《道德真经注（元吴澄）》Vol. 2

The Five Phases arise from one another and correspond, much as the form of a tree does: thick roots and thin leaves symbolize the correspondence of the second and fifth in the world, while benevolence resembles the trunk and righteousness the branches. The trunk stands alone and the branches spread apart, symbolizing the adjacency of the third and fourth. Dao (dào) is like Heaven, covering and enfolding all things as their source. De (dé) is like Earth, grounded in loyalty and sincerity, and it is the root on which benevolence, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom depend. Benevolence is like spring, where the Earth of De gives birth to Wood. Righteousness is like autumn, where the Wood of benevolence gives birth to Metal. Ritual propriety is like summer, where the Metal of righteousness gives birth to Fire. Wisdom is like winter, where the Fire of ritual propriety gives birth to Water. These virtues are transmitted in the generative order of the Five Phases, each receiving from the one before it.

Dao is one, De is two, benevolence is three, righteousness is four, ritual propriety is five, and wisdom is six.

Those who possess superior virtue do not deliberately display their De. The benevolence of superior benevolence is less pure than superior De. Those of inferior De do not lose their virtue. Those who prize righteousness act righteously on purpose, and those who prize ritual propriety perform it on purpose.

Therefore, one who has De does not regard themselves as virtuous, and so truly possesses it. One who lacks De insists on displaying virtue, and so in fact lacks it.

One who practices Wuwei (wúwéi), or non-action, does not act deliberately, whereas one who acts with purpose insists on doing. Once loyalty and sincerity have declined, Dao is left with nothing but external ornamentation. To treat non-being as being and being as non-being, and to regard one who makes no response as the beginning of disorder and the start of ignorance, is the origin of chaos and folly.

In antiquity, things that obtained the One each took on a corresponding state. Heaven obtained the One and became clear. Earth obtained the One and became tranquil. Spirits obtained the One and became efficacious. Valleys obtained the One and became full. The myriad things obtained the One and grew. Lords and kings obtained the One and became the rightful rulers of all under Heaven. They were able to do so because each attained the One and held to it.

The "One" here refers to the virtue of emptiness, stillness, and embracing. It is the same as the "embracing the One" (bàoyī) and "acting from the One" (wéiyī) of the earlier chapter, and the "Dao generates One" of the later text. It is this principle that enables lords and kings to become the rightful rulers of the realm.

The One (Yi) refers to the virtue of emptiness, stillness, and harmonious blending. The "embracing the One" and "holding to the One" discussed earlier, as well as "the Dao generates the One" that follows, all refer to it. Zhuangzi calls it Taiyi, and some texts simply call it "the One." It is the state that the natural Dao brings about, and its operation shows as emptiness that is never full, as placing oneself behind without competing to be first, as gentleness without hardness, and as softness without showing off. The earlier passages touch on these many times, and this chapter sets out their meaning in full. To "attain" (de) means to obtain this virtue and hold it as one's De (Virtue/Power). Only then can one act in these ways.

Heaven, earth, spirit, and valley have different names but share the same essence. When qi (vital energy) circulates and becomes clear, it is called heaven. When qi gathers and becomes settled, it is called earth. Shen (spirit) is the subtle functioning of the Yin-Yang qi between heaven and earth. Zhang Zai's phrase "because there are two, it cannot be fathomed" means that the Yin-Yang qi is present everywhere and its workings are difficult to measure. Shen responds to whatever stirs it and changes without fixed form, so it is called numinous (ling). The valley is the empty space between heaven and earth. Zhang Zai said "emptiness is qi," meaning that qi fills this space without any gap, and so it is called full (ying).

Zhen (the constant) is like the trunk of a tree, which is the sense of "the standard for all under heaven." Heaven is clear, earth is at rest, spirit is numinous, and the valley is full, so the myriad things are able to live and grow without end. Kings and lords dwell above all under heaven and become the standard for the common people. All of this comes from attaining the One.

If heaven lacks the virtue of clarity, it will likely split apart. If earth lacks the virtue of stillness, it will likely shake. If spirit loses its responsiveness, it will likely cease to function. If the valley cannot be filled, it will likely run dry. If the myriad things cannot grow, they will likely perish. If kings and lords cannot become the standard for all under heaven, but merely occupy high positions and act proud and haughty, they will likely stumble and lose their position.

"Without" (wuyi) means acting as though one lacks this virtue and relying on that appearance. Here, "split" (lie) means dividing apart, "shake" (fa) means trembling, "cease" (xie) means losing responsiveness and numinous quality, "run dry" (jie) means being unable to fill, "perish" (mie) means stopping growth and dying out, and "stumble" (jue) means falling and losing position.

Therefore the noble takes the lowly as its root, and the high takes the low as its foundation. This is why the marquises and kings call themselves "gu" (orphan), "gua" (widow), and "bugu" (not good). Each of these is a humble term, meaning respectively "without support," "lacking," and "not skillful." Is this not taking the lowly as the root? Is it not so?

This passage follows a list of six situations and turns to the marquises and kings, building on the preceding words "noble" and "high." Their rank is lofty and they stand above others, yet the virtue of emptiness, stillness, and humility requires them to place themselves in a lowly position. "Gu" suggests having no father, "gua" suggests having no husband, and "bugu" means "not good." These are unflattering names that no one would willingly claim, yet the rulers use them for themselves, which is a way of positioning themselves beneath others. The earlier phrase "the lowly is the root, the low is the foundation" is here stated only as "the lowly is the root." This is an example of stating one part to imply the other, leaving the repetition unspoken.

The highest praise is to be free from praise. One should not appear as dazzling as polished jade, nor as angular as rough stone.

"Lulu" describes the appearance of jade, and "luoluo" describes the appearance of stone. A person's reputation and praise that spread widely are often only shallow and fleeting acclaim, which in the end fades away. A person who has no name worth praising has reached the highest level of being praised, and this too carries the sense of resting in a lowly position. Do not display the marks of distinguishing good from evil or beautiful from ugly, so that others cannot tell who resembles the lustrous jade and who resembles the coarse stone. Once people see beauty and ugliness, the beautiful will inevitably receive praise, and so it becomes impossible to be free from praise. Both sections speak of the virtue of emptiness, stillness, and humility, without self-satisfaction. Only by achieving this can the marquises and kings attain the Dao.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Reversal is the way the Dao moves, and softness is the way the Dao functions.

When the Dao is at rest, it appears as non-being (wu). When it moves, it necessarily works through opposites, with being (you) and non-being (wu) arising in mutual complementarity. "Reversal" means that being arises from non-being. The essence of the Dao is emptiness, and in its application it is characterized by softness. "Softness" means emptiness without self-satisfaction. These two sentences form the outline of this chapter.

All things under heaven arise from being (you), and being arises from non-being (wu).

The great Dao (Dao) is bright, yet it appears dim and obscure. Advancing along the great Dao, one seems to be moving backward. The level great Dao seems to have uneven, rough places. This passage describes the principle that things appear opposite to their true nature while in fact complementing it. Keeping one's light hidden and one's brilliance unrevealed makes things look dark, yet this is precisely what brings out true brightness. Choosing to stay behind and refusing to contend for the front may look like yielding, yet this is how one actually advances. Like silk threads with knots and flaws that are not perfectly even, a surface that looks uneven may ultimately reach true evenness.

