《道德真经口义》

The author's biographical note on the Daode Zhenjing Kouyi (Oral Explanations of the True Classic of the Dao and De) states that Laozi's surname was Li, his personal name Er, and his courtesy name Boyang. Because his ears were broad and the outer rim was not prominent, he was called Dan. He was a native of Kuxian in the state of Chu, and under the Zhou dynasty he served as an archivist in charge of the royal books. During the reign of King Jing of Zhou, when Confucius was about thirty years old, Confucius went to consult Laozi on ritual propriety, an episode that appears repeatedly in the Liji (Book of Rites). Laozi was a generation senior to Confucius. Confucius said, "I transmit the teachings of the ancients and do not create anything new; privately, I compare myself to Laopeng." The Grand Historian said that Confucius reverently served Laozi, and this claim is not an exaggeration.

One hundred and twenty-nine years after Confucius's death, Taishi Dan, a grand scribe of the Zhou, appeared before Duke Xian of Qin and discussed the principles by which things separate and come together. Some said that Taishi Dan was Laozi, but the author holds that this is mistaken. The two names sound alike, and those who transmitted the story confused them. Later, as the Zhou declined, Laozi headed west and intended to pass through Sanguan (Sanguan Pass). The gatekeeper Yin Xi, an official who guarded the pass, recognized him as an extraordinary man and asked him to write a book. Laozi then composed it in two parts, upper and lower, totaling over five thousand characters, and afterward departed.

Although the book is divided into upper and lower parts, it has also been divided into different numbers of chapters. Heshang Gong (Heshang Gong), a commentator of the Han dynasty who practiced Daoism, divided it into eighty-one chapters. He explained that the upper part follows Heaven, whose numbers are odd, and so has thirty-seven chapters, while the lower part follows Earth, whose numbers are even, and so has forty-four. Yan Zun (Yan Zun) divided it into seventy-two chapters, arguing that the number of the yin Way is eight and the number of the yang Way is nine, and that eight times nine makes seventy-two. In his division the upper part had forty chapters and the lower part thirty-two. The author holds that none of these divisions reflects Laozi's original intent, and that even the titles given to individual chapters do not match his meaning. Emperor Xuanzong of Tang (Emperor Xuanzong of Tang) re-edited the chapters and phrases, describing the upper part as concerned with the Dao and the lower part as concerned with De. The author also considers this inappropriate.

The versions in circulation today differ considerably. Sometimes a single differing character completely changes the meaning of a chapter, so the original intent becomes ever harder to discern. In general, Laozi's book often uses concrete things to illustrate the Dao, and it draws its metaphors from the customs and assumptions of its time. If readers do not understand the purpose behind such expression, they easily misread it. For this reason, Zhu Xi (Zhu Xi) thought Laozi's words were disordered and hard to understand, while Zhen Dexiu (Zhen Dexiu) held that some of them sounded like teachings on political strategy.

The Daode Zhenjing (Scripture of the Dao and De) is the classic that Daoism holds as its guiding text. Daoist scholars often revere its words to excess, so they tend to make them sound mystical and unreal, which obscures the classic's actual meaning. Confucian scholars, in turn, dismiss it as heterodox, and because they consider it easy to criticize, they never examine it in depth. As a result, although many commentaries have been written across the ages, most have been shaped by these two prejudices.

Only Yingbin (Su Zhe) set out to clarify its meaning, and his reading comes relatively close to the original intent. However, he did not fully grasp the connections between individual passages or the thread of the argument, so many of his explanations are difficult to reconcile. Moreover, his claim that Laozi's ideas often agree with Buddhist scriptures is not appropriate. Zhuangzi revered Laozi, but his words in fact differ from Laozi's. In the "Tianxia" chapter, Zhuangzi speaks of life and death, and this is precisely the distinctive feature of his thought, which is why his writings share many similarities with Buddhist scriptures. Laozi's statements "non-action, and things transform of themselves" (wuwei er zihua) and "not contending, yet skillfully prevailing" (buzheng er shansheng), however, do not contradict the Confucian classics. Where Laozi differs from the Confucians lies only in that, at times, the language he used to correct worldly customs and criticize common conventions went too far.

Cheng Yi said that the chapter on the "valley spirit" (gushen) is the finest in the Laozi. Lü Dalin, posthumously styled Wending, also said that among the five thousand characters of the Laozi, such statements as "I do nothing," "I love stillness," and "I have three treasures" all express profound principles. Zhu Xi said that Emperor Wen of the Han and Cao Shen grasped only the surface of Laozi's thought, and that Wang Dao and Xie An had never truly grasped its subtle excellence. He also said that Boyi's thought bears some resemblance to Laozi's, and that the people of the Jin and Song periods, though they often discussed Zhuangzi and Laozi, may not have exhausted the essence of their ideas.

From this we can see that earlier Confucian scholars did not reject Laozi across the board. They simply took the words through which he conveyed his meaning by metaphor as literal statements, and so they inevitably disparaged him. This has been an unresolved puzzle throughout history. If one studies carefully and traces the original intent behind Laozi's use of metaphor, then those who come to understand him a thousand years later will seem to have met him scarcely a morning or an evening apart.

Inscribed by Lin Xiyi of Yongzhai.

Oral Commentary on the Daode Zhenjing, Volume One

If the Dao can be spoken of in words, it is not the constant Dao; if a name can be fixed by a name, it is not the constant name. Before names exist, there is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; once names arise, there is the mother of the myriad things.

Therefore, by constantly observing from the standpoint of wu (non-being), one can grasp the subtlety of the Dao; by constantly observing from the standpoint of you (being), one can see where the myriad things come from. Being and non-being, though called by different names, issue from the same source, and both may be called xuan (profound and mysterious). Xuan, further deepened, is the gateway through which all the myriad marvels emerge.

Lin Xiyi (style name Xuzhai) of the Song dynasty said that this chapter stands at the head of the whole book and already contains its main meaning: the Dao is naturally difficult to express, and once it is spoken, what is said is only a lower-level principle. "Constant" means enduring and unchanging. Whatever can be spoken of and named has distinctions and change, while what cannot be spoken of or named has no such distinctions and change. For example, once the names benevolence (ren), righteousness (yi), propriety (li), and wisdom (zhi) exist, benevolence is not the same as righteousness, and propriety is not the same as wisdom. Once the names spring, summer, autumn, and winter exist, spring is not the same as summer, and autumn is not the same as winter. Hence none of these are the constant Dao or the constant name.

"The beginning of Heaven and Earth" refers to the time before the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the fundamental state in which the myriad things have not yet differentiated) had separated. Applied to the human mind, it is the state in which the heart is tranquil and unmoving. Before the Taiji divided, where were the names of the four seasons? When the heart is still and unmoving, where are the distinctions of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom? This is why it is said, "Nameless, the beginning of Heaven and Earth." When the text speaks of Heaven and Earth, it also uses them as an analogy for the human heart, and is not speaking only of Heaven and Earth themselves.

Once the distinction of Yin-Yang arises, countless transformations are born from it; once names such as benevolence and righteousness arise, the various concrete principles unfold from them. This is why it is said, "Named, the mother of the myriad things." "Mother" means that the myriad things are produced from this point.

The two phrases "constantly nameless" and "constantly named" are the key to Laozi's teaching on how to penetrate the principles of the Dao. Living in the human world, one encounters concrete things everywhere, yet all of these "beings" arise from "non-being." If one treats everything as empty nothingness, one falls into a void without foundation and invites calamity. Therefore, a student of the Dao should seek the root within "non-being," in order to understand how the myriad things come into being, and should also seek the root within "being," in order to see where they come from. In this context, jiao (the boundary, the point of origin of things) refers to the edges and sources of things, like the orifices of mountains and rivers described in the Liji (Book of Rites). Yu (desire, wish) here means "to want to" or "to hope to," expressing the wish to observe in this deep manner.

Being and non-being are two ways of speaking, but in reality they come from one source. When one constantly observes from both the perspectives of non-being and being, one finds that both belong to the mysterious. Xuan refers to the profundity of creation's transformations. From this we can see that Laozi's thought is not a one-sided glorification of emptiness: if he had only advocated non-being, he would not have said that being and non-being share one source, nor that the two are equally xuan.

"Xuan, further deepened, is the gateway of all the myriad marvels" only praises the profundity of the Dao and points out that all the myriad marvels emerge from it. It does not mean that there is yet another level beyond the xuan. The Zhuangzi, in discussing "there is a beginning," "there has never been a beginning," and "there has never been a beginning to that which has never had a beginning," likewise uses successive questions to illustrate the profundity of the subject, with no other intention. Here "the myriad marvels" corresponds to the phrase in the Yijing (Book of Changes) that "it wonderfully transforms the myriad things." "Gateway" refers to the source from which the myriad things arise.

People often interpret this chapter only in terms of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things, and easily overlook that Laozi's intention was also to lead people to understand the Dao through their own hearts. Only by combining both perspectives can one more fully grasp the overall meaning of this book.

Everyone in the world knows what beauty is, and once the concept of beauty is established, ugliness appears along with it. Everyone knows what goodness is, and once the concept of goodness is established, the not-good appears along with it. The phrase "let the meaning be correct and the essentials be grasped in the heart" (yi zheng yao jiu xin shang lihui) reminds readers to apply these words to their own intentions and feelings. Reading the passages in this way, back and forth, is how one comes to understand the purport of the entire work.

Being and non-being give rise to one another; the difficult and the easy complete one another; the long and the short show their difference through comparison; the high and the low depend on one another; sound and voice respond to one another; the front and the back follow one another.

Therefore, the sage deals with affairs through wuwei (non-action), and teaches the people without relying on verbal instruction. When the myriad things arise and flourish, he does not interfere with them; he gives them life but does not claim them as his own; he acts, but does not rely on his own merit; when affairs are accomplished, he does not claim the credit for them. It is precisely because he does not claim credit that his achievement never leaves him.

This chapter concerns accomplishing something without claiming it as one's own. Where there is beauty in the world, there is ugliness; where there is goodness, there is non-goodness. If people simply practice goodness and admire beauty without fixating on distinguishing what is good and what is beautiful, then the corresponding oppositions and disputes will not arise.

All things under heaven arise in mutual dependence and complete one another. Having and lacking are opposed, difficulty and ease are opposed, long and short are opposed, high and low are opposed, sound and voice respond to each other, and before and after follow one another. These relations all serve to illustrate what was said earlier about beauty and ugliness, goodness and non-goodness.

Therefore the sage acts through non-action (wuwei) and teaches without many words. He does not refrain from doing things, nor does he fear to act; he simply does not claim their success as his own. Heaven and Earth give birth to the myriad things and transform them without end, and they never decline to labor. The myriad things spread across Heaven and Earth, yet Heaven and Earth do not regard them as their possession. When spring and summer alternate and the myriad things grow and perish, the Creator does not boast of it. Hence it is said: "They give life to the myriad things yet do not possess them; they act yet do not rely on themselves."

The meaning of these lines is still that one accomplishes merit without dwelling in it. The phrase "the myriad things arise, and the sage does not refuse them" further elaborates this point. Here "zuo" means to arise or to bring into being, similar to the saying in the Book of Changes (Yijing), "kun zuo cheng wu," meaning that the earth brings the myriad things into being. This is also like Shun and Yu possessing the realm without treating it as private property. Sages of antiquity all acted thus; it is not only Laozi. However, Laozi stated this principle too severely, so it comes somewhat close to heterodoxy. Only by not dwelling in merit does merit fail to depart. To possess good deeds as one's own is, on the contrary, to lose them. The saying in the Book of Documents (Shangshu), "one who thinks he has goodness loses that goodness," expresses this same principle.

Sounds gather to form rhythmic melodies, and so it is said that "sound and voice respond to each other."

Chapter 4: The Emptiness of the Dao (Daochong Zhang)

Do not esteem the worthy, so that the people do not compete with one another. Do not value rare and precious goods, so that the people do not steal. Do not display what would arouse desire, so that the people's hearts are not disturbed. Therefore, in governing the people, the sage empties their minds of excessive thought, fills their bellies with sufficient food, weakens their ambitions, and strengthens their bones. He keeps the people free of cunning knowledge and covetous desire, and ensures that those who think themselves clever dare not act recklessly. When one governs by non-action (wuwei), nothing is left ungoverned.

"Shang" (to esteem) means to praise and to hold up as admirable. If the worthy are treated as things to be admired, the world will be stirred to contend for them. Yu did not boast of himself, and so no one under heaven competed with him in ability. This is the meaning of the saying. If precious goods are held in high regard, people will develop a desire to possess them, and the harm may eventually escalate to theft. These two examples introduce what follows about "that which may be desired." If people do not see things that could arouse covetous longing, their hearts will naturally be at peace. The phrase "do not display what would arouse desire, so that the hearts are not disturbed" is the most apt statement of this.

"Emptying the heart" means freeing people from longing and scattered thoughts. "Filling the belly" means making people well fed. "Weakening the will" means keeping people from chasing fame and profit. "Strengthening the bones" means making people physically sturdy. The passage says that the sages of remote antiquity merely ensured the people were fed and did not let them develop excessive longings. By keeping their bodies strong, they also kept the people from contending with one another. Thus the people were simple and unsophisticated, with little cunning knowledge or greed. Even if a cunning thought arose in someone's mind, that person would not dare to act on it.

