《老子道德经（河上公撰）》

The Commentary on the Laozi comprises two volumes. Earlier editions attribute it to the Old Man by the River. In his Records of Reading, Chao Gongwu cites the Records of the Grand Historian to describe the transmission of Laozi’s teachings: the Old Man of the Riverbank passed them on, and they were later transmitted to Gai Gong, the teacher of Cao Shen, chancellor of Qi. Ge Hong, however, says that the Old Man by the River’s name is unknown; during the reign of Emperor Wen of Han, he lived beside the Yellow River and was deeply versed in the Laozi. Emperor Wen once went in person to seek his guidance, and the Old Man by the River wrote the Dao Jing on plain silk and presented it to him. These accounts do not agree.

The Bibliographic Treatise in the Book of Sui records a two-volume Laozi Daode Jing annotated by the Old Man by the River during the reign of Emperor Wen of Han. It also records a two-volume Laozi Jing annotated by the Old Man of the Riverbank during the Warring States period; that latter work had already been lost by then. There may therefore have been two figures called the Old Man by the River, one from the Warring States period and one from the Han, each associated with a commentary on the Laozi. The version that survives today should be the commentary by the Han-dynasty figure. A Ming-dynasty edition carved by Zhu Dongguang calls its author a “man of Qin,” but this attribution was probably based on insufficient research.

The text nevertheless raises a question: if Emperor Wen personally visited the Old Man by the River and received his book, it should have been placed in the palace archives. Why, then, does Liu Xiang’s Seven Summaries list no commentary by the Old Man by the River among its three commentaries on the Laozi? Kong Yingda says in his Correct Meaning of the Book of Rites that when Ma Rong wrote his commentary on the Rites of Zhou, he placed the canonical text after the commentary to spare readers from having to read it twice. Only after the Eastern Han did commentators begin annotating the text sentence by sentence. Yet this Commentary on the Laozi places notes beneath each sentence, a format that does not appear to belong to the Western Han.

The Tang scholar Liu Zhiji once stated that the Laozi had no commentary by the Old Man by the River. He advocated discarding this work in favor of Wang Bi’s commentary. Earlier, when Lu Deming compiled his Explanations of the Classics, he followed Ge Hong’s account from the Biographies of Immortals in the preface and catalog, but in his actual explanations of the Laozi he used Wang Bi’s commentary, not the one attributed to the Old Man by the River. Both were eminent scholars of their time, and they must have had grounds for their judgments.

Taken together, the style of this work does not resemble that of a Han-dynasty text. It may have been composed in a later period by Daoist practitioners writing under the name of the Old Man by the River. Since it has circulated for a long time and contains ideas of value, it is being retained for the time being as one school’s interpretation. Respectfully collated and submitted in the tenth month of the forty-second year of the Qianlong reign.

Laozi arose in accordance with nature and existed even before the Great Nonbeing, the primordial state in which forms and the myriad things had yet to appear. No cause can be found for his coming into being. He witnessed the beginning and end of Heaven and Earth, beyond the measure of words. His end has no end; what he reaches has no limit and no boundary. Thus, he is himself boundless and infinite.

Laozi changed along with the Dao, becoming the foundation of Heaven and Earth, and spread Qi, the primal energy that forms the myriad things, in all ten directions. He embodied the purest and most abundant De, vast and profound beyond description. His literary brilliance shone brightly, his achievements stood majestically, and his depth could not be fathomed: he was the source of the spirits and gods. The sun, moon, and stars relied on him for their light; Heaven and Earth received his power and came to life; the cosmic forces of Heaven and Earth turned, breathing in and out their vital essence.

His position was exalted, yet he had no subjects; he was supremely noble, yet held no office. He covered and supported the myriad things, his power without end. He spread his teachings in all eight directions, so that throughout the heavens the Dao might be proclaimed. Before Heaven and Earth were opened, he had already descended into the world as a teacher to rulers. He passed from age to age without interruption, though people could not know him. He brought the myriad things into being without speaking: this is “Mysterious De,” the profound and natural virtue.

Thus, the many sages together honor the Dao and cherish De. It is moved by no external force, yet always operates of itself. Is this not speaking of Laozi?

In the Zhou dynasty, Laozi again entrusted his spirit to Li Mu and was born through her left armpit. At birth, his hair and beard were already white, and so he was called “Laozi.” The title “Laozi” comes from the mysterious: he existed before Heaven and Earth and has no limit of age, which is why he is called Laozi. People believe that Laozi first appeared in the Zhou dynasty, but this title had already existed countless eons before. His existence is obscure and remote, so ancient that its beginnings cannot be traced.

When the age declined and the Dao no longer prevailed, Laozi journeyed west. Yin Xi, the official who guarded the pass, said, “Is the Great Dao about to disappear? Please write a book for me.” Laozi then composed the two parts of the Dao De, totaling five thousand characters and divided into upper and lower sections of the Jing. These five thousand characters explain the source of Dao and De. They encompass what is vast and penetrate what is minute; they are a classic that speaks of the natural Dao of Heaven and humanity.

My former master once said: “Study this Jing with diligence, and your renown will accord with Taiji, resound in the heights, and bring joy to the heavens. Meditate quietly in a spirit attuned to the mysterious, seeking the truth, and many wonders will gather in response. Turn your gaze inward to contemplate your form and its image, and Shen and Qi will endure. Bring body and mind into accord with Dao and De, and the myriad spirits will pay you homage; calamities will be dispelled, blessings will reach the ten directions, the state will be secure, and the household at peace.”

Who can truly understand it? The writing of Wuwei cannot be damaged or embellished; it cannot be stirred up and muddied, nor clarified and made clearer, for it is natural as it is. It appears in accordance with the Great Dao, and its teachings are passed on without end: this is the constant Dao. Thus, one who understands constancy may be called clear-sighted. What, then, can the Great Dao itself do? Its propagation depends on people. Since it is so exalted and mysterious, how could one study it without wholehearted dedication?

I have roughly set down this text, hoping that those who possess the Dao will keep it safe.

Written by Ge Xuan, the Left Immortal Lord of Taiji.

Someone asked, “After the Six Classics, works from various schools appeared. Why, then, are only the books of five schools widely read today?” I replied, “Laozi and Zhuangzi explored the profound subtleties of the Great Dao. Xunzi, Yang Xiong, and Master Wen expounded its essential principles. How could their works fail to be handed down?”

The person asked again, “I have heard that Xunzi wrote to distinguish the Confucians from the Mohists; Yang Xiong modeled his Fayan on the Analects; and Master Wen discussed the Six Classics to explain the way of the former kings. As for Laozi’s Daode Jing, it begins from what is formless and imageless and ultimately reaches what is infinite. Zhuangzi’s parables treat all things and the self, death and life, as equal. Their claims sometimes verge on the absurd. Can their works really be discussed alongside those that explain the way of the sages?”

I replied, “That is not so. Principles differ in depth and shallowness, just as learning has its roots and branches. The Book of Changes speaks of not thinking and not acting rashly, yet it begins by exhausting the principles of things and fully understanding one’s nature. The Great Learning speaks of a settled mind and a steadfast purpose, yet it begins by investigating things and extending knowledge. Gradually progressing from root to branch, and from the shallow to the profound: this is the path of study taught by Xunzi, Yang Xiong, and Master Wen. Without turning one’s attention inward, it is difficult to understand the meaning of the Book of Changes; without putting one’s nature into practice, one cannot apprehend the Way of Heaven. To speak only of profound mysteries while abandoning the work of approaching them, and to set aside the root while pursuing the branches—this is how Laozi and Zhuangzi discuss the mysterious.

“The learning of sages and worthies is, by and large, practiced step by step from beginning to end. Laozi and Zhuangzi, by contrast, speak directly from the heights, from the root. Thus Ge Xuan said that Laozi established the foundation of Heaven and Earth by apprehending the Way of nature. Guo Xiang said that Zhuangzi clarified the principles of cultivating sagehood inwardly and putting the kingly way into practice outwardly, so that one may attain sudden and complete understanding. How could people of shallow attainment reach such states?

“Learning has understanding the Great Dao as its goal; principle reaches its utmost in subtlety. If a student begins with Xunzi’s writings and the Confucian Way, then continues to develop their teachings, they can reach the state of the kingly way and Wuwei (non-action). If they begin with Yang Xiong’s Fayan and advance further, they can grasp the principle in the Daode Jing that lies beyond words. If they begin by studying the Six Classics with Master Wen and continue to enrich and extend their learning, the meaning of the Six Classics can fill their hearts and minds. At that point, they can experience Laozi’s state of following nature and Zhuangzi’s state of freedom and ease.

“As for understanding their works, one should first apprehend the intentions behind them.”

Preface by Gong Shixie of Shilu, written three days before the Duanwu Festival in the first year of the Jingding era.

This is the table of contents for the entire Laozi Daode Jing. The text is divided into two parts, the “Dao Jing” and the “De Jing,” and contains eighty-one chapters. Each chapter has a title, such as “Embodying the Dao,” “Nurturing the Self,” “Pacifying the People,” “Wuwei (non-action),” “The Three Treasures,” and “The Way of Heaven.” The contents also indicate the order of the volumes in the Heshang Gong Commentary, along with the attribution of the preface and its inscription.

The Table of Contents of the Laozi Daode Jing includes the upper volume of the Dao Jing, “Embodying the Dao,” Chapter One, followed by “Establishing the Standard,” Chapter Eighty, and “Revealing the Unadorned,” Chapter Eighty-One.

If the Dao (the Way) could be explained in words, it would not be the eternal, unchanging Dao. “The Dao that can be spoken of” here refers to methods of governance and instruction that can be described and put into practice; the “constant Dao” is not a way to attain natural longevity. The constant Dao should nourish the spirit through Wuwei (non-action) and bring peace to the people by keeping affairs simple. It conceals its radiance and hides its traces, revealing no sign of itself, and so cannot be named in words.

