remain gentle and untroubled by excessive desires, like infants.

Let the people’s hearts be calm and harmonious, free of excessive desires, and natural like those of infants.

Heaven and Earth each have their proper place, and the sage enables all things to fulfill their capacities. People offer plans and counsel; spirits and deities lend their aid; the people take part and contribute their strength. Let those with ability put it to use, and let those who can provide resources make them available. Those of great ability may take on great tasks, while those of senior standing and rank receive the respect due to them. All things have their roots, and every matter has someone responsible for managing it. In this way, even if the ruler lets the jeweled strands of his crown hang down to shield his eyes, he need not fear being deceived. If he plugs his ears with silk floss, he need not worry that others will neglect their duties. Why, then, expend all his cleverness trying to scrutinize the people’s thoughts?

If you use cleverness to watch others, they too will compete to respond with cleverness. If you examine others with suspicion, they too will compete to answer with suspicion. The thoughts of people throughout the realm may differ, but if none dare show disagreement, no one will be willing to speak honestly. The harm this causes is great; nothing is more harmful than relying on cleverness at every turn.

If you use strategy to overpower others, they will argue with you; if you use force to overpower them, they will fight you. If your strategy is no better than theirs, yet you place yourself where disputes are likely to arise, you will be trapped in difficulty. If your strength is less than theirs, yet you place yourself where fighting is likely to arise, you will be in danger. No one can prevent others from using strategy and force against them forever. In the end, you will stand alone against a multitude, while each person in that multitude can bring their own wit and strength to bear against you—millions of them.

If the net of laws is woven ever more tightly and punishments grow ever more elaborate, blocking the people’s paths to livelihood, and their private lives are then forcibly interfered with, all things will lose their natural state. The people will no longer know how to act, like birds flying wildly in the sky and fish swimming aimlessly in the water.

Therefore, when the sage governs the realm, his mind is empty and still, and he does not cling to his own views. He lets the hearts of the people throughout the realm return to simplicity and honesty, without favoring one side. He does not deliberately spy on the people, nor demand anything from them. With nothing to hide from and nothing to appease, the people can all express their true feelings openly.

People should set aside what they cannot do and take up what they are capable of doing; set aside their weaknesses and make use of their strengths. Then those who can speak will speak about what they understand, and those who can act will do what they are good at, while each person attends to their own responsibilities. All the sage does is let them grow naturally, as one would a child.

As people move from birth toward death, living in the human world means walking the road to death. Among people, about three in ten live long and preserve their lives; about three in ten die young. Another three in ten are alive but, through misguided actions, head toward death. Why is this? Because they crave too much and lavish excessive care on their own lives.

I have heard that those skilled at caring for life can walk on land without encountering rhinoceros-like beasts or tigers, and enter battle without being harmed by weapons. The rhinoceros has no opening to charge with its horn, the tiger no opening to attack with its claws, and weapons no opening to strike with their blades. Why? Because these people do not put themselves in the way of death.

The saying “three in ten” means that some people follow the principles that preserve life, while others move toward death. Yet people cling too fiercely to life and, as a result, push themselves into places where there is no way to survive. Those skilled at caring for life do not insist on treating life as something they must grasp tightly, and so they do not fall into the way of death. Of all things that harm people, none are more dangerous than weapons such as halberds and spears; of all beasts that harm people, none are fiercer than rhinoceroses and tigers. If weapons have no chance to strike with their blades, and fierce beasts no chance to use their claws or horns, it is because such a person does not let desire entangle them. How, then, could they fall into the way of death?

Snakes such as yuan and shan find the deep pools too shallow and dig burrows beneath the water. Hawks and sparrowhawks find the mountains too low and build nests on their slopes. Bows and arrows cannot reach them, and nets cannot catch them; one might say they live in places free of danger. Yet in the end they still fall into the way of death for the sake of bait. Is this not because they crave too much? Thus, if creatures do not abandon their nature in pursuit of external things, or alter their true nature through desire, they will not be harmed even when they enter the ranks of an army, and will be less likely to suffer injury while walking on land. The simple, natural state of an infant is worth following and cherishing.