This is how the sage governs the world. The sage also does not deliberately manipulate affairs, but governs in accordance with the principle of non-action, and so nothing remains ungoverned. "Do not display what would arouse desire, so that the hearts are not disturbed" describes how the sage teaches the people. "Cause" (shi) means to make the people act in this way. Not esteeming the worthy and not valuing precious goods are both ways of preventing the stirring of human desire. There are more things that can stir desire than these two, and they are cited here only as examples.

Laozi lamented the disorder of a degenerate age, and so he longed for the effortless governance of remote antiquity. His view is somewhat excessive, and for this reason it falls short of the principles of our sages.

The Great Dao (Dadao) is empty and formless, yet its functioning is inexhaustible. It seems at times to be full and at times not, so it cannot be confined by the notion of fullness. It is profound and subtle, seemingly the source of the myriad things. It blunts its sharpness and does not reveal its edges. It untangles confusion and brings order to the myriad affairs. It dims its light and mingles with the dust of the world without displaying any haughty purity. It is so subtle that it is hard to see, seeming to exist and yet seeming not to. I do not know whence it came. One can only say that it appears to have preceded the Heavenly Thearch (Tiandi).

The "chong" here means emptiness. Although the substance of the Dao is formless and void, its functioning is boundless and unending. The "huo" in "huo bu ying" (or does not fill) expresses uncertainty, which precisely shows that the Dao is not bound by any fixed state of being full or not full. "Yuan" (profound) is a word of praise for its depth, and "si" (seeming) indicates that the Dao can only be described through approximate terms. "Wanwu zhi zong" means the source of the myriad things.

"Cuo qi rui" means that the Dao blunts its sharpness and does not reveal its edges. "Jie qi fen" means that although it dwells amid confusion, it is able to bring order to affairs and principles. "He qi guang" means that it possesses light but does not show it, and "tong qi chen" means that it dwells in the mundane world without deliberately proclaiming its loftiness. Its subtlety makes it hard to perceive, and it seems to exist and not exist, just as the Daodejing says: "Hu xi hu xi, qi zhong you wu" (Dimly, indistinctly, within it there are images).

"Wu bu zhi shui zhi zi" (I do not know whose child it is) also praises the Dao through an interrogative form. "Xiang" means "seems to," and "di" refers to the Heavenly Thearch. The meaning is that the Dao seems to have existed before Heaven and Earth and the myriad things came into being. The words "si" and "fangfu" (seemingly) here both describe the Dao's subtle and elusive state, as if it were visible and yet not visible.

Heaven and earth have no partial benevolence. They regard the myriad things as straw dogs (chugou) used in sacrifice, which are set out for the rite and discarded once it is over. The sage likewise has no deliberate intention of bestowing favor on the common people and regards them as straw dogs too. Between heaven and earth, is it not like a bellows and its pipe (tuoyue)? It is empty within, yet its function is never exhausted: once it is worked, the wind pours out without end. Too many words often leave one hemmed in on every side, so it is better to hold to the centre within (shouzhong).

The phrase "Generating things is benevolence" means that heaven and earth give birth to and nurture the myriad things. Yet heaven and earth do not treat this as their own merit, nor do they dwell on it deliberately. They let the things grow of their own accord. The phrase "Nourishing the people is benevolence" means that the sage cares for the common people. Yet the sage does not treat this as a kindness, nor does the sage demand that the people feel gratitude. Sage and people alike hold no thought of conferring or receiving favor. The "non-benevolence" spoken of here means not clinging to the idea of possessing benevolence as a virtue. Chapter 38 says: "Shang de bu de, shi yi you de," that is, the highest De does not regard itself as De, and therefore it truly has De. Zhuangzi's "Qiwulun" (Discussion on Making All Things Equal) says "great benevolence is not benevolence," and his "Tiandi" (Heaven and Earth) says that in the age of utmost De, people loved one another without knowing to call it benevolence. Both express this same meaning.

The straw dog is brought out for use in sacrifice and discarded when the sacrifice is complete. The author uses it as a metaphor for heaven, earth, and the sage, who hold no deliberate intention of conferring favor and who relate to the myriad things and the people naturally. Read at a subtler level, the image also suggests that transformation and teaching flow on without leaving a trace. To explain it as treating the common people as worthless grass, however, is a mistake.

Still, the teachings of Laozi and Zhuangzi often use startling language, and so some of their sayings are easily misunderstood. The main point of this chapter is simply that heaven and earth nurture the myriad things without private intent, and that the sage nurtures the people without private intent. But the image of "regarding the people as straw dogs" sounds strange, and a reader who does not grasp it fully may draw seriously distorted conclusions. For this reason some have argued that the harsh and cruel political thought of Shen Buhai and Han Feizi had one of its roots precisely in regarding the people as straw dogs, and that Laozi cannot fully escape responsibility for this.

"Tuoyue" refers to a bellows and its pipe. When the bellows is worked, wind is produced. Though the bellows is itself hollow, it can keep functioning continuously, and the more it is worked, the more wind pours out without end. Heaven and earth nurturing the myriad things works in the same way: the bellows and the wind do not deliberately make wind, and heaven and earth do not deliberately confer kindness. Without use the bellows yields no wind, and only when it is worked does wind come forth. This too reflects the idea that teaching flows naturally and leaves no trace.

"Shu" carries the sense of "again and again" or "constantly." "Shouzhong" here means remaining silent and holding back speech. The way of heaven and earth cannot be exhausted in words, and when one speaks too much, one often falls into difficulty. It is better to become still and forget about speaking. Confucius said: "I would rather not speak. What does Heaven say? The four seasons proceed, and the myriad things grow." This conveys the same meaning. Yet Confucius's words are pure and clear, while the expression of this text is winding and twisting, so it is not easy for readers to understand. If one reads "much speech soon exhausts one" merely as a warning not to talk too much, the sentence no longer connects with what comes before. Once this level is seen through, the whole chapter coheres from beginning to end and its meaning becomes clear. Such concise and archaic writing is indeed not easy to produce.

The Valley Spirit (gushen) does not die. This is called the Mysterious Female (xuanpin), the profound root that is able to bring forth all things. The gate of the Mysterious Female is the root of Heaven and Earth. It endures without break, seeming to exist yet impossible to grasp, and using it requires no effort.

This chapter gives a basis for a practice of cultivation, but Laozi's original intent is not limited to cultivation. When Jing (essence) is full and Shen (spirit) is empty, the "valley" is emptiness. The "Valley Spirit" refers to the marvelous functioning that appears within stillness and emptiness. Human spirit arises from this stillness and emptiness, so it can persist without cease and remain profound without limit. "Female" (pin) refers to what is hollow and not solid, and both words describe emptiness. Heaven and Earth also arise from this stillness and emptiness, which is why the text calls it the root. "Unbroken" (mian mian) means continuous, and "seeming to exist" (ruo cun) means appearing to be there and yet not quite. The function issues from nothingness, so it can endure without strain. This is what is meant by "Empty yet never exhausted, moving yet issuing forth ever more" (the void does not run dry, and the more it moves, the more it gives forth). Zhu Xi of Huian said, "Within the most subtle Dao lies the meaning of ceaseless generation." This is a fine remark, though it still comes close to a health-preserving interpretation. This chapter can indeed be applied to self-cultivation, but Laozi's original meaning is not devoted solely to that purpose.

The chapter "Heaven is long and Earth endures" (tian chang di jiu) says: The reason Heaven and Earth can last long is that they do not exist for their own sake, and so they are able to endure. Therefore the sage places the self behind, yet finds himself in front; he sets the self aside, yet the self is preserved. Is this not because the sage is free of selfish aims? For this very reason, the sage achieves completion of the self.

This chapter uses Heaven and Earth to show that the sage harbors no private intentions. Heaven and Earth give birth to and nurture the myriad things naturally, without deliberately arranging anything, so across tens of thousands of years it seems as though only a single day has passed. The sage cultivates himself without clinging to what comes first or last, and without being bound by distinctions between inner and outer, so nothing can surpass him, and therefore he endures long. Precisely because he harbors no private concerns, he is able to fulfill himself.

The "private" (si) here refers to the self and does not mean the distinction between public and private. If it were understood as the division between public and private, it would not match the meaning of "harboring no private intentions." This is also one way in which Laozi exhorts people to do good. Later, Buddhism proposed "true emptiness and real existence." "True emptiness" can be understood as having no self-interest, and "real existence" can be understood as fulfilling oneself. Yet such a formulation is a level more profound than the original meaning.

Chapter 8: The Highest Good Is Like Water

The highest good is like water. Water excels at nourishing the myriad things yet does not contend with them. It rests in low places that people all despise, and so it comes closest to the Dao (the fundamental law governing the operation of the cosmos).

In dwelling, one should choose a suitable place. In the heart, one should be deep and tranquil. In relations with others, one should be benevolent. In speech, one should keep faith. In governing, one should be orderly. In affairs, one should make full use of one's strengths. In action, one should grasp the right moment. Only through non-contention can one avoid blame.

Chapter Nine: Holding and Filling (Chi er ying zhi)

This chapter again uses water to illustrate the absence of any mind bent on competition. Shang shan (supreme goodness) means the highest good. The highest principle in the world resembles the nature of water. Water nourishes the myriad things yet never regards itself as having merit. It follows the contours of the land rather than working against them, and it does not contend or seize. It always flows toward low and damp places, and it does not treat the places people dislike as bad ones. By this measure, the nature of water comes close to the Dao. Ji means "to be near" or "to approach."

"Ju shan di" (dwelling in good places) means that one dwells appropriately and is at ease wherever one stands. "Xin shan yuan" (a good mind is deep as an abyss) means that the inner heart is profound and settled. "Yu shan ren" (in giving, goodness is humane) means that one treats others with benevolence. "Yan shan xin" (in speech, goodness is trustworthy) means that what one says is true and credible. "Zheng shan zhi" (in governing, goodness brings order) means that when one governs a state, the state becomes stable. "Shi shan neng" (in affairs, goodness is capable) means that when one handles matters, one is equal to the task. "Dong shan shi" (in action, goodness is timely) means that one's actions always accord with the proper moment. These seven statements describe the good conduct of a person who possesses the Dao. Although they have these strengths, they do not regard themselves as capable, and so they do not contend with the people of the world and do not attract resentment. This is the meaning of "wei you bu zheng, tianxia mo neng yu zhi zheng" (because they do not contend, no one under heaven can contend with them).

Many commentators have explained these seven statements as seven qualities of water. Their readings are often strained and do not reflect Laozi's original intent.

This chapter argues that withdrawal is better than advancement, and it uses the images of keeping a vessel from overflowing and of honing a blade. A vessel filled to the brim will spill and is hard to hold steady, while one left unfilled is easier to keep. Yi means "not letting it become full." Chuai means to refine or whet, and rui means sharp. A blade honed to an extreme edge tends to break, while one that is less sharp can be kept for a long time. Wealth that fills the hall with gold and jade can never be kept for long, and one who holds a lord's rank yet grows arrogant and self-satisfied will also invite calamity. Therefore, anyone who wishes to preserve their merit and reputation must know how to withdraw early, which accords with the Dao (the Way) of Heaven.

The phrases gong cheng (merit accomplished) and ming sui (name fulfilled) mean that affairs, whether great or small, are completed properly and the self is preserved, which is why the text speaks of "accomplishment" and "fulfillment." If one does not know contentment, how could one know when a task is complete or when an achievement is realized? The four words cheng, sui, gong, and ming each require careful reflection.

Chapter Ten: Zai Ying Po (Embracing the Ethereal and Corporeal Souls)

Can you keep the body and the hun and po souls in harmony, embracing the One without separation? Can you concentrate your jing (essence) and qi (vital energy) until they become soft and supple, like an infant? Can you cleanse the mirror of the deep mind, observing within until it is free of blemish? Can you love the people and govern the state while following the principle of wuwei (non-action)? When the Tianmen (the Gate of Heaven, the gateway through which one perceives Heaven and Earth and passes in and out of transformation) opens and closes, can you keep to stillness and softness? Can you penetrate all matters and yet not presume upon your knowledge or act rashly?

To give life and nurture all things without possessing them, to act without relying on one's merit, and to guide things in their growth without dominating them: this is called xuan de (profound De), the virtue that is deep and in accord with the Dao.

Ying (the ethereal soul, also understood as the spirit) and Po (the corporeal soul, associated with vital breath). In the phrase "zai ying po" ("carrying the ying and the po"), Laozi embeds a deeper meaning: zai (to carry) is like a vehicle carrying its load. When the po carries the ying, one becomes an ordinary person; when the ying governs the po, one becomes a sage. Taken together, ying and po are a single unity; taken separately, the hun and the po are two distinct things. Bao (to embrace) means to unify them. The line "bao yi neng wu li hu" ("Can you embrace the One and never let them separate?") asks whether they can be made one and kept from dividing. This layer of meaning is subtle and must be realized through personal experience.

The infant has not yet formed the mind that distinguishes what it sees and hears, so its breath is undivided. Zhi (to reach, to attain) means to arrive at the extreme, and rou (softness) means yielding and pliant. One who can concentrate the breath and reach this softness as an infant does can embrace the One. The text therefore asks, "Can you be like an infant?" This questioning form is Laozi's method, and the lines that follow use it as well.

Even when one washes away blemishes and contemplates the profound principles of xuan (the dark mystery), a mind that distinguishes may still arise. "Wu ci" ("without flaw") means being free of distinction. Even when one cleanses away impurities, if one does not cling to either "purity" or "defilement," one can embrace the One. Governing a state and loving its people without the mind of deliberate action also embraces the One. The opening and closing of yin and yang, and the mutual response of female and male, are natural patterns; if one does not cling to the affairs of their mutual union, one can still embrace the One.