If a name could be explained in words, it would not be an eternal, unchanging name. “A name that can be spoken of” here refers to reputations such as wealth and honor, esteem, or distinction from the ordinary world. The “constant name” is a name that endures naturally. It is like an infant who cannot yet speak, an egg whose contents have not divided, a pearl hidden in an oyster, or fine jade held within stone: bright within, yet outwardly seeming dull and simple.

The nameless is the root and beginning of Heaven and Earth. “The nameless” refers to the Dao: it has no form and therefore cannot be named. From emptiness, the Dao gives rise to Qi (vital energy) and brings about transformation; it is the source of Heaven and Earth. The named is the mother of the myriad things. “The named” refers to Heaven and Earth: they have form and direction, as well as Yin-Yang and softness and firmness, and so they can be named. Heaven and Earth contain Qi and bring forth the myriad things, enabling them to grow and mature, like a mother raising her child.

Therefore, only by remaining without desire can one observe the Dao’s subtlety. “Subtlety” means what is essential; it refers to the Dao’s root. By remaining in a state of desire, one can observe where worldly things ultimately lead. “The outward manifestation” means the place toward which something returns, its endpoint.

The states of being without desire and having desire both arise from the human heart; only their names differ. The one without desire can endure, while the one with desire harms the self. Both receive the Qi of Heaven and Earth and therefore belong to the “mysterious.” “Mysterious” refers to Heaven; “the mysterious within the mysterious” means that within Heaven there is a still deeper Heaven. The Qi people receive differs in its fullness and thinness: when it is nurtured in balance, a person may become a worthy or a sage; when it is disordered and turbid, greed and lust may arise. Understanding this principle, removing emotional desires, and preserving balance is to enter the gate of all subtleties and grasp the essentials of knowing the Dao.

When people everywhere recognize beauty as beauty, ugliness arises. When they recognize goodness as goodness, its opposite arises. A reputation for beauty can bring danger, and good deeds can spark rivalry. Thus being and nonbeing depend on one another; difficult and easy take shape in contrast; long and short become apparent through comparison; high and low are defined in relation to each other; musical notes and singing answer one another; and what comes before is followed by what comes after.

Therefore, the sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words. The sage lets the myriad things grow according to their nature, without obstructing them. The sage nurtures them without claiming them, acts without expecting repayment, and completes the work without taking credit. Because the sage does not claim credit, good fortune and Virtue endure.

This means that action should not go against the natural Dao (the Way), and teaching need not rely on words. If one insists on dividing things into higher and lower, longer and shorter, a single source will branch into many, change will proliferate, and order will eventually be thrown into confusion.

The ruler does not exalt those whom the world calls “worthy and capable”—people skilled in argument and polished rhetoric who turn away from the Dao, abandon simplicity, and pursue expediency. “Not exalting the worthy” means not raising them up with high office and generous rewards. Then the people will not compete for fame and achievement, but will return to their natural state.

Not valuing rare and precious things means that the ruler does not covet treasures and gold or hoard jade and pearls. Then the people will not become thieves. When those who govern are still and free of greed, their example shapes those below them, and the people, too, have fewer desires.

Do not display things that stir up greed. If people do not become absorbed in the music of Zheng or lust after beauty, their minds will not be confused and disturbed by wrongful thoughts.

Thus, when the sage governs the state, it is like cultivating the self: the mind is made empty and still, and cravings and disturbances are cast aside; the belly is made full, meaning that one embraces the Dao, holds to singleness of purpose, and steadies the inner spirit; the will is made gentle and yielding, without contention for power; and the sinews and bones are strengthened. “Strengthening the bones” also refers to a practice of cherishing Jing and nourishing the marrow.

The sage always keeps the people simple and sincere, with less clever knowledge and fewer desires. In this way, even those who think and scheme deeply dare not act recklessly. Follow the Dao of Wuwei (non-action): do not impose artificial designs, but accord with the natural patterns of things. Then nothing will be left beyond the reach of good governance.

Chapter Four: Without a Source

The Dao is empty and formless, yet it can be put to use. It is always humble and never becomes full. So deep and distant that it cannot be fathomed, it seems to be the ancestor of all things.

Those who eagerly seek fame and achievement should rein in their sharpness, for such conduct goes against the Dao. When faced with disorder and entanglement, they should consider following the Dao’s Wuwei (non-action), allowing the turmoil to be resolved. Even when they have special insight, they should keep it from shining too brightly and avoid disturbing others with dazzling displays. They should live among everyone else and not set themselves apart.

The Dao is deep and still. It seems to exist, yet is difficult to grasp. Laozi said, “I do not know what gave birth to the Dao.” The Dao existed before the Lord of Heaven. This means that the Dao came before Heaven and Earth and still exists today because it is still and acts through Wuwei, undriven by desire. People, too, should cultivate themselves by following the Dao.

The Fifth: Emptiness in Use

Heaven and Earth show no partial kindness; they treat all things like straw dogs used in ritual. Heaven and Earth allow all things to grow and change according to their own nature, without asking them for anything in return. The sage likewise shows no partial kindness toward the people and treats them like straw dogs. This does not mean the sage fails to care for them, but that he does not ask them to repay that care with ritual gestures.

The space between Heaven and Earth is like an empty bellows. Though hollow, it lets the breath flow through and allows all things to grow naturally. If people can rid themselves of desires, restrain their appetites, and keep the five organs quiet, the spirits can dwell peacefully within them. Though empty, the bellows never run dry; the more it is worked, the more breath pours forth.

Too much talk often brings matters to an end. Excessive activity harms the spirit, and too many words injure oneself. Speaking hastily and carelessly often invites trouble. It is better to hold fast to inner De (Virtue), nurture the spirit, cherish one’s original Qi, and speak little.

Forming the Image, Chapter Six

The Valley Spirit [the wondrous Dao, empty and still like a valley, able to give life and nurture all things].

The Valley Spirit never dies; it is called the “Mysterious Female.” “Valley” carries the sense of nurturing: when people care for their spirit, they can keep it from declining. Here, “spirit” refers to the spirits of the five viscera: the liver stores the ethereal soul, the lungs store the corporeal soul, the heart stores spirit, the kidneys store essence, and the spleen stores intention. When the five viscera are damaged, the five spirits also scatter.

The “Mysterious Female” is the source of lasting health. “Mysterious” refers to Heaven and corresponds in the human body to the nose; “Female” refers to Earth and corresponds to the mouth. According to ancient thought, Heaven nourishes people with the five Qi, which enter through the nose and are stored in the heart. Clear, harmonious, and subtle, they enable people to be alert in spirit, to speak, and to develop the five dispositions. The spirit associated with them is called the ethereal soul, which governs coming and going; for this reason, the nose is called “Mysterious.” Earth nourishes people with the five flavors, which enter through the mouth and are stored in the stomach, forming the body, bones and flesh, blood vessels, and the various emotions. The spirit associated with them is called the corporeal soul, which governs coming and going; for this reason, the mouth is called “Female.”

The gate of the Mysterious Female is where the root of Heaven and Earth lies. “Root” means the foundation and beginning. This passage says that the nose and mouth are gateways through which the primordial Qi of Heaven and Earth flows.

Breathing should be long, fine, and almost imperceptible. When using the breath, let it flow gently and freely; do not make it hurried or strained.

Chapter Seven: Concealing One’s Radiance (gathering in one’s brilliance and keeping it hidden)

Heaven and Earth endure for a long time. The Elder by the River uses their enduring nature to teach people. They can endure because they do not seek growth for themselves. They give quietly and ask for nothing in return, unlike those who hasten to pursue private gain, taking what belongs to others to enrich themselves. Precisely because they do not seek long life, they are able to endure.

Thus, the sage puts himself last and, in turn, earns the respect of all and comes to stand before them. He does not place his own interests above all else, and so is able to preserve himself. The people cherish him as they cherish their parents; the spirits protect him as they protect an infant, allowing him to endure.

Is this not because the sage is fair and selfless, and so wins the people’s affection and the spirits’ protection? The sage has no selfish desires, yet is treated generously in return; thus, he ultimately fulfills himself.

The highest good is like water. Water excels at nourishing all things, yet it does not compete with them for superiority. It always settles in low, damp, and polluted places that people despise. For this reason, water’s nature comes closest to the Dao (the Way).

Water rests in low places: this is how it excels at choosing where to dwell. It is deep and clear, like a secluded pool: this is how it excels at keeping its heart. It nourishes all things without seeking anything in return: this is how it excels in kindness toward others. It reflects things without distorting what is real: this is how it excels in keeping its word. It washes away filth and leaves things clean and even: this is how it excels at governing. It can be square or round, changing to fit its shape: this is how it excels at adapting to circumstances. It flows freely in summer and freezes in winter, responding to the changing seasons: this is how its actions accord with the right time. When blocked, water stops; when its path is cleared, it flows. It follows the terrain and does not contend with others, so it avoids fault and draws no resentment.

“Holding to the Level” (Yunyi), Chapter Nine

It is better to stop when something is full than to keep filling it; a blade ground too sharp cannot stay sharp for long. No one can guard a hall filled with gold and jade forever. Excessive desire harms the spirit, and too many possessions become a burden to their owner.

After becoming wealthy and honored, to grow proud and arrogant is to bring trouble upon oneself. When wealthy, one should aid the poor; when honored, one should show concern for those of lower rank. To act instead with arrogance and abandon is certain to invite disaster.

Once achievements are complete and one’s name is renowned, to step aside and yield one’s position is to accord with the Way of Heaven. If a person has accomplished great deeds and earned a brilliant reputation but refuses to step aside, they may suffer harm. This is the natural order: when the sun reaches its zenith, it begins to move west; when the moon is full, it gradually wanes. When things reach their peak, they decline, and when joy reaches its height, it turns to sorrow.