The Dao gives rise to all things, and De nurtures them. In this way, each thing takes shape, and through its natural conditions grows and comes to fulfillment.

All things are first brought forth, then nourished; once nourished, they take on concrete form; having taken form, they finally come to completion. What brings them forth? The Dao. What nourishes them? De. What gives them form? The things themselves. And what brings them to completion? Their shi—the conditions and tendencies shaping their development. Because each follows what gives rise to it, all things acquire form; because each follows its shi, all things come to completion in their own way.

Whenever things are brought forth and achievements completed, each has its own cause. Ultimately, all these causes come from the Dao. Trace them back to their source, and one can arrive at the Dao. Examining things through their respective causes reveals the names and designations that suit them.

Thus, there is nothing under Heaven that does not revere the Dao and value De.

The Dao is the source on which all things depend; De is what they receive from the Dao. By following the Dao, things receive De; when they fail to do so, they lose it. The Dao is revered and De valued not because anyone commands all things to be so, nor because anyone grants them rank, but because this is how things naturally are.

Thus, the Dao brings all things forth, and De nourishes them. Together, the Dao and De cause all things to grow, develop, settle, mature, and thrive, while sheltering them. In this way, each thing fulfills its own nature and is protected from harm.

The Dao brings all things forth but does not claim them as its own. It acts but does not take pride in its achievements. It lets all things grow but does not rule them. This is called “mysterious De”—profound and subtle virtue.

All things possess De, yet do not know who their master is. This power comes from a source deep and difficult to fathom.

All things under Heaven share a common source, which may be regarded as the “mother” of the world. Know the source, and you can understand the things it brings forth. Once you understand those things, continue to hold fast to the source, and you will remain free from danger throughout your life.

The “mother” is the root; the “child” is the branch. Grasp the root, and you can understand the branches. Do not abandon the root to pursue the branches.

Block the openings through which desires arise and close the gates through which they pass, and you will not be troubled throughout your life. Here, “opening” refers to the source from which desire arises, and “gate” to the path through which desire finds its way.

If you open the channels of desire and busy yourself with satisfying every affair, you will be unable to save yourself throughout your life. This is because you have failed to block the source of desire and instead keep adding to your affairs.

To perceive what is subtle is called clarity; to hold fast to softness and weakness is called strength.

The effectiveness of governing a state does not lie in making everything conspicuous. Those who see what is large do not necessarily understand; only those who see what is subtle are truly discerning. Holding fast to strength does not necessarily make one strong; holding to gentleness is what makes one truly strong.

Use illumination to make the Great Dao—the natural principle of Wuwei (non-action)—clear, freeing the people from confusion; then return to a state of clarity. The “illumination” spoken of here does not mean scrutinizing things deliberately or interfering in everything. In this way, one avoids bringing calamity upon oneself. This is called following the constant Dao. Some editions write “following the constant” as “inheriting the constant.”

Chapter 53

If I had even a little understanding, my only fear, as I walked along the Great Dao, would be that I might intervene and act recklessly.

The Great Dao is broad and level, yet the people favor narrow paths. The Dao is naturally straight and level, but people abandon it and choose crooked byways. How much more so when human policies obstruct the Great Dao? Hence the saying: “The Great Dao is broad and level, yet the people favor narrow paths.”

The court’s palaces are splendidly adorned, while the fields lie waste and the granaries stand empty. Excessive attention to the court’s adornment leads to neglected fields and empty granaries. When too much is devoted to one thing, many harms follow.