"Tianmen" (the gate of heaven) refers to the natural order of the cosmos, here used as a metaphor for the processes of creation. Because these words were later drawn into cultivation theories, some people built heterodox doctrines on them, which led to considerable confusion. To understand everything thoroughly yet not treat knowledge as an attachment also embraces the One.

"Sheng zhi xu zhi" ("giving them life and nurturing them") describes how the creative process makes things grow and sustains them. The creative process never claims the myriad things as its own and never boasts of its merit; though it brings the myriad things to flourish, it has no mind of dominating them. Only such conduct deserves to be called the mysterious De (xuan de).

The chapter's central meaning is this: follow what is natural and do not force action. When the mind remains empty and still, the shen (spirit) governs the po, rather than the po governing the shen; this is the realm of the sage. If the po governs the shen, the mind easily clings to external things and to display. The main theme running through Laozi's entire work is essentially this principle: one who can be full without being self-satisfied, and can possess without grasping, has reached the ultimate Dao.

Thirty spokes converge on a single hub, and it is precisely because the center of the hub is hollow that the wheel can turn and the cart becomes useful. Kneading clay to form vessels, it is precisely because their interior is empty that they can hold things. Cutting doors and windows to build a house, it is precisely because the room keeps its space that the house serves for dwelling. Therefore, what has physical form provides convenience, while what is empty and void performs its practical function.

The hub is the part at the center of the wheel that holds the axle, and the spokes act as the wheel's supports. Because the middle of the hub is empty, the cart can run. Vessels made from kneaded clay (shan zhi) are hollow inside, which is what makes them usable as vessels. Doors and windows are the places in a house that let in air and light. These examples all show that "xu kong" (emptiness) also performs a function: the solid parts of the cart, vessel, and house provide convenience, while their inner voids make them into a cart, a vessel, and a house. Using these examples to illustrate the function of "wu" (non-being) is remarkably ingenious.

Five colors dazzle the eye, five sounds dull the ear, and five flavors spoil the palate. Galloping after horses and hunting in wild pursuit drives the mind to madness, and rare goods that are hard to obtain impede one's conduct. Therefore the sage attends to inner fullness rather than chasing the sensory pleasures of the outer world. The sage sets aside external desires and chooses the inner Dao.

"Mu mang" (blindness of the eyes) means the eyes are confused and cannot discern clearly. "Er long" (deafness) means hearing is confused. "Kou shuang" (loss of taste) means losing the ability to distinguish normal flavors. "Xin fa kuang" (madness of the heart) means the mind cannot settle. "Xing fang" (obstructing conduct) means impairing De. These five conditions all arise from pursuing external things single-mindedly, thereby losing inner cultivation. "Fu" (belly) refers to the inner, and "mu" (eyes) to the outer. The sage values the inner and does not chase the outer. "Bi" (that) refers to the sensory stimulation and external objects mentioned earlier, and "ci" (this) refers to the Dao. Pursuing external things is not limited to these five cases. Anything that merely seeks outward acquisition and thereby loses inner cultivation can be inferred from these examples.

People feel startled whether they are favored or disgraced, and they hold their own selves in such high regard that they act as though a great calamity were upon them. Why does favor or disgrace unsettle people as if they had been frightened? Favor and disgrace have no inherent rank, yet people regard disgrace as lowly, so likes and dislikes arise in their hearts. When they gain favor, they fear it came with difficulty; when they lose it, they fear losing it. Both gain and loss stir the mind, and this is what is meant by anxiety over gain and loss (huan de huan shi). Why do people regard great calamity as weighty as the self? Because a person has a body, and with the body come all kinds of entanglements. Without a body, what calamity could there be?

Here, "body" (shen) refers to the physical flesh of a person and the entanglements that arise from it, while "true body" (zhenshen) refers to what is truly precious and worthy of cherishing. If a person knows to treasure the true body, he will not trade it away to gain the world. Only one who regards both self and world in this way may be entrusted with the world, and only one who truly cherishes both self and world may be asked to bear it. The word "entrust" (jituo) also carries the sense of not possessing the world as one's own. The chapter poses two questions, each with its own purpose, and this is the subtle craft of the classical text.

What cannot be seen by the eye is called "yi"; what cannot be heard by the ear is called "xi"; what cannot be touched by the hand is called "wei." Because these three cannot be traced to their source or clearly distinguished, they blend into a single whole. Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark. It stretches on without end, is difficult to name, and at last returns to the formless and the thingless. This is called a shape without shape and an image without image, and it is also called "hu huang," a state in which it is hard to see clearly and hard to grasp.

Meet it and you cannot see its beginning; follow it and you cannot see its end. To hold fast to the Dao (the Way) of antiquity in order to govern the things of the present is to be able to know the origin of all things. This is called grasping the "daoji" (the governing thread and principle of the Dao).

Chapter Fifteen: The Ancient Masters of the Dao

This chapter explains that the Dao (the Way) is dim and elusive, with no visible form. Yi means level or flat, and xi wei means that it cannot be seen. Xi, yi, and wei are not fundamentally different; each describes the Dao as invisible, unheard, and untouchable. Bo means to grasp. "The three" refers to xi, yi, and wei. Since their names cannot be traced or told apart, they are said to merge into one, which is the Dao. Here Laozi is explaining the lines before it: the Dao cannot be distinguished, yet later readers still interpret xi, yi, and wei separately, clinging to the literal words and failing to grasp the meaning of the context.

Bu jiao means not bright, and bu mei means not dark. Shang xia (above and below) refers to what is up and down, and need not be taken as fixed directions. It means that no matter where one searches, the Dao cannot be seen. Sheng sheng describes things that are numerous and hard to name, all of which ultimately return to non-being (wu). The Dao is therefore "the form of the formless, the image of the imageless," a hazy state that is hard to grasp.

Going to meet the Dao, one cannot see its beginning, because it has no start. Following the Dao, one cannot see its end, because it has no finish. Zhi gu zhi dao means holding to the principle by which all things first emerged from non-being. By using that original non-being to govern the myriad things that exist now, one can know the beginning of the Dao as the ancients described it. Ji means the guiding thread, and the "guiding thread of the Dao" is like the bonds of human relations. It may also be called the essentials of the Kingly Way (wangdao).

Chapter Fifteen (continued)

In ancient times, those skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and mysterious, penetrating and profound, so that they were hard to fathom. Precisely because they were hard to fathom, they could only be described loosely through images: yu xi, cautious, like wading across a river in winter.

The ancient masters who were skilled at cultivating the Dao (the Way) had subtle and mysterious minds. Their understanding was in accord with the Dao, and their attainment was so profound that it was hard to fathom. Because they could not be fully seen through, they can only be described roughly, through images: they were as cautious as crossing a river in winter, as hesitant as one who fears the neighbors, as solemn as a guest, and as relaxed as ice about to melt. They were as simple as unworked wood, as open as a valley, and as whole as water that has not yet been clarified.

Who can let turbid water settle and slowly become clear? Who can keep a state of stillness lasting and gradually bring forth new vitality? One who holds fast to this Dao does not seek to be full. Precisely because they do not seek fullness, even when they are worn down, they do not hasten to make themselves new again.

This chapter describes a person who has penetrated the profound and subtle Dao (the Way). Their mind is empty, and they do not act on the basis of knowledge or discriminating judgment. Their outward conduct therefore arises from non-deliberate spontaneity, and it is difficult to describe precisely in words.

"Yu xi" and what follows portray in detail the bearing of one who embodies the Dao. "Dong she chuan," crossing a river in winter, suggests the caution and hesitation of someone wading through icy water. "Yu" means slow and hesitant, and "you" likewise means irresolute and undecided. It is as if one fears those around them and dares not move rashly. "Ke" (guest) indicates being unable to govern oneself, like a sojourner dwelling in a foreign place. "Yan" means dignified and composed. "Huan" means loosening and opening out, like ice about to melt, seeming to disperse yet not yet fully dispersed. "Dun" means thick and substantial, and "pu" means whole and uncarved. "Kuang" means broad and open-hearted, and "gu" means empty, like a valley.

"Hun xi qi ruo zhuo" describes a quality as turbid and murky, like muddy water. If one tries to clarify it, it does not appear clear, and if one stirs it, it does not become any more turbid. By remaining still within the murk, it gradually clears on its own. "An" means being unmoved. When one holds steady in stillness for a long time and then gradually moves again, this is what the text calls "xu sheng," slowly giving birth. Who can achieve this? "Xu" carries the sense of unhurried ease. These two lines express that one is neither obviously clear nor obviously turbid, and neither clings to motion nor to stillness. There is clarity within turbidity, and stillness within action.

"Bu yu ying" means not seeking to be full, but keeping emptiness. "Bi" means old or former. One who holds to this Dao keeps the mind empty and quiet, so what they perceive is only what is already there, and they do not pursue novelty. This is what the first chapter calls the constant Dao (Changdao). To dwell in the old and not chase the new, as if a thousand years were a single day, is the mark of one who has fully accomplished the cultivation of the Dao. Thus "neng bi bu xin" (being able to remain old and not new) is one level of meaning, while "cheng" (completion) is another.

Chapter Sixteen: Attaining Ultimate Emptiness (Zhi Xu Ji Zhang). The title means a chapter on bringing the mind's emptiness and stillness to their utmost extreme.

Clear the mind of miscellaneous thoughts to the utmost, and hold firmly to stillness. As the myriad things rise together, I thereby observe how they return to their origin. However abundantly the myriad things flourish, each in the end returns to its root. Returning to the root is called stillness, stillness is called returning to one's nature, and returning to one's nature is called constancy. To know constancy is called clarity; not to know constancy is to act recklessly and invite calamity. To know constancy is to embrace all things; to embrace all things is to be impartial; to be impartial is to become a model for all under Heaven; to become such a model is to accord with Heaven; to accord with Heaven is to accord with the Dao (dào, the Way); and to accord with the Dao is to endure long, so that one meets no danger for the rest of one's life.

"Zhi" in "zhi xu" (attaining emptiness) means to reach or attain. The learner of the Dao pushes the emptiness within the heart to its limit, and so can firmly maintain stillness. "Du" means steadfast and secure. When the heart is empty and still, one can observe, amid the lively growth of the myriad things, how they finally return to their root. "Zuo" means to grow or arise; "fu" marks the moment when the myriad things return to their root and revert to their nature. This is what is meant by constantly observing the subtlety of the Dao through being without desire, and constantly observing the outward manifestations of things through having desire.

Although the myriad things grow in great profusion, each returns in the end to its own root. The moment of returning to the root is when movement has reached its extreme and turns to stillness; this is the natural pattern of things. Beginning from this, one returns to one's nature, and so it is called "fu ming" (returning to one's destiny). Having reached this state of returning, one has grasped the principle of the unchanging Dao. To recognize this unchanging principle is what truly deserves the name of wisdom. This is also the meaning of the saying: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name."

If a person does not understand the unchanging principle, they are prone to delusion and rash action, committing deeds that go against the Dao and thereby inviting calamity. To recognize constancy is to make one's mind as broad as Heaven and Earth, able to embrace all things; and having embraced them, one can handle affairs impartially. Those who govern the world should follow this impartial Way; governing the world with public justice accords with Heaven. Heaven accords with the Dao, and the Dao endures. If a person can grasp this constant Dao, they will walk within the Dao for the rest of their life and will not fall into danger. This holds for the Son of Heaven and for the common people alike.

In the earliest antiquity, the common people knew only that there was a ruler, and they drew no deliberate distinction between being close to or distant from him. All lived within the spontaneous transformation of the Way (Dao). Later, the people began to draw near to the ruler and to praise him. Still later, they came to fear him, and in the most degenerate eras they even treated him with contempt and mockery. This shows that the world declined generation after generation. As superior De (shangde), or lofty virtue, withered and sincerity grew scarce, the common people began to stop trusting their rulers.

Since the people no longer trusted, why did the governors still place such great weight on speech and commands, issuing decrees so often? Would this not only deepen the people's doubts? The phrase "you xi qi gui yan" (hesitant, they value their words) describes rulers who calmly continued to prize their words. In high antiquity, affairs were already accomplished and governance was already effective, and the people quietly received its benefits without noticing them. They would say, "We have always been this way on our own." This is like the old saying, "What does the power of the sovereign have to do with me?" The author uses this to praise high antiquity and to lament the decline of the world in later times.

Only after the great Way fell into decay did benevolence and righteousness (renyi) appear. When cleverness and intellectual skill were esteemed, grave hypocrisy arose. When relatives were not in harmony, filial piety and kindly love were especially emphasized. When the state fell into disorder, loyal ministers came to light.

The Great Dao (Dao) operates naturally, and benevolence and righteousness are already contained within it. Once "benevolence and righteousness" become deliberately exalted labels, the Dao's pure simplicity gradually dissipates. Therefore it is said: "Only after the Great Dao is abandoned do the doctrines of benevolence and righteousness arise." This is like how wisdom, once displayed, brings forth deceit and hypocrisy in the world; how discord among kin gives rise to the reputation of "filial piety and compassion"; and how disorder in the state gives rise to the title of "loyal minister." These three statements are all analogies, used to illustrate the preceding saying.