Lofty De (Virtue/Power) resembles a low valley. The purest white seems stained, abundant De seems deficient, vigorous De seems slack, and genuine simplicity seems to have changed. The greatest square has no corners, the greatest vessel is completed last, the greatest sound is hard to hear, and the greatest image has no fixed shape.

As noted earlier, things often reveal their function through their opposite. This passage develops that point further. A valley's low ground is what makes the heights stand out, and soiling is what makes whiteness visible. Narrowness and smallness set off breadth, and slackness and lassitude can prompt a person to rebuild.

"Zhizhen" means substance, or in other words, substance within substance. "Yu" means to break faith, to fail to keep one's word. Only one who keeps faith can be called substantial, yet the deepest genuineness can appear, on the surface, like empty and unreliable breaking of faith. A thing with corners is called square, yet the greatest squareness shows no visible corners. Once things are formed, they become vessels, but the larger the vessel, the harder and later it is to complete. Many sounds interweaving and harmonizing make up music, yet the greatest music has sounds that are sparse and rarely heard. Things that can be seen take on shape, yet the greatest image has no fixed form that can be seen.

The Dao (the Way) is hidden and nameless. Precisely because the Dao has neither form nor name, it can bestow itself universally on the myriad things and help them accomplish themselves.

This sentence gathers the meaning of the two preceding sections. The Dao lies hidden in namelessness, yet it pervades all things, so that they are nourished without loss. Everything discussed above concerns how things, in the course of their transformations, display their opposite aspect.

The Dao gives birth to One, One gives birth to Two, Two gives birth to Three, and Three in turn gives birth to the myriad things. The myriad things carry Yin at their back and embrace Yang in front, and the Qi (vital energy) of Yin and Yang blend together, forming a state of harmony.

The Dao (Dào) gives birth to a qi of empty harmony (chōngxū zhī qì), from which arise Yang qi and Yin qi. Yin and Yang together with the qi of empty harmony make up the "three." Thus "generates the three" does not mean that there is a separate "three" beyond Yin and Yang. All things are produced by these three. In their production, they carry Yin qi on their backs, face Yang qi, and the qi of empty harmony stands in the middle to bring Yin and Yang into balance. What is meant by "harmony" (hé) is the equilibrium of Yin and Yang, with neither side leaning toward the other.

The production of all things depends on the qi of empty harmony, and after they are produced, they must still operate through it, or they will lose their root. The qi of empty harmony that is the root of all generated things is empty and never full, and so it is called "weak" (ruò). This explains why the Dao works through softness and weakness.

People often dislike the terms "orphan" (gū), "widower" (guǎ), and "not grain" (bùgǔ), yet the dukes and lords use these words to refer to themselves. "Orphan," "widower," and "not grain" are not honorific titles that place one above others; they are appellations that people do not like. When the dukes and lords use them for themselves, they are in fact treating weakness as their own usefulness.

Therefore, sometimes a thing gains by being diminished, and sometimes it suffers loss by being increased.

This statement introduces the two layers of meaning that follow: softness and weakness may appear to lose something, yet in fact they bring benefit, while strength and abundance may appear to gain, yet may instead bring about loss. The three examples discussed below illustrate this principle.

What people teach the world, I too teach: those who are domineering and rely on their strength often do not come to a good end. I take this saying as the foundation of my teaching.

This passage explains the principle of dealing with the world through softness and yielding. "Liang" (beam) refers to a log laid across water to form a bridge, or to a ridgepole that bears a roof, and the ancients used it to signify strength. The phrase "bu de qi si" (not dying a natural death) means failing to come to a good end. Confucius judged that Zilu, being unbending in temperament, would likely not die a natural death, and Zilu did indeed perish in the coup led by Kong Kui in Wei. "Jiaofu" (father of teaching) means the root of instruction, and "fu" here refers to that which is most honored and holds the first place.

The teaching that people pass down is to instruct them in the use of softness and weakness, and the author takes this as the root of their own teaching as well. Someone who is hard and insists on prevailing, unable to yield gently, will find it difficult to preserve themselves. Overcoming others by force may appear to bring gain, yet in the end it may bring a death that is not natural. This is the situation of seeming to gain while in fact being harmed. The way of softness is the foremost principle of teaching, and so it is called the "jiaofu."

The softest thing under heaven can move freely through and overcome the hardest thing under heaven. That which has no form or substance can enter where there is no gap. From this I understand that wuwei (non-action) is beneficial.

This passage follows the preceding idea that softness is the basis of teaching and expands on it. "Zhi rou" (utmost softness) and "wu you" (non-existence) both belong to the category of softness. "Chi cheng" (galloping about) carries the sense of moving freely through and overcoming obstacles. "Wu you" refers to that which has no substance and no coarse physical form, and "wu jian" (no gap) refers to a place with no crevice through which anything could enter. Water is soft, yet it can wear away hard stone. Qi (vital energy) is formless, yet it can penetrate what appear to be gapless walls of metal and stone. This shows that softness and formlessness, though they seem to be a loss, can overcome hardness and enter places without gaps, and in the end bring gain. That softness overcomes hardness, and that the formless enters the formed, both happen naturally rather than through deliberate forcing. This is why wuwei is said to be beneficial.

Teaching without relying on words, and bringing benefit through wuwei, is something very few people under heaven are able to achieve.

The above summarizes the meaning of the preceding two sections. The "teaching without words" (buyan zhi jiao) refers to people naturally grasping instruction from the principle that one should be soft and yielding and should not force oneself to be strong. The "benefit of non-action" (wuwei zhi yi) refers to the fact that the softest, formless force can pass through everywhere without obstruction and penetrate all things, so its power to benefit people surpasses ordinary teaching and assistance. That the people of the world use words to instruct and use deeds to benefit falls far short of this way, which is why it is said that "few can match it." The above discussion all concerns functioning through softness and weakness.

This chapter continues the content of the previous chapter on "attaining the One" (deyi) and focuses specifically on how to apply softness and weakness. Here "reversal" (fan) and "weakness" (ruo) are mentioned together. Why? Because the two express the same underlying meaning: "reversal" traces softness back to its source, and "weakness" points out the concrete manifestation of this return to the root. Whenever "reversal" is spoken of, it means applying softness; whenever "weakness" is spoken of, it means opposing all agitation and tangible things. There is no separate kind of "reversal" beyond "weakness."

Which is dearer, fame or life? Which is more worth valuing, life or wealth? Which is more troubling, gaining or losing?

Here "dear" (qin) refers to what one cherishes, and "much" (duo) refers to what one values. Placing "fame" before "body" and "wealth" after "body" is merely for smooth expression and rhyme. Master Sima explains: gaining fame and wealth while losing one's life, versus preserving one's life while losing fame and wealth, which of these two is more troubling?

Therefore, excessive attachment to something inevitably incurs great expense, and hoarding large amounts of goods will ultimately bring heavy loss.

Clinging too tightly to one's reputation leads to attachment to reputation. Body and mind matter more than fame, yet those who chase fame often value it even more, so they neglect their own selves, wear down their spirit, and harm their lifespan. Pursuing fame depletes what should be most precious, the body and mind, which is why it is called "great expenditure" (dafei).

Hoarding goods to excess leads to attachment to possessions. Life is more precious than wealth, yet those who crave possessions always want to accumulate more, so they fail to treasure their lives and may lose them altogether. Craving possessions damages what should be weighty and precious, life itself.

Those who know contentment will not be humiliated by greed. Those who know when to stop will not fall into danger, and so they can endure long.