Wearing fine clothes, carrying sharp swords, eating and drinking lavishly, and possessing wealth in abundance—this is called “robber’s ostentation”: acquiring wealth and status by improper means, then flaunting them. Can this be in accord with the Dao? Anything not obtained by the proper way is crooked; to acquire it by crooked means is like stealing. Flaunting ill-gotten gains or wrongfully occupying an official position belongs to the same category. Thus “against the Dao” here refers to any conduct that violates the proper way, which is like stealing and showing off what was gained unjustly.

Chapter 54

Those skilled at laying foundations make them firm, so they cannot be uprooted. They first secure the roots, then tend to the branches, and so are not easily shaken.

Those skilled at holding fast do not lose what they hold. They do not crave too much, but hold only to what they are capable of maintaining; therefore, they do not lose their hold.

If descendants can pass this Dao on and use it in their rites of sacrifice, those rites will continue without interruption.

Cultivate the Dao in oneself, and the De (Virtue/Power) thereby gained is genuine. Put the Dao into practice within the family, and the De thereby gained will increase.

If generation after generation of descendants continues to practice this Way, the sacrifices will never cease.

When the Dao is applied to oneself, one’s De becomes genuine; applied to the family, its blessings become abundant. Extend it from oneself to others: applied to oneself, De becomes genuine; applied to the family, its blessings abound. As cultivation of the Dao continues, its reach gradually expands.

Applied to the village, its blessings grow; applied to the state, they become substantial; applied to all under Heaven, they spread everywhere. Thus, one can understand others by observing oneself, other families by observing one’s own family, other villages by observing one’s own village, and other states by observing one’s own state.

The same applies in other cases.

Then observe all under Heaven from the perspective of all under Heaven.

This means understanding the principles governing the world through the feelings and circumstances of its people. The ways things go well or badly, and the good or ill fortune found in the world, are just like the principles at work in an individual.

How do I know what is happening in the world? By this principle.

This continues the point made above: How do I know what is happening in the world? By observing myself, I can infer it; there is no need to seek outside myself. This is what is meant by “without leaving the doorway, one can know all under Heaven.”

One whose De is profound is like an infant. Bees, scorpions, and venomous snakes will not sting it; fierce beasts will not pounce on it or crush it; birds of prey will not seize it in their talons.

An infant has no craving or desire and does not provoke other beings, so poisonous creatures and fierce beasts do not harm it. One whose De is profound does not come into conflict with anything, and so nothing external can damage the wholeness of their life.

An infant’s bones are weak and its sinews soft, yet its grip is firm.

Precisely because it is soft and weak, when it closes its hand into a fist, it can grip securely and completely.

An infant knows nothing of sexual union, yet its genitals can become erect naturally. This is because nothing external has harmed its body, allowing it to remain whole for a long time. The point here is that nothing can damage the De or alter the true nature of one whose De is profound. Such a person is soft and yielding, does not contend, and is not easily overcome—just like an infant.

This is a sign that Jing and Qi are fully abundant. An infant can cry all day without its voice becoming hoarse.

Because it has no contention or desire, it can make its voice heard all day without becoming hoarse.

The greatest harmony is “knowing harmony.” Understanding the principle of harmony allows one to grasp the Way that endures.

All things take harmony as their constant state. Only by understanding harmony can one grasp what endures.

Understanding what endures is called clarity.

Neither dazzling nor dim, neither too hot nor too cold: this is what endures. It has no fixed form and cannot be seen directly. To comprehend this is called “clarity.”

Trying to increase one’s life by force only invites calamity.

Life cannot be forcibly prolonged. Deliberately seeking a longer life can instead bring it to an early end.

Using intention to drive the breath is called forcing.

The mind should remain empty and still, without deliberately driving the breath. Once intention is used to drive the breath, one becomes forceful.

When all things grow vigorous to the utmost, they begin to age. This is called being contrary to the Dao; what is contrary to the Dao soon perishes.

Chapter 56

Those who truly understand the Dao do not speak carelessly, for they follow what is natural.

Those who are fond of making arguments often do not truly understand the Dao, because they invent trouble out of nothing.