Chapter 19: Cutting Off Sageliness and Wisdom

When one does not deliberately display sagacity and cleverness, the people benefit a hundredfold. When one does not deliberately raise benevolence and righteousness, the people recover their natural filial and compassionate dispositions. When one does not esteem ingenuity and profit, thieves and robbers will not appear. These three points are not sufficient to explain the principle on their own, so one must also indicate where they should lead: reveal plain simplicity, preserve an unadorned heart, lessen selfish thoughts, and reduce desires.

When the reputation for sagely wisdom (shengzhi) arose, the calamities of the world followed. It would be better to abandon these labels, and the people would naturally benefit. Once the labels of benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi) appeared, people began to argue over who was filial and who was not, and who was kind and who was not. It would be better to set these labels aside and accord with the Dao without deliberately drawing distinctions. Then people would naturally settle into filial piety and kindness, and there would be no need to judge one another.

When the custom of showing off skill and chasing profit (qiaoli) took hold, thieves appeared. It would be better to renounce this custom, that is, to stop prizing rare goods, so that the common people would not become thieves. The three labels of sagely wisdom, benevolence and righteousness, and cleverness and profit all arose after the world began to prize ornamentation (wenshi). From the perspective of one who embodies the Dao (tidao zhe), these are only surface adornments, and they are insufficient for governing the world. It would be better to return the common people to a state of simplicity (zhipu), reduce selfish thoughts and desires, and the world would naturally become settled and free of disturbance.

Here, the word "ling" means "to cause" or "to make." The word "shu" carries the sense of gathering or summoning, as in the Rites of Zhou (Zhouli), where it refers to summoning the people to hear the laws and decrees read aloud. The general meaning is that the more elaborate the ornamentation of governance becomes, the more superficial the customs of the age tend to grow, so it is better to return to simplicity, as in high antiquity. This is also the author's passing lament over the state of the world. "Jue xue wu you" is the title of Chapter Twenty.

Abandoning worldly learning and its distinctions frees one from worry. How much difference is there between answering "wei" with respect and answering "a" with casualness? And how far apart are good and evil? Yet one cannot help but fear what the world fears. These distinctions multiply without end, like a wilderness with no edge.

The crowd is lively and bustling, like guests at a grand banquet or people climbing a terrace to enjoy the spring scenery, while I alone am weighed down with worry. The crowd is merry and joyful, like those feasting on a lavish sacrificial meal or touring a terrace in spring, while I alone am detached and without desire. My intentions have not yet taken shape, like an infant who cannot yet laugh, drifting aimlessly as if it had no home. Everyone feels they have more than enough, while I alone feel I am lacking. My mind is truly like that of a fool, murky and undifferentiated. Worldly people are keen and discerning, while I alone seem dim. Worldly people distinguish every matter clearly, while I alone seem dull. My mind is broad and deep, like the sea, drifting without any apparent limit. Everyone has something to rely on, while I alone am dull and unrefined. I am different from others: what I value is drawing nourishment from the root, as an infant depends on its mother.

The process of cultivating the Dao (the Way) is one of daily diminishment, whereas the process of worldly learning is one of daily accumulation. The meanings of the words "loss" and "gain" cannot simply be taken from the explanations in Confucian books. If one understands them only in terms of seeking knowledge and learning, one will stray from the Dao. By casting off worldly learning and distinctions and returning to Nothingness (wu), one is free of worry. "Wei" and "a" are both words of reply, differing only in whether the tone is respectful or casual.

Cultivating the Way (Dao) means that one's desires diminish day by day, while scholarship means that one's knowledge increases day by day. Here, "learning" must not be understood in the Confucian sense of reading and seeking knowledge, for such pursuit of knowledge would take one further away from the Great Dao. Setting aside this learning that chases after knowledge and returning to emptiness, one is free of anxiety.

"Wei" and "a" are both words of assent. Ordinary people study in order to make good triumph over evil, just as one might wish a respectful reply to prevail over a careless one. It is better to let go even of the very names of "good." This is precisely what is meant by "When all under heaven know beauty as beauty, there is already ugliness."

Yet the ancients who truly understood the Dao, although they did not take the distinction between good and evil as a pursuit, were not without fear. Whatever the common people fear, I too do not fail to fear. If one regarded everything as unworthy of fear, then "huang" (disorder) would have no end. "Huang" means confusion, and "wei yang" means without exhaustion. The Chan school's saying "huo da kong, bo yin guo" (broadly open to emptiness, dismissing cause and effect) treats even what people ought to fear as something not to be feared. Such unrestrained indulgence invites calamity, and this is exactly what it means for disorder to have no end.

The multitude are absorbed in worldly pleasures, as if partaking of a lavish feast or ascending a terrace to enjoy the spring scenery. I alone am content with plainness. My mind does not stir with thoughts, and like an infant who cannot yet speak, I am natural and cling to no resting place. "Zhao" is a thought appearing and beginning to sprout; when the mind does not stir, this is called "wei zhao" (not yet stirred). "Ying" refers to a newborn child, and "hai" to a child a little older. The infant has little knowledge. "Cheng cheng" describes something that seems to move yet does not move, drifting lightly with nothing to rely upon. "Without a place to return to" means leaving no trace and not clinging to any one place.

This is where I differ from the multitude. They all wish to have something sought and to have a surplus, while I seem to have cast all of this aside. Am I perhaps dull, that I am thus muddled and without knowledge? "Dun dun" describes a state of undifferentiated wholeness that looks ignorant. The meaning here is this: in cultivating the Dao, I take delight in not being self-satisfied and not seeking excess. It is not that I am foolish and you are clever. Worldly people see with keen precision, while I appear dim and undifferentiated, and this too is where I differ from the crowd. My mind is calm, like a boat drifting on the great sea, carried by the wind with no fixed place to stop. This is the meaning of "cheng cheng ruo wu gui" (drifting as if without a home).

"You yi" means having something to act upon. The multitude are all busy with doing, while I am content not to seek, and so I seem stubborn and crude. Am I truly stubborn and crude? I differ from the crowd only because I savor the Dao. In "the named is the mother of the myriad things" (you ming wan wu zhi mu), "mother" refers to the Dao, and "shi" (to savor) means to taste and experience. To value tasting the Dao is like drawing nourishment from the mother of all things.

The form of Great De (De (Virtue/Power)) follows only the Dao (the Way). The Dao, as a kind of existence, is hazy and indistinct, and it is difficult to see clearly. Within its haziness there are forms; within its deep obscurity there are substances. In its profound and dark depths it contains jing (essence) and qi (vital energy). This jing is genuine and not empty, and within it there are signs that can be verified. From antiquity to the present, the name of the Dao has never disappeared, and through it people observe the origins of all things. How do I know that the origin of all things is so? It is by this principle.

"Kong" means grand and great. One who understands the Way (Dao) follows only the Dao, so his outward conduct naturally displays a great De (Virtue). De, in its original sense, means "to obtain": when one realizes something within the heart, this is called De. The Dao cannot be seen, but De can manifest, so De is said to be the outward expression of the Dao.

Mencius says, "His countenance moves and his conduct at every turn accords with ritual," which describes people's bearing and deportment conforming to ritual propriety, and this differs from the meaning here. In reading the Zhuangzi and the Laozi, one should understand them according to the meanings of the characters as Zhuang and Lao used them. If one forces them to agree with the teachings of Confucius and Mencius, certain lines will be difficult to explain coherently.

"Huang" and "hu" describe the Dao as invisible. Although it cannot be seen, it is not nothing, so the text speaks of an "image" (xiang), a "thing" (wu), and an "essence" (Jing) within it. This refers to real existence: first there is invisible emptiness, and afterward there is actual being. The two lines "its essence is most real, and within it there is trustworthiness" further explain that within what appears to be nothing, there truly is something real, and these are not empty words. "Xin" means real and true.

The name of the Dao runs through past and present and is never absent for a single day, and the myriad goodnesses arise from it. "Zhong fu" refers to the myriad goodnesses, and "yue" means to pass through or to unfold. The myriad goodnesses come and go, and all of them arise from within the Dao. "Yi ci" means relying on the Dao. The author asks, "From where do the myriad goodnesses come? How do I know this?" The answer is that they rely on this Dao. Such a conclusion is also one of the subtle excellences of the essay.

Chapter 22: Yielding Leads to Wholeness (Qu Ze Quan)

Yielding leads to preservation, bending leads to straightening, hollowness leads to fullness, wearing out leads to renewal, taking little leads to gaining, and having much leads to confusion. Therefore the sage holds fast to the One of the Dao, the fundamental principle of the Way, and takes it as the standard for all under heaven.

One who does not display himself becomes clear-sighted. One who does not insist on his own rightness becomes distinguished. One who does not boast achieves merit. One who is not self-important endures. Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under heaven can contend with him.

Are the words of the ancients, "yielding leads to preservation," empty talk? They truly preserve, and in the end they return to the Dao.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sparing Speech Accords with Nature (Xi Yan Ziran)

To bend oneself is to be preserved whole; to yield and restrain oneself is to be able to straighten; to dwell in a low place is to be filled; to discard the old is to be renewed; to have little is to gain more. When the ancients said, "Bending leads to being preserved whole," was this an empty saying? Indeed it was not, and so the principle must be gathered and stated in full.

To bend oneself is to be preserved whole; to yield and restrain oneself is to be able to straighten; to dwell in a low place is to be filled; to discard the old is to be renewed; to have little is to gain more. These sayings all mean that one must first accept lack in order to later have abundance, and first reach true emptiness in order to later receive real fullness. "Having little, one gains; having much, one is confused" carries the same sense as "having little leads to gaining more," and it can be understood as two statements. "Embracing the One" (baoyi) means holding fast to the principle of "emptiness, nothingness, and lack." The sage holds to it, and so becomes a standard for all under heaven. Not displaying oneself, not presuming to be right, not boasting of merit, and not exalting oneself are all ways of not claiming what one already has as one's own. Since one humbles oneself, does not contend with the people under heaven, what could there be to contend for? "Long" means lasting. Having already explained the principle in this way, the text closes by raising "bending leads to being preserved whole" once more, which is the subtle craft of the writing. What heaven and earth have given me was originally lacking in nothing; I need only preserve it and return it to heaven and earth. What else is there to do? "Sincere" (cheng) means genuine, that is, it is truly so. The four phrases "bending, yielding, low places, and discarding the old" are all metaphors, used to illustrate the principle that follows.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sparing Speech Accords with Nature (Xi Yan Ziran)

Issuing few commands and intervening little accords with the natural Dao (the Way). Therefore, a violent wind cannot blow through a whole morning, and a sudden downpour cannot last a full day. Who brings about such things? Heaven and earth do. If even the wind and rain of heaven and earth cannot endure, how much less can humans?

Thus, one who follows the Dao (the Way) is in accord with the Dao; one who cultivates De (Virtue) is in accord with De; and one who has lost the Dao and De is in accord with that loss. The Dao welcomes those who are in accord with it; De welcomes those who are in accord with it; and loss welcomes those who are in accord with loss. When trustworthiness is lacking, others will not trust one.

Chapter Twenty-Four: Those Who Stand on Tiptoe Cannot Stand Firm (Qi Zhe Bu Li)

Within heaven and earth, the two words "ziran" (naturalness, spontaneity) can sum up the principle by which heaven and earth operate. "Xi" (rare, sparse) means few. Here the text says that although words are few, the principle of heaven and earth is no more than this. Fierce winds and driving rains, though produced by heaven and earth, do not last a whole morning or a whole day. How, then, could a person's triumphs and setbacks, hardships and successes, remain unchanged forever?

"Cong shi yu Dao" (engaging in the Dao) refers to one who studies the Dao. "Dao (the Way)" carries the sense of walking or putting into practice, and "De (Virtue/Power)" carries the sense of attaining. When something can be done, one does it; when it can be attained, one accepts it; when it can be lost, one lets it go naturally and does not resist the changes of things. "Tong" (accord with) means to comply and not oppose. Whether one is acting or stopping, gaining or losing, one can accept each with equanimity, and only such a person may be said to understand the principle. Yet this must be truly believed. If conviction is insufficient, one cannot believe fully, and so it is said: "Xin bu zu, you bu xin" (where trust is insufficient, disbelief arises).

Those who rise on their toes cannot stand firm, and those who take long strides cannot walk far. Those who display themselves do not see things clearly; those who insist they are right are not made manifest; those who boast have no merit; and those who praise themselves cannot endure.

Viewed from the standpoint of the Dao, these behaviors are like surplus food and burdensome action. All things loathe them, and so one who embodies the Dao does not act in this way.

Standing on tiptoe, one cannot stay upright for long; taking wide strides, one cannot walk far. These two images illustrate that self-display, self-righteousness, self-praise, and arrogance all come from valuing oneself too highly, which prevents one from adapting to change.

"Bu ming" (not being clear) means that one obscures oneself; "bu zhang" (not being manifest) means that one's reputation cannot be made known; and "bu chang" (not lasting) means that one cannot endure. The Book of Changes (Yijing) says, "A state of fullness cannot last," which carries the same meaning. Leftover food and superfluous limbs are all surplus things. The person of Dao does not pursue these. If one's efforts become surplus, they become a burden.