“The Capacity to Act” (Nengwei), Chapter Ten

Human beings are born carrying hun and po, the ethereal and corporeal souls, and should care for and nourish both body and mind. Hun resides in the liver, and po in the lungs. Unrestrained joy and anger can startle hun, while sudden fright can harm po. Excessive drinking and indulgence in rich, fatty foods can also damage the liver and lungs. Those who know how to calm their minds and follow the Dao can keep hun and po at peace and preserve body and mind.

Embracing the One without letting it depart: If you can hold fast to the refined Qi born of the Dao and keep it from leaving the body, you can endure for a long time. Here, “the One” refers to the refined Qi of Great Harmony at the Dao’s beginning; it also means being single-minded and undivided. Heaven, Earth, and all things each receive their own “One,” and so each finds stability and order.

Concentrating Qi to attain softness: Focus on guarding the refined Qi so it does not scatter, and the body can become supple and responsive.

Can you be like an infant? If, like an infant, your mind is free of tangled thoughts and outside affairs do not disturb you, your spirit will not be depleted.

Cleansing and purifying the deep vision: Purify the mind until it is still and clear. When the mind rests in a profound and mysterious state, it can illuminate all things; this is why it is called the “deep vision.”

Can you be without flaws? Can you avoid what is crooked and preserve clarity and gentleness, free from faults and blemishes?

Loving the people and governing the state: Those who cultivate themselves cherish their refined Qi, thereby preserving the body. Those who govern the state care for the people, thereby bringing stability to the state.

Can you be without conscious striving? In self-cultivation, focus on the breath and refined Qi without letting the eyes and ears be drawn outward. In governing, extend kindness without seeking fame for it, and do not disturb the people.

The opening and closing of the Gate of Heaven: The “Gate of Heaven” refers to the Purple Tenuity Palace at the North Pole; “opening and closing” refers to the turning points between beginnings and endings. In self-cultivation, the “Gate of Heaven” means the nostrils, and their opening and closing is breathing.

Can you be like the female? In self-cultivation, be quiet and yielding, like the female. In governing, be able to respond to change, making harmony your foundation rather than forcing your way ahead.

Seeing clearly and reaching everywhere: Perceive with clarity and insight, like the light of the sun and moon shining in all directions, reaching to the farthest bounds of the world. Although the Dao’s manifestation is everywhere, it cannot be seen with the eyes or heard with the ears.

Can you be without conscious knowledge? No one can fully know the Dao that extends throughout the world.

Giving life and nurturing: The Dao gives life to and nurtures all things.

Giving life without claiming ownership: The Dao brings all things into being but does not claim them as its own.

Acting without relying on achievement: The Dao carries out its transforming work without relying on its accomplishments or expecting repayment.

Helping things grow without ruling them: The Dao helps all things grow but does not rule or control them, or use them as implements.

This is called “mysterious De”—a profound De that is difficult to perceive. People should take this De of the Dao as their model.

The Usefulness of the Useless, Chapter Eleven

Thirty spokes converge at the wheel’s hub. The empty space at the center lets the wheel turn. The carriage has an open space within it so people can ride and carry loads. Clay is shaped into a vessel, and its hollow interior lets it hold things. A house is built with doors and windows; their openings let people enter and leave, and look out. The open space inside the house lets people live there.

Thus, solid form brings convenience, while the empty, formless space allows an object to fulfill its purpose. The wheel, vessel, and house illustrate how “being” and “nonbeing” depend on each other: visible form provides the structure, while empty space makes it possible to contain things and put the object to use. The Heshang Gong commentary extends this idea to cultivating oneself and governing a state: in self-cultivation, one should lessen desires and quiet the mind; in governing, one should be skilled at bringing people together and making use of their strength.

Curbing Desires, Chapter Twelve

The surviving text of this section begins: “The five colors make people’s eyes dazzle and go blind.” The Heshang Gong commentary explains that craving beautiful sights can damage one’s Jing and Qi, and even affect one’s eyesight. The text that follows then repeats the commentary’s explanation that emptiness can contain all things.

Too many bright colors make the eyes blur. Indulging in vivid hues harms one’s essence and Qi, and can even affect one’s eyesight. Becoming absorbed in all kinds of music dulls the hearing. When the mind pursues sounds single-mindedly, its inner calm is scattered, and it can no longer hear the sound that has no sound. Excessive variety in flavors unsettles the sense of taste. Craving the Five Flavors makes one lose the ability to appreciate plain tastes, and leads one away from the meaning of the Dao.

Giving oneself over to racing about and hunting throws the mind and spirit into turmoil. The human spirit naturally delights in stillness; if it is constantly driven to rush about, it will be depleted. Rare treasures obstruct a person’s conduct. “Hard-to-obtain goods” here refers to precious things such as gold, silver, pearls, and jade. Insatiable greed harms oneself and invites disgrace.

Therefore, the sage attends to nurturing inner life and does not let the eyes run after external things. “Nourishing the belly” means guarding the Five Natures, restraining the Six Emotions, and nurturing one’s intent, Qi, and spirit. “Not acting through the eyes” means not letting the eyes roam unchecked, so that essence and Qi are not depleted outwardly. One should therefore relinquish the eyes’ craving for external things and instead preserve and nourish one’s inner nature.

On Disfavor and Shame, Chapter Thirteen

Receiving favor or suffering disgrace is like being startled; regard great calamity as seriously as you regard your own person.

What is meant by “favor and disgrace”? Favor means being honored and shown affection; disgrace means suffering shame and humiliation. To say that “disgrace means being low” is to say that when one is disgraced, one is brought to a low position. To feel apprehension when favored is because one occupies a high position, as if standing at the edge of a deep abyss. Even when one’s status is noble, one should not become arrogant; even when one is wealthy, one should not become extravagant. To feel apprehension when favor is withdrawn and one is humiliated is to fear that calamity may grow worse. This is what is meant by “favor and disgrace are like being startled.”

What is meant by “regard great calamity as seriously as your own person”? Why should a person fear great calamity as much as they cherish themselves? The reason I have great troubles is that I have this body.

If someone values himself more than the world, the world cannot be entrusted to him. Only someone who regards the world as precious as himself can be entrusted with it.

A person with a body will experience worry and weariness, hunger and cold. If he gives free rein to his emotions and chases after desires, he will invite disaster. If he had no body, what troubles could he have? Here, “having no body” means that a Dao cultivator has transcended the burdens of physical form. After attaining the Dao, he naturally rises lightly, entering and leaving without hindrance and communicating with the Dao. Thus he has no troubles.

Therefore, someone who values himself more than the world is not fit to be entrusted with governing it. Only someone who cherishes himself and, through this, cares for the people of the world can be entrusted with it, governing for a long time with few mistakes.

“Praising the Mystery,” Chapter Fourteen

Look at it, and it cannot be seen; this is called “yi.” Listen for it, and it cannot be heard; this is called “xi.” Reach for it, and it cannot be touched; this is called “wei.” These three states cannot be pursued to their furthest point. They have no color, sound, or form. Words cannot explain them, and writing cannot convey them. One can only experience them in stillness and seek them with the spirit.

These three therefore blend together into a single whole. Above, it does not appear bright; below, it does not appear dark. It moves without ceasing, yet cannot be named. It cannot be distinguished by blue, yellow, white, or black, nor heard by the notes gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu—the five notes of ancient Chinese music. Nor can it be measured by length or size.

Ultimately, it returns to a state without material form. This is called “the form of the formless” and “the image of the immaterial”: it has no form or substance of its own, yet can give rise to the forms and images of all things. This state is called “hu-huang”: as though it exists, and as though it vanishes, beyond sight.

Go out to meet it, and you cannot see its beginning; follow it, and you cannot see its end. The sage holds to the ancient Dao and uses it to guide the myriad things of the present, understanding that all things are born from the One. To know the beginning of antiquity is to grasp the guiding principle of the Dao.

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao—the rulers who had attained the Way—possessed a subtle and far-reaching vision that connected with the Dao of Heaven. The depth of their virtue could not be fathomed. Looking inward, they seemed invisible; listening for them from outside, they seemed inaudible. Others could not discern their strengths. Because they were so difficult to see through, we can only use the following words to describe them.

They were cautious, like someone crossing a river on foot in winter, and hesitant, as though afraid the neighbors might notice. They were solemn, like guests in the presence of a host, never acting carelessly. They were also like ice beginning to melt, gradually dispelling desires and allowing the heart to grow ever more open and clear. They were simple and sincere, like uncarved wood; broad and spacious, like a valley that holds all things; deep and reserved, like turbid water. They did not deliberately display themselves, but lived among the people without imposing their own will.

Who can still turbid water and let it slowly clear? Who can remain steady for a long time, then gradually renew their vitality? Those who hold to this Dao seek neither perfection nor fullness. Precisely because they are never complacent, they keep their radiance subdued and do not rush to establish new achievements.

Reduce the emotions and desires in your heart to a minimum, so that the Five Viscera are pure and you reach a state of utmost emptiness. Firmly maintain stillness and purity, and practice with steadfastness.

All things grow together; from this I observe how they return to their source. Flourishing and dense, each eventually returns to its root. After withering, all things return to the root, from which they grow anew. The root is still, yielding, and humble; therefore it preserves the vitality of life. Returning to the root is called “stillness.” To be still and return to one’s original nature and life is called “returning to life.” Returning to one’s original nature and life accords with the constant Dao. Understanding the constant Dao is called clarity.

Those who do not understand the constant Dao act recklessly and resort to cunning, inviting danger. Those who understand it can cast off private feelings and desires and embrace all things. Embracing all things, they can be impartial and selfless; being impartial and selfless, they can govern the world. By cultivating and rectifying oneself, body and spirit become unified, and the inner Shen gathers within. When one’s De is upright and accords with the divine, one communicates with Heaven; communicating with Heaven, one accords with the Dao. Accord with the Dao brings lasting life. One who is impartial and selfless, attuned to Heaven and in accord with the Dao, has profound and expansive De, and so suffers no calamity or peril throughout life.