Blocking the openings of the senses, closing the gates to the outside world, and drawing in one’s sharpness are ways of preserving and holding fast to one’s simple nature.

Settling disputes means removing the source of conflict.

Harmonizing one’s light means not deliberately showing off what makes one stand out. Then all things will not contend in a one-sided way.

Blending with the common world means not regarding oneself as special or lowly. Then all things will not be prejudiced or ashamed because of their differences.

This is called “mysterious sameness,” a profound state of undivided unity. In this state, no one can be deliberately drawn near or pushed away. If someone can be deliberately drawn near, they can also be deliberately pushed away.

No one can be deliberately used or harmed. If someone can be used, they can also be harmed.

No one can be deliberately exalted or belittled. If someone can be exalted, they can also be belittled.

That is why such a person is the most precious under Heaven: nothing can rise above them.

Chapter 57

Govern the state by the right way, wage war with unconventional strategies, and govern the world through noninterference.

When a country is governed by the Dao (the Way), it can be peaceful and follow the right course. When it is governed by strict laws and decrees, all kinds of schemes and stratagems arise. Only by governing the world through Wuwei (non-action) and refraining from unwarranted interference can one gain the world. The previous chapter says that those who gain the world usually do so by not disturbing the people; once government becomes burdensome and complex, the world cannot be gained. Thus, laws and decrees may be enough to govern a country, but not the world; in warfare, however, stratagems are employed.

To govern a country through the Dao is to give weight to the root, allowing problems at the periphery to settle on their own. To govern through laws is to impose prohibitions to suppress those peripheral problems. When the root is not firmly established and peripheral problems are difficult to control, the people have no clear path to follow. Rulers then have no choice but to rely ever more on schemes and military force.

How do I know this happens? It can be seen in the following: the more taboos there are in the world, the poorer the people become; the more weapons the people possess, the more disorderly the country becomes.

“Weapons” here refers broadly to tools that benefit individuals and can be used for conflict or self-defense. The stronger the people become, the weaker the state’s power to control them.

The more skills and clever devices the people develop, the more ingenious contrivances flourish.

When people rely too much on their own cleverness, deceitful schemes arise. As deceit spreads, crooked and harmful practices follow.

The more detailed and explicit the laws become, the more thieves there are.

Rulers set up rules in the hope of putting an end to wrongdoing, but as a result they have to resort ever more often to schemes and military force. They impose many prohibitions in the hope that the people will be ashamed of their poverty, yet the people become even poorer. They make weapons in the hope of strengthening the country, yet the country becomes more disorderly. All of this happens because they abandon the root and attend only to peripheral problems.

Thus the sage says, “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform themselves. When I cherish stillness, the people become upright of their own accord. When I refrain from unwarranted interference, the people grow prosperous on their own. When I have no desires, the people become simple and uncorrupted of their own accord.” (Another edition adds a sentence here: “When I have no emotions, the people become still on their own.”)

The people quickly follow what those in positions of authority pursue. If I pursue only freedom from desire, the people will follow by diminishing their own desires and naturally returning to simplicity. These four points all give weight to the root, allowing peripheral problems to settle on their own.

Chapter Fifty-Eight (The Heshang Gong commentary edition titles this chapter “Following Transformation”)

When government is lenient and does not scrutinize harshly, the people are simple and sincere.

This means that those skilled in governing do not deliberately make a display of themselves, cling to labels, stir up trouble, or multiply decrees. Their rule may seem lenient and inactive, yet in the end it achieves great order. Thus it is said: “When government is lenient, the people are simple and sincere.”

When governing the people and following the Way of Heaven, no method is better than “frugality”—restraint, moderation, and refraining from unnecessary action.

Those skilled at governing a state leave no conspicuous edicts or labels behind, and do not set complex affairs in motion. Their achievements may seem to offer nothing to point to, yet in the end they allow All Under Heaven to reach great order of its own accord. Thus, when government is lenient and quiet, the people have little to contend over and live simply and honestly. This is why the people are called “simple and sincere.”