"Yu" means surplus, and "zhui" means excess. The idea is close to what the Zhuangzi describes as "pianmu zhizhi" (toes fused together or extra fingers), which refers to webbed toes and extra digits. Discarded rice is thrown away, and a growth on the body is disliked by others. For this reason, the person of Dao does not treat such things as the foundation of their standing in the world, and does not let outward actions become a weight upon themselves.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Youwu Hun Cheng (Something Undifferentiated Formed Before Heaven and Earth)

There is a single, undifferentiated existence that was already present before heaven and earth took shape. It is silent and empty, stands alone without change, and moves in cycles without exhaustion; it may be regarded as the source of all things under heaven. I do not know its name, so I call it "Dao (the Way)." Forcing a name upon it, I call it "great" (da).

Being great, it flows onward without ceasing; flowing onward, it extends far away; extending far away, it returns to its origin. Therefore, Dao is great, heaven is great, earth is great, and the king is also great. Among heaven and earth there are four great things, and the king is one of them. Humanity models itself on earth, earth models itself on heaven, heaven models itself on Dao, and Dao follows what is so of itself (ziran).

There is a kind of wholly unified existence, and this is the Dao (the Way). It has no boundary, yet it is the root of all things. It existed before Heaven and Earth appeared, and Heaven and Earth were both born from it.

It is still and empty, invisible and intangible. It stands alone and does not change with external things, enduring and constant. It circulates without ever ceasing, moving onward in unending vigor. It may be called the mother of the myriad things, for all things are born from it. I do not know what it was originally called, and I cannot find a fitting name for it, so I have no choice but to call it by the character "Dao." The word "character" here means that I am temporarily using an appellation in place of the thing itself.

The name "Dao" is still not enough to describe it, so it is reluctantly called "great" (da). "Great" is still not enough, so it is called "passing" (shi), meaning that it moves without rest and cannot be pursued or grasped. "Passing" is still not enough, so it is called "far" (yuan), meaning that it is beyond reach and cannot be approached. "Far" is still not enough, so it is called "returning" (fan). "Returning" means that the myriad things ultimately return to their root. This is a method of gradually unfolding the description layer by layer, leading the reader toward understanding, and such writing is also common in the Zhuangzi. To read "fan" as reflecting inward on oneself would not accord with the meaning here.

Among Heaven and Earth there are four great beings, and the sovereign is one of them. This means that people living between Heaven and Earth usually know only that the sovereign is noble and vast, and do not realize that something greater still stands above the sovereign. Humans take their model from Earth, Earth takes its model from Heaven, Heaven takes its model from the Dao, and the Dao takes its model from what is so of itself (ziran). By this account, ziran is more fundamental than the Dao, Heaven, and Earth. The point here is only that the Dao ultimately reaches the state of being so of itself. To develop the idea this far is a rather unusual interpretation.

Chapter 26: Heaviness as the Root of Lightness.

Lightness is the foundation of heaviness, and stillness is the master of agitation. Therefore, the virtuous gentleman travels all day yet never leaves his baggage carts (zizhong, the wagons that carry heavy loads on the road). Even when splendid scenery lies before him, he remains at ease in his dwelling, detached from the external world.

How could a ruler who commands ten thousand war chariots regard himself as lighter than all under Heaven? Rashness loses his ministers, and agitation loses his mastery.

Lightness is paired with heaviness, and agitation with stillness. What is called "root" means that lightness arises from heaviness. What is called "lord" means that agitation must take stillness as its governing principle. The person of the Dao (the Way) travels all day but does not cling to the baggage carts among them. This means he does not cling to heaviness, and so there is no lightness; he does not cling to stillness, and so there is no agitation.

"Li" means "to attach." What the mind perceives reaches the most beautiful state under Heaven, and so it is called "rongguan," or splendid sight. Though he beholds such beauty, he remains at ease with it, and therefore transcends lightness and heaviness, agitation and stillness. "Yan" means at ease, and "chu" means to dwell. This is like the phrase "anxing guangju" in the classics, meaning to walk calmly and dwell in a spacious place.

For a ruler who commands ten thousand war chariots, if he does not understand the weight of his own person, he cannot transcend things and will inevitably commit the faults of rashness and agitation. To lose his ministers means he cannot make all under Heaven submit. To lose the way of the ruler means he has lost his own mastery. What is meant by "making light the whole world through oneself" is to regard the world as weighty and oneself as light.

One who does not make light of himself can understand the Dao. One who understands the Dao can understand ziran (naturalness). One who understands ziran no longer clings to stillness or heaviness, let alone rashness and agitation.

The skilled traveler leaves no wheel tracks or footprints.

Daodejing (De Jing), chapter 27: "The skilled traveler leaves no tracks."

A skilled walker leaves no wheel ruts or footprints. A skilled speaker makes no flaws in their words. A skilled planner uses no tokens or counting devices. A skilled closer uses no bolt, yet what they shut cannot be opened. A skilled binder uses no rope, yet what they bind cannot be untied. For this reason, the sage is always skilled at rescuing people, so no one is abandoned. The sage is always skilled at teaching all things, so nothing is discarded. This is called ximing (concealing one's brightness, hiding wisdom and not displaying it). The good can serve as teachers to the not-good, and the not-good can serve as material for the good to learn from. Whoever does not respect the teacher or value the material, though they think themselves clever, is in fact deeply confused. This is the subtle secret of the Dao (the Way).

The five phrases about skilled speech, conduct, planning, closing, and binding are all metaphors. They mean that the Dao is natural non-action (wuwei), so one need not force effort and leaves no trace of deliberate activity. Although the sage differs from ordinary people, the sage dwells naturally among the multitude and never deliberately displays their difference, so no particular traces can be seen. The sage's Dao can rescue people and rescue all things. People and things each differ, yet the sage never harbors any thought of abandoning a person and never gives up on any thing. The sage veils their radiance and dwells among worldly people without appearing out of place, and so it is called ximing. Xi means to conceal. The ximing here is close to what the Zhuangzi calls "the light that is elusive and hard to grasp," a brightness that is hidden and cannot easily be pinned down.

The good person is sufficient to be a model for the world. Although the good differ from the not-good, if there were no not-good in the world, how could the goodness of the good be made manifest? Thus the not-good also serve as the basis on which the good can be recognized. Zi here means the basis by which one distinguishes and makes oneself clear. These two sentences further explain that the sage does not abandon people or give up on things. If one holds a mind that abandons people and things, one has a teacher yet does not know to respect them, and has material yet does not know to value it. To think oneself clever while in fact being greatly deluded is the gravest confusion. Only by understanding this principle can one grasp the subtlety of the Dao.

Chapter 28, "Knowing Its Masculine" (Zhi Qi Xiong).

Understanding the principle of strength yet abiding in yielding weakness, one can be like the streams of the world, dwelling in low places and embracing all things. In this way, the constant De (Virtue/Power) will not be lost, and a person can return to the state of an infant, pure and natural.

Understanding brightness yet abiding in darkness, one becomes the standard the world follows. In this way, the constant De will not go astray, and a person can return to Wuji (the boundless, undifferentiated original state).

Understanding honor yet abiding in disgrace, one can be like the valleys of the world, empty and receptive. Constant De is thereby sufficient, and a person can return to the uncarved block (pu), simple and authentic. When this original simplicity divides and takes form, it becomes the many vessels and things. The sage makes use of these, and so can serve as the chief who governs the people. Therefore, perfect governance does not cut the whole apart.

Chapter 29: Those Who Would Seize All Under Heaven

Knowing what is masculine and strong, yet willingly abiding in the position of the feminine and weak, not seeking to contend for victory; knowing what is white and pure, yet willingly abiding in what is dark and obscure, not making distinctions; knowing what is glorious and honored, yet willingly enduring disgrace, not coveting honor. "Guarding" (shou) means knowing how to act, yet not forcing one's action.

A valley lies in a low place, and all waters converge there. This means that by dwelling low and guarding softness in this way, all under heaven will turn to you. What is called "pattern" (shi) is the standard that all under heaven can emulate. "Constant De (virtue)" is what the first chapter calls the "constant Dao (the Way)." "Not departing" means never interrupted; "not erring" means without mistake; "then sufficient" means already complete and lacking nothing.

The infant symbolizes a state free of contrivance and discrimination; wuji (boundlessness) is a state without form, impossible to define. "Pu" (the uncarved block) refers to the Great Simplicity (taipu), the beginning of heaven and earth. Only after the Great Simplicity disperses do various vessels and forms come into being: what is above form is called Dao, and what is below form is called vessel.

The sage uses the Dao above form to govern the myriad things below form, so that each thing between heaven and earth has its own office. The sage comprehends the three powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity and presides over all things; even the offices of covering heaven and earth and bearing all things all obey his direction. Therefore the sage is the chief among those who govern the things between heaven and earth. Zhuangzi says "office heaven and earth," meaning that heaven and earth are themselves merely one kind of office arranged by the transformation of creation.

"Ge" (ge) means to separate. To govern all things through the Dao is called "great governance" (dazhi); true great governance is when Dao and vessel are not separated from one another. This is the meaning of accomplishing without reckless action and following what is natural.

Chapter 29: Those Who Would Seize All Under Heaven

Those who wish to seize all under heaven and govern it by force, I see, will never succeed. All under heaven is a sacred vessel (shenqi), which cannot be forcibly made or manipulated. To act by force brings ruin, and to grasp it insistently is to lose it.

Among the myriad things, some go ahead and some follow; some breathe gently and some blow fiercely; some are strong and some weak; some rest steady and some topple and collapse. Therefore the sage sets aside extremes, extravagance, and excess.

Chapter Thirty: Assisting the Ruler with the Dao (yi Dao zuo ren zhu)

Governing the realm is an extraordinarily precious matter. How could it be obtained through human strength alone? Only one whose Dao is profound and whose De is complete will have all under heaven naturally turn to them, and who will not decline to take on responsibility. Only then may one possess all under heaven. If the thought of seizing the realm arises in the heart, and one forces oneself to do good in order to gain it, one will in the end fail to obtain it.

These sentences use an analogy to convey that affairs of the world must not be approached with a deliberately grasping mind. Deliberate action invites failure, and clinging tightly guarantees loss. These are all the entanglements that arise from a mind that seeks.

Therefore, one who possesses the Dao treats the myriad things by letting the one who acts act freely, the one who follows follow freely, the one who exhales exhale naturally, and the one who blows breathe naturally. The strong are left to be strong, the weak are left to be weak, the accomplished are left to accomplish, and the ruined are left to be ruined. All of these simply follow what is natural. Here, "xing" (going first) and "sui" (following) are like leading and following, and "zai" means to accomplish.

"Shen," "she," and "tai" all mean excess, namely the superfluous food and burdensome conduct described in the previous chapter. The sage discards these because he harbors no private intention, is not entangled by things, does not act deliberately, and does not force for gain. This chapter closes in an unusual way. "Shen," "she," and "tai" are close in meaning, yet they are strung together like this, which both conveys the momentum of the writing and repeatedly stresses that such practices are not to be endorsed. The scripture speaks of "xuan zhi you xuan" (the profound within the profound), and also uses "great," "passing," and "far," all in similar modes of expression. Readers who do not grasp the intent behind this will fail to see the subtlety of the text and may easily offer strained interpretations.

Those who follow the Dao and assist a ruler do not use military force to assert dominance over the world, for warfare tends to invite retaliation. Where armies have encamped, brambles and thorns grow; after great wars, years of famine are sure to follow.

Therefore, one who is skilled in warfare seeks only to achieve what is necessary and does not dare to use force to show strength over others. Once the aim is accomplished, one does not boast, display, or grow arrogant. When fighting is unavoidable, one does not rely on force to assert dominance.

When things reach the height of their vigor, they begin to age. This is called being out of accord with the Dao (Dao), and whatever is out of accord with the Dao will soon perish.

To assist a ruler by making the strengthening of armies and the display of might one's chief concern is to fail to understand the Dao. Why is this so? Weapons are inauspicious objects. If I use them to harm others, others will turn around and harm me in return; this is why it is said that warfare readily invites retaliation. Where an army passes, the fields cannot be tilled, and brambles and thorns spring up; after a war, the harmonious qi (qi) of heaven and earth is damaged, and famine is bound to follow. These words serve only to make clear that seeking victory through warfare is not a blessing for the state.

These lines are offered as a metaphor. When a person does good, the fruits of that deed should be borne by the doer; why, then, should one use such deeds to gain an advantage over others? This is why it is said, "one does not dare to use this to show strength." The word "fruit" (guo) here refers to bringing an affair to completion and achieving results, as in the phrase from the Book of Changes (Yijing), "to act with fruition and nurture virtue." When the fruits belong to oneself but are not displayed outwardly, there will be no reputation for boasting, showing off, arrogance, or domineering. In facing affairs, one should also often hold the intention of acting only out of necessity. This is also the meaning of "knowing the masculine yet keeping to the feminine," that is, understanding strength while holding fast to gentleness.

The strong cannot remain strong forever, and the self-assertive cannot remain self-assertive forever, just as all things must age once they reach their peak. Failing to understand this principle and still attempting to subdue the world through brute force is contrary to the Dao. Once one recognizes that such conduct is contrary to the Dao, one should stop at once. The word "stop" (yi) means to cease and no longer act.

Chapter Thirty-One, "The Fine Weapon" (Fu Jia Bing Zhang), from the Daodejing, Chapter 31.

Fine weapons are inauspicious things, and people tend to loathe them, so those who embody the Dao (Dao) do not use them lightly. The junzi (gentleman) honors the left in ordinary times but honors the right when using the military. Weapons are inauspicious instruments, not something the gentleman takes pleasure in using. They are employed only when there is no alternative, and even then one should remain calm and detached, never regarding war as a cause for celebration.