Understanding the fixed limits of what one can possess leads to contentment and keeps one from overvaluing reputation, so one is not disgraced by losing a good name or damaging one's integrity. Understanding that external things do nothing to benefit life leads one to stop in due time and cease pursuing them, so one does not fall into danger by harming one's lifespan or losing one's life, and thus can endure long.

Great accomplishment seems incomplete, yet its function never runs dry. Great fullness seems empty, yet its function is never exhausted. The most upright seems crooked, the most skillful seems clumsy, and the most eloquent seems halting.

To treat completion as mere completion, fullness as mere fullness, uprightness as mere uprightness, skill as mere skill, and eloquence as mere eloquence is still to remain in a lesser state. What seems incomplete is truly great accomplishment. What seems empty is truly great fullness. What seems crooked, clumsy, or halting embodies, respectively, a greater uprightness, skill, and eloquence. The Laozi as a whole largely develops this principle: opposites often act upon one another. The earlier chapters have raised this point many times, so it is not elaborated further here.

Motion can overcome cold, and stillness can overcome heat.

The agitation of yang qi can resist the cold of yin qi, and the stillness of yin qi can dispel the heat of yang qi. This too is opposing forces acting upon one another.

Qingjing wuwei (purity, stillness, and non-action) is the proper Way for all under heaven.

"Qingjing" means wuwei: the mind holds not the slightest distracting thought, remaining still and not stirring recklessly. The "zheng" in zhengzhang means to take the lead and become the standard.

Qingjing (pure stillness) refers to wuwei: the mind holds not a single stray thought and remains calm and unmoving. The "zheng" in "zheng" (to govern, to be correct) and "zhengchang" (to lead) is the same "zheng" used here, meaning to serve as ruler over all under heaven. Rulers often have many affairs to manage. If they are busy and force things at every turn, how can they bring order to the realm? Only one who is pure, still, and practices wuwei can accomplish everything while appearing to do nothing, and so can become a model for all under heaven. This is what is meant by opposite things being able to act upon one another.

Some hold that "jing" (stillness), which overcomes heat, and "zao" (agitation), which overcomes cold, stand opposed to each other, each inclining toward one extreme. Only the stillness of qingjing has no opposite pole: stillness contains movement, and movement and stillness join without bias, so it can serve as a model for all under heaven. Though this reading is subtle, it is not the original meaning of this chapter.

"Que" means to withdraw or retreat. "Zoumǎ" refers to a horse skilled at running, that is, a swift horse.

When the realm is at peace and governance follows the Dao, war horses are retired to pull dung carts for farm work. When the realm is in disorder and governance goes against the Dao, war horses are driven out to the outlying fields to breed foals, and wars follow one after another without end.

“Que” means to yield or withdraw; “zouma” means a horse skilled at running; “fenche” is a cart for carrying manure. In ancient times each dian consisted of sixty-four jing, and the people all had to supply horses to fulfill the military levy. In an age with the Dao (the Way), each kept to its own land and did not encroach upon or wage war against others; therefore the people’s fine horses were not harnessed to war chariots but were withdrawn and put to lowly labor, pulling manure carts to fertilize the fields.

“Rongma” are horses of comparable strength kept in readiness for war. “Jiao” refers to the border region between two states. In an age without the Dao, enemy states encroached upon one another, battles were frequent in the outskirts, and military horses could not return home to rest and breed; they could only breed in the outskirts.

In many editions the character “che” is absent after “fen”; only the Zhuzi Yulu mentions “fenche,” but no one knows on what basis. Examining Zhang Heng’s Dongjing Fu, where the complete Laozi line is quoted as “que zouma yi fenche,” we can see that by the late Eastern Han the “che” character had not yet dropped out of the Jing (scripture/classic) text. By the time of Wang Bi of Wei, not far removed from Zhang Heng’s era, the character had already been lost. Probably one character was accidentally omitted at first, and later people followed the erroneous text and did not know that “che” should be restored. The character “jiao” rhymes here; if the “che” character is missing, the rhyme is not harmonious.

There is no fault greater than indulging desire, no error greater than coveting gain, and no misfortune greater than not knowing contentment. Therefore, only those who know contentment can always be content.

The terms zui, qian, e, jiu, and huo all refer to calamity, and among them “huo” is more serious than “jiu.” The beginning of war lies in people’s belief that land is worth coveting; once they deem it worth pursuing, they strive to obtain it and then covet and plunder, and this is the beginning of calamity. Having obtained land, they still do not know contentment—like one who, having gained Long, still longs for Shu—and so war has no time to cease; this is calamity developed to its extreme. If people took as their principle that each has a fixed portion of land and no longer sought expansion, and understood that contentment itself is satisfaction, then there would be no greedy seizure or conflict, and they could always be self-sufficient.

The above is chapter thirty-eight.

Without going out of the door, one can know the world; without peering out through the window, one can understand the Dao of Heaven (the patterns by which Heaven and Earth operate).

The principles of all things under heaven are already present within my own mind, so one can understand everything under heaven without ever leaving home. The Heavenly Dao (tiandao), the fundamental law by which nature operates, is the common source of all principles. One can apprehend it through inward reflection. Unlike external, tangible things, which must be peered at through a window before they can be seen, it does not require looking outward.

The farther one goes, the less one comes to know.

If one does not realize that the principles of all things are already contained within oneself, one must go to a place in order to understand each thing. Therefore, the farther one goes, the less one knows. How, then, could one understand everything under heaven without leaving home? Here there is no need to repeat the matter of "seeing the Heavenly Dao," because one who understands all things should also understand that all things originate from the One.

Therefore, the sage arrives without traveling, understands without seeing, and accomplishes without acting.

The sage does not leave home, yet it is as though he has already reached every place, and so he can fully comprehend the affairs of the world. He does not peer through a window at the things before him, yet he can explain their principles, and so without looking outward he perceives the Heavenly Dao. "Accomplishes without acting" refers to the result of the preceding two statements: the sage knows all affairs without traveling and perceives the fundamental without looking outward, so he need not deliberately intervene, and things are nonetheless brought to proper completion.

The above is Chapter Thirty-Nine.

In the pursuit of learning, knowledge increases each day; in the pursuit of the Dao, desires and deliberate action decrease each day.

Those who pursue learning fear that they know too little, so they strive to study widely, and therefore they gain something each day. Those who pursue the Dao return from attachment to a state of emptiness, stillness, and wuwei (non-action, wúwéi), and therefore they lose something each day.

Diminish and diminish again, until one reaches the state of wuwei. By following what is natural and not forcing action, nothing is left that cannot be accomplished.

Those who pursue the Dao continually reduce deliberate action. Those who pursue learning fear that they know too little, so they strive to study widely, and therefore they gain something each day; those who pursue the Dao return from attachment to a state of emptiness, stillness, and wuwei, and therefore they lose something each day.

Diminish and diminish again, until one reaches the state of wuwei. By following what is natural and not forcing action, nothing is left that cannot be accomplished.

Those who cultivate the Dao (Dao xiu) gradually reduce their deliberate doing, reducing again and again until there is nothing left to reduce, and this is the state of wuwei (non-action), meaning not acting presumptuously and letting things follow their natural course. A person who acts deliberately completes only one thing when they do one thing, and only ten when they do ten. Yet the things not yet done number in the thousands of millions, too many to count, so how could they possibly do them all? The person of wuwei does not deliberately do any one thing, and yet all things are properly taken care of.

