《道德真经注（元吴澄）》Vol. 1

The Way that can be spoken of is not the constant Way (Dao); the Name that can be named is not the constant Name (ming). The De (Virtue/Power) here is not what is ordinarily called virtuous conduct, but the functioning by which the Dao manifests in the myriad things and enables them to come into being.

"Nameless" (wuming) refers to the Dao. Heaven and earth arise from the Dao, so the Dao is said to be the beginning of heaven and earth. "Having a name" (youming) refers to the De. The myriad things arise from the De, so the Dao is said to be the mother of the myriad things.

Ever free of desire, one can observe the subtlety of the Dao; ever holding desire, one can observe its boundaries and outward manifestations. Jiao (boundary) refers to the limits and external signs.

"Constant" here is the "constant" of "constant Dao" and "constant name."

"Constantly without desire" describes the sage's original nature as still and settled. The complete substance of the Dao rests in this state, and from it one can perceive the subtlety of De (Virtue/Power). "Miao" (wondrous, subtle) describes the Dao and means supreme goodness and refinement. "Constantly with desire" describes the sage's emotions being stirred by external things and beginning to act. This is where De functions, and from it one can observe the boundary of the Dao. "Jiao" describes De and refers to its limit or starting point, like the "duan" (sprout, beginning) that Mencius speaks of. "Jiao" is read as "diao."

Dao and De are originally the same: the Dao is De, and De is the Dao.

When Dao and De manifest, their names differ, yet both can be called "xuan" (profound, dark, mysterious), meaning deep, remote, and difficult to fathom. De emerges from the Dao, so it is called De rather than Dao. Yet it shares the Dao's unfathomable depth, so their essence is not different.

"Mysterious upon mysterious, the gate of all subtleties" means that all the subtle workings of De issue forth from this source. "Gate" refers to the passage through which they reach and become manifest. Although both Dao and De are called "xuan," the Dao is a mystery of a deeper order and is the root from which De emerges. The gathering of all subtleties into one origin is the Dao; the differentiation of countless manifestations from that single origin is De.

This chapter opens by explaining the meanings of "Dao" (the Way) and "De" (Virtue). Zhang Zai says that from the Great Void (Taixu), the empty and formless origin, one can speak of "Heaven," and from the movement and transformation of qi (vital energy) one can speak of "Dao." Laozi took the Great Void as the root from which Heaven and Earth take their form and named it "Dao." He took the movement and transformation of qi as the basis from which the myriad things are born and named it "De."

Here "Dao" refers to the fundamental principle that transcends concrete form and is not mixed with qi. Zhuangzi calls it "constant non-being" (changwuyou). "De" refers to the qi that gives form to things and contains this principle within them. Zhuangzi calls it "Taiyi" (the Unified Origin). Dao and De therefore take empty non-being and naturalness as their root, and they operate through softness and by not asserting themselves.

When everyone under heaven knows that beauty is beauty, ugliness arises with it. When everyone knows that goodness is goodness, non-goodness arises with it.

"Beauty" means surpassing other things in quality, and "goodness" means surpassing other things in the capacity to act. The terms beauty and ugliness, goodness and non-goodness, arise only through mutual contrast. Because there is ugliness, there is beauty; because there is non-goodness, there is goodness. When people fix on one thing as beautiful, the other is seen as ugly, and when they fix on one as good, the other is seen as not good. To make the distinctions between beauty and ugliness, and between goodness and non-goodness, disappear, people must stop clinging to calling something beautiful or an action good. Then there is no ugliness and no non-goodness either.

Thus, being and non-being produce each other, difficult and easy bring each other to completion, long and short show themselves by comparison, high and low depend on each other, sound and voice respond to each other, and front and back follow each other.

Things exist in pairs: being and non-being, difficulty and ease, long and short forms, high and low terrain, the opening and closing of tones, the clarity and turbidity of sounds, and front and back in position. Where one side is present, the other is established along with it, and without one side the other has no way to appear. Beauty and ugliness, goodness and its lack, depend on each other in the same way.

"Xiangxing" (mutual comparison of forms) means two shapes standing side by side and being measured against each other. "Xiangqing" (mutual inclining) means one side looks down while the other looks up. "Xianghe" (mutual harmony) means one voice leads and the other answers. "Xiangsui" (mutual following) means two things are linked, as wind passes over and the grass and trees bend after it. The five relations named here all point to the fact that things come in opposing pairs. The text speaks of tones and sounds without again naming them as opposites, because by saying only that tones have opening and closing and sounds have clarity and turbidity, people can understand that each has an opposing aspect, and so it need not be stated outright.

For this reason the sage manages affairs through wuwei (non-action) and carries out teaching through bu yan (not speaking). If one deliberately tries to act, there will be things that cannot be done or cannot be done well; only by following what is natural and not acting recklessly can nothing fail to be accomplished. If one teaches through words, there will be matters that words cannot reach; only by not relying on words can teaching reach everything.

When the myriad things are growing, the sage adds no words; when they have been born, he does not claim them as his own. This is like Heaven and Earth. "Zuo" (to arise) refers to spring, when the myriad things are about to sprout, and "sheng" (to grow) refers to summer, when they are already growing. "Bu ci, bu you" (not speaking, not possessing) means that Heaven and Earth do not teach through words, nor do they claim the myriad things as their own. Confucius said, "What does Heaven say? The four seasons proceed and the hundred things grow." This is the same meaning.

The sage acts, yet does not rely on his own ability; when affairs are accomplished, he does not claim the merit as his own. "Wei" (to act) refers to autumn, when the myriad things gradually ripen, and "gong cheng" (merit accomplished) refers to winter, when they have fully matured. "Bu shi, bu ju" (not relying, not dwelling) means that Heaven and Earth do not depend on their own capacity or boast of their achievements. This is precisely how Heaven and Earth bring the myriad things to completion through wuwei.

Because the merit is not claimed, it endures. Heaven and Earth do not possess the merit of bringing the myriad things to completion, and so their accomplishment lasts long and does not vanish.

Therefore, the sage acts through non-deliberate action (wuwei), so that what they do is free of selfish intent and contrivance. The sage teaches through non-deliberate instruction, so that the principles they teach do not depend on verbal proclamation. Heaven and earth do not claim credit for the completion of the ten thousand things, and so their functioning endures without cease.

The sage neither acts deliberately nor teaches through words, so even their beauty and goodness may not be recognized by people as the sage's doing. Therefore this beauty and goodness stands alone in its nobility and cannot be compared with anything. If one teaches through deliberate conduct and speech, people will begin to distinguish beauty from ugliness and goodness from its absence. Once there is comparison, these are no longer beauty and goodness that are incomparable. The principles discussed in each chapter of the entire Laozi do not go beyond the intent of this chapter.

"Not exalting the worthy" (bu shang xian) means not deliberately promoting people of talent and virtue. "Not valuing rare goods" (bu gui nan de zhi huo) means not regarding scarce objects as especially precious. "Not displaying what is desirable" (bu jian ke yu) means not exposing things that readily arouse covetousness. Here the character jian is read as shi, meaning to reveal or display.

The reputation of worthy people may in itself deserve esteem, but if people deliberately exalt that reputation, the common folk will vie to pursue it. The benefits of rare goods may in themselves be valued, but if people hold such goods up as precious, the common folk will compete to obtain them, even to the point of stealing. Reputation and profit are both things that readily arouse covetousness. Not exalting them and not treating them as precious means not showing the people that these things are worth coveting, so that people's hearts do not contend, do not steal, and are not disturbed.

Therefore, in governing the realm, the sage causes the people's minds to be simple and free of excessive desire, and their clothing and food to be sufficient. The sage weakens their desire to contend and compete, and strengthens their bones and sinews.

The pronoun “their” in each case refers to the common people. What is called “emptying their hearts” means causing the common people not to regard wealth and profit as precious, so that they have no mind to steal. “Filling their bellies” means that although the common people do not covet wealth and profit, the sage secretly ensures they have sufficient food and live in affluence; this does not mean that the sage does not provide them with goods and wealth.

“Weakening their ambitions” means causing the common people not to regard reputation as something worth pursuing, so that they have no mind for contention. “Strengthening their bones” means that although the common people do not admire reputation, the sage still secretly makes them diligent and self-strengthening; nor are they entirely without longing for worthiness and ability. The character fu is read as fu, in the second tone.

Constantly keeping the common people free of cunning knowledge and free of greedy desires means causing them not to calculate what fame and profit offer worth pursuing, and therefore to have no desire to pursue them.

Even if some people know that fame and profit can be sought, they still dare not engage in contention or theft. Nevertheless, “daring not to do” still implies that they want to do it in their hearts; they merely refrain from acting because they are afraid.

To govern through Wuwei (non-action) means causing even those who wish to contend and steal no longer to have such thoughts. In this way, there is no place in the world that cannot be well governed.

The above is Chapter Three. This chapter discusses the sage’s method of governing the world. Later practitioners of nourishing life borrowed “empty the heart, fill the belly, weaken the ambitions, strengthen the bones” to expound on nourishing life. Although these interpretations have some validity, they are not what Laozi originally intended to express.

The substance of Dao (the Way) is empty and void, yet when applied it seems inexhaustible; it is profound and unfathomable, as if it were the source of all things. The word chong originally refers to an empty vessel. The word huo here conveys conjecture and a reluctance to assert definitively. The substance of Dao is empty and void; when people apply the Dao, they too should remain empty and not full. Once they become full, they no longer accord with the Dao. Yuan means unfathomably deep; zong is like the founding ancestor of a clan and refers to the common source of all things.

The character chōng originally refers to the empty space inside a vessel for holding water, and it can also express a tentative, non-committal way of speaking. The Dao is empty in its substance, so one who uses the Dao must likewise remain empty and not be self-satisfied. Once something becomes full to overflowing, it no longer accords with the Dao. Yuān means unfathomably deep. Zōng resembles the eldest son of a clan, who leads the whole lineage. Because the Dao governs the myriad things, it is called "the ancestor of the myriad things" (wànwù zhī zōng). Sì likewise expresses a tentative, non-committal tone.

Chōng is read as zhí zhōng qiè.

"Cuò qí ruì, jiě qí fēn, hé qí guāng, tóng qí chén. Zhàn xī sì huò cún."

Cuò means to break or crush, ruì means sharp, and fēn means tangled and disordered. To undo a knot, one can pry it apart with a cone-shaped tool. Whatever is sharp will eventually become dull, so one must first restrain one's own sharpness before one can resolve external disputes. If one does not pursue sharpness, one need not undergo the process of sharpness turning into dullness.

Hé means mild and restrained, and tóng means to level oneself with the dusty world, so as not to appear distinctive. When a mirror is covered with dust, its luster disappears, and whatever shines will eventually dim. Therefore, one must first restrain one's own brilliance and live alongside the world without deliberately displaying oneself. Then one need not undergo the change from brightness to dimness.

Sharpness will always become dull, brightness will always dim, just as fullness will always overflow. The Dao does not pursue fullness, so one should restrain one's sharpness and not seek to be sharp, and also conceal one's brilliance and not seek to be conspicuous. In "its sharpness" and "its brilliance," the word "its" refers to oneself. In "its tangles" and "its dust," the word "its" refers to external things. Earlier commentaries explained these lines as carrying two separate meanings for each pair, but this reading is not appropriate. These four lines describe how the function of the Dao does not seek to be full. "Zhàn xī sì huò cún" describes the substance of the Dao as empty and still. Therefore it seems to exist here, yet it is not a concrete, tangible thing.

Fū is pronounced fú.

"Wú bù zhī shuí zhī zǐ, xiàng dì zhī xiān."

I do not know from whom the Dao was born. It appears to be older even than the Lord on High (Dì).

"I do not know whose offspring the Dao (the Way) is." This is posed as a question. Heaven has a visible form and also a sovereign ruler, so it is called Xiangdi (the Image of the Sovereign). The substance of the Dao is empty and without fixed form. It seems to exist between Heaven and Earth, yet it is not a concrete thing placed there. This sentence speaks of the emptiness of the Dao's essence.

"I do not know whose offspring the Dao is; it comes before Xiangdi." The first clause poses the question and the second gives the answer. Zi refers to a descendant born of one's parents. Xiangdi is Heaven itself. It is called "image" because Heaven has form, and "sovereign" because Heaven has a ruler. The meaning is this: from what is the Dao born? Heaven exists before the myriad things, and the Dao exists before Heaven, so Heaven too is born of the Dao. Nothing exists prior to the Dao.

Heaven and Earth have no partial ren (benevolence), and they regard the myriad things as chugou (straw dogs). The sage likewise has no partial ren, and regards the common people as straw dogs.

Here ren refers to deliberately cherishing and protecting others. Chugou are dogs shaped from straw, used in sacrificial rites such as prayers for rain. Once the ritual ends, they are discarded and no longer regarded. Heaven and Earth do not love the myriad things with a partial heart. They let things grow and mature naturally. The sage does not cherish the people with partiality. He lets them labor and rest on their own, so the metaphor of straw dogs is used. The sage's mind is empty and still and does not cling. If one deliberately holds a wish to love the people, the mind becomes attached to something and cannot remain empty and still.