If one regards war as a fine thing, one will delight in waging it, and delighting in war is delighting in killing. Those who delight in killing cannot realize their aspiration to govern the world. Therefore, auspicious ceremonies honor the left, while inauspicious funeral rites honor the right. When troops march out, the deputy general stands on the left and the commanding general stands on the right, showing that even though the commander occupies a position of honor, he must regard war in the manner of a funeral. When many have been killed, one should weep and mourn with grief and sorrow, and even after a victory, one should treat it with the rites of mourning.

The chapter uses military affairs throughout as a metaphor. It also responds to the warlike spirit of its time, when people often sought victory through war, and it is meant as a warning to the world.

"Jia bing" (jia bing) refers to those who delight in weapons and regard war as a good thing. To see warfare as something fine is an inauspicious way of thinking, and inauspicious people who do inauspicious things are why weapons are called instruments of ill omen. Everyone under heaven detests war, so one who possesses the Dao does not take the initiative to use them.

The gentleman honors the left in ordinary life, but in the army the right is honored. This shows that the ancients also regarded warfare as an inauspicious matter, not a means the gentleman takes pleasure in. Arms are used only when there is no alternative. Even when one is unfortunate enough to win a battle, one should remain calm and detached and not treat victory as cause for rejoicing. "No relish" means not rejoicing in victory. War is not a good thing. If one takes delight in fighting, one takes delight in killing, and how could such a person win the hearts of the people of the world? Mencius said, "Only one who does not delight in killing people can unify the realm." This expresses the same principle.

The rank of deputy general was originally below that of the chief general. Now the chief general stands on the right and the deputy general on the left. This is because the ancients regarded war as perilous, so they arranged the seating according to the rites of mourning. The left belongs to yang and the right to yin, and mourning rites honor the yin position. Even if one wins by good fortune, one should act as in mourning, weeping for the dead and feeling grief. Viewed in terms of circumstances and seating, the lower-ranked deputy general occupies the higher position, which is the meaning of "dwelling in the superior position" (ju shang shi).

The meaning of this chapter is that when people, in dealing with the world, single-mindedly seek to surpass others, they tend to invite peril rather than good fortune.

Chapter 32: The Dao Is Constant and Nameless (Dao Chang Wu Ming)

The Dao is constant, without name or form. It is like uncarved wood: though small, no one under heaven dares to treat it as a subject. If kings and lords can hold fast to the Dao, the myriad things will naturally submit to them. When the qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth unite, sweet dew descends, and though no one commands it, the dew falls evenly of its own accord.

Once the myriad things begin to be divided and named, names come into being. Once names exist, one should know when to stop. Knowing when to stop, one will not fall into danger. The Dao pervades everything under heaven, just as streams and rivers flow back into the sea.

The Dao is always nameless and formless, like an uncarved block of wood (pu). Though it seems small and insignificant, no one under heaven dares to treat it as lowly or to regard it as a subject. If lords and kings can hold fast to the Dao (the Way), the myriad things will naturally turn to them and submit.

When the qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth interact and blend, sweet dew descends. No one commands it to fall, yet it spreads evenly of its own accord. The common people grow and live between heaven and earth, and each receives its nourishment without anyone arranging it behind the scenes. This is the natural Way. If someone deliberately intervenes and directs these processes, fairness and balance become far harder to achieve.

At the beginning, the Dao has no name. Only after the myriad things come into being do people give it a name. The word zhi means "to make" or "to craft," here referring to the uncarved pu being divided into the various vessels and tools. Once names arise, things differentiate in layers, and this process of division has no end. One who understands the Dao knows where to stop. He does not chase after names and trivial details. If one pursues only titles and minor branches, danger arises from them. Knowing when to stop is what allows one to avoid danger.

Streams and valleys flow into rivers and seas, and only then do the waters have a place to return to. In the same way, the myriad things of the world return to the Dao, and only then do they have a place to return to. Thus, the Dao stands in relation to all things under heaven as rivers and seas stand in relation to the waters of streams and valleys.

Chapter 33: Zhi Ren Zhe Zhi Zhang (Knowing Others Is Wisdom)

To understand others is cleverness; to understand oneself is true clarity. To overcome others is to have strength; to master oneself is to be truly strong. To know contentment is to be rich; to persevere in action is to have resolve. One who does not lose the root of oneself endures; one whose spirit and influence remain undying after death may truly be called long-lived.

“Cleverness” is cunning intelligence born of personal self-interest; “clarity” is inner understanding and penetration; “having force” is the outward power to contend with others; “strength” is inner firmness. “One who conquers himself is strong”: to conquer oneself is true strength; to restrain one’s selfish desires is called “restraint.” One who knows contentment is rich, for having nothing lacking, he always feels an abundance. When the will can master temperamental impulses, inner firmness will not weaken; by resting content in one’s proper station, one can endure long without changing—hence, “one who does not lose his place endures.” Confucius said, “If one hears the Dao in the morning, one may die that evening.” The saying “one who dies but does not perish is long-lived” means the same. These two sayings cannot be explained by words alone; they require personal experience and one’s own realization.

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Great Dao Spreads Everywhere

The Great Dao spreads everywhere and is present in all places; it operates on every side, left and right. All things depend on it for growth, and it never refuses them; when affairs are accomplished, it does not claim the merit as its own. It nourishes all things but does not become their master. It is always free of selfish desire, and so it may be said to appear small; all things return to it, yet it does not regard itself as their master, and so it may also be said to be exceedingly great. Thus the sage can accomplish great undertakings precisely because he does not consider himself great, and so he achieves true greatness.

“The Great Dao spreads everywhere and is present in all places” means that it is unconstrained and does not fixate on any single place. All things are born from the Dao, and the Dao has never rejected them; once all things have come into being, the Dao does not take the merit as its own. “Yi bei” means to cover and nourish. All things receive the Dao’s benefit, yet the Dao has no intention of ruling over all things; it is quiet, clear, and without desire, and so it may be said to appear small. Yet although the Dao appears small, all things return to it, and even the Dao itself does not know that it is the master of all things—is this not greatness? Precisely because it can dwell in smallness, it can achieve greatness. The sage does not call himself great, and therefore he can achieve greatness. This is exactly the meaning of “keeping to the feminine and becoming the stream of the world” (holding fast to soft stillness, like the converging streams of the world).

Chapter Thirty-Five: Holding Fast to the Great Image

Grasping the Great Image (Da Xiang), the formless Great Dao, will draw all under heaven to return to the Dao (the Way). One who follows the Dao suffers no harm and so attains stability, peace, and ease. These several phrases express one and the same meaning.

Music and fine food can detain a passing guest, but music always ends, and banquets must eventually break up, so the guest will in the end depart. The principle spoken by the Dao sounds bland and flavorless. It cannot be seen, and it cannot be heard, and so it seems unable to delight the eyes and ears. Yet from antiquity to the present it continually operates and is never exhausted. This is what is meant by "all things have their limits, while the Dao has none." The phrase "the Dao's utterance" (dao zhi chu yan) means that the Dao appears within words. It may also be understood as "the meaning expressed by the concept of Dao."

Chapter Thirty-Six: On Contraction (Jiang Yu Xi Zhi)

To contract something, one must first let it expand. To weaken something, one must first let it grow strong. To bring something to ruin, one must first let it flourish. To seize something, one must first give to it. This principle is called "subtle illumination" (Wei Ming, a hidden yet clear regularity).

The soft and yielding overcome the hard and strong, and the weak overcome the mighty. Fish cannot leave the deep waters, and a state's sharp instruments of power should not be displayed lightly to others.

Chapter 37: The Dao Constantly Takes No Action (Wuwei)

The first eight lines of this passage use metaphor to explain that gaining something in the moment is often accompanied by loss. What is about to contract must first expand, and what has expanded to its limit will contract. What has grown strong will weaken, what has risen will decline, and what has been gained will also be lost. "Yu" (to give, to gain) refers to acquiring, and "duo" (to take away, to lose) refers to losing. People often rejoice only because they profit right now, without understanding that gain and loss follow each other. This principle seems subtle, yet it is easy to see once one looks, and so it is called "weiming" (subtle clarity). To guard softness and dwell in weakness is to overcome the hard and strong in the end, and this is what is meant by "shouci" (guarding the female) and "shouhei" (guarding the dark).

The abyss is a metaphor for the Dao, and the fish stands for people. A person cannot leave the Dao, just as a fish cannot leave deep water. If a state's sharp instruments are shown to others, they will invite thieves. The power of the Dao lies within oneself, and if one displays it and uses it to prevail over external things, that is like showing the state's sharp instruments to others. The point here is the same: when one's undertakings succeed, that is enough, and one should not win by brute force.

The Dao constantly follows nature and does not act artificially, yet nothing is left unaccomplished. If lords and kings can hold to this principle, the myriad things will change and grow of their own accord. If, after they have changed, desires arise and they begin to stir, I will settle them with "wuming zhi pu" (the uncarved block, the original simplicity free of human names and ornamentation). The uncarved block also causes desires to gradually cease. When desires cease, the human heart becomes still, and the world will naturally return to the right Way.

This chapter shares the tone and line of thought of the chapter that begins "Dao chang wu ming" (the Dao is always nameless). The phrase "wu wei er wu suo bu wei" (non-action, yet nothing is left undone) means following what is natural. If the lords and kings can hold fast to the Dao of wuwei, they need not deliberately instruct the myriad things, because the myriad things will transform and grow of their own accord.

Between heaven and earth, when the various transformations are about to arise, I use only "wu ming zhi pu" (the uncarved block of the nameless) to settle them. The "hua" (transformation) here refers to the changes of the myriad things. These transformations occur one after another without cease, and I face them only with an attitude of naturalness. External things are unsettled and shifting, yet I remain at ease and unmoved. This is why the text says "zhen," meaning to settle, to steady, to keep watch.

The "hua" here should not be explained as connected with the "hua" in the preceding clause. What is "wu ming zhi pu"? It is having no desire. Without desire, the heart becomes quiet, and when the heart is still, the world naturally settles and returns to rectitude. "Bu yu" (not desiring) means being free of desire. The "bu" here also carries the sense of "do not," and it marks the point where one applies effort in cultivation.

End of Volume Two of the Daode Zhenjing Kouyi (Oral Commentary on the Daode Zhenjing).

Notes: The original lacked the character meaning "return" (gui), which has been supplied according to the Yingsong edition. It also lacked two characters, "ye" and "pu," likewise supplied from the Yingsong edition. One character, written as a variant of "wu" (enlightenment), has been corrected to the standard form per the Yingsong edition. The character meaning "to go" (wang) has been corrected to the character meaning "robust" (zhuang), per the Yingsong edition. An extra character meaning "person" (ren) has been removed per the Yingsong edition. The two characters "wei ming" (subtle and clear) were missing and have been restored per the Yingsong edition.

Daode Zhenjing Kouyi, Volume Three

Lin Xiyi (studio name Xianzhai)

Chapter "Shang De Bu De" (The Highest De Is Not De), Chapter 38.

Those of the highest De (Virtue) possess De but do not deliberately display it, and so they truly have De. Those of lower De cling to not losing their De and guard it with constant intention, and so they cannot be said to truly possess it. Those of the highest De act in accordance with what is natural and pursue nothing deliberately. Those of lower De take action, and they do so with a clear aim. The highest Ren (humaneness) also acts, but without deliberately seeking anything. The highest Yi (righteousness) acts for the sake of some end. When it comes to the highest Li (ritual propriety), people act according to ritual yet receive no response, so they roll up their sleeves and force others to comply.

Therefore, only once the Dao is lost is De spoken of. Once De is lost, Ren is spoken of. Once Ren is lost, Yi is spoken of. Once Yi is lost, Li is spoken of. Li signifies that loyalty and sincerity have grown thin, and it is the beginning of disorder. Those who regard themselves as having foreseen the principles of things grasp only the surface brilliance of the Dao, and it is from this that they begin to fall into ignorance. Thus the great person (dafu) stands on what is substantial and does not dwell in what is shallow. They value inner truth and do not chase outward ornament. Therefore they abandon the ornate and shallow and choose the substantial and genuine.

Those of the highest De possess De but do not make it visible. Those of lower De cling to not losing their De, and so they cannot be said to truly possess it. Those of the highest De act naturally, without deliberate aim. Those of lower De take action and pursue clear goals. The highest Ren acts without deliberately seeking gain. The highest Yi acts with something sought. As for Li, people act according to it yet receive no response, so they roll up their sleeves and force compliance.

Therefore, only when the Dao is lost is De spoken of. When De is lost, Ren is spoken of. When Ren is lost, Yi is spoken of. When Yi is lost, Li is spoken of. Li is the sign of thinning loyalty and sincerity, and it is the beginning of disorder. Those who consider themselves to have foresight hold only the surface radiance of the Dao, and this too is the beginning of ignorance. Therefore the great person stands on what is sincere and does not stand on what is shallow. They value inner truth and do not chase outward ornament. They abandon the ornate and shallow and choose the sincere and genuine.

Those of superior De (shang de) have virtue in their conduct, yet they are not aware that their virtue is transforming others. Precisely because they transform others naturally, they can be called people of De. Those who do not lose their De (bu shi de) are attached to De and have not yet reached the state of natural transformation. Since they still cling to something, they cannot yet be regarded as truly virtuous, and so it is said "wu de" (no De).