When edicts are strict and intricate, the people become less sincere and compete with one another.

Creating numerous categories of punishment and making rewards and penalties explicit in order to restrain deceitful and corrupt conduct is what is meant by “scrutiny”—harsh and meticulous enforcement. When people are sorted into categories and examined point by point, contention and competition arise in their hearts. This is why the people are called “deficient.”

Misfortune harbors good fortune, and good fortune also conceals misfortune. Who can know where their transformations end? Things have no fixed, unchanging standard.

Who knows the highest achievement in good governance? It lies in not deliberately establishing standards or displaying the traces and labels of governance, but allowing All Under Heaven to transform naturally in an atmosphere of lenience and quiet. This is governance at its utmost.

The proper way can sometimes turn into the strange and ingenious.

Governing a state by the proper way often still requires the use of stratagems in warfare. This is why the proper way turns into the strange and ingenious.

What is called good can also turn into something uncanny.

Deliberately setting up what is called goodness to bring harmony to all things can instead invite uncanny misfortune.

People have been losing the proper way for a very long time.

So one should not immediately demand that they conform to standards one believes to be right and good.

Thus, the sage is upright, yet does not harm others.

The sage guides all things through uprightness and helps them cast off what is crooked, but does not use standards of uprightness to cut into them. This is what is meant by “the greatest square has no corners”: true vastness of form reveals no rigid edges.

The sage is pure, yet does not harm others.

The sage guides the people through purity, helping them cast off evil and impurity, but does not harm all things in the name of purity.

The sage is direct, yet does not act recklessly.

The sage guides all things through directness, helping them cast off what is crooked, but does not provoke or strike against other things in the name of directness. This is what is meant by “the greatest straightness seems bent”: the greatest directness can appear to bend.

The sage is bright, yet does not show off.

The sage uses brightness to reveal why people have lost their way, but does not use it to hunt for others’ hidden faults. This is what is meant by “the bright Dao seems dim.” These practices honor the root and quiet the branches. They do not attack by force, but allow all things to return to the proper way.

Chapter 59 (called “Guarding the Dao” in the Heshang Gong commentary):

When governing the people and serving the Way of Heaven, no method is better than “frugality.”

Nothing is better than thrift and restraint. It is like a farmer tending a field: he works to clear away weeds and other disorder, bringing the field into good order. He lets all things follow their natural course, without rushing to remedy a passing barren spell or blight. In honoring the Mandate of Heaven above and caring for the people below, no approach is better than this.

Only through thrift and restraint can one be said to “respond early.” To “respond early” is to follow the constant Dao.

Responding early is called “accumulating De in abundance.” Only by steadily accumulating De, without seeking quick results, can one respond early to the constant Dao. Hence the saying: “Responding early is called accumulating De in abundance.”

With De accumulated in abundance, nothing cannot be overcome. When nothing cannot be overcome, no one can surpass such a person.

Only through thrift and restraint can one be said to “respond early.” To “respond early” is to follow the constant Dao. Responding early is called “accumulating De in abundance.” Only by steadily accumulating De, without seeking quick results, can one respond early to the constant Dao. Hence the saying: “Responding early is called accumulating De in abundance.”

With De accumulated in abundance, nothing cannot be overcome. When nothing cannot be overcome, no one can know the limits of the Dao. The Dao has no end. Only one who can reach the boundless can govern a state. If one governs a state with limited capacity, one cannot truly possess it for long.

The foundation on which a state’s stability rests may be called its “mother.” Accumulating De in abundance means giving weight to the foundation. Attend to the foundation first, then govern the branches, and good results will follow. This is called deep-rooted and firmly established: the way to live long and endure.