Between Heaven and Earth, is it not like a bellows? It is hollow within yet never runs dry. The more it is moved, the more air pours forth without end.

The tuo and yue were the tools used in smelting and casting to drive air into the fire. The tuo was the box-like casing that enclosed the mechanism, and the yue was the device inside it that moved and pushed the air. Heaven and earth are like a tuo and yue. The tuo symbolizes the Great Void (taixu), which contains and pervades everything, and the yue symbolizes primordial qi (yuanqi), which mingles and circulates within it. Because qi moves without obstruction, its generative power is inexhaustible. Because the tuo is empty, the yue can operate, and once the yue is worked, breath is produced inside the tuo, so the vitality between heaven and earth continually increases. Applied to the human body, this means keeping the heart-mind empty and still, free from distracting thoughts, so that the pathways of qi remain open. When qi circulates regularly in this way, the qi generated out of emptiness and stillness will also grow ever more abundant.

Speaking too much quickly exhausts qi, so it is better to guard the central emptiness (zhong xu). Here, shu (rapidly) means quickly, and qiong (exhaustion) means that the breath becomes depleted. When a person talks excessively, qi is consumed, which is the same as hastening the exhaustion of one's vital energy. It is better to empty the heart-mind and hold fast to the interior, so that external things do not intrude and the inner spirit (shen) does not scatter. In this way, the stillness of the heart-mind has no limit, and the qi that it generates has no limit either. The term "zhong" refers to the interior of the tuo, the place where the yue sends the air.

The phrase "the valley spirit never dies" (gu shen bu si) describes how emptiness and spiritual brightness are constantly preserved. The "valley" (gu) is used as a metaphor for emptiness. Within the stillness of emptiness, the spirit dwells, and so it is called the "valley spirit." The valley is the place where stillness is maintained, and the spirit that is preserved there does not perish. This means that primordial qi is continually generated and never cut off. The word "pin" (female, mother) is used as a metaphor for the gentle, moist nature of primordial qi, and adding the character "xuan" (dark, mysterious) praises its profound and subtle depth. The "xuan pin" is the maternal body of all things. Zhuangzi's concept of the Taiyi is close to this idea, and some have also called it the ancestral source of the Lingbao (Numinous Treasure) and of the postnatal realm.

The "gate of the xuan pin" is the root of heaven and earth.

The "gate" (men) refers to the place from which all things come forth, and the "root" (gen) refers to the source from which all things are born. Empty non-being is the root of heaven and earth, which is why it is called the "root of heaven and earth" (tiandi gen). The root of heaven and earth is the beginning of heaven and earth. What Zhuangzi calls "ever non-being" (chang wu you) is sometimes also called the "Ancestor of the Primordial Beginning Before Heaven" (yuanshi xiantian zhi zu), meaning the fundamental source that existed before heaven and earth came into being.

"Unbroken" (mianmian) means continuing without interruption. "If" (ruo) is equivalent to "and" (er). "Preserved" (cun) refers to spirit-qi (shenqi) remaining within the body, and "exhaustion" (qin) refers to depletion through overuse. When the breath is used with ease, it is nourished and gradually becomes full. When it is used excessively, it is damaged and gradually exhausted. Here the text means that if spirit-qi is always kept within, the qi will not be consumed.

Heaven and earth endure for a long time because they do not seek their own survival, and so they can last. Heaven and earth use their own qi transformation to produce the myriad things, yet they do not keep that qi for themselves alone.

Therefore, the sage (shengren) places himself behind and yet comes to stand before others. He does not regard his own person as most important, and yet he is able to preserve himself over the long term. Is this not precisely because he is selfless? Thus he is able to fulfill himself.

"Behind" (hou) means humbly staying in a lower position and not competing for precedence. "Before" (xian) means being respected and occupying the foremost position. "Setting aside the self" (wai qi shen) means maintaining purity and non-action (wuwei), without deliberately seeking longevity or nourishment of life. "Preserved" (cun) means remaining in the world for a long time. "Selfless" (wusi) means placing oneself behind and not treating one's own person as important, while "fulfilling the self" (cheng qi si) means that, as a result, one is able to stand before others and preserve oneself. The sage does not deliberately pursue these outcomes, yet they arise naturally, with him standing first and enduring. Here we assume that someone intentionally seeks to fulfill himself, and in that case we may say that he has achieved his aim.

The highest goodness (shang shan) is like water. Water is skilled at nourishing the myriad things, yet it does not contend with them. It rests in the low places that people dislike, and so it comes close to the Dao. Here "supreme goodness" refers to goodness at its highest level, which is the goodness of one who possesses the Dao. Water irrigates all things and washes away impurities, benefiting everything. It does not compete for height and willingly dwells in low places, and for this reason it is said to come close to the Dao.

"Supreme goodness" (shangshan) is the highest level of goodness, the goodness of a person who embodies the Dao. It is like water. Why is this so? Water irrigates all things and washes away dirt, benefiting everything, yet it does not strive for high places. It willingly remains in the low, muddy places that people despise, and so it comes close to the goodness of one who has the Dao. "Ji" (near) means "to come close to."

One should choose a suitable place to dwell, keep a mind as still and deep as a pool, associate with people who are kind and benevolent, speak with trustworthiness, govern with order, handle affairs with competence, and act in accordance with the right timing.

What ordinary people consider good is generally this: choosing a good place to live, keeping a mind as quiet and deep as a pool, associating with benevolent people, being trustworthy in speech, governing with effective management, handling affairs with competence, and acting at the appropriate time. The seven practices listed here all select goodness from things people commonly favor. They can be called good, but they are not yet the highest level of goodness.

Only the supreme goodness of a person with the Dao does not strive for the high positions that people desire, but willingly remains low, like water. For this reason, no one resents them. "You" (blame) means "to resent or to reproach." When people dislike low places and prefer high ones, and wish to surpass others, a mind of contention arises. Where there is contention, resentment and blame are hard to avoid.

The above concludes Chapter Seven.

Holding a vessel to the brim is not as good as stopping in time, and sharpening a blade to an extreme edge means it cannot be kept long.

To hold and maintain means to practice and abide by; “stop” means to cease; “hammer” means to beat. Here, holding water and grinding an awl’s point are used to illustrate: the Dao (the Way) does not seek fullness, nor does it seek excessive sharpness. If the water in a basin is filled too full, it easily overflows; better to stop in time and not let it overflow. If an awl’s point is hammered and ground too sharp, it easily breaks, and so it is difficult to keep it sharp for long. Fullness cannot be preserved for long, just as excessive sharpness cannot be preserved for long. Here “easy” is pronounced according to the fanqie “yi-chi.”

When gold and jade fill the hall, no one can keep them for long; to become arrogant and complacent after attaining wealth and honor is to invite disaster oneself. After achievements are accomplished and fame is made prominent, to be able to withdraw one’s person and depart—this accords with the Dao of Heaven.

Why is it that some people in the world have gold and jade filling their halls at home yet cannot keep them? Because when they are in wealth and honor they become arrogant and complacent; disaster is brought on by themselves, not imposed by others. Therefore, after achievements are accomplished and fame is made prominent, to withdraw and depart accords with the Dao of Heaven; this passage precisely speaks of the fact that one should not be full. “Gold and jade” refers to wealth; “arrogance” refers to self-satisfaction; “fault” refers to the error of being unable to keep wealth and status. “Achievements accomplished and fame fulfilled” speaks of eminence; “withdrawing the body” is avoiding fullness. The Dao of Heaven is empty and still and not full; therefore the four seasons run in order, and after the myriad things complete their work they return to decline and fade.

Earlier it speaks of “wealth,” later of “honor,” and the “wealth and honor” in between links what comes before and after. Wealth and honor accompany each other: wealth often contains honor, and honor is often accompanied by wealth. Therefore, to be arrogant and complacent and unable to preserve wealth is also to be unable to preserve status; to withdraw after success, not seek fullness, and long preserve status is also to be able to long preserve wealth.

The above is chapter eight.

Can one make the body and the hun-po souls (the human form and spirit) keep guard together in the One without separating? Can one single-mindedly harmonize the Qi (vital energy), bringing the body to a state of softness, and be like an infant? Can one wash the heart-mind and clarify the profound inner vision (inner contemplation) so as to be entirely without blemish?

"Zai" means "jia," to add to or to bear upon. The yin po (the yin aspect of human vital essence, the earthly soul) is like a military encampment, and the yang hun (the yang aspect of human spirit, the heavenly soul) is like its guards. The encampment is where the soldiers are settled. When shen (spirit) bears upon the yin po, the po in turn embraces the yang shen, and the two blend without separating, enduring like the sun and moon. This is how the cultivator is able to preserve the bodily form.

Focus on the qi (vital energy) within the body, letting the breath nourish the flesh and bones until the body becomes extremely soft, like an infant in its mother's womb. This is how the cultivator is able to preserve yuanqi (primordial qi).

Shen dwells in the eyes. When the eyes see external things, shen scatters outward. Close the eyes and withdraw the gaze, entering a state of dark mystery and stillness. Yet if one can still perceive something within that stillness, a flaw remains. Only when even what is seen within stillness is also wiped away, so that all false seeing and hearing vanish, is the flaw truly gone. This is how the cultivator is able to condense the shen. Note: the character for "li" (departing) is read in the falling tone (qu sheng).

In loving the people and governing the state, can one refrain from acting willfully? When the tianmen (the gateways through which body and mind connect with the outside world) open and close, can one remain soft and still? When one perceives clearly in all four directions and penetrates everywhere, can one refrain from clinging to knowledge?

Loving the people and governing the state refers to a ruler who runs the country and nurtures the common people, applying benevolence and wisdom. When the spirit is directed outward, it cannot yet concentrate and blend within. Yet although the body acts, it can remain still and natural, without feeling fatigue. This is wuwei (non-action). It is the method by which people living in the world nourish the physical form.

"Tianmen kaihe" (the gate of Heaven opening and closing) refers to the breath through the nose, which goes out on each exhalation and comes in on each inhalation. The Qi (vital energy) is still dispersed outside and cannot yet gather and return to the body. Yet when the breathing is harmonized and steady, neither coarse nor hurried, this is "weici" (remaining soft and yielding). It is the method by which people living in the world nourish their Qi.

"Mingbai sida" (clear understanding reaching in all four directions) refers to eyes that are bright and can look toward every direction. The gaze meets external things, yet it has not yet fully turned inward to illuminate the self. Although one sees, when both the mind and the objects seen are let go, and one no longer distinguishes and labels them, this is "wuzhi" (not clinging to discriminating knowledge). It is the method by which people living in the world nourish the Shen (spirit).

To give life to all things and let them be nourished, to let them grow without claiming them as one's own, to act without relying on one's merit, and to let them mature without dominating them: this is called "xuande" (profound and subtle virtue).

"Sheng zhi" (to give birth to them) means that, before the Qi has begun to stir, one enables it to arise and keeps its arising continuous. "Xu zhi" (to nurture them) means that, once the Qi has arisen, one gathers it so that it is not dissipated. The one who causes the Qi to arise brings about its emergence, yet the heart holds no intention of making it happen, and so it is said "bu you" (not possessing). The one who gathers and nurtures the Qi does act, yet the heart does not rely on that action, and so it is said "bu shi" (not depending). For example, an official who governs the common people does not hold in mind any thought of ruling or controlling them, and so it is said "bu zai" (not dominating). This is the profound and subtle virtue, deep and difficult to fathom.

The character xu, as used here, is pronounced chi. The character zhang is read with the fanqie reading zhi-liang-qie, which gives zhǎng. The character fu is read as fu.

The passage listed above is chapter nine.

Thirty spokes converge on a single hub, the central part of the wheel that joins the spokes and holds the axle. It is because the hub is hollow that the axle can pass through, the wheel can turn, and the cart can function. Clay is kneaded into vessels, and it is because the vessel has an empty space within that it can hold things, so the vessel can function. Doors and windows are cut to build a house, and it is because the doors and windows leave open space that people can enter and leave and light can come in, so the house can function. Thus the solid parts bring convenience, while the empty, formless spaces make things useful.

Spokes (fu) are the rods of a wheel, and the hub (gu) is its center. Wu, "nothingness," refers to empty space. Shan means to knead, and zhi means clay. Kneading clay with water to make vessels produces pottery. Ordinarily, a house has a door in front and windows on the sides: the door lets people pass through, and the windows admit light and air. Carts carry loads on long journeys, vessels hold goods, and houses shelter people. These are all conveniences that solid things bring, which is why the text says, "Having is what makes things beneficial."