Here the distinction between "shang de" (superior De) and "xia de" (inferior De) follows on from the division "tai shang, qi ci" (the highest, the next) in the preceding chapter. "Wu wei er wu yi wei" means that through wuwei (non-action) there is nothing that is not done. Here "yi" refers to intentional, deliberate mind, so "wu yi wei" means one does not deliberately apply the mind to doing things. People of inferior De act with intention; this is a manner of deliberate display.

The discussion then turns to ren (humaneness), yi (righteousness), and li (ritual propriety). "Shang ren wei zhi er wu yi wei" means that superior ren acts, yet does not deliberately apply the mind. For this reason Laozi regards ren as a higher form of De. "Shang yi wei zhi er you yi wei" means that yi contains an element of deliberate judgment and management, and so it ranks one level below ren. Laozi's thought holds that li is a way of coercing people. Having compared the higher and lower positions of ren and yi first, he then turns to li, which falls yet another level.

"Wei zhi mo zhi ying" means that people are forced to act, yet they do not respond. "Reng" carries the sense of pulling along. When the people do not comply, one still drags them along, and "qiang" means to pull and haul. Hence "rang bi er reng zhi" (baring the arm and dragging them) is used to describe the forcing of the people.

Dao is spontaneous and natural; De is something acquired and accomplished. When the natural course operates, it can transform and nourish the myriad things. When one grasps at something, one has not yet reached natural transformation, and so it is said "shi dao er hou de" (having lost the Way, then De). Ren contains the intention of caring for and helping others and ranks below De. Yi contains the intention of judging and deciding and ranks below ren. Li carries the implication of forcing the people and ranks lower still than yi.

The "ren, yi, li" that Laozi speaks of differ in meaning from the way Kongzi (Confucius) and Mengzi (Mencius) used these words, and they should be understood from the Laozi (Daodejing) itself. If they are explained according to their common lexical meanings, they will not accord with Laozi's intent. Laozi holds that li arose after loyalty and trustworthiness had declined, because it emphasizes outward adornment rather than arising from the heart. For this reason he calls it "luan zhi shou" (the head of disorder).

"Qian shi" (foreknowledge) refers to being well versed in the words and deeds of the ancients. If broad learning is taken as wisdom, one departs from the real substance of the Way. "Hua" means attention to surface appearance. If this outward show is taken as wisdom, it instead renders oneself foolish, and so it is called "yu zhi shi" (the beginning of folly). "Hou" (thick) and "shi" (substantial) both mean attention to what is inward. "Qu bi qu ci" (discarding that, taking this) means abandoning the practice of li and taking up the Way. Here "ci" (this) refers to the Way.

In antiquity, all things achieved their own selfhood by obtaining the One (yi), the fundamental state of the Dao. Heaven obtained the One and so became clear; Earth obtained the One and so became tranquil; spirit obtained the One and so became efficacious; the valleys obtained the One and so became full; the myriad things obtained the One and so grew; and feudal lords and kings obtained the One and so could become the rightful rulers of all under heaven.

All things ultimately return to the One. Were Heaven to lose its clarity, it would likely crack apart; were Earth to lose its tranquility, it would likely tremble; were spirit to lose its efficacy, it would likely dissipate; were the valleys to lose their fullness, they would likely run dry; were the myriad things to lose their vitality, they would likely perish; and were feudal lords and kings unable to become the rightful rulers of all under heaven, yet still regard themselves as noble and exalted, they would likely fall. Nobility takes the lowly as its root, and height takes the low as its foundation. Thus, when feudal lords and kings call themselves "orphan" (gu), "lacking one" (gua), and "without grain" (bugu), all self-deprecating appellations, is this not taking lowliness as the root? Is it not so? Therefore, if a carriage is disassembled into its parts, it can no longer be called a complete carriage. A person should not strive to shine like fine jade, nor should they be coarse and base like stone. They should avoid being relentlessly exalted, and they need not deliberately belittle themselves.

The One is the Dao. Heaven relies on the Dao to be clear and to manifest the phenomena of the heavens; Earth relies on the Dao to be settled and to bear all things; spirit relies on the Dao to be empty, still, and efficacious; the valleys rely on the Dao to…

"One" (yi) refers to the Dao (the Way), the fundamental principle that all things follow in common. Heaven is clear and bright and displays its phenomena because of the Dao. Earth is stable and still and bears all things because of the Dao. Spirits are empty and tranquil yet efficacious because of the Dao. Valleys are hollow yet able to contain abundance because of the Dao. Things are born through the Dao, and the hou wang (feudal lords and kings) likewise uphold rectitude through the Dao and bring stability to the realm. "Reaching these states" means that clarity, tranquility, numinousness, fullness, growth, and rectitude are all obtained through the Dao.

Lie (splitting) is close in meaning to duan as used in the Book of Changes (Yijing). Fa means being stirred up and unable to settle. Xie means dispersing and losing numinous quality. Jie means exhausted. Only emptiness can hold things. Where there is no emptiness, a vessel becomes full, and once it reaches that point it can hold nothing more.

Jue carries the sense of overturning. One who occupies a noble, high position without the Dao is apt to topple. To call oneself base and placed in a lowly position is exactly the meaning of the preceding chapter's "less brings gain" (shao ze de zhi): one holds to emptiness and does not regard oneself as possessing everything. Noble and base, high and low, are also only metaphors. Without baseness, nobility has nothing by which to show itself, and without lowliness, there can be no high station. Lowliness and baseness are precisely the foundation of nobility and high station.

When the hou wang call themselves gu, guaren, and bugu, these are all words of self-deprecation, used to figure the holding of emptiness and the refusal to presume possession. Fei hu means "Is what I am saying not right?" The Zhuangzi also contains a similar construction, fei hu er zeng shi shi ye, which is close in structure. Here the use of the two words fei hu expresses the idea in a rather distinctive way.

Shu che wu che ("counting the cart, there is no cart") means that if one takes a cart apart and counts its parts one by one, one finds only wheels, hub, spokes, yoke, and rail, and no single thing that can be called "cart." "Cart" is merely a collective name. Seen this way, a cart may or may not exist, like an empty name. Jade and stone, by contrast, each have fixed qualities: jade is warm and lustrous, and stone is hard and solid, and neither changes easily. The cart, which may or may not be there, resembles the emptiness that changes with the Dao, whereas jade and stone, fixed and unchanging, cannot change with the Dao. The Zhuangzi's chu ri wu sui ("removing the day, there is no year") carries a meaning close to shu che wu che.

"Fan" (fǎn) means return, reversion, which is to say stillness. Motion arises from stillness, as the Yijing (Yì Jīng, Book of Changes) says, the Gen trigram, which represents stopping, enables all things to have both a beginning and an end. Only by being soft and yielding can one turn toward strength, while mere forcefulness leads to breakage. Motion takes stillness as its root, and rigidity takes softness as its function. Therefore it is said that "return" is the way the Dao (dào) moves, and softness is the way the Dao acts. Only after Heaven and Earth appeared did the myriad things come into being, so it is said that the myriad things were born from "being" (yǒu). But from where did Heaven and Earth arise? They originally arose from Taixu (tài xū, the Great Void), the empty and tranquil state, which is to say they were born from "non-being" (wú). Here the text uses the pairs of motion and stillness, and strength and weakness, to push further into the origin of being and non-being. Laozi's teaching centers broadly on emptiness, weakness, and humility, so he uses the being and non-being, and the motion and stillness, found between Heaven and Earth to explain his principles, not merely to discuss Heaven and Earth.

Those of superior capacity, upon hearing the Dao, diligently put it into practice. Those of middling capacity, upon hearing it, half understand it, remembering at times and forgetting at others. Those of inferior capacity, upon hearing it, burst out laughing. If the Dao were not ridiculed, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao. The ancient authors of teachings put it this way: "The bright Dao seems dim; the level Dao seems uneven; the Dao that advances seems to retreat; the highest De (dé, Virtue) seems as low as a valley; the purest white seems stained; the abundant De seems deficient; the solid De seems slack; plain and genuine things seem to change; the greatest square has no corners; the greatest vessel is completed late; the greatest sound is faint and silent; the greatest image has no definite shape; the Dao is hidden and has no fixed name." Only the Dao is skilled at bestowing, and only it brings all things to completion.

Diligent practitioners who hear the Dao expound it believe it without doubt. Those who are half-convinced, believing and doubting at once, feel that the Dao seems to exist and yet seems not to. The most shallow and vulgar people, on hearing it, simply laugh. It is precisely because the most shallow people mock it that the profundity of the Great Dao is revealed. Han Yu (courtesy name Tuiqi), discussing writing, also said that when others ridicule you, you should be glad; how much more so when it is the Dao.

"Establishing words" (liyan) means setting down teachings in speech. The phrase "from antiquity, those who established words all said these things" refers to the lines beginning with "one who illuminates the Dao seems dim." This is also a rhetorical device, meaning that these words are not the author's alone but have been spoken by people since ancient times.

One who truly understands the Dao appears to be dim. Precisely because such a person does not display cleverness, they truly understand. This is the same meaning as the earlier statement "one who sees himself is not illuminated," and "one who does not see himself is illuminated." One who walks the Dao may appear to be retreating; because they can yield, they are able to advance. The principle of "taking retreat as advance," stated by Yang Zi (Yang Xiong), carries the same meaning.

"Level" (yi) means flat, so "level Dao" is the Great Dao. The Great Dao is smooth and even, without distinctions. The "kind" (lei) here means sameness or harmony, referring to accord with the mundane world without displaying sharpness, which is what is meant by "softening one's light and merging with the dust."

"Supreme De is like a valley" means that a person of lofty virtue is as empty as a mountain valley: they do not fill themselves up, nor do they consider themselves complete. "Great whiteness seems soiled" means that one who is truly pure does not make themselves dazzling, nor deliberately advertise their difference from others. "Abundant De seems insufficient" means that one whose virtue is vast appears to be still lacking; if one considers oneself complete, one appears narrow.

"Steal" (tou) carries the sense of seizing, and here refers to wanting to accomplish something while not daring to act recklessly. Establishing De is actively doing something; yet only because one does not dare to act recklessly can one truly establish De. "Substance true, as if changing" means that the essence is real and pure and unaltered, yet appears as though it has changed. This also shows that a person of De, though possessing full inner substance, is not self-satisfied.

"Great square" refers to the Great Void. Within the Great Void there are east, west, south, and north, yet who could perceive its corners and boundaries? "Great vessels are completed late" is like casting a ding tripod vessel: how could it be finished quickly? "The great sound is rarely heard" means that the greatest sound in heaven and earth is seldom heard. The sound of wind and thunder, though vast sounds within heaven and earth, do not occur all the time; "rare" (xi) means infrequent. "Great image" refers to heaven and earth. The Yijing says that in taking images by emulation, nothing is greater than heaven and earth. The forms of heaven and earth, who could see them in their entirety?

The Dao is hidden and not manifest, has no fixed name, and therefore cannot be named. Of the above statements, some describe actual conditions, while others use metaphor to explain; the meaning in every case lies in being empty and not possessing for oneself. "Lend" (dai) means to give, extending outward to others. One who has the Dao is able to give things to others without holding them as one's own. "Accomplishment" (cheng) is the achievement of the Dao: when one accomplishes both oneself and all things, it may truly be called great accomplishment. The later statement "having given to others, one's own store grows even greater" carries the same meaning.

The person of the Dao (Dào) can give things to others without claiming them as their own. "Accomplishment" (chéng) is the full fulfillment of the Great Dao: it perfects oneself and perfects the myriad things, and only then can it be called "great accomplishment" (dà chéng). The later text says, "The more one gives to others, the more one has oneself," which expresses the same idea.

Chapter 42: The Dao Gives Birth to One

The Dao gives birth to One, One gives birth to Two, Two gives birth to Three, and Three gives birth to the myriad things. The myriad things turn their backs to Yin and embrace Yang, and the two vital energies, qi (qì), of Yin-Yang surge and blend with each other until they reach a state of harmony.

The titles people detest are only "orphan," "widow," and "unworthy" (bugu, a humble term rulers use for themselves), yet kings and lords use these very words to refer to themselves. Therefore, things are sometimes diminished and yet gain, and sometimes increased and yet suffer loss.

Whatever others teach people, I teach with the same principle: one who is violent and domineering will not die a natural death. I take this saying as the foundation of my teaching.

"One" refers to the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji), "two" refers to Heaven and Earth, and "three" refers to the Three Powers (Sancai), namely Heaven, Earth, and humanity. The passage says that all things arise from non-being (wu). The Dao (the Way) is the root of all things before they take form, and it is also the spontaneous regularity of nature. Only after Heaven, Earth, and humanity are established can the myriad things grow from them. All things contain both Yin and Yang Qi, and they operate and harmonize through the principle of emptiness and gentle compliance, which is why life renews itself without end.

People generally dislike the self-deprecating terms "orphan," "the lonely one," and "the unworthy one," yet kings and lords use them to refer to themselves. This shows that one who understands the Dao humbles himself. Heaven, Earth, and humanity all come from nothing into being, and all things take Yin-Yang as their foundation. What causes the myriad things to keep growing is the Qi of emptiness and gentle compliance. Those who study the Dao should come to understand this and regard emptiness, stillness, and wuwei (non-action) as precious.

In the world, some things that are diminished end up benefiting, and some things that are increased end up being harmed. The changes of loss and gain follow no fixed rule. When the moon is full, it must wane; this is increase turning into loss. When the moon has waned, it will become full again; this is loss turning into increase.