Chapter 60 (In the Heshang Gong commentary, this chapter is titled “Taking One’s Place”)

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish. Do not stir it often while it cooks. Restlessness brings much harm, while stillness preserves things’ inherent nature. Thus, the larger the state, the more tranquil its ruler should be, so as to win the people’s trust and support far and wide.

When the world is governed through the Dao, spirits and ghosts cannot manifest their powers to cause harm. This is not because they lack spiritual power, but because their uncanny powers cannot injure people.

Spirits and ghosts do not disrupt the natural state of the myriad things. When all things each keep to their own nature, spirits and ghosts have no way to exert influence; when they have no way to exert influence, people no longer perceive their effects.

Spirits and ghosts cannot harm people, and the sage does not harm people either. When the Dao transforms and prevails throughout the world, spirits and ghosts do not harm people; when they do not harm people, people no longer perceive their effects. When the Dao transforms and prevails throughout the world, the sage can act in this way: when all things each keep to their own nature, spirits and ghosts have no way to exert influence, and people no longer perceive their effects. Spirits and ghosts do not harm people, and the sage does not harm people either.

When the Great Dao operates in harmony, the spirits do not harm people. When the spirits do not harm people, people no longer notice what makes them spirits. When the Great Dao operates in harmony, the sages do not harm people either. When the sages do not harm people, people no longer notice what makes them sages. In other words, people neither feel that the spirits are deliberately displaying their supernatural powers nor that the sages are deliberately showing off their sacred virtue. To govern and manage all things through force and a web of laws is a sign of declining rule. The highest expression of the Great Dao is to make people cease noticing any deliberate display of the sacred by spirits or sages.

Neither the spirits nor the sages harm people, and so their virtue returns together to the Great Dao.

The spirits do not harm people, and the sages do not harm people either; the sages do not harm people, and the spirits do not harm people either. Thus, they do not harm one another. The spirits and sages both accord with the Great Dao, and their virtue returns together to it.

A great state is like the rivers and seas: it takes the lower position. Because the rivers and seas are vast and lie below, all streams flow into them. A great state holds a high rank yet can humble itself, and so people throughout the world turn to it. Thus, when a great state takes the lower position, the world converges upon it and becomes attached to it.

When people throughout the world converge and become attached, it is like all things turning toward the female. The female is still and does not actively seek; all things return to her of their own accord. The female often overcomes the male through stillness, because stillness allows her to take the lower position. Here, “female” refers to the feminine and “male” to the masculine. The masculine is restless and desirous; the feminine often prevails through stillness and, by remaining humble, draws all things to her.

Therefore, a great state should treat small states with humility. When a great state humbles itself before small states, they will turn to it. When a small state humbles itself before a great state, the great state will accept it.

Thus, some states humble themselves in order to receive and incorporate others, while others humble themselves in order to be accepted by a great state. Only through practicing humility can each side find its proper place. A great state merely wishes to incorporate and care for others; a small state merely wishes to attach itself to and serve a great state. Both seek to fulfill their wishes, and the great state especially should remain humble.

The Dao is the root to which all things return and in which they may find shelter. “The hidden chamber” suggests something deep and concealed; here it means that the Dao can serve as a support for all things.

Good people treasure the Dao and put it to use; those who are not good can also rely on it to preserve themselves. Words that are fitting can win people’s hearts as surely as valuable goods; upright conduct can earn their respect. The Dao precedes all things, and nothing is more precious than it. No matter how fine a treasure or swift a horse may be, it cannot compare with the Dao: speaking fitting words is worth more than acquiring many rare goods, and practicing upright conduct will bring a response even from someone a thousand miles away.

If a person has faults, what reason is there to cast them aside? Even someone who is not good should be allowed to rely on the Dao, so that they are not abandoned.

That is why the Son of Heaven is established and the Three Dukes appointed: to honor those who practice the Dao. Even if someone presents a precious jade disk, led by four swift horses, it is still not as valuable as sitting quietly and offering the Dao to the ruler. “This Dao” refers to the Dao described above.