In governing the realm, one should constantly be without affairs (wu shi), meaning without arbitrary interference. Once one meddles in everything, one is not fit to govern the realm.

The "being without affairs" spoken of here is simply not acting deliberately, which is wuwei. Governing the realm should be the same: when the ruler's virtue (de) is deep, the people will naturally turn to him. If one insists on relying on cunning and force to carry out all manner of affairs, how could one truly win the realm?

The sage has no fixed private mind; he takes the minds of the common people as his own mind.

Zhenghe's commentary says: the sage's heart is empty and receptive, still and responsive, like a mirror reflecting all things, where whatever is beautiful or ugly appears exactly as it is, or like a valley answering a sound, where the echo follows the loudness of the call. What fixed mind could he have? Dong Sijing says: the sage has no private self, and his heart is not held back by external things. When affairs come before him, he responds by following them. Master Wang says: all the thinking and doing that arise come in response to external things. The Book of Documents says: "Heaven's discernment arises from the people's discernment," meaning that the ruler's wisdom should derive from the people.

Those who are good, I treat with goodness; those who are not good, I also treat with goodness, and in this way people attain goodness. Those who keep their word, I trust; those who do not keep their word, I also trust, and in this way people attain trustworthiness.

Among the common people there are those who are good and those who are not, those who keep their word and those who do not, yet the sage does not treat them differently on this account. Instead, he meets all of them with goodness and extends trust to all of them. In this way, not only do the good receive goodness and the trustworthy receive trust, but the not-good and the untrustworthy also receive goodness and trust. Here "attain" (de) means that the common people receive and preserve goodness and trust; those who are not good or trustworthy are also transformed by this, turning toward goodness and trustworthiness, so that everyone attains goodness and trust.

When the sage (shengren) dwells among all under heaven (tianxia), he keeps his mind contracted and does not display his own opinions. He brings the minds of the people under heaven to a state of undifferentiated wholeness. The common people all watch the sage's words and deeds closely, yet he regards them all as children and makes no distinctions among them.

The term xixi carries the sense of contraction, and hun means not leaning toward either side. This passage says that the people under heaven each affirm their own notions of good and bad, true and false, and argue with one another. The sage treats them all equally. He does not favor those who are good or trustworthy, nor does he dislike those who are evil or false. People expect the sage to reward or punish them, but he treats them as he would infants, showing neither affection nor resentment. Therefore, those who consider themselves good and trustworthy do not boast, and those who act badly or falsely do not resent being rebuked. All are gradually transformed into peace, and so the realm is settled.

The character for xi is read as xi, meaning to inhale.

Life has death as its counterpart. Here, chu means to emerge from non-being into being, to become manifest, while ru means to return from being to non-being. Zhuangzi also uses chu and ru to explain birth and death: all things emerge from their root and return to that root.

There are thirteen kinds of life, and there are also thirteen kinds of death.

"Shi zhe" (the ten) refers to dividing people of the upper, middle, and lower grades into roughly ten kinds, and "you san" (there are three) means that three of these kinds fall into a certain condition.

People who do not damage their lives through worry or desire, who do not fall ill from wind, cold, heat, or dampness, and who can also avoid punishment, war, drowning, and other calamities belong to the category of those who possess vital life. By contrast, people who live in comfort may be harmed by inner anxieties and desires, people who toil in poverty may be injured by external labor, and people who are coarse and violent may fail to live out their natural span. These belong to the category of those who tend toward death. Such conditions account for about three of the ten kinds.

"Ren zhi sheng, dong zhi si di, yi shi you san" means that people live, yet through various actions they move toward a deadly ground, and this also accounts for three of the ten kinds. Why is this so? Because they seek to preserve life too intensely.

In this passage, "zhi" means to go toward or to proceed toward, and "dong" means to act or to be active. "Sheng sheng" refers to devoting oneself wholeheartedly to prolonging life, and "hou" means applying too much effort. For example, some people practice arts of immortality in the hope of extending their years but do not find the proper method. Others rely on medicine to nourish life but take too much of it. Still others become overly cautious about their dwelling, their care, and their daily restraint, and so grow frail and delicate. Among the ten kinds, three also fall into this pattern: they wish to move toward longevity, yet their actions lead them to a deadly place. The cause lies in an excessive will to live, which fails to accord with nature.

It is said that those who are skilled at nurturing life do not avoid rhinoceroses or tigers when they walk on land, and they do not shun weapons when they enter the ranks of an army. The rhinoceros finds no place to use its horn, the tiger finds no place to use its claws, and weapons find no place to pierce. Why is this so? Because they do not place themselves in a ground where death is likely.

Among the ten kinds of people, three belong to the way of seeking life, three to the path toward death, and three to falling into the land of death through reckless action; together these make nine. Apart from these, there is another kind of person: the Taishang Zhenren (the Supreme True Person, one of profound cultivation who accords with the Great Dao).

Here the term she means to manage on behalf, as in acting as regent or serving as an acting official: the Zhenren does not regard life as his own possession, but seems merely to look after it for a time. He takes inner emptiness and stillness as his root and outward gentleness and humility as his manner; he is as quiet and unknowing as wood or stone, and as free of desire as an infant. Even when he meets fierce beasts or wicked people, he does not flee; instead, they are tamed and draw near to him, and do him no harm. This is because the impurities within him have dissolved, and his Shen and Qi are calm and detached, like wind or shadow, impossible to grasp, with no solid entity that could be harmed. Even if someone wished to injure him, where could they strike?

The Dao causes the ten thousand things to arise, De causes the ten thousand things to be nourished, the ten thousand things each take form, and circumstances and conditions bring them at last to maturity. Therefore none among the ten thousand things fails to revere the Dao and value De.

“The Dao gives them life” means that in spring the ten thousand things stir and grow; this is the source from which they begin. “De rears them” means that in autumn they gather and store, so that the harmonious Qi of Yin-Yang is preserved. “Things take form” means that the things born in spring, after growing through summer, gradually reach fullness of body. “Conditions complete them” means that the ten thousand things follow the tendency of autumn harvest and winter storage, and in winter they store away, causing their fruits to ripen, each settling into its own nature and life.

The growth, maturation, and storage of the ten thousand things are all carried out by the Dao and De; hence the ten thousand things revere the Dao as they revere a father and value De as they cherish a mother. The Dao and De appear to be distinct, but in reality they are one: in spring the ten thousand things disperse from a single root, so it is said that “the Dao gives them life,” yet the Dao is just De; in autumn the ten thousand things return from multiplicity to storage, so it is said that “De rears them,” yet De is just the Dao.

That the Dao is revered and De is valued is not because anyone decrees or commands it; it is simply that the ten thousand things are naturally so.

The worthiness of a person often comes from the mandate of another. The Son of Heaven is honored because Shangdi has conferred the Mandate of Heaven upon him; the feudal lords are distinguished because the Son of Heaven has invested them with their commands. The Dao is revered and De is prized, yet no one confers a mandate upon them; the myriad things naturally revere and prize Dao and De of their own accord.

Therefore, the Dao gives birth to the myriad things and nourishes them, causing them to grow and develop, to ripen and be perfected, and then to be sheltered and protected.