However, if the hub had no hollow space for the axle, the wheel could not turn. If the vessel had no empty interior, it could not hold anything. If the house had no doors or windows, people could not enter, and the interior would receive no light. Therefore the cart relies on its empty hub for the axle to turn, the vessel relies on its hollow interior to hold goods, and the house relies on its doors and windows for entry, light, and air. These empty spaces are what allow these things to truly function, which is why the text says, "Nothingness is what makes things useful."

When a person eats until satisfied and breathes, the body is sustained; this is the convenience that having provides. When the heart is empty and still, not filled with distracting thoughts, the breath can flow freely; this is the function that nothingness performs. For this reason, the author uses the cart, the vessel, and the house to illustrate the principle. Here the word for "and" is read according to the fanqie spelling hu-wo qie.

The passage on the right is Chapter Ten.

Five colors dazzle the eyes, five notes dull the ears, and five flavors spoil the palate. Indulging in galloping and hunting drives the mind to frenzy, and excessive pursuit of rare and precious goods impairs one's conduct.

Whatever people covet in external things may harm the self. Therefore the sage seeks only to fill the body and mind, and does not crave sensory pleasure. He sets aside outward delusions and temptations and guards the inner authenticity of his original nature.

When the sage speaks of "wei fu" (for the belly), he means filling the body and mind and nourishing the breath and qi (vital energy). "Wei mu" (for the eye) means chasing external things to satisfy the senses. The phrase "bu wei mu" (not for the eye) uses the eye to stand for the ear, mouth, heart, and body mentioned in the preceding passage: one should not let sensory desire disturb the heart. Dong Sijing says that the previous chapter dealt with the function of the empty and still heart, while this chapter warns people not to let their shen (spirit) be filled with external things. People inevitably look, listen, taste, act, and feel. The key lies in never departing from inner tranquility while acting. In this way one contacts external things without clinging to them and remains pure and free of desire. Attachment to worldly dust and pursuit of external circumstances cause a person to lose their original nature, and the problem often begins with the eye's greedy gaze, which is why the scripture repeatedly singles out the "eye." When Confucius said "do not look at what is contrary to ritual" (fei li wu shi), he also put looking first. In the Buddhist teaching of the "six roots and six dusts" (liu gen liu chen, the six sense faculties and the six objects they contact), the eye and form are likewise listed first.

The passage on the right is Chapter Eleven.

Favor or disgrace leaves a person's mind unsettled, and great calamity must be regarded as seriously as one's own body.

"Chong" means being favored and loved. Prominent fame and status are regarded as glory, but seen from another side they may also become disgrace. Therefore one who understands the Dao does not cling to favor. Those who cling to it worry about it, cannot let it go, and allow it to stir their hearts. "Gui" means to value highly. Rich goods are regarded as great benefits, but seen from another side they can also become a heavy burden. Therefore one who understands the Dao does not regard wealth as overly important. Those who overvalue it cannot keep it outside themselves and are instead burdened by it.

What is meant by favor and disgrace? To be placed in a lowly position is disgrace. When one receives favor, one should feel uneasy, as if startled. When one loses favor, one should also feel uneasy, as if startled.

What is meant by "disgrace" (ru) is that it is lowly and not worthy of honor. Some people long for favor before they have received it, and once they receive it, they become anxious and fearful. After receiving it, they cling to it and cannot let it go, and once they lose it, they are fearful again. This is to regard favor and disgrace as very weighty, to the point of being troubled and fearful on their account. Therefore it says, "Favor and disgrace are both like being startled."

What does it mean to "regard great calamity as precious as one's own self"? The reason I have great calamity is that I have a body. Once I no longer have a body, what calamity could I have?

While living in the world, a person has many worries and always guards the self with trembling caution, and only after death is there release. The body is the greatest calamity, yet there is nothing one can do about it. Calamities that come from external possessions such as wealth are different. If one lets them go and no longer holds them, one will not be burdened by them. Some people do not understand that external things are lighter than the self, and they regard them as being as important as the body, fearing the loss of everything they possess. This is what it means to regard great calamity as precious as one's own self, and so it says, "Regard great calamity as precious as one's own self." The pronunciation of sang is given as làng qiè.

Therefore, if someone regards their own body as more important than all under Heaven, then all under Heaven can be entrusted to them. If someone cherishes their own body for the sake of all under Heaven, then all under Heaven can be entrusted to them.

The honor of the Son of Heaven (Tianzi) and the wealth of the Four Seas both rest on placing oneself above the world and nourishing oneself with all under heaven. One who understands the Dao (the Way) cherishes and values the self, and will not wear it down lightly in order to possess the world. For this reason, such a person can be entrusted with the world. To "ji" (entrust) is like entrusting the fate of the common people, and to "tuo" (commit) is like committing an orphaned child to another's care. Shun and Yu possessed the world but did not treat it as their private property, and so they could accept the abdication (chanrang) of Tang Yao and Yu Shun. Those who take disgrace as glory and great calamity as great gain are merely shallow people, and how could the world be given into their hands? To regard the self as weightier than the world, and the self as weightier than wealth, is the profound meaning of Laozi. The doctrine of "wei wo" (acting for oneself) advanced by Yang Zhu also grows from this root.

Looking at it, one cannot see it, and this is called "yi" (level, smooth). Listening to it, one cannot hear it, and this is called "xi" (rare, faint). Reaching for it, one cannot grasp it, and this is called "wei" (subtle, minute). These three cannot be pursued to their ultimate end, and so they merge into one undivided whole.

This chapter speaks specifically of the manifestation of De (Virtue or Power). What is easy for the eye to see is what lies flat and openly exposed. "Yi" refers to levelness, and what is level leaves no conspicuous trace, so it cannot be seen. Sounds that are numerous and dense are easy for the ear to catch. "Xi" refers to sparseness, and what is sparse has wide intervals and no sound, so it cannot be heard. Forms that stand out clearly are easy to reach and touch. "Wei" refers to what is faint and minute, and what is faint and minute has no form that can be held, so it cannot be grasped. These three, "yi," "xi," and "wei," cannot be explained in words even when one tries to examine them thoroughly, and so they are blended together and cannot be distinguished, and are called "one" (yi). "Yi," "xi," "wei," and "one" all describe the constant De.

Above, it is not manifest; below, it is not dark. It stretches on without end, and cannot be given a name, and at last returns to the state of having no form and no thing. This is called the form of having no shape and the image of having no image, and it is also called "hu huang" (the state of being vague and elusive, hard to grasp).

Here too the subject is De (de, Virtue). Above De lies Dao (dao, the Way), and below it lies the myriad things. This is what the Yi jing (Classic of Changes) calls "what is above form" (xing er shang) and "what is below form" (xing er xia). "Shengsheng" (shengsheng, unbroken) describes how it extends without interruption, moving in secret and never showing itself. It stretches on endlessly yet cannot be given a name, and in the end it returns to the Dao of "wu wu" (wu wu, no-thing). This is what is called a shape without form and an image without image. It is also called "huhuang" (huhuang), meaning that it seems to exist and yet does not, so that it cannot be grasped.

"Shengsheng" refers to something that continues in unbroken succession, coming and going without pause. "Fu" (fu) means to return. "Wu wu" refers here to Dao. Above De is Dao: Dao has no name, so it is not manifest. Below De are the myriad things: they have bodily form, so they are visible. De stands between being and non-being. It seems as though it could be named, yet it cannot be precisely specified. To return to its origin is to return to the Dao of no-thing. Zhuangzi's saying, "De reaches the point of sameness with the beginning," expresses the same idea.

Dao has no form and no thing, so it has neither shape nor image. De already has a name and may seem to present a shape and image, but its mode is not as solid as that of concrete things. For this reason it is called "wuzhuang zhi zhuang" (a shape without shape) and "wuxiang zhi xiang" (an image without image). It seems to exist and yet does not, and so it is called "huhuang."

Face it and you cannot see its beginning; follow it and you cannot see its end. Grasp the Dao that has existed since antiquity, and you can govern the things of the present. To know the original source of the myriad things is called holding the guiding thread of the Dao.

Precisely because Dao is so "huhuang" that it cannot be named, facing it and following it, one cannot see its head or its tail. "Gu" (gu) refers to what is before, and "jin" (jin) refers to what is after; "you" (you) refers to the myriad things. The source of De comes forth from Dao and spreads into the myriad things. Therefore it is said that grasping the Dao of antiquity allows one to govern the things of the present. "Gushi" (gushi, the ancient beginning) is Dao, that is, the beginning before heaven and earth appeared. "Dao ji" (dao ji, the guiding thread of the Way) refers to De: Dao disperses and transforms into De, just as a silk thread divides into clearly ordered strands. To know Dao is also to know De, and this is what it means to hold the guiding thread of Dao.

The above is the thirteenth chapter.

The ancient people who were skilled at cultivating the Dao were subtle, profound, and penetrating, so deep that they could not be fathomed. Precisely because they are difficult to understand, we can only force ourselves to describe their appearance.

Adepts who possess the Dao (the Way) are able to penetrate the principles behind all things and to discern the subtle and mysterious workings of the myriad beings. Their penetration is refined and does not show itself. It is so profound that it is hard to make out, deep and unfathomable like still water. For this reason, it can only be approximated through external appearances, so that others may come to some understanding of it, and the states described below are such approximations.

The adept is cautious and hesitant, like someone wading across a river in the depths of winter. The adept is watchful and guarded, like one wary of the neighbors nearby. The adept is dignified and upright, like a guest who follows the host rather than going out to greet them. The adept is relaxed and harmonious, like ice about to melt. The adept is sincere and unpretentious, like uncarved wood. The adept is open and tranquil, like a valley. And the adept is undivided, without distinctions, like muddy water.

"Yu" and "you" were both originally names of animals. "Yu" belonged to the elephant category, and "you" was a small dog. The elephant seems to sense things in advance and moves slowly. The little dog runs ahead of its master, then turns back after a while. Thus hesitating and lingering, unwilling to advance, is called "youyu." Wading through winter water is due to fear of the cold, and being wary of one's surroundings is due to fear of encountering enemies, so one holds back and does not advance. This means the adept does not dare to act first, and their bearing is like this. "Yan" describes a grave and solemn appearance. Being like a guest means following the host and not going out to meet them. "Huan" means dispersing and opening out. Being like ice about to melt means being fluid and harmonious, not stagnant. "Dun" means thick and sincere, and "pu" refers to timber not yet fashioned into an implement. "Kuang" means open and empty. Being like a valley means being empty yet able to receive, and able to respond to things. "Hun" describes a turbid, yellowish appearance. Being like muddy water means not deliberately distinguishing beauty from ugliness, nor regarding oneself as pure and lofty.

Who can make muddy water settle and gradually clear? Who can set what is still into motion so that vitality slowly emerges? These words use water as a metaphor to show that the transformation of things requires following what is natural and waiting for the right moment.

Following on from the word "turbid" above, the passage asks: who can make the turbid settle? Turbidity belongs to a time of agitation. When agitation is followed by stillness, the water gradually clears. Then, taking up the word "stillness," it asks: who can make what is still become settled? Settledness belongs to a time of stillness. When stillness is followed by movement, things gradually grow. "An" (settled) refers to stillness at rest, and "sheng" (growth) refers to movement and flourishing. Perhaps only after turbidity can there be clarity, and only after stillness can there be movement. Reasoning from this, what is empty does not seek to be filled, yet it becomes full. What is solid and sincere does not cling to the shape of a vessel, yet it can become a vessel. What is scattered does not congeal, yet it gathers. The dignified and upright person does not claim to be the master, yet becomes the master. The hesitant one who does not rush ahead comes to lead. The principles behind all of these can be understood from this. This is broadly the meaning of Laozi. The later statement, "yielding, one is preserved; bending, one is straightened; hollowness, one is filled; wearing out, one is renewed," carries the same sense.

One who holds to this Dao (the Way) does not seek completeness. Because they do not seek completeness, they can keep the state of being worn and incomplete, and do not let it become something new and whole.

"Cheng" (completion) means wholeness. Generally, when things wear out they become deficient, and when they are new they appear whole. Being worn and incomplete is being unfilled, and being new and whole is being full. The one who holds to this Dao does not seek fullness, so they can preserve what is worn and incomplete and do not let it turn into something new and whole. The seven situations described in this chapter all embody the same principle: keeping incompleteness and not seeking perfection.

The above is Chapter Fourteen.

Attain the utmost of emptiness (xu) and stillness (jing), and hold firmly to tranquil fixity.

"Zhi" (to attain) means reaching a place, all the way to its extreme. "Xu" (emptiness) means that no external things enter the heart. "Ji" (the extreme) means reaching the end. "Shou" (to guard) means firmly holding the interior and keeping out external disturbances, as one guards a city. "Jing" (stillness) means not moving, that is, the heart does not race outward. "Du" (sincerity or steadfastness) means persisting without slackening and exerting effort without weariness.

The ten thousand things rise and grow together, and through this I observe their returning.