When people teach the principles of the world, they also claim to accord with righteousness. But if they only seek gain and contend for strength and superiority, they do not understand that what is rigid breaks easily, and that fullness cannot last. Therefore the scripture says, "The violent and strong do not die a natural death," meaning that those who are forceful and unyielding often do not come to a good end. If I teach the world through the Dao, my words will become the standard that the multitude learns from, and people will take me as their teacher. Thus it is said, "I shall take this as the father of teaching." Here "father of teaching" refers to the root of instruction or the one who guides it.

Chapter 43: The Softest Things Under Heaven: The title means "the chapter on the softest things under Heaven."

The softest things under heaven can pass through the hardest things, and formless things can enter where there is no gap. From this we can see that wuwei (non-action) is beneficial. Few people under heaven can understand the benefits of the "teaching without words" and of wuwei, let alone put them into practice.

Hard things are easily broken, while soft things endure. When the utmost softness passes through the utmost hardness, it is like water dripping through stone. "Without gaps" (wujian) means having no crevices, and "without form" (wuyou) means having no physical shape. Consider the channels through which qi and blood circulate in the human body: they appear to have no openings, yet the qi can still flow through them. Likewise, sunlight and moonlight can enter places that seem seamless. These are all examples of formless things entering places without gaps. The two preceding sentences are metaphors. From them we can see that wuwei accomplishes everything, which is the ultimate principle. Teaching without words still transforms people on its own, and effects produced without deliberate striving still arise naturally. These are the wondrous functions of the Dao (the Way). Yet few people under heaven comprehend them, which is why the text says that "few under heaven can attain it." "Beneficial" means having a practical function.

Chapter 44: Name and Body

Which is closer to a person, fame or life? Which is more precious, life or wealth? Which is more harmful, gaining or losing? Therefore, excessive craving always exacts a great price, and excessive hoarding always brings heavy loss. One who knows contentment will not be disgraced, and one who knows when to stop will not fall into danger. In this way, one can endure for a long time.

Fame and wealth are both external possessions that bring no real benefit to oneself, so one should not grieve over gaining or losing them. Those who do not understand this often torment themselves over them. When the heart clings to something, one spends effort pursuing it, and the deeper the clinging, the greater the expense. This is what is meant by chasing fame. To value material goods and hoard them in quantity means that when they are lost, the loss must be severe. Storing nothing leaves nothing to lose, and storing little means a small loss. The more one accumulates, the greater the loss when it slips away. These two sentences illustrate the principle of the three that follow: only one who knows contentment will not bring humiliation upon oneself; only one who knows when to stop will not fall into danger; and only in this way can one endure long. These three sentences state principles that have been of inexhaustible benefit from antiquity to the present.

Chapter Forty-Five: Great Accomplishment Seems Lacking

The greatest accomplishment seems to be deficient, yet its function never wears out. The greatest fullness seems empty, yet its function is never exhausted. The most upright appears crooked, the most skillful appears clumsy, and the most eloquent appears inarticulate. Agitation can overcome cold, and stillness can overcome heat. Purity and stillness are the proper Way (Dao) under heaven.

When a thing achieves completion, it may begin to show its shortcomings. The true great accomplishment, however, often appears to lack something, and so its function does not decline. When a thing is full, it has an empty side. The true great fullness often appears empty, and so its function is inexhaustible. This is the same meaning as the previous chapter's statement that "what is low can be filled, and what is worn out can be renewed." The most upright things often look crooked, because bending can preserve the self. The most skillful people often seem clumsy, because they do not boast of their skill. The most eloquent people often seem inarticulate, because their principles are profound and cannot be fully conveyed in words.

If agitation is carried to an extreme, it brings about cold; if stillness is carried to an extreme, it brings about heat. Here, agitation and stillness refer to the two qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang. When either qi stagnates at one extreme, problems may arise. Only the purity of the Dao, which leans neither toward being nor toward non-being, and which clings neither to motion nor to stillness, is the standard for all under heaven.

Chapter 48: Pursuing Learning Daily

When the world is orderly and in accord with moral principle, people send their swift horses back to the fields to plow and fertilize the soil. When the world is in disorder and has abandoned moral principle, war horses are bred in the outlying countryside, ready at any moment for battle. The greatest fault lies in indulging desire, the greatest calamity lies in not knowing contentment, and the greatest error lies in constantly seeking to acquire. Therefore, one who knows contentment is always satisfied, even when what they possess is limited.

"Sending swift horses back to plow" means not regarding rare goods as precious. "Breeding war horses in the outlying countryside" refers to war. War often begins with greed, for once desire arises, it is not easily satisfied. People who pursue only acquisition bring upon themselves faults, calamities, and errors. Only one who knows contentment can regard the limited as sufficient and so remain content. This further clarifies the meaning of "knowing contentment means no disgrace" in the previous chapter.

Without leaving the house, one can know the world; without looking out the window, one can understand the Way of Heaven (tiandao), the natural pattern by which all things operate. The farther one travels, the less one tends to know. For this reason, the sage (shengren) knows without going out, understands without seeing, and accomplishes without deliberate action.

Although the world is vast, human feelings and the principles of things are alike, so one can understand the world without leaving home. Although the Way of Heaven is subtle and profound, the transformations of Yin-Yang have remained the same for ages, so one can comprehend it without looking out the window. If one insists on going out to seek it, the places one's feet can reach are limited, and so is what one can learn; the places one's eyes can see are limited, and so is what one can perceive. The more one strains, the more the mind grows confused, which is why it is said that "the farther one goes, the less one knows." This is a metaphor that introduces the statement that follows: the sage knows without traveling, understands without seeking out sights, and succeeds without deliberate effort. The Book of Changes (Yijing) says, "Without haste, it arrives swiftly; without moving, it reaches its goal," which expresses the same idea.

The Sage Has No Fixed Mind (Chapter 49)

The pursuit of learning means adding to one's knowledge day by day, while following the Dao (the Way) means reducing one's private desires and cleverness day by day. Reduce and reduce again until one reaches wuwei (non-action, the state of not acting through deliberate contrivance). Those who act through wuwei find nothing they cannot accomplish. For this reason, those who govern the world take not disturbing the people as their principle. Once affairs multiply and interference is everywhere, the world cannot be well governed.

Those who study seek to expand what they know every day, while those who cultivate the Dao seek to remove distracting thoughts every day. Thus the earlier statement "cut off learning, and there will be no worries" means that the great Dao does not lie in what is seen and heard or in book knowledge. The Dahui says, "The more one reads, the more ignorance (wuming, the delusion that obscures wisdom) there is," which expresses the same meaning. To abandon cleverness and intelligence, forget bodily sensations, and let go of knowledge and preconceptions, reducing again and again, is to reach wuwei, where nothing is left undone. Governing the world depends on having no mind, that is, not harboring private intentions or excessive manipulation. To deliberately seek to gain the world is to lose it. How did the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties obtain the world? Not through deliberate calculation. Laozi used the climate of warfare and turmoil in his own time as a metaphor, and his admonition applies equally here. What this chapter calls "no affairs" and "having affairs" are the same as "no mind" and "having mind."

The Sage Has No Fixed Mind (Chapter 49)

The sage holds no fixed preconceptions and takes the minds of the common people as their own mind. To those who are good, the sage extends goodness; to those who are not good, the sage also extends goodness, and so brings people toward goodness. To those who are trustworthy, the sage extends trust; to those who are not trustworthy, the sage also extends trust, and so brings people toward trustworthiness.

The sage dwells in the world with a careful and uneasy heart, and for the sake of the world, returns their own mind to primordial simplicity (hunpu). The common people all focus on what they hear and see, but the sage regards them as children and nurtures them with a guileless heart.

Chapter Fifty, "Emerging into Life, Entering into Death" (Chūshēng Rùsǐ Zhāng)

"Having no constant mind (wúcháng xīn)" means that the sage holds no fixed preconceptions in the heart. Taking the minds of the common people as his own mind means that he does not impose his own likes and dislikes on others, and therefore harbors no partial or discriminating mind of his own.

Whether others are good or not is a matter of how they behave. The sage consistently treats them with goodwill and does not change his attitude because of their goodness or badness. In this way goodness remains with him, and he himself attains goodness. Confucius said, "If one sets his heart on humaneness, he will have no evil." This carries the same meaning. Whether others are trustworthy is also determined by them. The sage consistently treats others with sincerity and does not begin with suspicion. In this way sincerity remains with him, and he himself attains sincerity. Confucius said, "Do not anticipate that others will be untrustworthy." This too carries the same meaning.

The phrases "I also treat them well" and "I also trust them" do not mean that one calls what is not good good, or what is not trustworthy trustworthy. They mean that the sage responds to the multitude with a mind free of preconceptions.

"Niè niè" describes the appearance of a mind that is uneasy within itself. The sage has no self-satisfied, self-congratulating mind, so he is constantly uneasy. "Muddying the mind" (hún qí xīn) means that his state of mind is deep, broad, and serene, without showing any sharp edges. For this reason he does not simply divide people into good and bad, or into trustworthy and untrustworthy.

The multitude all turn their eyes and ears toward the sage and watch his every word and deed. The sage, however, regards all the people as infants and gives them generous care. This embodies the meaning of not abandoning anyone.

Human birth is the beginning of the journey toward death. Among those who belong to the class of longevity (changsheng), three in ten; among those who belong to the class of early death, three in ten; and among the living, three in ten move toward a place of death through their own actions. Why is this so? Because they over-cherish and over-expend their lives.

It is said that one who is skilled at nourishing life does not meet the rhinoceros-like fierce beast si or the tiger when walking on land, and when entering armed ranks, weapons cannot harm him. The si has nowhere to thrust its horn, the tiger has nowhere to set its claws, and weapons have no opening to pierce his body. Why is this so? Because he does not place himself in a place of death.

The four characters chu sheng ru si ("emerging into life, entering into death") form the outline of this chapter. The pivot between life and death is very subtle. One who can transcend danger and step free is "emerging" (chu); one who loses himself and sinks into self-indulgence is "entering" (ru). Only a person of the Dao (the Way) (you dao zhi ren) can turn "entering" into "emerging."

Heaven has twelve chen (the twelve earthly-branch periods), the year has twelve months, and the day has twelve shichen (double-hours). Twelve symbolizes one complete cycle of recurrence, and adding one more makes thirteen. Here the text speaks of "three in ten," which in fact conceals a "one." By not stating "one" directly but saying "thirteen," the text shows its craftsmanship. The life and death of human beings are all rooted in this "one." The "one" is hard to put into words. One may forcibly understand it as the first stirring of a single thought, yet this is still not precise, and it must be known through one's own experience.

The tu in "belonging to the class of longevity" and "belonging to the class of early death" means "category." People live in the world and often lose their grip at the very moment this single thought first arises; with one movement, they head for the place of death. The dong (movement) here is not the movement opposed to stillness, but means "at every turn" (dongzhi). The zhi means "to go toward," and "place of death" refers to the place where death dwells.

"Why is this so?" is a posed question. Laozi here solemnly explains the principle of nourishing life. Life is the root by which I am able to exist, and sheng sheng ("giving life to life") is the act of nourishing it. If one nourishes it excessively and over-consumes life, then in one's movements one easily heads toward death.

The Way Gives Birth to Things

This is to say that by reducing oneself, one in fact preserves oneself. One must first arrive at non-being (wu) before one can gain anything. One must first empty oneself before one can become full, and first lose something before one can benefit.

At this point the author introduces an ancient saying with "I have heard" (gai wen), which means "I have been told." It is said that those in ancient times who were skilled at nourishing life would encounter no si (a rhinoceros-like beast) or tiger when walking in deep mountains, and would not be harmed by weapons when among armies. This is because they harbor no intent to compete with or injure others, so external things cannot harm them. That the si cannot gore them, the tiger cannot attack them, and weapons cannot wound them is all because their hearts hold on to nothing. Zhuangzi's words, "Entering water, one is not wetted; entering fire, one does not feel heat," express the same idea.

Why can external things not harm such a person? Because they are able to keep emptiness, diminishment, and a mind free of striving, and so they do not place themselves in danger. The chapter twice asks "why is this so?" (fu he gu) in a deliberate and weighty tone. This marks the essential point that Laozi grasped and practiced, which is why the explanation is repeated.

Long ago, there was a temple with a pond in front of it, and in the pond lived a fierce water dragon (jiao) that no one dared approach. A monk arrived from afar, unaware of the creature in the pond, and walked straight to the water's edge to undress and bathe. Others warned him that a dragon lived there and he must not go in. The monk replied, "I have no mind to harm any living thing, and no living thing has any intention to harm me." He then entered the water, bathed, and came out unharmed. Laozi's teaching may seem somewhat abstract, but this episode shows that the principle he describes is not an empty illusion.

Chapter Fifty-One: The Dao Gives Birth to Things (Dao Sheng Zhi)

The Dao (the Way) gives birth to and nourishes all things, while De (Virtue/Power), the Dao's presence and nurturing power within things, sustains them. Through De, the myriad things take on concrete forms, and each grows and takes shape according to its own conditions and circumstances. For this reason, all things honor the Dao and value De.

The Dao is honored and De is valued not because anyone commands all things to do so, but because it is entirely natural. The Dao gives birth to and nourishes all things, and De sustains them, causing them to grow, develop, take form, and mature, while also giving them protection and shelter. The Dao gives life to all things, yet it does not possess them.