The previous chapter says, "The Dao generates them, and De nourishes them." Here, it speaks of "Dao" without mentioning "De" alone, because De is none other than Dao. The terms "grow" (zhang) and "develop" (yu) further explain how the myriad things take on their physical forms; "perfect" (cheng) and "ripen" (shu) describe how the myriad things gradually mature; "nourish" (yang) means continuing to sustain them; and "shelter" (fu) means causing the myriad things to return to their origin and restore their original state.

To generate the myriad things without claiming them as one's own, to act without relying on one's accomplishments, and to cause them to grow without dominating them: this is called "profound De" (xuan de), a virtue that is deep and natural.

"Generating" (sheng) means producing the myriad things and giving them physical form; "acting" (wei) means nourishing them and bringing them to completion. "Not possessing" (bu you) means having no intention of claiming them as one's own; "not relying on" (bu shi) means not treating one's own actions as a source of reliance. It is like a sovereign who practices wuwei (non-action), without thought or deliberate effort, who causes the myriad things to grow yet does not purposefully or intentionally control them. The processes of generating, growing, and storing may all be called profound De; the text does not mention "Dao" here because Dao is none other than De.

All things under heaven have a beginning, which may be regarded as the mother of everything under heaven.

"Beginning" (shi) refers to Dao, and "mother" (mu) refers to De. Dao is the origin of heaven and earth, while De is the foundation from which the myriad things are generated and nourished.

Once one recognizes the mother of the myriad things, one can thereby know her offspring, the myriad things themselves. Having known the myriad things, one then returns to and holds fast to their mother, and so, throughout one's life, one's conduct will not fall into peril.

A person already possesses the "mother" (mu) as a root at birth, and from this we can know that the "child" (zi) is gestated within the mother. Since the child is within the mother, one should guard this mother and keep the mother-qi (muqi) settled, so that the child-spirit (zishen) will not disperse. Dong Sijing (Dong Sijing) says that a person receives qi at birth. Qi is like the mother, and spirit (shen) dwells within qi, so spirit is like the child. By guarding the mother-qi, qi becomes concentrated and spirit becomes settled.

The passage "Block its openings, shut its gates, and one will not toil all one's life; open its openings, attend to affairs, and one will not be saved all one's life" describes the method of guarding the mother-qi. The "opening" (dui) refers to the mouth, and the "gate" (men) refers to the passage of breath, namely the nose. First, keep the mouth from speaking, then gradually regulate and reduce the breath until it becomes so fine that it seems to vanish. In this way qi is concentrated within, and one's life is not depleted by exhaustion. If a person often opens the mouth to speak in response to affairs and things, the breath will be dissipated, and over time it will be exhausted and difficult to restore.

The passage "Seeing the small is called clarity; guarding the soft is called strength" continues the same idea. Here "small" corresponds to "subtle" (wei), mentioned earlier. When one observes fine details, one should not hasten to see through them completely or recklessly use the mind and spirit. Discernment will then grow gradually. To guard softness means not forcing qi to display strength, and power will then grow gradually as well. "Seeing the small" nourishes the child-spirit, and "guarding the soft" protects the mother-qi. The character for "day" (ri) has a variant form that was written as the character for "speak" (yue). This is an error caused by copying.

Using the outward light one displays, then turning it back so that it returns to inner clarity, one will not bring calamity upon oneself. This is called inheriting the constant Dao (Xi Chang, "inheriting the constant").

Here the teaching concerns the method of nurturing oneself. A still pool or a mirror can reflect external things, and this reflecting function is called "light" (guang). The substance of light is "clarity" (ming). To draw back the light that shines outward, turn it to illuminate oneself, and let it be stored within is to return the clarity of the substance to oneself. When spirit is overused, it becomes exhausted. Being able to see the fish in deep water clearly was regarded by the ancients as an ominous sign. If light is displayed excessively outward, it brings calamity upon oneself. Keeping the light concealed while living among the common world allows one to avoid calamity. To restrain the usual functioning of light and return its substance to clarity is called "inheriting the constant" (xi chang), that is, inheriting the constant Dao.

The above is the forty-fourth chapter. The previous chapter spoke of De (Virtue) existing within the myriad things. This chapter speaks of how De becomes manifest in the person.

If a person could, in a very brief moment, come to some realization and wish to act according to the Great Dao (Da Dao), then the one thing they should fear is boasting and flaunting.

The "I" (wo) here refers generally to ordinary people and is not Laozi speaking of himself. "Jie ran" means abrupt or sudden, similar to its use in the Mencius line "jie ran yong zhi cheng lu" (suddenly applying it forms a road). The sentence breaks after the character "zhi" (to know). "Shi" means to boast and flaunt, close to the "shi" in the Analects phrase "wu shi lao" (do not boast of one's labor) and in the Mencius phrase "shi shi cong wai lai" (strutting in from outside). Yan Hui, whom the Confucian disciples esteemed, "had the appearance of having nothing and the substance of emptiness" (you ruo wu, shi ruo xu), and he did not boast of his merits. Laozi's teaching shares this inclination and most strongly opposes exaggerated display. Therefore this sentence means that those who do not understand the Dao attend only to boasting. If such a person suddenly comes to understanding and wishes to walk the Great Dao, they must be especially wary of boasting and flaunting, and not dare to do so.

The Great Dao is very level, yet people are fond of taking side paths.

"Jing" is a side path, the opposite of the Great Dao. Humility, restraint, yielding, and not contending: this is the Great Dao, which is level and easy to walk. Boasting and showing off oneself is like walking a side path, yet people often prefer to do this.

The court was furnished with extravagant luxury while the fields lay waste and the granaries stood empty. The rulers wore splendid robes, carried sharp swords, ate and drank lavishly, and still had surplus private wealth. This is like a thief who has seized many goods and displays them to others, which is wholly contrary to the Dao (the Way).

This passage describes the condition of extravagance and ostentation. The "Tang Feng" (Ballads of Tang) depicts frugal people who would not even drink wine or sweep their rooms inside the house. From this we can see that if the court is decorated excessively, the palaces will inevitably be lavish. Waste fields and empty granaries show that the rulers seized the planting seasons of the common people, so that they could not farm, and exhausted their labor without leaving any reserves. Dressing in finery, feasting on rich foods, and treating a full private treasury as wealth is like a thief who, having taken goods, shows them off. Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang are such examples. How could one who understands the Dao be willing to act in this way?

What is well established cannot be uprooted, and what is well held cannot slip away. Through such a person, the sacrifices of his descendants will continue without end.

A tree planted on level ground will at some point be pulled up and toppled, and what two hands grasp will at some point loosen and be lost. The one who establishes well regards not deliberately establishing as establishing, and so what he has established is never uprooted. The one who holds well regards not deliberately grasping as holding, and so what he holds never slips away. One who preserves the state and prolongs its dynasty is likewise: he does not deliberately try to retain the Mandate of Heaven, and yet the Mandate naturally remains. In this way, sacrifices to his descendants continue from generation to generation, just as with one who establishes and holds well.

Cultivate virtue (De) in one's own person, and only then will that virtue be genuine.

Following on from the above: the reason the sacrifices of descendants can continue without end is nothing other than the cultivation of virtue within oneself. To cultivate one's own virtue is to keep intact the true constancy of the Dao that one originally possesses. Things outside the self are only superfluous, so why act deliberately for some purpose? When virtue is cultivated within oneself, its rewards arise naturally. They are not sought in advance by deliberate effort, yet they manifest of their own accord, and so the state is preserved and its dynasty prolonged. This is not something I forcibly seek.