"Zuo" (to arise) means activity. Plants growing and animals perceiving both belong to activity. "Fu" (to return) means to come back. The ten thousand things move out of stillness, and so they return to their original state of stillness; this is what is called "fu." The vital breath of plants lies hidden in their roots, and the spirit of animals rests quiet and calm. Both are instances of this condition.

The ten thousand things flourish and grow, and in the end each returns to its own root. Returning to the root is called stillness, and stillness is called restoring one's original state of life.

The appearance of plants and trees growing luxuriantly, with their branches and leaves spreading out, is called yunyun (yúnyún). In spring and summer, the vital energy of plants and trees rises from the roots to the branches and leaves; this is called dong (dòng), movement. In autumn and winter, the vital energy falls back from above and is stored in the roots; this is called jing (jìng), stillness. Heaven relies on this vital energy to bring all things into being, and this vital energy is called ming (mìng), life-mandate. All things then return to the place where that vital energy first arose, and so this is called fumingming (fùmìng), returning to the mandate.

Returning to the source of life is called chang (cháng), constancy. To know constancy is to be enlightened. Not knowing constancy, and acting recklessly, invites calamity. To know constancy is to have a mind that can contain all things. Being able to contain, one becomes impartial. Being impartial, one becomes the sovereign of the world. Becoming the sovereign of the world, one accords with Heaven. According with Heaven, one returns to the source of life.

Returning to the source of life is called constancy, and to know constancy is to be enlightened. Not knowing constancy, and acting recklessly, invites calamity. To know constancy is to have a mind that can contain all things. Being able to contain, one becomes impartial. Being impartial, one becomes the sovereign of the world. Becoming the sovereign of the world, one accords with Heaven. According with Heaven, one accords with the Dao (dào). According with the Dao, one endures long, and until the end of one's life there is no danger.

Chang means lasting and unchanging. To understand this is what makes one enlightened. The benighted do not understand constancy and cannot keep stillness. Instead they act rashly and harm their own lives, which is why it is said that calamity will come. Wu Cheng (Wú Chéng) explains that rong (róng), the capacity to contain, is the outward expression of inner cultivation, so a person of cultivated nature naturally carries a different bearing. Gong (gōng), "the lord," here refers to the ruler of a state and means one who preserves all that is his own. Wang (wáng), "the king," refers to the ruler of the world and means one who encompasses everything between Heaven and earth. To unite with Heaven is for the Dao to dwell within oneself, and with the Dao within oneself, one can last as the Dao does. Mo (mò) means to end, and dai (dài) means danger. The phrase "no danger until the end of one's life" means that throughout one's life one preserves one's vitality and keeps its vital energy unbroken.

The highest rulers are those whose presence the people barely feel. The next are those the people draw close to and praise. The next are those the people fear and despise. When a ruler's trustworthiness is insufficient, the people will not trust him.

Da shang (dà shàng) means the highest grade. In the ideal age, the people and their rulers do not pay heed to one another.

This concludes chapter fifteen.

The highest grade refers to an age when the Great Dao (Dao) prevails. People live together naturally and follow non-action (Wuwei), and the common people do not even know that a ruler exists. The next grade is a ruler who governs through teaching, benevolence, and righteousness, and the people draw close to him as they would to their parents. Later, as benevolence and righteousness became increasingly conspicuous, the people not only drew close to him but also praised him. The grade below that is a ruler who governs through wisdom and cleverness, and the people fear him as they would fear the spirits. Later, as this manner of governance gradually lost its effect, the people not only feared him but also began to treat him with contempt.

"Trust" refers to the genuineness and plainness of the Great Dao. When that genuineness and plainness fall short, the world can no longer be as natural as it was in high antiquity. The ruler no longer deals with the people wholly in sincerity, and government affairs increasingly pursue outward embellishment. Thus the methods of governance descend step by step: first benevolence and righteousness are emphasized, and then wisdom. Here, the word "great sound" (da yin) is to be read as "tai yin."

"Hesitantly and cautiously, they treasure their words. When the work is accomplished and affairs are settled, the people all say: 'We have always been like this.'"

This describes the highest ruler, whose existence the people do not know. The meaning of "hesitantly" (you) was explained earlier. Here, "treasure" (gui) means to value highly, and "ran" means "thus." A ruler who treasures his words does not speak lightly, just as a dog hesitates and draws back as it walks. He does not proclaim that he practices non-action, so the people receive his benefits without noticing and each lives in peace. When the work is completed and affairs are settled, the people all assume that things have always been this way, without realizing that it was the ruler who bestowed these conditions.

"Only after the Great Dao was abandoned did benevolence and righteousness arise; only after wisdom arose did great falsehood appear."

The earlier statement that the people do not know the ruler exists refers to the flourishing of the Dao. Drawing close to and praising the ruler refers to benevolence and righteousness, and fearing and despising the ruler refers to governance by wisdom. The Dao declines in layers, forming three situations, and when wisdom itself turns into great falsehood, these make four levels in all. Benevolence appears only after the Dao is abandoned, and that change is relatively slow. After wisdom rises, great falsehood appears quickly, and that change is far more abrupt. These four levels roughly resemble the distinctions Master Shao (Shao Yong) drew among the August, the Emperor, the King, and the Hegemon, and among the grades of sage, worthy, talented, and skillful.

"When the six kinship relations are discordant, filial sons appear; when the state falls into chaos, loyal ministers appear."

Earlier passages spoke of how "when the Great Dao (Dao) was abandoned, benevolence and righteousness appeared." Here the point is somewhat different: the principle is extended further.

The "Six Relatives" (liuqin) refer to father and son, elder and younger brother, and husband and wife. When respect and humility, seniority and juniority, each keep to their proper Way and live together in harmony, a child's filial devotion is simply a matter of duty, and people do not single anyone out for praise as a filial son. Only when Gusou and Xiang treated Shun with contempt did Shun's filial conduct stand out so sharply. "State" (guo) refers to the ruler, and "family" (jia) refers to the ministers. When rulers and subjects each keep to their proper Way and the state is secure, a minister's loyalty is likewise a matter of duty, and people do not single out any loyal minister for praise. Only when the Shang tyrant Zhou lost the Way of the ruler and treacherous people gathered at court did the integrity of the loyal ministers of the three dynasties become visible.

"Abandon" (jue) means to cut off and no longer practice; "discard" (qi) means to set aside and no longer use. "Sagely wisdom" (shengzhi) refers to cleverness and talent, and "skillful profit" (qiaoli) refers to cunning pursuit of gain. Guiding the people with cleverness and enticing them with advantage, as Guan Zhong governed Qi and Wei Yang (Shang Yang) governed Qin by using the arts of craftsmen and merchants to rule the masses, belongs to this category.

The preceding text described how the world declined, in order to explain why people gradually drifted toward its later stages. This passage describes how the governance of the Dao returns to its origin, in order to show the sequence of returning to the root. When one discards the benevolence and righteousness esteemed in the age of emperors and returns to the more ancient and simple Great Dao, the people can recover their original way of life: children honor their parents, parents love their children, as in the times of pure and simple antiquity. When one discards the sagely wisdom esteemed in the age of kings and returns to the benevolence and righteousness of the age of emperors, the people gain a hundred times more benefit than they did under the kings. Further, when one discards the skillful profit pursued under the hegemons and returns to the sagely wisdom of the age of kings, the result, though it does not reach the simplicity of the age of emperors, will still mean that if one thinks far ahead and governance and teaching are clear, no one will become a thief.

These three, benevolence (renyi) and righteousness (yi), sagacity and wisdom (shengzhi), and clever profit (qiaoli), were still not enough to serve as ornament for governing the world, so people attached yet other things to them. "Shu" means to adhere to or depend upon. The governance of the sovereign (huangzhe) originally accorded with the Dao and possessed full substance. From the sovereign downward, governance gradually tended toward ornamentation. The emperor (dizhe) judged that the sovereign's governance lacked ornament, so he lowered the level of the Dao and attached it to benevolence and righteousness. The king (wangzhe) judged that the emperor's governance lacked ornament, so he attached it to sagacity and wisdom. The hegemon (bazhe) judged that the king's governance lacked ornament, so he attached it to clever profit. Each of these three modes of governance had to lean on still more things, precisely because each felt that ornament was insufficient.

Yet they did not know that the common people, living within the Dao, showed plainness outwardly and kept their authentic nature within. "Su" refers to silk that has not been dyed, and "pu" refers to wood that has not been carved; both signify an unadorned essence. To preserve the essence is enough, so why speak of ornament? Because the people were plain and did not practice embellishment, they had bodies yet did not seem to cling to the self, and so their private concerns were few. They had minds yet did not seem to cling to their thoughts, and so their desires were few.

The above is chapter sixteen.

Cutting off deliberate study, there is no worry.

Study causes a person to keep adding to what they know and do, wanting to undertake everything. If there is a single thing they do not understand, they worry about it. Only by cutting off this pursuit of learning, no longer forcing matters in every case, is there no worry.

The desires of the common people are already few.

The above is chapter sixteen.

Cutting off deliberate study, there is no worry.

"Wei" and "e" are both sounds of assent that differ only in tone. How much difference lies between them? To regard something as good and to regard it as bad, how great is the difference between those two?

Those who study the Way encounter matters that cause concern. "Wei" and "a" are both sounds of assent, but "wei" is a respectful, compliant reply, while "a" carries a crooked, flattering tone. The two responses begin out of little difference, yet later one may tend toward goodness and the other toward evil, and the gap between them ultimately becomes very great. Therefore, one who learns to respond must guard against sliding from "wei" into "a." This is an example worth worrying over.

Whatever all people fear must be feared as well. "Huang" means vast, and "yang" means exhaustive. To fear the evil of flattery is to dare not flatter, but this is only one matter. Whatever people fear and therefore do not do should all be met with caution. Such matters are numerous and cannot be exhausted, so those who study the Way often have many concerns.

Everyone is elated, as if enjoying a rich taolao (the ox, sheep, and pig offerings used in ancient sacrifices), or as if ascending a spring terrace to fully take in the beautiful scenery. I alone remain still and detached, with no desire yet showing in my heart, like an infant who does not yet know how to smile.

"Xixi" describes a harmonious, joyful appearance; "bo" means still; "zhao" refers to a faint, barely visible sign. People who seek learning often chase external things to obtain pleasure, like savoring the taolao and finding its taste delicious, or like climbing the chuntai and finding the rich, pleasing views before the eyes. I alone am still and practice Wuwei (non-action). Desire has not yet appeared, and my heart has no visible trace, like an infant who knows nothing of the pleasures that external things bring.

I seem to lodge myself in the world, yet I am like one with no place to return to. "Cheng cheng" here means to rely upon external things; "as if having nowhere to return to" means not clinging or attaching to external things.

Everyone thinks they possess a great deal, while I alone seem to be lacking. "Yi" means to lose.

Everyone seems to have gained something, while I alone feel as though I have lost something. Others delight in having much, yet I seem to have gained nothing at all, and my heart feels as if it is missing something.

My heart truly is like the heart of a fool, muddled and undifferentiated. The "dun" in "hundun" (chaos) describes a state of dimness and indistinctness, and it also carries the sense of ignorance.

Worldly people appear discerning, while I alone seem dazed. They are shrewd in everything, while I alone seem confused. Everyone takes knowledge as cleverness, but I seem ignorant and dull.

I feel as though I am drifting on a vast sea, carried wherever the currents take me, with no sense of where I am going. I am also like a long wind blowing everywhere, unsure where it rises or where it comes to rest.

Everyone knows what they are doing and where they intend to stop, while I alone seem sluggish, like a rustic who does not understand worldly affairs. Here "wan" (stubborn, dull) describes a numb and slow-witted appearance, and "bi" (coarse, rustic) refers to a person from a remote countryside.

I alone differ from the crowd in that I prize "shi mu" (nourishing the mother). Here the "mother" is a metaphor for the source that gives birth to and nurtures all things, so "shi mu" means drawing sustenance from that source. The sentence sums up what came before: I differ from worldly people in that I value the Dao (the Way), the root of all things, above all else.

This sentence sums up the eight preceding sections. The four sections from "what people fear" to "I alone seem to have lost" say that ordinary students pursue breadth of talent and versatility, while I seem to be capable of nothing. The four sections from "I am a foolish person's heart" to "I alone am obstinate and boorish" say that ordinary people pursue wide experience and knowledge, while I seem to know nothing. The reason I differ from the crowd is that what I treasure is the profound virtue of the great Dao. Xuande (profound De) is the root from which all things receive nourishment, which is what is meant by the "mother of all things." For this reason it is called shimu, the nursing mother who feeds people. The phrase shimu appears in the "Neize" (Family Regulations) chapter of the Book of Rites. Master Sima says it refers to nourishing the harmonious vital energy of origin with milk. The word shi is to be read as si.

Chapter Seventeen ends here. The first volume of the Commentary on the Daodejing is complete.