“Utmost emptiness” refers to a mind that has reached the extreme of openness, clarity, and stillness. “Maintaining stillness” means sustaining a state of stillness and purity in one’s practice. “Returning to life” means returning to one’s original nature and preserving life.

The highest kind of ruler is known to the people only as someone who is there. They cannot sense any deliberate effort to govern. They know he holds the throne, but feel no special need to submit to or serve him, because the people’s way of life is simple and unspoiled. The next kind of ruler is loved and praised by the people, because his kindness is plain to see and worthy of praise. A lesser ruler is feared, because he governs the people by imposing punishments. The worst kind is held in contempt: his many prohibitions and cumbersome decrees make sincere allegiance impossible, so the people deceive and slight him.

When a ruler lacks trustworthiness toward the people, they respond in kind, deceiving him. The highest kind of ruler acts with care and does not issue commands lightly. He cherishes his words, fearing that he might depart from the Dao (the Way) and lose natural Wuwei (non-action). When his work is done and the realm is at peace, the people all believe that things have simply come about of themselves.

Only when the Great Dao declines do benevolence and righteousness appear. In an age when the Dao is practiced, every family has dutiful children and every household has trustworthy people; benevolence and righteousness do not stand out as special. But when the Dao is no longer practiced and acts of rebellion arise, benevolence and righteousness become principles that people proclaim and pass on.

When cleverness and intelligence are prized, great hypocrisy appears. When rulers scorn virtue and prize fine words, scorn simplicity and pursue ornament, those below answer with deceit and fraud. When relatives are not at peace with one another, filial devotion and affection are specially emphasized as a way to sustain and care for family ties. When the state is in disarray and decrees go unenforced, when those above and below resent one another and corrupt people struggle for power, only then do loyal ministers arise to set their rulers right.

The point is this: when the world is at peace, people have no desires and do not make a special point of speaking about benevolence, righteousness, integrity, or moral uprightness. Everyone keeps to their proper place, so these virtues do not seem to need deliberate emphasis. Under the encompassing Great Dao, benevolence, righteousness, filial devotion, and affection no longer stand out, just as the stars’ light disappears when the midday sun shines at its brightest.

Set aside the labels of “sageliness” and “wisdom”—return to the beginning, hold fast to the root, and do not parade human contrivance as intelligence. Abandon clever schemes and stratagems; do not rely on cunning, but return to Wuwei (non-action). The people will then benefit a hundredfold, as farming can flourish and affairs can be handled fairly and without bias. Set aside the fashion of proclaiming benevolence and exalting righteousness, and the people will return to their natural devotion to their parents and affection for their children, as moral instruction becomes more sincere. Abandon deceitful cleverness and discard private gain, and thieves will not arise: when those above govern justly, those below will have no wrongful thoughts or selfish desires.

These three measures—abandoning deceitful cleverness and discarding private gain so that thieves disappear—will not suffice to transform the people if treated merely as rules for governance and instruction. There must also be something for them to return to: reveal their plain nature, preserve their unspoiled roots, and do not prize ornamentation; reduce selfish thoughts, restrain desires, act with integrity and selflessness, and understand contentment.

“Different Customs,” Chapter Twenty.

By setting aside intricate learning and empty ornament, one can have fewer worries. How great is the difference between a respectful reply and a casual, perfunctory one? How far apart are good and evil? The things people fear must also be treated with care.

The world is in turmoil, and the pursuit of learning and literary knowledge seems to have no end. People are intoxicated by sensual pleasures, like the hungry longing for a lavish sacrificial feast, or like someone climbing a high terrace in spring to admire the scenery, their minds adrift and their desires hard to satisfy. I alone am quiet and unassuming, as though my desires had not yet emerged, like an infant who cannot yet answer or play. I drift aimlessly, as if I had nowhere to return.

Everyone thinks they have more than enough: with excess wealth, they indulge in luxury; with excess cleverness, they scheme and calculate. I alone seem to have been left behind, with too little. I truly seem like a fool, acting against worldly custom and holding fast to the Dao (the Way), without changing. My mind seems muddled, unable to distinguish one thing from another. The world is perceptive and discerning; I alone seem dim and unclear. The world is sharp and eager; I alone am calm and unhurried, reluctant to divide things with hasty judgments.

I am suddenly unrestrained, like the vast, deep sea with no visible edge, or like something drifting without a resting place, my mind dwelling in a wondrous realm. Everyone relies on action to pursue what they want; I alone seem awkward and inadequate, as though I can do nothing well. I alone am different from others: I cherish and follow the Dao, the root of all things.

A person of profound De is able to embrace all things, accept what is impure, and willingly remain humble and low. Such a person follows only the Dao and does not conform to worldly ways.

The Dao is elusive and indeterminate, difficult to grasp. Yet within its elusiveness are the forms of all things; in its dark and far-reaching depths are concrete realities. The Dao guides change while remaining formless, gathering Qi and bringing bodies into being. It is deep and subtle, yet contains Jing. As Yin and Yang meet, the energies of Shen interact. The Dao’s vital essence is real and unfeigned, not added embellishment. It does not display its achievements or proclaim its name, yet sincerity is held within it.

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never vanished, for all things receive their beginnings from it. How do we know that the source of all things is so? By what lies before our eyes: all things today are brought forth through the transformation of the Dao’s vital essence, and every movement and every breath depends on the Dao.

Yielding and adapting to others, following the wishes of the many, and not stubbornly insisting on one’s own views—this is how one preserves oneself. When you suffer an injustice, step back and make room for others; with time, you too will find room to flourish. Water gathers in low places, and when people humble themselves and take the lower position, Virtue (De) flows toward them. Bear poor treatment yourself, give the advantages to others, and put them before yourself: then people throughout the world will respect you, and in time you will be renewed. Take less, and you may gain more, for the Way of Heaven aids the humble, and the spirits dwell in emptiness and stillness. Having too much can bring confusion: too many possessions leave you unsure how to protect them, while too much learning can confuse you with the many claims you have heard.

Therefore, the sage holds to the One—the fundamental principle—and makes it the standard for all under Heaven. The sage does not rely solely on his own eyes to see things, and so he understands clearly. He does not assume he is right or casually blame others, and so his reputation is distinguished. He does not boast of his achievements, and so his work is accomplished. He does not exalt himself, and so he endures. Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him.

Could the ancients’ saying, “Yield and adapt, and you will be preserved,” really be empty words? Indeed, those who put yielding into practice preserve their bodies and return home safely to their parents, unharmed.

Twenty-Three: Emptiness and Nonbeing

Few words accord with the natural Way. A gale cannot blow all morning; a sudden downpour cannot last all day.

Speaking softly and sparingly is in accord with nature. A gale cannot last all morning, and a downpour cannot last all day. What brings about gales and downpours? Heaven and Earth. If even Heaven and Earth cannot make them last long, how much less can a person?

Therefore, in one’s actions, one should take the Dao as a model: remain calm and peaceful, rather than becoming fierce and abrupt like a gale or downpour. Those who cultivate the Dao align themselves with the Dao; those who cultivate De align themselves with De. Those who turn away from the Dao and De, too, find themselves aligned with that estrangement. The Dao gladly receives those who align themselves with it; De gladly receives those who align themselves with it; and estrangement from the Dao receives those who align themselves with estrangement.

When those in authority lack trustworthiness, those below respond with distrust. Things always gather with their kind and resonate with one another, like voices answering in harmony, clouds rising with dragons, winds stirring with tigers, water flowing toward damp places, and fire moving toward dry ones.

“Bitter Favor, Part Two” is the title given to this passage.

Someone who stands on tiptoe cannot keep steady; someone who takes great strides cannot travel far. This means that those who single-mindedly seek power, fame, and achievement cannot hold their ground and follow the Way for long. Those who consider themselves superior and set themselves above others will also be rejected by everyone, making it difficult for them to act effectively.

Those who show themselves off cannot see themselves clearly; those who assume they are right will not be recognized; those who boast of their accomplishments have no real merit; and those who love to brag cannot endure for long. To keep thinking that one looks good and acts rightly, without noticing flaws in one’s appearance and conduct, is what is meant by “those who see themselves are not clear-sighted.” Stubbornly insisting that one is right and criticizing others instead leads everyone to obscure one’s merits, so that one cannot distinguish oneself.

Such self-display and self-righteousness are, from the perspective of the Dao, like excess food or growths on the body: unnecessary burdens. The Heshang Gong commentary adds that taking extra stipends for oneself also becomes a burden on the Way of governance.

People like this, when they hold office, often act with the intent to harm others. Everyone therefore fears and detests them. A person who has the Dao does not act this way. Heshang Gong further explains that a person who has the Dao would not reside in such a state.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Images and Origins

There is a unified existence that appeared before Heaven and Earth took shape. It is silent and still, open and formless. It exists on its own and does not change; it moves and flows without pause or exhaustion. It can serve as the mother of all things under Heaven, nurturing them as a mother nurtures her child.

I do not know its name, so I call it the Dao (the Way). Forced to give it a name, I call it “Great.” The Dao is called great because it reaches beyond all heights and extends without limit, able to embrace everything.

“Great” means ceaseless movement and constant change. Through ceaseless movement, it appears vast and far-reaching; though vast and far-reaching, it is not cut off from the myriad things, and ultimately returns to dwell within the human body. Thus the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is great. Here, “king” means the one who governs the world. The Dao embraces Heaven and Earth; Heaven covers all things, Earth bears all things, and the king governs the people. There are four great things in the world, and the king is one of them.