When virtue is cultivated in the family, it will be abundant; when cultivated in the village, it will grow; when cultivated in the state, it will be rich; and when cultivated throughout the world, it will extend universally.

The root of the Dao (the Way) lies in cultivating oneself, and the surplus effects of that self-cultivation can then be extended to govern others. The family (jia) is the sphere beyond one's own person but within the nine degrees of kin. The village (xiang) is the sphere beyond the family but within the rural districts (xiangsui). The state (bang) is the sphere beyond the rural districts but within the royal domain (bangji). All under Heaven (tianxia) is the sphere beyond the royal domain but within the Four Seas. Applying the Dao to the family, the village, the state, and all under Heaven means proceeding step by step from the near to the far, so that each person cultivates their own De (Virtue). But how could one teach every person individually? If I follow what is natural and do not act willfully, the common people will transform themselves. If I have no selfish desires, the common people will return to simplicity.

The term yu (surplus) refers to the effects of self-cultivation that spill outward and influence others. Zhang (extending) means widening one's view from the family to the wider world. Feng (abundance) means enlarging the scope from a single village. Pu (universal) means extending the scope beyond a single state so that its virtue reaches everywhere. Most editions write guo (country) where this text has bang. Judging by the usage of the Book of Odes (Shijing) and its prefaces, and by the quotation from the Laozi in Kong Yingda's commentary, xiu zhi bang, de nai feng ("cultivate it in the state, and virtue will be abundant"), the original reading here should be bang. During the Han dynasty, bang was replaced with guo to avoid the personal name of the founding emperor, Liu Bang. Early Tang libraries, though rich in books, still preserved some older editions made before this taboo took effect.

Therefore, one observes oneself starting from oneself, observes a family starting from the family, observes a village starting from the village, and observes a state starting from the state. To observe all under Heaven, one must likewise start from the scope and actual conditions of all under Heaven itself.

The inner cultivation of De (Virtue/Power) reaches a high degree, so one is as pure and full as an infant. The previous section says: "Can you concentrate your Qi (vital energy), soften your body and mind, and be like an infant?" It also says: "When constant De does not depart, one can return to the state of an infant." Mengzi (Mencius) likewise says that a person of great De does not lose the genuine heart-mind of a chìzǐ (red infant), that is, a child's innocent purity. Su Shi holds that Laozi uses the infant as a metaphor for De to say that its original substance has not yet manifested as concrete function.

Poisonous insects will not sting him, fierce beasts will not pounce on him, and birds of prey will not seize him. The so-called poisonous insects are wasps, scorpions, and similar creatures that inject venom with their tails. The word "shì" means to sting. Fierce beasts refer to tigers, leopards, and similar animals. The word "jù" means to press down with the claws or feet, to pin something by pouncing on it. Birds of prey are birds skilled at seizing their prey.

A person of deep cultivation governs himself and extends this to all under heaven, leaving nothing unattended in cultivation. Yet all of this follows the natural inclination of each thing and is not forced by oneself. Each thing is allowed to return to its proper place without entanglement or attachment. By following the circumstances in which they stand and observing where they finally settle, everyone is enabled to be content with their own duties and desires. This is the governance of the Great Dao (dà Dào) embodied in Wuwei (non-action). The mind holds no attachments, and conduct leaves no trace of deliberate effort, so one is detached and unburdened. It is like a skilled builder who builds nothing by design, or a skilled keeper who holds nothing by design.

Shao Yong said: "Use the Dao to observe the Dao, use nature to observe nature, use the mind to observe the mind, use the self to observe the self, and use things to observe things. In this way, even if they wished to harm one another, how could they manage it?" What Shao Yong said is probably also Laozi's meaning.

How do I know that the world is like this? By this very principle.

The preceding passage lists five ways of observing side by side, and the following passage raises only the last one as a summary. The word "zhè" (this) refers to the world under heaven. Using the world to observe the world, one can likewise govern the state, the village, the family, and oneself by analogy. Is this not an extremely simple and easy principle?

Chapter 46

Inwardly containing a deep store of De, one is like an infant.

Poisonous insects will not sting him, fierce beasts will not pounce on him, and birds of prey will not seize him.

Poisonous insects, such as bees and scorpions, sting with a venom released from the tail. Fierce beasts, such as tigers and leopards, strike and seize with their claws and paws. Birds of prey, such as eagles and falcons, attack and seize with their wings and talons. Dong Sijing says, "One who preserves natural endowment is not harmed by any of the myriad things." Su Shi says, "One who has no mind for contention has no one among the myriad things to be his enemy. How could he be harmed?"

An infant's bones are soft and its sinews supple, yet its grip is firm. It does not yet know the matters of union between male and female, yet its genitals may become erect. This is because its essence (jing) and qi are full to the utmost. An infant may cry all day without its voice becoming hoarse. This is because its yin and yang are harmonized to the utmost.

"" refers to the infant's genitals; "hao" means to cry; "yi" means the throat; "jia" means the voice becoming hoarse. The infant's body has not yet matured, yet its qi is naturally concentrated; its emotions have not yet stirred, yet its qi already responds spontaneously. This is because its qi is pure and unified to the utmost. When an infant cries for a long time without its breath being harmed, it is because the harmony of its inner qi is perfectly balanced.

One who understands harmony understands constancy; one who understands constancy is enlightened.

If a person can embody the infant's qi of blended harmony (the vital qi of life in its pure, undivided state), he can recognize the constant Virtue (De). One who recognizes the constant Virtue possesses the enlightenment of natural, unadorned spontaneity.

To deliberately augment one's life brings ill omens; to drive the breath with the mind and will is to force it. Here "ill omens" refers to a state of monstrous aberration that departs from the upright qi of Heaven and Earth. Not being able, as an infant does, to keep one's essence and qi unified, yet relying on external means to nourish the body and deliberately prolong life, is not the natural condition of qi. And to agitate the breath through desire is to let the desiring mind drive the breath, which is artificial forcing.

When things grow overly vigorous, they proceed toward decline; this is called not according with the Dao. What does not accord with the Dao soon perishes.

To rely on external things to foster life is excess of the bodily form; to stir the breath through desire is excess of the emotions and will. Whenever things become excessive, they necessarily move toward decline; this is failing to uphold the constant Dao. What does not accord with the Dao cannot endure. If one can, like an infant, keep to natural purity and harmony, one will not become excessive, so how could one decline into old age? Since one does not age, how could one die prematurely?

Those who understand the Dao do not speak lightly, and those who love to talk often do not truly understand it. Blocking the openings of the senses and shutting the gates of perception is how one cherishes the body and preserves the self. Spending one's vital energy (qi) in words is a sign of not understanding the Dao. Why would someone who truly understands the Dao feel the need to keep talking? Therefore, one must first block the openings through which speech issues, and then close the gates through which the breath escapes.

To temper one's sharpness and dissolve entanglements, to soften one's brilliance and merge with the dust of the mundane world: this is called Xuantong (profound sameness, a state of being fully united with the Dao and beyond measure).

This describes how a person should conduct themselves in dealing with the world. One must first temper one's sharpness before one can resolve others' disputes, and first conceal one's brilliance before one can blend into the common dust of the world. Toward oneself and toward others alike, one does not deliberately distinguish between sharp and dull, or between prominent and obscure. In harmony with the world, the state reached is subtle and unfathomable, and so it is called Xuantong.