Commentary on the Daodejing, Volume Two

Compiled by Wu Cheng of Linchuan

Daojing (Scripture of the Dao), Part Two

The forms that great De (kongde, abundant Virtue) takes all follow from the Dao.

Kong De means abundant De. Rong refers to a form that already exists and can be made manifest, and cong means to follow or to arise from. All things take De as their root, so whatever has shape and qi and can appear is an expression of De. However, the reason De takes these forms is that they are produced from the Dao.

The Dao, as a being, can only be described as hazy and hard to make out.

De arises from the Dao, but the Dao itself has no form and leaves no trace. De is what the Dao generates. It seems to exist and yet seems not to, cannot be seen directly, and so is described as hazy and hard to make out.

Within this haziness there is something real. Within what seems to be and not to be, there is still an image.

Here the pronoun qi refers to De (Virtue/Power). Wu (things) are the physical forms that become visible after beings have come into existence, whereas Dao (the Way) itself is formless. De is the state that appears as Dao gives rise to the myriad things. It seems both present and absent, cannot be seen, and so it is called huanghu (vague and indistinct).

Within huanghu-huanghu there are things already generated, and within hu-huang there are the images of things at their first emergence.

Here qi again refers to De. Wu is the visible form of things after they have been generated, and xiang (images or phenomena) is the Qi (vital energy) that precedes generation. Although De is elusive and hard to see, the visible forms constitute wu, the visible Qi constitutes xiang, and both are contained within De. The earlier Confucian scholars said, "chong mo wu zhen er wan you sen ran yi ju," meaning that the surface is empty and leaves no trace, yet the myriad things are already fully present within it.

Within the deep and dark depths there is subtle De.

Huanghu is invisible, yet it still seems to have something that can be perceived. Yaoming describes a dimness so deep that nothing at all can be seen, and this speaks to the formlessness of Dao. Here qi refers to Dao, and jing (essence) refers to De. Wu and xiang are the outward appearances of De and belong to a coarser level. De is the root of wu and xiang and their subtle essence. Zhuangzi says, "Take De as the root, and take the root as the essence." The preceding passage said that wu and xiang arise from De, and this passage says that De in turn issues from Dao.

The subtlety of De is entirely real, and within it is contained a Dao that is genuinely not empty.

Both instances of qi here refer to De. Zhen refers to Dao, and xin means actuality, close in meaning to zhen. Wu and xiang are relatively coarse, while De is more subtle, and De is subtle because it contains the real Dao. The preceding passage said that Dao is within De, and this passage says that De is within Dao. Dao and De are originally one body, as the opening chapter of the Daodejing puts it: "These two share one source."

From antiquity to the present, the name of Dao has never disappeared, and through it one can observe the beginnings of the myriad things.

"Yue" means to undergo or experience, and "fu" means beautiful or excellent. "Zhong fu" refers to the myriad things. Although each of the myriad things has its own excellence, it changes with time and eventually perishes. Only a profound De (Virtue/Power) that arises from the Dao (the Way) is constant from antiquity to the present, endures for a long time, and so is called "bu qu," meaning that it does not disappear. It is always present, having experienced the impermanent transformations of all things, past and present.

How do I know that the myriad things change and perish in this way? I know it from this alone: from the constant and unchanging profound De, I come to recognize the impermanence of the myriad things.

That concludes Chapter Eighteen.

Yielding, one is preserved whole; bending, one becomes straight; hollow, one becomes full; worn, one becomes new; having little, one gains; having much, one is confused.

"Qu" means partial, not whole. The uses of "qu" in the Yi (Book of Changes), the Li (Book of Rites), the Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean), and the Zhuangzi carry this same sense. Yet if one concentrates on the one aspect one excels in, studies it thoroughly, and then extends that understanding to other things, one can draw parallels and grasp the many from one, and in time comprehend the whole. If one seeks completeness from the outset, one easily aims too high and tires the mind, scatters one's energy so that one cannot focus, and in the end fails to master the whole at all.

"Wang" means not straight. The inchworm must first bend its body before it can stretch and become straight. "Wa" means not full. Hollows in the ground must exist before they can hold water and fill up. "Bi" means not new. Plants and trees wither in autumn and winter, and only then can they await the spring to sprout anew. "Shao ze duo" says that learning a little at a time makes it easier to gain something, and that gradual accumulation later makes the amount grow. Those who crave too much tend instead to become muddled and confused, and end up learning nothing at all, so how could they learn much? Not hurrying to seek straightness, fullness, newness, or abundance is precisely what extends the phrase "qu ze quan" (the bent becomes whole) into these four cases. Each of them shows that by not single-mindedly pursuing perfection, one can gradually arrive at it.

Therefore the sage holds fast to "bao yi," embracing the One, as the standard for all under heaven.

This sentence is the central theme of the chapter and links what comes before and after. "One" refers to the virtue of "chong xu," emptiness and tranquility, which is clear and still. "Shi" (the crossbar) is used as an image drawn from a carriage: a person of high station grasps the "jiao," the handrail, while a person of lower station grasps the "shi," the crossbar. The sage holds fast to the virtue of emptiness with a yielding, humble bearing and so becomes the standard for all under heaven. Just as the five situations described above show, each embodies the virtue of emptiness, and each places oneself in a lower position. "Jiao" is pronounced like "jiao."

"Not displaying oneself" is why one can see clearly; "not regarding oneself as right" is why one is made manifest.

The first passage gives the reason. Not displaying oneself, one appears wise and discerning. Not insisting on one's own rightness, one's reputation becomes more visible. Not boasting of one's merits, one's achievements endure. Not priding oneself, one can last long. Precisely because one does not contend with others, no one under heaven can contend with him.

"Zi jian" (self-display) means showing off oneself, and "ming" here refers to bright wisdom. Not displaying oneself means restraining one's sharpness, so that one seems concealed outwardly yet is clear-sighted within. "Zi shi" (self-righteousness) means regarding oneself as capable and virtuous, and "zhang" refers to a conspicuous reputation. Not insisting on one's own rightness keeps one humble on the surface, yet one's reputation grows ever more visible. "Fa" means boasting of one's merit, and "gong" refers to the effect a matter has achieved. "Jin" means being self-important and boastful, and "chang" refers to surpassing others in ability. Not showing off, not insisting on being right, not boasting of merit, and not priding oneself all ultimately come down to "bu zheng" (non-contention). The four preceding attitudes are each a result of non-contention.

When the ancients spoke of "wei qu fan er bao quan" (yielding and thereby being preserved whole), was that merely empty talk? It is indeed possible to be preserved whole, and in the end one obtains the outcome of complete preservation.

The saying "qu ze quan" (the bent is preserved whole) has existed since antiquity, and Laozi used it to open this chapter. Wu Cheng holds that the chapter takes "bao yi" (embracing the One, holding fast to the pure unity of the Dao) as its guiding principle. The five items following "qu ze quan" and the five items preceding "fu wei bu zheng," ten matters in all, can all be explained through "qu ze quan." The saying is therefore repeated at the end of the chapter to affirm that what the ancients called "yielding and thereby being preserved whole" is no groundless talk. It can truly be achieved, and in the end one obtains the result of preservation.

The above is Chapter Nineteen.

Speaking little and few words accords with nature.

What cannot be heard is called "xi" (rare), and "xi yan" (rare speech) means being without speech. A person who has attained the Dao does not cling to words but simply accords with the natural state of things.

Violent winds do not blow through an entire morning, and sudden downpours do not last a whole day. Who makes them so? It is Heaven and Earth. If the winds and rains of Heaven and Earth cannot endure for long, how much less can humans?

"Piao" (whirlwind) means violent and sudden, and "zhou" (sudden) means hurried and fierce. From morning until the morning meal is called "zhong zhao" (the whole morning), and from morning until evening is called "zhong ri" (the whole day). Speaking hastily and rashly, without according with nature, is like Heaven and Earth suddenly raising gales and pouring downpours. Such things cannot endure, and how much less can humans?

"Piao" refers to a fierce wind, and "zhou" to a violent, sudden rain. The period from early morning until breakfast is called zhong chao (the whole morning), and the period from early morning until evening is called zhong ri (the whole day). Speaking rashly and hastily, without following the natural course of things, is like the fierce winds and storms between heaven and earth: it runs against the normal order of nature and becomes an aberrant change. Yet even the strange changes produced when heaven and earth depart from their normal course cannot last. They cease before a single morning or day is over. How much more so for people who do not follow nature?

Therefore, those who act in accordance with the Dao (the Way) join with the Dao, those who possess De (Virtue/Power) join with De, and those who err join with their own circumstances.

"Engaging in the Dao" means taking the Dao as the standard of conduct. "Those who embody the Dao" refers to people who possess the Dao, "those who embody De" refers to people who possess De, and "those who err" refers to ordinary people, whose conduct inevitably contains mistakes. The word tong (to be the same, to coincide) is close in meaning to qi (to level, to make equal) in the chapter "Qiwulun" (Discussion on Making All Things Equal) of the Zhuangzi. It means that the parties coincide with one another without mutual rejection. Only by following nature and speaking little can one regard the superior, the middling, and the inferior as the same, without drawing distinctions. As for the person of the Dao and the person of De, when they coincide with me, there is naturally nothing more to say. But as for those who err, others may think them wrong, while they themselves think they are right. Since there is also something in their conduct that they consider appropriate, how can one fail to understand them according to the principle they hold, and instead carelessly speak to deny them? The Zhuangzi says: "Without speech, the myriad things can be made equal; once one speaks, they cannot be made equal, because speech itself creates distinctions." This is also what Laozi meant by speaking little and following nature in order to reach xuantong (profound unity), a deep and subtle state of oneness.

Those who join with the Dao find that the Dao also receives them. Those who join with De find that De also receives them. Those who join with error find that error also receives them. If one's own sincerity is insufficient, others will naturally not trust them.

Those who possess De (dé) agree with me, and when everyone affirms and cross-references one another, what barrier could remain? Those who have lost the Dao (dào) may also agree with me. Perhaps, on seeing others steadfastly holding to what is right, they come to realize that what I say is a principle all share. In this way, those who have Dao, those who have lost it, and I can each gain something from one another.

Yet only those who truly possess Dao can achieve this. If a person's own understanding of the Great Dao is insufficient, then in dealing with others they will not be guided by it. Instead they will forcibly distinguish right from wrong and pass judgment. How could such a person reach this subtle state of mutual accord?

Standing on tiptoe, one cannot stand firm; striding with large steps, one cannot go far. Those who rely only on their own views cannot see clearly, and those who consider themselves right are not made manifest. Those who boast of their achievements have no merit, and those who are self-important cannot endure. With respect to the Dao, such conduct is like leftover food and superfluous growths, which everyone detests. This is why those who have Dao do not act in this way.

Wu Cheng then uses the images of a person standing and walking to illustrate the principle just described. Standing and walking both accord with a person's natural state. If one forces more than nature allows, rising on the toes to appear taller or taking long strides to seem more imposing, the effort may succeed for a moment but cannot last, and in the end the person cannot stand steadily or walk on.

One who displays himself will not ultimately be enlightened. One who insists he is right will not ultimately shine. One who boasts of himself will not ultimately achieve merit, and one who is self-conceited will not ultimately have any real strength. The situation is the same here. Leftover food is called "yu," and flesh that grows excessively on the body is called "zhui." The "things" referred to here include people, ghosts and spirits, and all other beings. Measured by the natural Dao (the Way), those who display themselves, insist on their own rightness, boast, or are self-conceited are like leftover food that should not be eaten again, or like excess flesh that should not remain on the body. Whatever exceeds its proper measure and departs from the normal is unfit for use. Whether among the living or in the netherworld, such conduct is loathsome. One who possesses the Dao does not allow himself to fall into such a state.

Some hold that the character read as "xing" (walk) should be read as "xing" (form), since in antiquity the two were interchangeable. Master Sima says that leftover food readily disgusts people, and excess flesh on the body makes one look unsightly. Master Su says that eating and drinking to excess causes illness, and excess flesh on the limbs becomes a burden.

This chapter takes ziran (naturalness) as its central theme. To speak little and merge with the Dao is to accord with naturalness. Violent winds that blow about, sudden downpours, standing on tiptoe, striding widely, eating leftover food, and growing excess flesh are none of them natural conditions.

There is a thing that is formed in undifferentiated wholeness, born before Heaven and Earth.

This passage says that the "wu" (thing) in "the Dao as a thing" (Dao zhi wei wu) in the previous chapter refers to De (Virtue), while the "wu" in "there is a thing formed in chaos" (you wu hun cheng) in this chapter refers to the Dao. "Hun" and "hun" (meaning turbid or blended) share the same sense, so hun cheng means that the myriad things have not yet been differentiated and remain whole and undivided. The Dao existed before heaven and earth, which is the "beginning of heaven and earth" in chapter one and the "before the image of the Lord" (xiang di zhi xian) in chapter four.