People should take Earth as their model: quiet and yielding, it produces grain when sown and springs when dug. It gives its labor without resentment, and does not claim its achievements as its own. Earth takes Heaven as its model: calm and still, Heaven gives to all things without seeking repayment, and lets them grow without making demands. Heaven takes the Dao as its model: quiet and without words, the Dao secretly sets Jing (essence) in motion, and the myriad things come into being naturally. The Dao takes nature as its model, moving in accordance with its own inherent character and taking nothing as its standard.

The foundation of cultivating De (Virtue) lies in steadiness; stillness governs and restrains agitation. If a ruler lacks steadiness, he will not be respected. If one cultivating oneself lacks steadiness, one will squander one’s spirit. The flowers and leaves of plants are light and fragile, and wither easily; only when their roots are firmly anchored can they survive for a long time.

Thus the sage follows the Dao throughout the day, never departing from calmness and steadiness. In the classic, “heavy baggage” here refers to stillness and weightiness: it means that whether acting or dealing with affairs, the sage never loses calmness and steadiness. Even with splendid palaces and inner quarters where one might live in comfort, the sage keeps aloof and far removed, never becoming absorbed in them.

How can a ruler, lord of ten thousand chariots, act lightly and recklessly, treating all under Heaven with contempt? Levity and indulgence lead to the loss of one’s ministers; agitation and impatience lead to the loss of one’s throne. For those cultivating themselves, levity squanders Jing and Qi, while agitation harms the spirit.

One skilled at walking leaves no wheel ruts or footprints. One skilled at speaking makes no slips or mistakes. One skilled at planning can think things through without using counting rods or calculating tools. One skilled at closing needs no bolt, yet the door cannot be opened. One skilled at tying knots needs no rope, yet the knots cannot be undone.

Therefore, the Sage is always skilled at helping people and rejects no one; skilled at helping all things and rejects nothing. This is called receiving and bringing the Dao to light. In Heshang Gong’s interpretation, the Sage enables people of different ranks to each find their proper place, and teaches the people to follow the seasons and care for all things, without looking down on stones while cherishing only jade.

A good person is a teacher to one who is not good; one who is not good can also serve as a lesson to a good person. If you do not respect your teacher or value what can serve as a lesson, you will have no support and nothing to rely on. Even if such a person thinks themselves wise, they remain deeply confused. Understanding this is called grasping what is essential and subtle.

Returning to the Uncarved Simplicity, Chapter 28

Know what is strong and assertive, yet hold to what is gentle and yielding: this is like becoming the valley of the world. Here, “male” symbolizes honor and prominence, while “female” symbolizes lowliness and gentleness. Even if people know how to make themselves prominent, they should hold to humility and gentleness.

Know what is strong and assertive, yet remain gentle and yielding, content to stay low—like the valley streams of the world. Though one knows one could rise to prominence, one should remain humble and gentle, without forcing one’s way or contending for victory. Then the people of the world will turn toward one, as waters flow into a deep ravine. If one can be humble like a valley, constant De (Virtue/Power) will never depart, and the mind can return to the pure, unknowing state of an infant.

Know what is bright and conspicuous, yet remain in darkness and stillness: then one can become a model for the world. Though one understands things and sees clearly, one should remain still and reserved, without displaying oneself. Then one can become a standard for the world to follow. Constant De will not stray, and in the end one will return to the limitless realm.

Know what is honored and noble, yet remain in disgrace and lowliness—like the deep valleys of the world. Though one knows one has qualities worthy of honor, one should willingly remain low and not regard oneself as noble. Then the people of the world will turn toward one, as waters flow into a deep valley. If one can become a valley for the world, De will be full and steady, and in the end one will return to the uncarved simplicity of one’s original nature.

When the uncarved block is broken apart, it becomes vessels of many kinds. When the Great Dao unfolds and transforms, it appears as the spirits and luminaries, the sun and moon, and divides into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, and Water). When sages put the Great Dao into practice, they become leaders of the officials. Thus, great governance does not harm or divide the myriad things: the sage governs the world through the Great Dao without harming the people; in cultivating oneself, one follows the Way of Heaven to restrain desires without damaging the spirit.

“Wuwei” (Non-action), Chapter 29

To seize the world and govern it through deliberate action, I think, cannot be done. “Seizing the world” means seeking to become its ruler; “governing the people through deliberate action” means using artificial means to impose control over them. I understand that this goes against the Dao of Heaven and the people’s hearts: the Dao of Heaven abhors turmoil, and people abhor excessive desire.

The world is a sacred thing and must not be treated arbitrarily. Human beings are the world’s wondrous beings, and they favor peace and stillness. The world cannot be gained through coercion, nor can people be governed by force. Forced rule harms the inherent nature of things. Insisting on controlling and instructing the people causes their genuine feelings to be lost and instead gives rise to hypocrisy.

Among all things, some move ahead while others follow; some are warm while others are cold; some are strong while others are weak; some are secure while others are precarious. Everything has an opposite. Thus, in governing the state and cultivating themselves, sages do not force things into action. They set aside excess, extravagance, and arrogance. Excess means indulging in sights and sounds; extravagance means fussing over clothing and food; arrogance means building splendid palaces and towers. Remove these, maintain moderation and calm, and practice Wuwei (non-action); then the world will naturally be transformed.

Those who assist the ruler through the Dao do not use military force to dominate the world. A ruler who governs by the Dao does not wage war, but follows the order of Heaven and puts policies of De into practice, allowing enemies to submit of their own accord. Raising troops often brings repeated calamities. Those skilled in warfare reflect on themselves afterward and do not blame others.

Where armies have been stationed, the fields lie neglected and are soon overgrown with thorns. After a great war, years of famine often follow. This is because war brings disaster and destroys the crops, leaving the people to suffer as well.

Those skilled in warfare seek only to accomplish what is necessary. Even when they act decisively, they do not seek a reputation for strength. When the task is done, they do not boast, show off, or act arrogantly. Military action should be undertaken in good faith and only when unavoidable; one should not rely on strong armor and weapons to harm others by force.

When things grow excessively strong, they move toward aging and decay. Strength taken to its extreme, when it does not accord with the Dao, leads to premature decline.

Laying Down Arms, Chapter Thirty-One (Advocating the cessation of force)

Sharp weapons are inauspicious objects. (“Auspicious” also carries the sense of celebration. Weapons disturb the spirit and undermine the Qi of peace; they are harmful tools and should not be revered.) All things abhor them, because whenever weapons are put to use, lives are harmed.

Therefore, a person who follows the Dao does not dwell in a place where weapons are kept at the ready. (The Heshang Gong commentary explains this to mean that a person who follows the Dao does not choose to live in a country afflicted by war.)

In ordinary times, the gentleman honors the left, which symbolizes gentleness and humility. In warfare, the right is honored, symbolizing strength and force. This means that the way of warfare runs counter to the gentleman’s way: the two value different things.

Weapons are inauspicious objects, not tools that a gentleman esteems. They are used only when there is no alternative—for example, when disorder and decline prevail and calamity threatens the people, and weapons must be taken up in self-defense. Warfare should be conducted with restraint and detachment, without coveting land, profit, or wealth. Even in victory, one should not treat it as something to boast about. To celebrate victory is to take pleasure in killing. Someone who takes pleasure in killing cannot fulfill their aims in the world. A ruler who delights in killing, arbitrarily controlling life and death and imposing punishments without restraint, cannot win the support of the people.

In celebrations, the left is given precedence; in mourning, the right is. (The left symbolizes growth, while the right is associated with Yin and killing.) The deputy general holds the lower rank and stands on the left; the commander in chief holds the higher rank and stands on the right. Their positions are arranged according to the rites of mourning: the commander in chief stands on the right to show that he bears responsibility for the killing.

When many people have been killed, one should weep in grief and sorrow. This means recognizing that one’s De is shallow: one failed to guide the people through the transforming power of the Dao and instead harmed the innocent. Even after a victorious battle, the dead should be treated according to the rites of mourning. In ancient times, after a victory, the general took the place of the chief mourner, dressed in plain mourning clothes, and wept for the dead, showing that the gentleman values De and holds warfare in contempt. One should punish what is inauspicious only when there is no alternative, and take no pleasure in doing so. Through this, Laozi also expresses his grief at the unending warfare of later generations.

The Dao is eternal, yet it has no fixed name. It can lie hidden or reveal itself; it can unfold or draw inward. It can bring all things to life and bring all things to an end, so no single fixed name can encompass it.

The Dao’s nature is plain and subtle. Though it may seem small, nothing under Heaven can control it. If feudal lords and kings can uphold the Great Dao and govern through Wuwei (non-action), all things will naturally return to De (Virtue/Power).

If feudal lords and kings can uphold the Great Dao, all things will naturally return to it. When a ruler’s actions accord with Heaven and Earth, Heaven and Earth will bestow auspicious signs, such as sweet dew. The people need not be driven by commands; all things will naturally come into harmony and find their proper place.

The Great Dao brings all things into being, and through this they acquire names. Once things have names and forms, they may give rise to desires, turn away from the Dao and De, and ultimately invite ruin and disgrace. If people can abandon actions that go against the Dao and practice De, Heaven will know and protect them, keeping them from danger.

The Great Dao moves through the world like streams and valleys joining and flowing into rivers and seas, each responding to the others.

Chapter 33: Distinguishing De

Knowing others is wisdom; knowing yourself is true understanding. To discern your own strengths and shortcomings is to turn your attention inward and reflect on yourself.

Understanding others is wisdom; understanding yourself is true clarity. When people recognize their own abilities and shortcomings, it is as if they turn inward to listen to their hearts and observe what is unseen. This is why it is called “illumination.” Overcoming others takes strength; mastering yourself is true power. If people can overcome their own desires, nothing in the world can contend with them. Knowing contentment is wealth: only those who understand contentment can keep their good fortune and blessings over time. Persisting in efforts to do good shows a commitment to the Dao (the Way). When people set their hearts on the Dao, the Dao responds to them. If people know how to regulate and nourish themselves, without depleting the vital essence they have received, they can live long. If their eyes do not look recklessly, their ears do not listen recklessly, and their mouths do not speak recklessly, they will not incur the resentment of people everywhere, and so they can live long.