Such a person is not drawn close by others, nor pushed away. Others cannot profit from them, nor harm them. They are not elevated by others, nor looked down upon. Therefore, they become the most precious person under heaven.

Once I am fully united with the Dao, others can no longer use closeness or distance, enticement or harm, honor or contempt to sway me. Even when bonds of affection run as deep as blood kinship, we can be unattached and unentangled, so it cannot be said that we are close. Even when we are as distant as strangers on the road, people cannot bear to leave, so it cannot be said that we are distant. I do not value fame, position, or wealth, so others cannot benefit me through them, and it cannot be said that I profit. I regard life and death, fortune and misfortune with equanimity, so others cannot injure me through them, and it cannot be said that I am harmed. Even if my station is that of a ruler, people can approach me with ease and warmth, so it cannot be said that I am honored. Even if my status is as humble as a commoner's, people do not dare to slight me, so it cannot be said that I am lowly. These six states are difficult for others to attain, and only this person can reach them. That is why they are the most esteemed in all the world.

Govern the state with the proper Way (zhengdao), command armies with surprise tactics (qi mou), and win the realm through non-action and non-interference (wuwei wushi).

"Proper" (zheng) refers to correcting improper conduct through laws and prohibitions. Figures such as Guan Zhong and Shang Yang governed the state through legal systems. Yet the ruler should take cultivating his own person and regulating his household as the foundation, and should not rely solely on laws and prohibitions to maintain the proper Way.

"Surprise" (qi) refers to expedient strategies, cunning schemes, and deceptive stratagems. Military strategists such as Sun Wu and Wu Qi used surprise tactics in warfare. Yet the ruler's true aim should be to pacify the people and punish the guilty, and he should not esteem deception and scheming. Surprise tactics apply only to military campaigns and are unsuited to governing the state. The proper Way applies only to governing the state and cannot be used to win the realm.

"Non-interference" (wushi) refers to the mode of governance of the Three Sovereigns, in which rule is achieved through wuwei, or non-action. It is like Heaven, which issues no commands, yet the four seasons run their course and the myriad things grow of their own accord. The ruler does not deliberately demand obedience, yet none in the realm fail to submit. Therefore, only through non-action and non-interference can one win the realm.

How do I know that this principle is truly so?

This is a rhetorical question that introduces the answer to follow: the proper Way can be used to govern the state, and non-action and non-interference can be used to win the realm. Why do we know this? The passage below will answer.

The more prohibitions there are in the realm, the poorer the people become. The more sharp implements there are among the people, the more chaotic the state becomes. The more skills people possess, the more strange things appear. The more elaborate the laws, the more thieves there are.

Earlier it was said that rectifying government orders could indeed be used to govern the state. But when prohibitions and precautions become excessively strict, the common people may run afoul of punishments with every movement of their hands and feet. Living in constant fear, they cannot settle down to live or labor in peace, and so they fall into poverty.

What is meant by "sharp instruments" (liqi) are the implements that are useful to the people, such as fishing nets, farm tools, pestles and mortars, boats, and carts, which were originally meant to make the people's lives convenient. Yet if each household makes and uses these implements on its own, and even weights and measures are not uniformly managed from above, the state will lack a unified order and will appear dim and chaotic. "Skill" (jiqiao) refers to the craftsmanship of making implements. If superficial pursuits flourish and people compete to show off their cleverness and chase profit, then there will be those who sell ingenious but counterfeit goods. As for laws and decrees, these are things the people fear. The statutes are plainly displayed yet easy to violate, and when the people cannot live in peace, they readily become bandits.

These words address two matters: when laws and decrees are made manifest, prohibitions multiply; when skill flourishes, sharp instruments multiply. The emergence of bandits is caused by the people's poverty, while the rise of curious and ingenious objects is caused by the state's confused governance. To clarify the various affairs of government so that the people know what to avoid, and to summon artisans so that the people have sufficient goods and tools, these may all be called "rectification" (zheng). To govern through rectification was originally intended to bring the state stability. But when the people become poor and turn to banditry, and when the affairs of government are confused and strange objects abound, the outcome of governance will be just this. Therefore, governing the state by this means alone is still insufficient.

Thus the sage (shengren) says: "When I practice non-action (wuwei), the people transform themselves naturally; when I love stillness, the people become upright of their own accord; when I do not burden them with affairs, the people become prosperous of their own accord; when I have no desires, the people become simple and genuine of their own accord."

This responds to the earlier claim that one can win the realm through "non-affairs" (wushi). Non-action, love of stillness, and absence of desire all belong to non-affairs. Since one does not create additional disturbances, why would one deliberately seek stillness yet have the people naturally become upright? Why would one not burden them with affairs yet have the people naturally become prosperous? Why would one have no desires yet have the people naturally become simple and genuine?

This passage continues the thought of the preceding line, "governing by non-interference can win the realm." To refrain from willful action, to prefer stillness, and to have few desires is simply not to create trouble. If one does not deliberately do anything, how could one harbor a scheme to win the allegiance of all under Heaven? The common people will instead transform, settle, grow prosperous, and return to simplicity on their own. Because the results are like this, governing the realm through "non-interference" leaves more than enough room.

"When the government is dim and undemanding, the people are simple and sincere; when the government is sharp and meticulous, the people are discontented." A lenient, unfussy government that does not demand too much produces people who are honest and unpretentious. A government that is exacting, that inspects everything, tends to leave the people dissatisfied. Here "dim" (men men) describes an administration that appears unremarkable and lacks outward appeal; "sincere" (chun chun) means genuine and unadorned; "sharp" (cha cha) means keen and fastidious; and "discontented" (que que) means unsatisfied.

Wu Cheng combines the meanings of the two preceding sections. A governance that is lenient and free of meddling seems to have nothing worth praising, yet it allows the people to naturally become upright, prosperous, and simple. A governance that is shrewd and exacting seems to accomplish a great deal, yet its outcome may be impoverished people, confused rulers, and a society marked by hypocrisy and disorder, leaving the people discontented.

For this reason the text uses the alternation of misfortune and fortune as an analogy. What people take to be misfortune may well bring good fortune, just as an unremarkable government may foster sincere people. What people take to be fortune may conceal calamity, just as a sharp and capable government may leave the people dissatisfied. Misfortune does not necessarily end in misfortune and may turn into good fortune; fortune does not necessarily remain fortune and may turn into misfortune. Who can know where events will finally lead?

"Is there, then, no fixed standard of rightness? What is right may again become strange, and what is good may again become monstrous. The confusion of the people has lasted a long time indeed." Is there truly an unchanging correct Way in the world? What is correct may turn into deviance or oddity, and what is good may turn into portentous monstrosity. The people have been bewildered by these reversals for a long time.

This is a question that arises from the word "correct" (zheng). "Reversal" (fu) means turning back, and "harm" (ji) means not being good. If the country is governed by the correct Way, one may indeed call it good. But if the common people are still in want, how should the one who governs still apply "correctness"?

"Correct" stands opposite to "not correct." Once correctness reverses, it becomes what is biased, strange, and incorrect: correctness is good, while bias and strangeness are not good. Good and not-good are also opposites, and once goodness reverses, it becomes the disaster of not-good. Only one who does not cling to what is "correct" or what is "good" will avoid reversing into bias and disaster. Perhaps only the sage can understand this. Ordinary people have been confused and blind to this principle for a long time, and it did not begin today. So they know only that governing by the correct Way is good, but they do not know that not clinging to "correct" is what truly keeps correctness. To take non-clinging as correctness: how does this differ from "taking the empire without contrivance" (bu wang er qu tianxia)?