The Dao is silent and without sound, vast and without form. It stands apart from the myriad things, has nothing opposite to it, and has never changed, so it is said to be "unchanging" (bu gai). It also moves within the myriad things, reaching everywhere without end, so it is said to be "never exhausted" (bu dai). The De produced by the Dao is the root of all things under heaven, and for this reason it is called the "mother of all under heaven" (tian xia mu).

I do not know what to call it, so I use the character Dao to refer to it. Reluctantly, I further name it "great" (da). The Dao cannot be described accurately by any name, yet all heaven and earth and the myriad things come from it, so the word Dao, meaning "road" or "way," is borrowed to designate it. The "character" (zi) is an auxiliary label and not a true name. Even this designation does not fully explain the Dao, so I reluctantly call it "great" once more.

Heaven is already extremely vast, yet heaven is also contained within the Dao, so heaven still does not count as truly "great." The Dao is vast without any outside, and nothing can encompass it, so calling it "great" may be an acceptable approximation.

To speak of "great" is to mean constant movement. Constant movement extends outward into distance, and what extends to the furthest reaches returns.

Shi refers to ongoing circulation and unceasing movement. Yuan means enduring without end. Fan means having no bodily form and no name. All things have form and name, but the Dao (the Way) alone is without form and without name. Non-being stands opposite to being, so it is called fan, a term that also implies return. Calling the Dao merely "great" does not fully describe it, so the text adds that it moves without rest, endures without end, and finally returns to formlessness and namelessness. The Dao is the Dao precisely because it circulates without rest, lasts through all ages, and has neither form nor name. If it had form and name, it would not be the Dao. The second part of the Dao De Jing says, "fan zhe dao zhi dong" (returning is the movement of the Dao), and also, "tianxia wanwu sheng yu you, you sheng yu wu" (the ten thousand things under heaven are born from being, and being is born from non-being). Zhuangzi says, "tai chu you wu, wu you wu ming" (in the great beginning there was non-being, and non-being did not yet have a name), which expresses the same meaning.

Therefore, the Dao is great, heaven is great, earth is great, and the wang (king) is also great. Among heaven and earth there are four greats, and the king occupies one of them.

Here wang refers to a sage (shengren) who holds the position of ruler. From ancient times the Dao has been the greatest, and nothing can be compared to it. Yet this passage places heaven, earth, and the sage alongside the Dao and speaks of four greats. This is because heaven becomes heaven by relying on the Dao, and the sage becomes a sage by relying on the Dao. They are great because they possess the Dao. When the text mentions the wang, it uses the particle ye (also) and says that the king "occupies one of them." This is because the greatest in momentum is heaven, and the greatest in bodily form is earth. Although the sage's body is small, standing between heaven and earth, his greatness is the same as theirs, because the Dao he practices is the same as theirs. Greatness should not be measured only by the size of qi (vital energy), form, or body.

Humans model themselves on earth, earth models itself on heaven, heaven models itself on the Dao, and the Dao models itself on ziran (naturalness). Here ziran means a state that is so of itself, not arranged by any external force.

"Ren" (person) refers to the sage (shengren). "Fa" (to model oneself on) denotes a standard measured by a level, meaning that things are even and consistent. Humans are great because, having attained the Dao (the Way), they accord with the earth, so it is said that humans model themselves on the earth. The earth is great because, having attained the Dao, it accords with heaven, so it is said that the earth models itself on heaven. Heaven is great because it accords with the Dao, so it is said that heaven models itself on the Dao. The Dao is great in that it is so of itself, so it is said that the Dao models itself on ziran (naturalness). Apart from the Dao there is no other thing called "ziran." Here, ziran refers to being free of artifice and of fixed names and forms.

The passage above comes from Chapter Twenty-One.

Heaviness is the root of lightness; stillness is the lord of agitation.

"Root" means foundation, "agitation" means movement, and "lord" means master. Lightness takes heaviness as its foundation, and activity takes stillness as its guide.

Therefore the junzi (noble person) travels all day without ever leaving the baggage carts.

In ordinary travel the junzi rides light carriages, and on campaign they ride war chariots. Behind the light carriages always follow baggage wagons, carrying the supplies needed for rest, daily life, and food. The baggage wagon is also called the "heavy cart." Here the image of travel illustrates that even while engaged in light and swift movement, one must take heaviness as one's root.

Shanren (a good person) is one who is skilled at doing things, and bu shanren (one who is not good) is one who is not skilled at doing things. Shi (teacher) is one whom people respect and take as an exemplar. Zi (resource) is that by means of which something can be accomplished, much like entrusting one's goods to another so that they rely on them to succeed. If one person is skilled at doing things and another is not, and comparing the two shows the latter falls short of the former, then the former's strengths can serve as a teacher to the latter. Conversely, if one person is not skilled and another is, and comparison shows the latter doing better than the former, then the former's shortcomings can also serve as a lesson, helping the latter appear even more skillful. Therefore the former is called the latter's "resource."

Yet the designations "good" and "not good" stand in opposition to each other, and in a world governed by the Dao such distinctions should not be made. The text below says that one who embodies the Dao causes the people of the world to be called neither good nor not good.

Not honoring one's teacher, and not cherishing the resources one could rely on: even the clever would be bewildered by this. This is called the profound subtlety.

"Cherish" (ai) means to be fond of; "essential" (yao) means the utmost; "subtle" (miao) means deep and difficult to fathom. When a person who is not good meets a good person, he may take the good person as his teacher, yet he does not honor him, because he is unwilling to single this person out as "good." When a good person meets someone who is not good, he may take that person as a point of reference, yet he does not favor him, because he is unwilling to judge this person as "not good." The names of good and not good both dissolve, and everything returns to Xuantong (profound sameness), where no distinctions can be made. Even the clever would be deeply confused, not knowing whom to count as good and whom to count as not good. This state of profound depth, so hard to measure and reaching its utmost limit, is called yaomiao (essential subtlety).

The above are the first two sections of Chapter 23 of the Daodejing, which speak of the sage's goodness as something that does not show itself and cannot be named. The last two sections address how the goodness and badness that ordinary people encounter can be viewed in different ways. Not displaying those names that cannot be named is called ximing (concealed illumination); not distinguishing the good and evil labels that can be viewed from two sides is called yaomiao.

Knowing the light yet keeping to the dark, one becomes a model for the world. Becoming a model for the world, constant De (Virtue) does not go astray, and one returns to the limitless.

"White" refers to light; "black" refers to the dimness of the mundane world; "wuji" (the limitless) means without end.

Knowing strength yet keeping to weakness, one becomes a stream for the world. Becoming a stream for the world, constant De does not depart, and one returns to the state of an infant.

"Male" (xiong) refers to strength; "female" (ci) refers to weakness; "infant" refers to the state without discriminating cognition.

Knowing glory yet keeping to humiliation, one becomes a valley for the world. Becoming a valley for the world, constant De becomes sufficient, and one returns to the state of simplicity.

Glory (rong) denotes nobility, and disgrace (ru) denotes lowliness. The pu (uncarved block) refers to raw wood that has not yet been shaped into an implement. The meaning of this chapter is that one should return from constant De (Virtue) to its source, go back to the beginning, and come back to the primordial Dao (the Dao at the moment all things first began). Constant De is the virtue of emptiness, stillness, and not being self-satisfied. For this reason, one would rather dwell in obscurity than seek display, rather abide in softness and weakness than assert strength, and rather be looked down upon than pursue honor.

"Knowing it, yet keeping it" means that, although one recognizes that the side of prominence and strength is worthy of esteem, one would still choose to hold fast to the side of softness and humility, and to dwell in a lowly position. The crossbar of a carriage and the valley into which streams converge are both used as images for willingly occupying a lower place. In this way, one does not stray from constant De, nor is one separated from it, and De becomes complete within oneself. Only when one possesses this virtue of emptiness and stillness can one return to the primordial Dao. The phrase in the Zhuangzi, "De reaches the same as the beginning," expresses this same idea. The terms Wuji (the Limitless), "infant," and "uncarved block" are all metaphors for the primordial Dao.

When the uncarved block is divided and cut, it is made into various implements. The sage makes use of these implements and can thereby become the leader who governs the multitude. Therefore, perfect governance does not fragment things.

While the uncarved wood is still unworked, it retains its natural and whole substance. Once it is hewn and divided, the intact timber becomes a variety of implements. The sage skillfully uses these implements and so can become the leader who governs the people. Thus, perfect governance does not divide and fragment things.

An uncarved block of wood keeps its natural, whole substance. Once that whole block is cut and shaped, it scatters into many kinds of wooden implements. Before the sage (shengren) begins to act, his inner virtue (de) is whole. Once that virtue becomes visible, it takes on specific functions and becomes the head of each office. The one who presides over all the officials of the realm is the Son of Heaven, and the one who presides over the officials of a single state is the feudal lord.

The three preceding sections speak of returning from the branches to the root, while these two lines speak of extending from the root to the branches. Yet even when the wood has already scattered, wanting to restore its wholeness is like scattering it and yet not scattering it. Even when the sage has already acted, wanting to restore the wholeness of his inner virtue is like acting and yet not acting. This is to take non-scattering as scattering, and non-action as action. Whenever something is regulated, the original whole must be split by a blade. But the "great governance" (dazhi), the highest form of governing, takes non-regulation as its regulation, and so it does not sever the natural wholeness of things. Great dispersal that does not harm wholeness, and great action that does not show itself as action, are likewise like the highest regulation, which does not cut things apart.

End of Chapter Twenty-Four: The above is Chapter Twenty-Four.

To seek to take possession of the world and shape it to one's own liking, I think, will not succeed.

Here, "taking the world" means winning the hearts of people so that they willingly submit and turn to oneself. "Acting" (wei) means deliberately trying to accomplish something. Those who can take the world do so because their virtue is deep, and people naturally turn to them. If one deliberately acts, trying to force the world to submit through cunning and strength, how could one ever win people's true allegiance?

The world is a sacred vessel that cannot be handled at will. Those who act upon it deliberately will ruin it, and those who try to grasp it firmly will lose it.

The world is the most vast of vessels, and it is governed by a divine presence (shenming). It cannot be manipulated or obtained through cunning and force. To "fail" (bai) is to be unable to accomplish something. Those who act through cunning and force intend to achieve their undertakings, yet they end up unable to accomplish them. That is, they cannot win the allegiance of the people under Heaven. Thus it is said: "Those who act deliberately will ruin things." Before one has gained the world, seeking to seize it cannot fundamentally be achieved through deliberate action. Once one has gained it, seeking to keep it cannot be sustained through rigid holding on.

This is like a precious vessel. If one always grips it tightly in one's hand, never willing to let go and fearing its loss, one cannot in fact ensure that it will not fall or be lost. Thus it is said: "One who clings to it will lose it."

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

The sage understands that a ruler cannot hold the realm forever, never to lose it. Gain and loss, survival and ruin, alternate, just as the classic describes eight pairs of opposites that depend on one another: some lead and some follow, some warm and some chill, some strengthen and some weaken, some build up and some tear down. These are the natural tendencies of things, and they are difficult to avoid.

When affairs reach their peak, they inevitably turn toward decline, and decline is the beginning of ruin. The sage knows this, so he does not let things grow to excess. He removes what is excessive, extravagant, and overbearing, keeping affairs in a state that does not go too far. In this way he avoids decay and keeps the realm secure. Shao Yong said that wine is best when one is only slightly drunk, not fully intoxicated, and that flowers are best enjoyed when half open, not after they have fallen. He meant the same thing.

Su Shi held that whether things move ahead or follow behind, grow warm or cold, strengthen or weaken, build up or tear down, all of these are the results of natural change. Foolish people look only to their own advantage, strive to obtain what they desire, and insist on resisting this change, so they inevitably meet with overthrow or defeat in the end. Only the sage understands that the course of events cannot be opposed. He therefore goes along with nature and does not let things become overfull, and so the realm is free of great calamity. Dong Sijing also observed that the mutual transformation of things is a constant principle, and that for this reason the sage follows nature and yet does not allow things to overflow.

The above is Chapter Twenty-Five.

One who assists a ruler by means of the Dao does not seek to dominate the realm through military strength. Such actions tend to bring consequences that come back to fall upon the one who began them.

Master Wang said, "If one assists a ruler with the Dao (the Way), one should not rely on military force to dominate the world. How much less should a ruler who personally follows the Dao do so?" Master Su said, "The sage uses soldiers only out of necessity. If one, without being compelled, tries to conquer the world by force, then even if victory comes for a time, calamity will return upon oneself. King Ling of Chu, King Min of Qi, the First Emperor of Qin, and Emperor Wu of Han: some lost their lives because of this, and others brought disaster upon their descendants. Those who are resented by people and loathed by ghosts and spirits cannot escape misfortune."

Where armies have camped, thorns and brambles grow, and after great battles, years of famine are sure to follow.