Letting Things Fulfill Their Nature, Chapter Thirty-Four

The Great Dao flows everywhere, seeming at times to rise and sink, to be tangible and intangible. It is hard to see and hard to describe, yet it is present everywhere and can be applied on every side. All things depend on the Dao for their life, but the Dao neither turns them away nor hinders them. When their work is done, the Dao does not claim the credit. It cherishes and nurtures all things, yet does not rule over them.

The Dao is often free of desire, concealing its De (Virtue/Power) and reputation, and seeming almost insignificant. All things return to it and draw vitality from it, yet it neither forbids nor controls them. This is why the Dao may be called great. It lets all things come and go and grow, allowing each to follow its own nature; thus its greatness has no bounds.

Therefore, the sage never considers himself great. Emulating the Dao, he conceals his De and reputation and does not become complacent. For this very reason, the sage is able to accomplish great things.

Benevolence and De, Chapter Thirty-Five

Hold fast to the “Great Image” (the Great Dao), and all things under Heaven will turn toward it. When you govern yourself, the spirits will also descend and move through your body. If all things gather without being harmed, the state will be secure, the family at peace, and all under Heaven in harmony. If you cultivate yourself without harming the spirits, your body will remain steady and your life will be long.

Fine music and delicious food can make passersby stop. The Old Man by the River explains that “bait” means fine food, while “the One” means the Dao. If a person takes delight in the Dao, they can hold fast to it. The Dao’s words sound plain and have none of the flavor of the five tastes. Look for it, and you cannot see its form; listen for it, and you cannot hear its sound. Yet govern a state by it, and the state will be secure and the people will thrive. Cultivate yourself by it, and your life will be prolonged. Its efficacy is inexhaustible.

When you want something to contract, you must first let it expand. When you want something to weaken, you must first let it grow strong. When you want something to decline, you must first let it flourish. When you want to take something, you must first give it. The principle behind these methods is subtle, but their results are clear.

The soft and weak can overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot leave deep water; once they do, they lose the environment on which their lives depend. A state’s power and strategies must not be casually revealed to others.

Governing the State, Chapter 30

The Dao always follows nature and takes no contrived action, yet nothing remains undone. If rulers can hold to the Dao, all things will transform naturally, guided by their own De. Once all things have transformed, if cunning and desire arise again, I will use the nameless uncarved simplicity—the Dao, unadorned and returned to its natural state—to calm them. This nameless uncarved simplicity will also lessen people’s desires. When desires are reduced, they can return to stillness. In this way, all under Heaven will settle naturally.

End of the Dao Jing, Volume One.

Imperially Commissioned Complete Library of the Four Treasuries, Volume One.

Dao De Jing, Volume Two.

Heshang Gong’s Commentary, Chapter 3

On De, Chapter 38

“Higher De” refers to the rulers of ancient times, who had no titles and possessed the highest virtue. Their virtue was vast and supreme, yet they did not use it to instruct the people. Instead, they followed nature and nurtured people’s lives, so their virtue went unseen. For this very reason, they possessed true De.

“Lower De” refers to rulers whose virtue fell short of Higher De and who already had titles. Their virtue and achievements could be seen and spoken of. But because they clung to their titles and accomplishments, they could not be considered truly virtuous.

“Higher De practices Wuwei (non-action)” means following the Dao and remaining still, without deliberately changing things or taking action, and without using such conduct to establish a name for oneself. Lower De, by contrast, takes action: issuing orders, managing affairs of state, and seeking fame through these deeds.

“Higher benevolence” refers to rulers whose practice of benevolence was of the highest order. They acted with benevolence but did not claim credit for it; when their work was done and their aims fulfilled, they did not insist, “I did this.” “Higher righteousness,” by contrast, judges matters according to principles of right and wrong, takes action, and seeks fame through it. At times it also establishes authority through killing and warfare, and levies taxes on the people for the ruler’s own enjoyment.

“Higher ritual” refers to rulers who established systems of ritual and arranged ceremonies and forms of dignity. When ritual flourishes while inner sincerity declines, people no longer respond. Then some raise their arms and force the rituals forward, and those above and below fall into endless conflict.

Thus, only after the Dao is lost do people speak of De; only after De is lost do they emphasize benevolence; only after benevolence declines do they speak of righteousness; and only after righteousness declines do they promote ritual, formal courtesies, and exchanges of jade and silk. Ritual gives weight to form and little to substance. Loyalty and trust therefore grow ever weaker, and ritual becomes the beginning of disorder: fewer and fewer people remain simple and upright, while deceit and turmoil increase.

“Foreknowledge” refers to people who believe they know in advance but do not truly understand. They have gained only the Dao’s outward splendor and lost its foundation; this, too, is the beginning of folly.

Therefore, the great person—that is, the ruler who has attained the Dao—should stand firmly in what is substantial and avoid shallow display, holding fast to sincerity and trustworthiness rather than pursuing outward refinement. They should cast aside what is showy and shallow, and choose what is substantial and true.

In ancient times, all who attained the Dao (the Way, the root from which all things arise and transform through Wuwei, or non-action) found that Heaven attained the Dao and became clear and bright, Earth attained it and became tranquil, spirits attained it and became numinous, valleys attained it and became full, all things attained it and grew, and rulers attained it and became models for all under Heaven.

The key to reaching this state lies in understanding how to harmonize change. If Heaven could not remain clear and bright, it might collapse; if Earth could not remain tranquil, it might become unstable; if spirits could not remain numinous, they might lose their efficacy; if valleys could not remain full, they might dry up; if all things could not grow and transform, they might perish. If rulers could not remain humble and avoid pride in their high position, they might fall from it. All things undergo change, growing and passing away in their time; one cannot simply seek to make things continue indefinitely.

Thus, the exalted take the lowly as their root, and the high take the low as their foundation. When rulers call themselves “orphaned,” “widowed,” or “unworthy” (a humble expression suggesting they are not as capable of bringing the wheels together as a hub), are they not taking the lowly as their root? This is a way of explaining the principle through humility.

Take a cart apart, and you find spokes, wheels, a hub, an axle, a carriage bed, and other components, yet no single part is called a “cart.” Only when the parts are joined together does it become a cart. Rulers can attain honor without making a lofty title their identity. People should not seek only to be rare and prized like jade, nor be common and despised like stone, but should find their place between the two.

The Dao’s movement is a return to its source. The Dao works through softness and weakness; these are also the methods it continually employs, which is why it can endure for a long time.

All things in the world arise from “being.” They all come forth from Heaven and Earth. Since Heaven and Earth have form and position, we say that all things are born from “being.” Yet the spirits, flying insects, and crawling creatures between Heaven and Earth also arise from the Dao. Because the Dao has no form, we say that “being” arises from “nonbeing.”

This means that what is fundamental surpasses what is showy, softness and weakness surpass strength and hardness, and humility surpasses fullness.

When people of the highest kind hear of the Dao, they strive diligently to put it into practice.

When people of the highest kind hear of the Dao, they strive diligently to put it into practice. Those of the middle kind hear of the Dao, take it to heart for a time, then forget it again. They welcome the Dao when cultivating themselves in hopes of long life or governing the state in hopes of peace. But later, when they encounter wealth, beauty, and honor, they are pulled along by desire and cast the Dao aside. Those of the lowest kind hear of the Dao and burst out laughing. They are greedy and full of desire. When they hear the Dao speak of softness and weakness, they think it means fear; when they hear it speak of simplicity, they think it means crudity. If the lowest kind did not mock it, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao.

Thus, the ancients expressed it this way: the bright Dao seems dim; advancing along the Dao seems like retreating; the level road seems rough. The person of the highest virtue is like a deep valley, able to contain what is impure. The whitest person seems to have suffered disgrace and does not display their whiteness. The person of great De seems lacking; the person who establishes De seems idle and inactive; the simple and sincere person seems to have become impure.

The greatest square has no corners; the most precious vessel is often made only at the very end; the greatest sound cannot be heard; the greatest image has no fixed form. The Dao is hidden and unseen, beyond any name. Only the Dao is skilled at giving people Jing and Qi, and at bringing all things to completion.

The Dao gives rise to One, the first state that emerges from the Dao. One gives rise to Two, Yin and Yang. Two gives rise to Three: Yin Qi, Yang Qi, and the harmonious Qi formed when Yin and Yang blend. These may also be described as the three kinds of Qi—clear, turbid, and so on—which respectively form Heaven, Earth, and humanity. Three then gives rise to the myriad things. Heaven and Earth together bring the myriad things into being: Heaven bestows, Earth nurtures, and humanity cares for them.

The myriad things turn their backs on Yin and face Yang, turning toward the light. Each contains primordial Qi, the vital energy at the source of life. Only when Yin Qi and Yang Qi mingle can harmony and suppleness be achieved. For example, the organs lie within the chest, marrow within the bones, and spaces within plants and trees; breath can flow through them, enabling them to endure.

People dislike being called “orphan,” “widower,” or “one who lacks grain”—titles rulers use to refer to themselves humbly—yet dukes and kings call themselves by these names. Though they are inauspicious and lowly titles, rulers use them to remain humble even when occupying high positions, taking emptiness and gentleness as their models.

Thus, sometimes loss brings gain: pull at something and, if it does not move, it may instead draw back. Sometimes increase brings harm: the higher a pile is heaped, the more easily it collapses; craving wealth and status invites misfortune. People teach others how to act, and so do I. The world often teaches people to turn weakness into strength and softness into hardness; I teach them to turn strength into weakness and hardness into softness.

Those who act with brute force cannot live out their natural lifespan. Such forceful people do not trust the mysterious Dao, abandon De, and disregard the teachings of the classics, relying instead on power and brute strength. They will face Heaven’s punishment, die by the blade, or be dealt with under the law; they cannot enjoy their full span of years. I take their fate as the starting point of my teaching.

“Using the Dao Everywhere,” Chapter 43

The softest thing under Heaven can drive through and pass within the hardest thing under Heaven.

The softest thing in the world can pass through the hardest things in the world. The softest thing, water, can penetrate hard and unyielding metal and stone. There is nowhere it cannot reach.

The formless and immaterial “nonbeing” can enter places with no gaps. From this, we can understand that the Dao can reach the spirits and all living beings.

I have therefore come to understand the benefit of Wuwei (non-action): I see that the Dao does not act rashly, and all things are naturally nurtured and brought into being. Thus I know that Wuwei benefits people.

Teaching without words means following the Dao: it does not teach through speech, but offers itself as an example.

The benefit of Wuwei lies in following the Dao to cultivate oneself, which can benefit the spirit; applied to governing a state, it can benefit the people and spare them hardship.

Few rulers in the world can cultivate themselves and govern their states with the kind of Wuwei practiced by the Dao.

Establishing Precepts, Chapter Forty-Four

Which is closer to us, reputation or life? When reputation flourishes, life is often harmed.

Which matters more, life or possessions? When possessions accumulate in excess, they can endanger life.

Which brings greater anxiety, gain or loss? Seeking profit damages a person’s De (Virtue/Power).

Excessive attachment inevitably brings great expenditure. Excessive attachment to beauty depletes the spirit; excessive attachment to wealth readily invites misfortune. What is gained is little, while what is lost is much—hence the great expenditure.

The more one stores away, the greater the loss is bound to be. While alive, one may have possessions stored in a granary and be robbed; after death, possessions buried in a tomb may be unearthed by grave robbers.

Know contentment, and you will not suffer disgrace. Those who are content put an end to greed for profit and desire, and do not bring shame upon themselves.

Know when enough is enough, and you will not fall into danger. Those who know when to stop pursuing wealth and profit will not be burdened by possessions. If they do not let sights and sounds disturb their ears and eyes, their bodies will not be placed in peril.

In this way, one can endure for a long time. When people know contentment and when to stop, they can preserve their good fortune and emoluments. Those who cultivate themselves do not exhaust their spirit; those who govern do not burden the people. Thus they can endure.

Vast De, Chapter Forty-Five

The highest attainment appears to have something lacking. A person whose moral cultivation has reached a high level does not seek fame or boast of honors, seeming somehow incomplete; yet this way of acting brings no harm, however long it is practiced. The greatest fullness appears empty. A person rich in virtue remains humble, is not arrogant in high position, and is not extravagant in wealth. Acting this way, one is never exhausted.

The most upright person appears to yield. Those who cultivate the Dao follow its principles and remain upright, yet do not argue with worldly people, seeming willing to give way. The most skillful person appears clumsy. Though gifted in many ways, they do not display their abilities. The best speaker appears inarticulate. Though their understanding is clear and certain, they say little.

Movement overcomes cold. In spring and summer, Yang energy rises and all things flourish; but once they reach their height, they begin to decline. Cold arrives, and all things wither. This teaches that one should not simply press forward with restless force. Stillness overcomes heat. In autumn and winter, all things lie dormant beneath the earth, and at the furthest point of their decline, new life begins to emerge. Stillness and purity can become the right way for all under Heaven; by maintaining them, one can remain true to the Way for a long time.

Chapter Forty-Six: Curbing Desire

When governance under Heaven is clear and the ruler follows the Dao, warhorses are sent home to plow the fields. Those who cultivate themselves should likewise rein in their Yang essence and use it to nourish themselves. When governance under Heaven is corrupt, warhorses breed in the countryside, and warfare continues without end; the horses remain away from home for a long time.

No fault is greater than being captivated by desire; no calamity is greater than not knowing contentment; no error is greater than grasping for what one wants. Thus, only by knowing how to be content with what one already has can one remain content. This is how one preserves one’s original nature and avoids being led by desire.

Chapter Forty-Seven: Seeing Afar

A sage does not leave the house, yet understands what is happening throughout the world; does not look out through the window, yet understands the Way of Heaven. The sage understands others by observing himself, and infers the circumstances of other households from his own. In this way, he can know the world. The Way of Heaven and the way of human beings are connected, and their vital energies flow into one another. When the ruler is still and free of desire, the energies of Heaven and Earth settle; when the ruler has excessive desires, those energies become disturbed. Good and ill fortune, blessings and calamities, all relate to the ruler’s own conduct.

The farther one travels, the less one comes to know. Leaving one’s own home to observe other households, or leaving oneself to observe others, may extend one’s view, yet leaves less that one can truly grasp and put to use. Thus the sage can know Heaven and Earth without traveling, because he understands all things through his own heart. Without seeing with his own eyes, he can judge the names and realities of things: when those above esteem Dao and De, those below esteem virtuous conduct; when those above esteem force of arms, those below esteem strength. From what is subtle, the sage infers what is great. By seeing clearly into himself, he can also understand the world beyond. Without deliberate action, he accomplishes everything: when those above refrain from arbitrary action, those below are less troubled, every household has enough to live on, and all things grow and change naturally.

Forgetting Knowledge, Chapter Forty-Eight

In seeking learning, knowledge and desire increase day by day. “Learning” here refers to studies concerned with governance and instruction, ritual, music, and the like. In seeking the Dao, one must diminish desire and artifice day by day. Diminish them, and diminish them again, gradually setting aside the passions until one reaches Wuwei (non-action)—a tranquil simplicity like that of an infant, without deliberate contrivance. Through non-action, nothing remains undone: when the passions are cut off and De accords with the Dao, one can respond to things and accomplish all that is needed.

In governing the world, one should ordinarily take noninterference as one’s principle and avoid adding complicated burdens and disturbances. If one favors constant projects and imposes elaborate decrees, the people cannot live in peace, and the world cannot be governed.

Entrusting Virtue, Chapter Forty-Nine

The sage has no fixed opinions of his own but acts in accord with the people’s wishes. When the people consider something appropriate, the sage follows their lead. When they are kind, he treats them with kindness. When they act poorly, he still treats them with goodwill and guides them toward goodness. Moved by his example, the people too come to value good conduct. When the people are honest and trustworthy, the sage treats them with sincerity. When some among them are untrustworthy, he still treats them with sincerity and guides them toward trustworthiness. Moved by his example, the people too come to value honesty.

As the sage attends to affairs under Heaven, he is always cautious and respectful, never becoming arrogant or extravagant because of wealth or status. He helps the people return their minds to simplicity, appearing almost dull and unskilled. The people entrust their eyes and ears to the sage’s use; the sage, in turn, cares for them as if they were infants, nurturing them without expecting anything in return.

Esteeming Life, Chapter 50

“Emerging into life and entering death”: here, letting desires flow outward from within while the Hun-soul rests and the Po-soul is still is called “emerging into life.” When desires are pent up in the chest, causing the spirit to grow weary and confused, this is called “entering death.” [This passage also incorporates a commentary: “nurturing the people without expecting anything in return.”]

From birth to death, human life follows the natural course. There are thirteen conditions associated with life and thirteen associated with death. Here, “thirteen” refers to the body’s nine openings and the joints of its four limbs. In life, the eyes do not look recklessly, the ears do not listen indiscriminately, the nose does not chase after scents and odors excessively, the mouth does not crave flavors or speak carelessly, the hands and feet do not move without purpose, and the spirit is not squandered at will. The conditions leading toward death are the opposite.

Some people are alive, yet continually propel themselves toward places of death. There are thirteen ways this happens. Why? Because they pursue pleasure and material abundance excessively, go against the natural Way, act recklessly, and lose the proper principles that should guide them.

It is said that those skilled at nurturing life can walk on land without encountering rhinoceroses or tigers, and enter the midst of an army without avoiding weapons. The rhinoceros finds no chance to gore them with its horn, the tiger no chance to claw them, and weapons no place to pierce them. Why? Because they have not entered any of the thirteen deadly conditions. The spirits protect them, so these things cannot harm them.

Chapter Fifty-One: Nurturing De (Virtue/Power)

The Dao enables the myriad things to come into being; De (the Dao’s nurturing power) sustains them. The myriad things take on their own forms, and the Dao sets in motion the tendencies of change, such as cold and heat, allowing them to grow. Thus, there is nothing among the myriad things that does not honor the Dao and cherish De.

The Dao is honored and De cherished not because they command or summon the myriad things, but because all things respond to them naturally, as echoes answer a sound and shadows follow forms. The Dao not only brings the myriad things into being; it also helps them grow, nourishes them, brings them to maturity, and protects them so that their lives may endure. A ruler governing a country, and a person cultivating themselves, should act in the same way.

The Dao gives life to and nurtures the myriad things, yet does not claim them as its own. It acts, yet does not rely on its achievements or expect repayment. It helps the myriad things grow, yet does not rule or control them. This is called “Mysterious De”—profound and subtle virtue, difficult to perceive.

Returning to the Origin, Chapter Fifty-Two

Everything under Heaven has an original source: this is the Dao (the Way), the root of Heaven, Earth, and all things. It is also the mother of all things under Heaven. Once you know the mother of all things, you should also understand the things she gives birth to. After understanding them, hold fast to their shared root and return to the state of Wuwei (non-action). Then, throughout your life, you will not fall into danger.

Block the openings of the senses. Here, “opening” refers to the eyes: do not let them look wherever they please. “Gate” refers to the mouth: do not let it speak whenever it pleases. Then you need not spend your life chasing after desires. If you let your eyes run after sensual pleasures and encourage the things that feed those desires, in the end nothing can save you, and disorder will arise.