The Zhenghe commentary says, "Those below are robbed of their labor, so the fields lie waste and grow thorns. Those above go against heavenly timing, so famine arises." Master Su said, "Wherever an army passes, the people's daily affairs are disrupted and the fields go untilled. After a campaign, the Qi (vital energy) of killing grows strong, and the crops are also harmed. This is true of every war, so how much more so when one seeks to dominate the world through force?"

One who is skilled in war need only achieve the aim of quelling disorder, and does not dare to use it to show off his strength. When the matter is accomplished, he does not regard himself as right, does not boast of his merit, and does not become arrogant. He uses soldiers only out of necessity. This is called "achieving the aim without showing off strength."

One who is skilled in war seeks only to act decisively when necessary, to pacify disorder, and does not dare to rely on military power or to refuse engagement in order to show off. Master Su said, "Not regarding oneself as right, not boasting, not being arrogant, and using soldiers only out of necessity: these four points are the manifestations of not showing off strength."

When things reach the peak of vigor and strength, they turn toward old age. This is called being contrary to the Dao, and what is contrary to the Dao will soon perish.

Those who have the Dao often keep the soft and pure state of an infant, and so they are able not to grow old. If a person remains always in a state of vigorous strength, they will inevitably age in the end, and this is to be out of accord with the Dao. The phrase "one who is not in accord with the Dao will die early" means that one who does not accord with the Dao cannot endure for long. Master Su said: that strength is followed inevitably by decline is the common principle of all things. Only one who has the Dao, when accomplished, still seems to lack something, and when full still seems empty; never deliberately displaying force, such a person never grows old and never proceeds toward death. To claim strength over the world through military might, when strength reaches its extreme, how could decline be avoided?

That the love of weapons is inauspicious is because all things detest war, and therefore one who has the Dao does not establish oneself through it.

"Liking" (jia) means to love and to prize. "Inauspicious" (bu xiang) means having no good fortune and instead bringing calamity. "Not dwelling" (bu chu) means not being willing to place oneself in such a position.

The gentleman, in ordinary times, honors the left; in the use of arms, he honors the right.

Here the text specifically explains how one who has the Dao does not establish oneself through warfare: in ordinary times one does not willingly occupy the position normally held in honor, but would rather occupy a position of no honor, and is unwilling to stand in the place of the one who wields arms.

Weapons and warfare are inauspicious things, not what a gentleman is inclined to use. They are employed only when there is no alternative, and the mind should remain calm and detached. Even when victorious, one does not regard it as an occasion for celebration.

The "weapons" (bing) here are instruments of killing, not implements that bring good fortune. "Tranquil detachment" (tian dan) means that the heart does not delight in them or become eager for them; "being foremost" (wei shang) means that not loving to use weapons is the attitude that is worthy of approval. Even after winning a battle, one should not regard victory as a fine thing.

To regard victory as a fine thing is to take delight in killing. One who takes delight in killing cannot fulfill the aspiration to govern the world. This further explains why one should not take pride in military victory, and thereby issues a warning.

In auspicious affairs the left is honored; in mournful affairs the right is honored. The deputy general stands on the left, and the chief general stands on the right.

This passage further clarifies the earlier phrase "not to dwell in it" (bu chu). To regard winning a battle as something worth boasting about is to take delight in killing people, and one who does so can never truly attain the empire. Laozi concludes with this remark as a warning to the world.

In auspicious affairs the left is honored, and in inauspicious affairs the right is honored. The deputy general stands on the left, and the chief general stands on the right.

This, too, further clarifies the earlier phrase "not to dwell in it."

When many people have been killed, one should weep with grief; even when a battle has been won, it should be conducted with funeral rites.

This further clarifies the earlier phrase "not to take pleasure in it" (bu mei).

The latter half of Chapter 26 says: the Dao (the fundamental principle by which all things operate) is constant and nameless.

This sentence speaks of the Dao.

Pu (the uncarved block, the unadorned simplicity of the Dao and of non-action) may seem small, yet the world does not dare to treat it as a subject. If lords and kings can hold fast to the Dao, the myriad things will naturally submit to them.

Here "pu" refers to the Dao. The Dao fills heaven, earth, and the four quarters, yet when it is gathered into a single palm it does not appear full, which is why it is called "small." The Dao is supreme, so one who embodies the great Dao can rule over all under heaven, and the world dares not treat him as a subordinate.

"Hou" (feudal lord) refers to the ruler of a state, and "wang" (king) refers to the ruler of all under heaven. If lords and kings can hold to the Dao, the myriad things will honor them as their master and come to them of their own accord. "Naturally" means that the ruler does not force things to be so; rather, the myriad things submit by themselves.

When the qi of heaven and earth join together, sweet dew descends; no one commands it, yet the dew spontaneously and evenly moistens all things.

The efficacy of the Dao pervades the world, just as when the qi of heaven and earth join and sweet dew falls. Though no one issues orders, the dew still falls evenly upon all things by itself. All things grow and multiply within the Dao, so one who possesses the Dao can become the lord of the myriad things, and they all come to submit to him. Master Su says: sweet dew reaches all things, and no place fails to be moistened. The sage embodies the great Dao in responding to all affairs and all things, just as the dew reaches everywhere without exception, and therefore is able to bring all things to submission.

When institutions begin to be established, names arise, ...

This passage speaks of De (Virtue). The word shi (beginning) refers to the Dao (the Way), and zhi (to make, to form) means that the Dao gives rise to De. The Dao is originally nameless. Only when it manifests as De does it acquire a name.

Once De has a name, one should know when to stop. Knowing where to stop keeps one from falling into difficulty.

The Dao is originally nameless, but once it manifests as De, it has a name. Therefore, one who uses De should stop at De and not retreat further. The word jiang here carries a softening, unhurried tone. Laozi takes the Dao as highest and De as second. He says that only after the Dao is lost does De arise, after De is lost does ren (humaneness) arise, after ren is lost does yi (righteousness) arise, and after yi is lost does li (ritual propriety) arise. Since ren and yi rank below De, this chapter, when it reaches De, says that one should know to stop. From nonbeing to being, one should halt at De and not go further down. De already has a name and already lies below the Dao. If one retreats from De any further, one moves even farther from the Dao. Knowing to stop at De means one has not strayed too far from the Dao. The phrase bu dai means one does not exhaust or decay and can endure without ruin. Master Su said: how could a sage chase after fame, forget simplicity, and abandon the root for the branches? It is precisely because he does not do so that he can respond to all manner of change without falling into difficulty.

The Dao exists throughout the world, just as rivers and seas gather the many streams.

The previous passage said that from nonbeing to being one should stop at De. This passage says that from being back to nonbeing one should return to the Dao. The Dao pervades the world, and as the sea is the destination of all waters, so the Dao is the place to which all things return. De is like the many waters of streams and valleys. When De returns to the Dao, it is like the waters of the valleys gathering into the great sea.

To understand others is called wisdom, but to know oneself is true clarity (ming). To overcome others is to have force, but to overcome oneself is true strength (qiang).

Knowing others through cleverness is only wisdom sought outwardly. To know oneself is to fully realize one's nature (xing) from within, and so it is called "ming." Overcoming others relies only on external power. To restrain oneself is to govern oneself from within, and so it is called "qiang."

Those who are content are rich, and those who practice diligently have resolve.

Those who fully realize their nature and also comprehend their allotted destiny (tianming), the portion of fate received from Heaven, do not envy external things, and their hearts often feel abundant. Only the clear-sighted can do this. Those who restrain themselves and are willing to do good can persist without ever slackening. Only the strong can do this.

To not depart from or lose one's root is to endure long. Even when the body dies, if the spirit (shen) does not perish, this is longevity (shou).

Only one who is both clear-sighted and strong can see what is real and hold to it unwaveringly. When impurities dissolve and cultivation is perfected, when thought and action both return to stillness, one accords with subtle transformation. While living in the world, wherever one is, the heart does not lose its root and remains constant, and so it is called "jiu" (lasting). After leaving the world, though one has departed from the body, the dwelling of the spirit, the heart endures undying and unchanged through past and present, and so it is called "shou."

In a discussion of Chapter 28 of the Daodejing (Classic of the Dao and De), someone asked why Laozi, who holds that dimness is clarity and weakness is strength, speaks in this chapter of clarity and strength. The answer was that Laozi's heart is not in fact unclear, only his outward appearance seems dim. Within, he is not lacking in strength, only his outward manifestation is yielding. Dimness and weakness are methods for regulating outward appearance, while clarity and strength are methods for cultivating the heart. The two can proceed together without contradiction.

The Great Dao is vast and boundless, present everywhere, and one can find it on the left and on the right.

"Fan" (pervasive) means broad, like water spreading out and overflowing in every direction. The Dao is so great that it is everywhere, on the left and on the right alike. Wherever one seeks the Dao from, one can attain it.

The myriad things depend on the Dao (the Way) to grow, yet the Dao does not claim credit or speak of it. When its work is accomplished, it does not claim the merit as its own.

"Shi" means to rely on. "Sheng" refers to spring, when the myriad things begin to grow. The myriad things are born by relying on the Dao, yet the Dao remains silent. As the earlier passage says, the myriad things rise up, and the Dao does not refuse. "Gong cheng" refers to winter, when the myriad things are gathered and stored. The Dao's work of nourishing the myriad things is complete, yet it takes no pride in that achievement.

The Dao covers and nurtures the myriad things like clothing and a quilt, yet it does not act as their master. It is always without desire. Viewed in this way, it may seem that the Dao can be called "small."

This further explains that the myriad things depend on the Dao to be born, while the Dao does not refuse. In spring, when the myriad things grow, the Dao nourishes them universally, as one dresses them in clothing and covers them with a quilt. "Yuanheng" (a term from the Yijing, or Book of Changes, meaning that things grow and flourish with penetrating clarity) gives rise to the many things, yet the Dao does not regard itself as their master. "Chang wu yu" (always without desire) means the Dao has no private intent. The Dao moves from unity into the myriad distinct things and seems to disperse into the finest particulars, so it may be called "small." In truth, however, it cannot be called small. If one could define it by "small," it would no longer be the Dao that does not speak, does not master, and is without desire or mind. Here the character for clothing is read as yi and used as a verb, meaning to clothe the myriad things.

In the end, all the myriad things return to the Dao, yet they do not know who their master is. Viewed in this way, the Dao may seem to be called "great."

This passage explains that once merit has been accomplished, one should not claim it as one's own. In winter all things are gathered in: they return to their roots and revert to their original nature, converging into oneness. This is what the Yi calls lì zhēn (benefit through correctness), namely guarding the spiritual root and restoring sincerity. The myriad things also do not know who their lord is. Each of them differs, yet they converge into a single source. This is the totality of the Dao, the greatest of all existence. Can it be called "great"? In truth it cannot. Once it is given a name, it is no longer the Dao that claims no merit and does not reveal a master.

Some have doubted that the phrase "does not know the master" has dropped the three characters cháng wú míng (always nameless). Regarding the two following sentences, "it may be named as small" and "it may be named as great," Wu Cheng holds that they pose questions rather than make direct assertions. Although no particle hū ends the sentence, the tone carries the force of "is it not so?" He cites the earlier chapter, whose successive questions end in hū, and lines from the Great Odes (Dàyǎ) asking whether the Zhou house is not glorious and whether the decree of Shangdi is not timely. These examples show that classical prose sometimes omits hū while retaining the interrogative tone.

Therefore the sage is able to accomplish great works precisely because he does not regard himself as great.

This chapter speaks of the Dao (dào) by which Heaven and Earth operate, and it ends by turning to the sage because the sage accords with the Way of Heaven and Earth. As the seasons turn, all things are nourished and brought to maturity, and in the end each returns to its proper place. This manifests the vastness of the Dao. Heaven and Earth do not claim their achievements as their own, and the myriad things do not know who governs them. The Way of Heaven and Earth is vast, yet it does not regard itself as great. The sage is likewise. Therefore he is able to achieve greatness: precisely because the Way he practices is vast yet does not boast of its greatness, he is able to accomplish its greatness.

The above is Chapter Twenty-Nine.

Holding fast to the Great Image (dàxiàng), the overall form of the Dao rather than any concretely visible figure, the people of the world will come to submit to it. Once they have come, they are not harmed, and their lives are peaceful, harmonious, and smooth.

"Holding fast" (zhí) means to embody and follow without going against. "Great Image" is a metaphor for the Dao. The second part of the Daodejing (Dàodéjīng) says: "The Great Image has no form; the Dao is hidden and nameless." Here "to come to" (wǎng) means to submit and take refuge. "Not harmful" means beneficial. The sage embodies the Dao and acts accordingly, so the people of the world come to him. Once the common people have come to him, the sage benefits them in a manner free of self-interest. If one confers benefit through calculated advantage, one may gain something but also invite harm. If one benefits others without seeking anything in return, the benefit endures without bringing harm, and so the people are able to live in lasting peace, harmony, and ease. The commentator Zhenghe (Zhènghé) explains: "'Peace' means freedom from danger; 'harmony' means freedom from bias; 'smoothness' means being unobstructed and settled."

Music and fine food can make a passerby stop in his tracks, but the Dao, when spoken, is so plain that it has no flavor. Look at it, and it cannot be seen; listen to it, and it cannot be heard; use it, and it is never exhausted.

"Ji" means to exhaust. Whatever among external things can benefit people cannot last long. Only the benefit of the Dao (the Way) accomplishes benefit without deliberately bestowing it, and so it can last.

Music refers to singing, playing instruments, dancing, and other sounds and sights. "Er" refers to the flavor of food and drink, and also to the etiquette of banquets. Arranging music and banquets is meant to delight the guests. But once the guests leave, the music ceases and the food and drink are gone, so the joy they bring is only temporary and cannot last even a whole day.

The Dao cannot be taken in like food, nor seen or heard like music. Yet when people follow the Dao, they can be settled, peaceful, and secure for a long time, with no point of exhaustion. Therefore the function of the Dao is not like music and food, which bring only momentary pleasure. Thus it is said: "yong zhi bu ke ji," meaning that the function of the Dao is inexhaustible and never used up.

To gather something in, one must first let it fully open. To weaken something, one must first let it grow strong. To abolish something, one must first let it rise. To take something, one must first give. This principle of seeing, through a thing developing to its extreme, the trend of its reversal is called "weiming" (clarity manifested from what is subtle).

"Xi" means to draw in and close, while "zhang" means to open and spread. Laozi says that the return of things is the way Dao moves, and he also says that Xuan De (profound De, or Virtue) is deep and unfathomable, running contrary to what ordinary people see. The methods discussed here are therefore, broadly speaking, meant to run opposite to what people see on the surface, so that others cannot easily see through them. The author uses eight opposing cases, such as "xi" and "zhang," as metaphors and gathers them into the six characters of the following passage, "rou sheng gang, ruo sheng qiang" (the soft overcomes the hard, the weak overcomes the strong). This resembles the structure of the previous chapter, which first cites examples of skill in walking, speaking, planning, closing, and tying knots, and then explains the principle behind them.

Sunzi, Wuzi, and men of the type of Shen Buhai and Han Feizi used stratagems to drive others into deadly positions without their knowing it. Some hold that all these techniques originate in Laozi's thought. Laozi's words may indeed have been exploited in places, but to conclude from this that anyone under heaven who accepts his teaching dares to do such things, and then to doubt his original intent, is also an overreach. If commentators consistently shield Laozi and defend him with vague statements, they fall into a bias of their own.

What the eye cannot see is called "wei" (subtle, invisible). "Weiming" (subtle illumination) means to gather in the light that has already shown itself: to conceal what could be seen and keep it from appearing. This is close in meaning to "ximing" (secretly using light), mentioned in the previous chapter. People see only that he opens, strengthens, raises up, and gives, but they do not realize that he actually intends to draw in, weaken, abolish, and seize. For this reason it is called "weiming." The character "xi" is to be read as "xi," meaning to draw together.

If the opponent is unyielding and strong, and I also want to defeat him with strength, isn't that very difficult? If I position myself in softness and weakness, the strong will not be wary of me, and in the end I can overcome them. Why is this? Because I adopt the opposite approach to theirs, so that they cannot see through me.

Su Shi said: The strong people of the world are fighting one another, while I alone deal with them in a soft, yielding manner. When the strong are wounded and the weak lose their lives, I do not contend with them but simply wait calmly for their downfall, and in this way I prevail. Why? Because I am opposite to them, so that they cannot see through me. Yet did the sage do this deliberately, waiting to defeat others? He merely understood that the course of affairs is naturally so, and dwelt within it in accordance with nature.

Fish cannot leave the deep waters, and the key methods of governing a state cannot be easily shown to others.

If a fish leaves the deep water, it is easily controlled and caught. If the key methods of a state are displayed, others who see their advantage will imitate them, or even seek to surpass them, and one's original advantage is no longer an advantage. When the fish does not leave the deep water and the key methods are not readily revealed, others cannot see through them. This is what is called "subtle clarity" (weiming, deep concealment while still being able to perceive clearly).

The above is Chapter Thirty-One. The main idea of this chapter lies in the second paragraph, summarized by the six words "softness overcomes hardness, weakness overcomes strength." The first paragraph discusses adopting the opposite approach to others, and the third discusses making oneself impossible to see through.

The Dao (the Way) is always non-action (wuwei), yet there is nothing it cannot accomplish.

The non-action of the Dao is enduring and unchanging, not merely something that holds for a time, which is why it is said to be "always non-action." Though it does not act on its own initiative, nothing that should be accomplished is left undone. If non-action caused affairs to be neglected or left incomplete, what would be valuable about such non-action? The non-action spoken of here is a state in accordance with one's nature, at ease and natural.

If the marquises and kings (the feudal lords and rulers) are able to hold fast to this Way of non-action, the myriad things will naturally be transformed and nourished.

The ruler who can hold to Wuwei (non-action), meaning does not impose their private intentions by force, will bring about change in the myriad things (wanwu) even without deliberately teaching or transforming them. If the ruler's own intention arises as the things change, and he wants to push them to change according to his will, then he should settle this craving with Wuming zhi Pu (the Uncarved Block: the nameless, formless, simple and natural Way of non-action). The Uncarved Block will also cause this desire to fade.

The commentary says that "desire" (yu) is deliberately doing something, and "arising" (zuo) is stirring into motion. If the ruler has not yet fully achieved non-action, and on seeing the things change he hastens to bring about the change, then this intention has already strayed from the Way of Wuwei. At this point he should use the Uncarved Block to suppress and steady the craving, so that it does not rise again. Once the craving subsides, he will no longer insist on interfering.

When the mind no longer stirs with desire, the heart-mind becomes quiet, and the world will naturally move toward order.

The commentary says that "stillness" (jing) is the opposite of "arising," and that it returns things to their original state. The desire to intervene in the world is steadied by the Way of Wuwei, the desire fades, and the ruler returns to tranquility. In this way, even without deliberately governing the world, the world will naturally settle. This is the same principle as the natural transformation of the myriad things. People may follow the course out of comfort, or follow it out of advantage, but the result they reach is the same.

The first two sections of this chapter explain how, through Wuwei, the myriad things transform themselves, and the last two explain how, through stillness, the world rectifies itself. The above concludes juan two of the Commentary on the Daodejing Zhenjing (Daode Zhenjing Zhu), after which juan three, the Upper De Jing (Dejing Shang), begins. The collation notes in the commentary explain that, according to the Yueya edition, the superfluous character neng has been deleted, and the omitted character shi has been supplied.

The character shi (time) in the phrase "the time of winter storage" was missing from the original text. It has been restored here according to the Yueya edition (Yueya ben).

Commentary on the Daode Zhenjing, Volume Three, by Wu Cheng of Linchuan.

The opening line of the lower section is "Superior De does not act as De, and therefore has De; inferior De does not lose De, and therefore lacks De." The section takes its title, De, from this first character. The title itself carries no special meaning. A commentator who holds that the upper section discusses only Dao (the Way) and the lower section only De (Virtue/Power) is mistaken. Some editions title this part as the lower section of the Daode Jing. Here it is understood that the names Dao Jing and De Jing were taken from the first character of each section, and that later readers combined the two section titles into Daode Jing. The name did not originally refer to the two characters Dao and De as a title for the whole book.

"Superior De does not act as De, and therefore has De; inferior De does not lose De, and therefore lacks De."

Here Dao is set against ren (benevolence). Superior De is a state above De, which is Dao, and inferior De is a state below De, which is ren. Dao follows what is natural and acts through wuwei (non-action). It does not treat De as something deliberately pursued, so it is said to be "not De." Yet Dao naturally contains De, so it is said to "have De." Ren practices benevolence warmly and personally, and it fears losing its own virtue, so it is said to "not lose De." But because it deliberately guards its De, it cannot naturally possess true De, and so it is said to "lack De."

"Superior De acts through wuwei and has no purpose in acting; inferior De acts and has a purpose in acting."

Here Dao is again set against ren. The word yi (to use, to take as a means) carries the sense of "use." Dao acts through non-action and does not treat any deed as a means or an end in itself. Ren does act, and its actions carry the intention of practicing benevolence.

"Superior ren acts and has no purpose in acting; superior yi (righteousness) acts and has a purpose in acting."

Here De is set against ren. Superior ren is a state above ren, which is De, and superior yi is a state above yi, which is ren. De also acts, yet its actions carry no deliberate purpose. It still falls short of the non-action and non-intention of Dao, but it is more natural than ren, which acts with a purpose in mind.

"Superior li (ritual propriety) acts, yet no one responds to it; then one rolls up one's sleeves, bares one's arm, and forcibly insists that others follow it."

The highest level of li acts but finds no response. So one rolls up one's sleeves, bares one's arm, and forces others to comply with the rites.

This passage focuses on Yi (yi), or righteousness. The so-called "superior Li (li)" means that above ritual propriety there is still a higher level, Yi. "Rang" carries the sense of pulling or drawing in, and "reng" means to go toward or come near. When the attractive power of Yi is not enough to make people respond, one practices Yi and yet no one answers. When others do not come close, one must take the initiative to approach them, even taking hold of their sleeves and asking them to come along. The description uses hyperbole to portray how laborious and clumsy this approach is.

Therefore, when the Dao (dao) is lost, De (de) appears; when De is lost, Ren (ren) appears; when Ren is lost, Yi appears; when Yi is lost, Li appears.

These lines follow the preceding text and lead into what comes after.

Li is the manifestation of thinning loyalty and sincerity (zhongxin), and it is also the beginning of disorder. Foreknowledge (qianshi) and cleverness are the surface brilliance of the Dao, and they are also the beginning of ignorance.

Here Li, wisdom, and loyalty and sincerity are linked together. Deep De gradually thins, descending layer by layer: first it falls to Ren, then to Yi, and finally to Li, so that the originally deep virtue of loyalty and sincerity also becomes shallow. Li was meant to bring order to affairs and prevent chaos, yet it becomes the root of disorder, which is why it is called "the head of disorder" ("luan zhi shou").

"Qianshi" means foreknowledge and cleverness. The Dao is like the seed and inner vitality of a tree. Before it grows, the principle of growth is contained within it. Once it sprouts, De is like the root, Ren like the trunk, Yi like the branches, Li like the leaves, and wisdom like the flowers, all arising from the Dao. The wise person wants to use cleverness to see through affairs and avoid ignorance, yet may thereby open the way to ignorance, which is why it is called "the beginning of folly" ("yu zhi shi").

Therefore, the great person establishes themselves on deep De and does not dwell on shallow ritual propriety. They hold to inner truth and do not chase outward brilliance. In other words, they value De rather than exalting Li, and they embody the Dao rather than relying on cleverness. Here "bi" refers to the shallow and showy, and "ci" refers to the deep and genuine, so one should abandon the former and choose the latter.

The above first chapter of the Upper Section distinguishes Dao and De, while the first chapter of the Lower Section distinguishes Dao, De, Ren (humaneness), Yi (righteousness), Li (ritual propriety), and Zhi (wisdom). The Dao, De, Ren, Yi, Li, and Zhi discussed here are described from the standpoint of the fundamental principle that all heaven and earth and myriad things follow in common; this is called Dao. The inherent nature and power that the myriad things receive from heaven and earth is called De (Virtue/Power).

De is the general term, and when subdivided it has four manifestations. That which receives from heaven and earth the original vital Qi (qi) that gives life to the myriad things, and is gentle and loving, is called Ren. That which receives from heaven and earth the power to gather and complete the myriad things, and is upright and capable of decisive judgment, is called Yi. That which receives from heaven and earth the power to make the myriad things grow and flourish, and which appears as bright and orderly, is called Li. That which receives from heaven and earth the power to store the myriad things and return them to correct stability, and which is inwardly full and pervasively discerning, is called Zhi.

Laozi regarded Dao as nameless and De as named. As one moves from De to the further divisions of Ren, Yi, Li, and Zhi, the levels gradually descend. For this reason, this chapter places Dao first, above De, and calls it "Higher De" (shang de); it places De second, above Ren, and calls it "Higher Ren" (shang ren). Ren is placed third, below De and above Yi; Yi is placed fourth, above Li; and Li is placed fifth. The chapter states, "When the Dao is lost, then De; when De is lost, then Ren; when Ren is lost, then Yi," and then continues, "When Yi is lost, then Li," showing that these levels descend in sequence. It then speaks of "Li" first and "foreknowledge" (qian shi) afterward, placing Zhi sixth.

If we compare these six to the six lines of the Yijing (Book of Changes), Dao, De, Ren, Yi, Li, and Zhi correspond in order to the first through sixth lines. Dao is inner reality, and Zhi is outer manifestation; when the inner is full, the outer is not hollow and ostentatious. The first and sixth lines symbolize, respectively, the beginning and the end. De takes its roots in Li