To see the first signs of things while they are still emerging, before disorder becomes apparent, is what it means to be clear-sighted. Hold fast to softness and weakness, and your strength will grow day by day. Use your eyes to observe the world and discern the advantages and dangers of the moment; then turn your attention inward and nurture it, keeping your spirit from being dissipated outward. In this way you can avoid calamity. This is called cultivating the constant Dao.

If I understood a little about the art of governing, I would act in accordance with the Great Dao and personally put the teaching of Wuwei (non-action) into practice. Yet every deliberate action inspires apprehension. If one insists on rewarding goodness, one may give rise to goodness performed for show; if one insists on praising loyalty and trustworthiness, one may attract people who only pretend to possess them.

The Great Dao is level and easy to follow, yet the people prefer crooked paths and narrow byways. The court’s palaces are built tall and splendid, while the fields lie waste and uncultivated and the granaries stand empty. People wear fine clothes, carry sharp swords, indulge in lavish food, and hoard surplus wealth. This is called “boasting in robbery”: the people are poor while the ruler is rich, as though he were plundering them to flaunt his own prosperity. The ruler does not realize that this can bring about his death and the ruin of his house, even drawing his kin into disaster. How can such conduct accord with the Great Dao? The Jing (classic) asks this question again, expressing deep sorrow.

Contemplating the Fifth-fourth Section

What is well established cannot be uprooted; what is well held cannot slip away. The sacrifices offered by descendants can then continue from generation to generation.

When the Dao is cultivated in oneself, De (Virtue) becomes genuine and pure. When it is cultivated in the family, De abounds. When it is cultivated in the community, De continues to spread widely. When it is cultivated in the state, De grows rich. When it is cultivated throughout the world, De is put into practice everywhere.

Thus, one can observe those who do not cultivate the Dao by looking at a person who does; a family that does not cultivate it by looking at one that does; a community that does not cultivate it by looking at one that does; a state that does not cultivate it by looking at one that does; and a ruler who does not cultivate it by looking at one who does.

How do I know how well the world is governed? I observe it by these principles.

As Heshang Gong explains, cultivating the Dao in oneself means cherishing one’s original Qi and nurturing one’s spirit in order to extend one’s life. One who reaches this state is called a “True Person”—someone who has succeeded in cultivating the Dao. Cultivating the Dao in the family, community, and state is reflected in family harmony, respect for elders and care for the young, and just governance. Cultivating it throughout the world brings peace naturally, without relying on verbal instruction.

One who deeply preserves De is like a newborn infant. The spirits protect such a person as parents protect their child.

Poisonous creatures do not sting them, fierce beasts do not attack them, and birds of prey do not seize them. The infant does no harm to other living beings, and they do no harm to it. In an age of great peace, people have no desire to contend over rank or status; things with thorns seem to draw in their sharp points, and poisonous creatures do not injure others.

An infant’s sinews and bones are weak, yet its grip is tight. It does not yet know sexual union, yet its sexual organs can become erect; this is because its Jing and Qi are abundant. It may cry all day without its voice growing hoarse; this is because the harmonious Qi within it is abundant.

To understand the way of harmony is called “knowing the constant”; to keep to the constant way is called “illumination.” If one single-mindedly pursues a longer life and ever greater strength, one instead lets the mind drive the breath, growing more rigid day by day. The mind should remain focused and gentle, allowing the breath to fill the body within. If one acts recklessly, harmonious Qi disperses from within, and the body grows stiffer day by day.

When things reach the height of their strength, they grow old. This is called being contrary to the Dao; what is contrary to the Dao soon declines.

One who understands the Dao does not speak much; one who delights in speaking often does not truly understand the Dao. Heshang Gong explains that those who understand the Dao prize practice over words. Speaking too much can invite trouble, since words once spoken are hard to take back.

Block the channels through which sensory desires enter and leave, and close the gateways from which desires arise: this is to cut them off at their source. Dampen excessive passions and impulses. If resentment knots itself in the heart and will not settle, dissolve it with the Dao’s Wuwei (non-action) mind. Draw in your radiance: even with uncommon insight, remain modest and reserved, without showing off your brilliance. Blend with the worldly dust, rather than making a point of appearing different. This is called “Mysterious Unity” (Xuántóng): aligning with the Way of Heaven and merging with the myriad things.

Such a person cannot be won over through intimacy, nor provoked into enmity through distance. They cannot be bought with benefits or cowed by threats of harm. They are not made arrogant by the powerful, nor humiliated when they lose their position. Heshang Gong holds that such a person does not covet wealth, status, or fine food, compete for gain, or wield power arrogantly. Thus they can adapt to the world, preserve themselves, and become someone whom all under Heaven respect.

“Pure Winds,” Chapter Fifty-Seven

Govern the state with upright methods, direct warfare with stratagems and manipulation, and gain all under Heaven through Wuwei (non-action). Here, “stratagems” refers to deceit and political manipulation; “Wuwei” means following what is natural and refraining from imposing actions.

How do I know this principle? I can see it in the circumstances before me. The more prohibitions there are under Heaven, the poorer the people become. Complicated systems of defense and restriction readily give rise to wrongdoing; when prohibitions are too numerous, people also deceive one another.

The more power people hold in their hands, the more confused the state becomes. The “sharp instruments” spoken of here are political power: when power is dispersed too widely, people each cling to their own position and grow suspicious of one another, making it difficult for those above and below to draw close. When rulers and feudal lords pursue skill and technique too eagerly, rare goods become ever more abundant. Palaces and temples are elaborately decorated; clothing and utensils are embellished with gold, jade, and paint; and luxury grows more extravagant. The more conspicuous precious and splendid objects become, the more easily farming is neglected. Poverty and hardship follow, and thieves become more numerous.

So the sage says: “When I practice Wuwei, the people transform themselves naturally. When I cherish stillness, the people set themselves right naturally. When I do not stir things up and burden the people, they grow prosperous naturally. When I have no greed, the people become simple and sincere naturally.” Here, “Wuwei” and “cherishing stillness” mean that rulers do not interfere recklessly or disrupt people’s lives with corvée labor and compulsory service, allowing them to settle into their occupations and remain simple.

“Chapter Fifty-Eight, ‘Following Transformation’: ‘When governance is generous and peaceful, the people can be…’” (The original passage ends here with “murmuring,” meaning that governance and instruction are broad and lenient.)

When the ruler’s policies are lenient and measured, the people become honest and harmonious. When policies are harsh and urgent, the people grow increasingly distant and distrustful. Misfortune is where good fortune depends; good fortune, too, conceals misfortune. When people encounter misfortune, if they repent, take responsibility, do good, and cultivate the Dao, misfortune will depart and good fortune will come. When people enjoy good fortune, if they become arrogant and unrestrained, it will vanish and misfortune will arrive. Who can know where the changes between misfortune and good fortune will end?

There are no fixed standards in the world. If a ruler cannot set himself straight, the state will be hard to bring to order. When the ruler loses the right way, integrity can turn into deceit, and goodness into something strange and aberrant. The people have been lost from the right way for a long time.

Thus, although the sage is upright, he does not use this to treat others harshly or harm them. Although he is honest and pure, he does not injure others because of it. Although he is forthright, he does not cling to his own views or force his will upon others. Although he sees clearly, he does not flaunt his brilliance. The True Person acts with uprightness to set an example for others; with honesty, to teach the people; with forthrightness, while still accommodating others; and with wisdom, yet often appears modest and reserved.

Governing the people and following the way of Heaven are both less important than practicing restraint and cherishing what one has. “Cherishing” means valuing and preserving: those who govern a state should safeguard the people’s resources rather than squander them in luxury, while those cultivating themselves should cherish their Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), rather than dissipating them carelessly.

Only those who know how to cherish things can be said to have “submitted early.” “Early” means in advance; “submitted” means to attain. By safeguarding the people’s resources and preserving their own Jing and Qi, they can grasp and follow the way of Heaven sooner. To follow the way of Heaven early is to accumulate De (Virtue/Power) without cease. When De has grown deep and abundant, nothing cannot be overcome. When nothing cannot be overcome, others cannot easily fathom the depth of one’s De. With De too deep to fathom, one can possess a state and bring blessings to its people.

A state and a person’s body correspond to one another; “mother” refers to the fundamental Dao (the Way). If a person can keep the Dao within the body, so that Jing and Qi are not depleted and the Five Spirits—the mental and spiritual activities within the body—are not distressed, then life can endure. Take Qi as the root and Jing as the base, like a tree with deep roots and a firmly joined stem. By storing Qi deep within and holding fast to Jing, without letting either leak away, one follows the way to long life and enduring vitality.

The fourth section of Heshanggong’s Commentary, titled “Occupying the Position,” Chapter 60.

Governing a large state is like cooking a small fish. When cooking a small fish, one does not gut it, scrape off its scales, or turn it over carelessly, for fear of breaking it apart. In the same way, if governance burdens a state with too many decrees and excessive interference, the people will find it difficult to live in peace.

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish. Once the fish is in the pot, you do not gut it or scrape off its scales, and you do not dare to turn it over again and again for fear of breaking it apart. If a state is governed with excessive laws and orders and too much disruption, the people will fall into disorder. When cultivating oneself, restless thoughts and worries also cause one’s Jing and Qi to disperse.

When the world is governed by the Dao, ghosts and spirits do not display their powers to disturb people. This does not mean they lack spiritual potency; rather, their power cannot harm those who follow the natural course. A sage in power does not harm the people either, and so ghosts and spirits dare not offend them. Ghosts and spirits and the sage do not harm one another. Thus the two sides of Yin and Yang each find their proper place: people are governed and can preserve their lives, while ghosts and spirits can preserve their spiritual essence. This is how the De of both sides comes together.