Therefore, the sage is upright but does not injure others, incorruptible but does not pierce others, honest but does not indulge in words, and bright but does not show off.

Here the text again uses an analogy to explain "wushi" (non-affairs, or non-doing). The "square" of an object has corners and edges. The "incorruptible" of a hall refers to its corners, which are also angular. Corners and edges are like blades and may injure people, so the text speaks of "cutting" (ge) and "wounding" (gui). The harm of "cutting" is greater than that of "wounding." When a person is too rigid, he cannot adapt; when he is too angular, he lacks measure, and in dealing with affairs and people he easily hurts others. Being too frank means indulging in words and exposing others' faults; being too showy means being unable to restrain and conceal oneself, and so one flaunts one's own strengths.

What the sage calls "wushi" means not treating contrivance as action. If uprightness does not cling to uprightness, it will not injure others; if incorruptibility does not cling to incorruptibility, it will not pierce others; if honesty does not cling to honesty, it will not indulge in words; if brightness does not cling to display, it will not show off. These are all analogies for "wushi."

Governing the people and serving the Tiandao (the Way of Heaven) depends above all on frugality and careful conservation.

The human form is shaped by one's own efforts, while one's qi is received from Heaven. In managing affairs and cultivating body and mind alike, one cannot be separated from nourishing the physical form and the original qi. "Se" (frugality) means not squandering what one has and not letting use run to excess. It is an essential method for preserving the body and cherishing one's qi.

Because one knows how to be frugal, one can return early to the original state of life. "Zaofu" (early return) means returning early to the origin, and this is called continually accumulating De (Virtue/Power). Here De refers to the qi a person receives from Heaven, and "zhong ji de" (repeatedly accumulating De) means letting this qi gather steadily within the body. When De is deep and abundant, nothing is beyond one's capacity. When nothing is beyond one's capacity, one's limits become impossible to measure. When one's limits cannot be measured, one can possess a guojia (state).

Here, "fu" (return) means returning to the origin. "Ke" means to overcome, and "ji" means the end, the point of exhaustion. "You" means to possess or to hold. "Guojia" is used here as a metaphor for the body. By using qi sparingly, one can fill what has been depleted and turn weakness into vigor, returning early to the original state. Once qi has gathered, it only increases and does not diminish. Abundant qi can resist external things and is less easily damaged or harmed. Qi that is continually born and renewed will never run out, unlike the ordinary person who weakens and is exhausted with age. Because qi is not exhausted, the body can be preserved and its form can endure for a long time.

Holding fast to the root of what one possesses allows one to last long. This is the way of deep roots and firm foundations, and of "changsheng jiushi" (long life and enduring vision).

Earlier it was said that preserving the bodily form depends on accumulating De (Virtue/Power). De is the root of the forms of all things. To preserve one's own form, one must preserve the De that is the root of that form, and only then can one endure.

Qi is the root of the bodily form. Qi allows the form to endure, and the form in turn retains Qi. Qi rises from below, as a tree has its roots; to nourish the form is to cultivate the root, so that the root grows deep and firm. Qi manifests above, as fruit is joined to its stem; to nourish the form is to nourish the stem, so that the stem holds fast and does not fall away. When the root is not pulled up, the tree does not wither; when the stem does not come loose, the fruit does not drop. In this way the human body can endure, the eyes can stay bright for a long time, and life can continue without coming to death.

"Deep roots and firm stems" speaks of the form retaining Qi, and "long life and lasting sight" likewise speaks of the form retaining Qi.

The above is Chapter Fifty.

End of Volume Three of the Commentary on the Daodejing (Dao De Zhen Jing Zhu).

Commentary on the Daodejing (Dao De Zhen Jing Zhu), Volume Four

Composed by Wu Cheng of Linchuan

The Lower Part of the Scripture of De

Governing a large state is like cooking a small fish.

"Great states" should be like the lower reaches of rivers and seas. Rivers and seas gather the waters of the world because they lie in low places; so a great state too should be humble and inclusive, becoming the place where all under heaven converge.

“Jiao” means convergence. A great state is like the center where the small states gather, and also like water flowing toward the low ground, becoming the place where all the streams under heaven meet.

“The female of the world” means that it is like the female within the world. The female often overcomes the male through stillness and takes the low position as her constant condition.

The female does not act first to seek the male, while the male often acts first to seek the female. The one who actively pursues easily brings loss upon himself, while the one who quietly waits instead benefits; hence it is said, “overcomes the male through stillness.” The “moving and seeking” side occupies the active position, while the “quietly waiting” side occupies the low position; hence it is said, “takes stillness as low.” Some also hold that one occurrence of the character “pin” may be a superfluous interpolation.

Therefore, when a great state humbly treats small states, it gains the allegiance of the small states; when a small state humbly treats a great state, it gains acceptance by the great state. The former is staying low in order to win the allegiance of small states; the latter is placing itself low in order to gain acceptance by a great state.

A great state does not rely on its own dignity but humbly treats small states, and can thus make small states willing to attach themselves to it; a small state willingly remains in a low position and respectfully treats a great state, and can thus gain acceptance by the great state. The great state stays low in order to obtain the allegiance of small states; the small state stays low in order to obtain the acceptance of the great state.

What the great state seeks is nothing more than to embrace and nourish others; what the small state seeks is nothing more than to enter under the great state and serve it. Both sides can obtain what they seek; therefore the great state especially ought to be humble.

When a great state is humble toward small states, it hopes to absorb, accommodate, and nourish them; when a small state is humble toward a great state, it hopes to attach itself to and serve the great state. If both sides can be low, then great and small each obtain what they wish. However, a small state is already below the great state, so it is not difficult for it to be humble; a great state is not originally low, so it may instead find humility difficult. Hence it is said, “the great should be the one to stay low.” The water-flowing-to-the-low metaphor at the beginning of this chapter shows that a great state is not originally in a low position, yet can actively be humble; the male-female metaphor shows that a small state is originally in a low position and is all the more able to rest securely in lowliness.

The above is Chapter Fifty-Two.

The Dao is the place where all things deeply hide and take refuge; for good people it is a treasure; for those who are not good, it is also a support on which they can rely and preserve themselves.

The term ao, originally referring to the southwest corner of a house, was the place where an honored elder dwelt within an ancient room, and so it was regarded as the most esteemed spot. In a shrine or ancestral hall there is a front hall and an inner chamber, and within the chamber the ao corner is the most honored position. Here ao serves as a metaphor for the preciousness of the Dao (the Way), which is the most valuable thing among all beings. Good people treat the Dao as a treasure and cultivate themselves in accordance with it, and so they earn the respect of others. Those who are not good, if they turn toward the Dao and correct their faults, can also preserve themselves.

Good people who cultivate themselves according to the Dao speak words worth treasuring, just as precious goods can be carried to the marketplace to be sold. The outstanding conduct they perform is worth emulating and rises above the ordinary crowd.

Those who are not good but who follow the Dao come to respect the laws and reduce their transgressions, and thereby preserve themselves and attain peace. From this it can be seen that the Dao does not abandon those who are not good.

Therefore, when establishing a Son of Heaven (tianzi) and appointing the Three Excellencies (sangong), the high officials who assist the ruler, even if someone presents a large jade disc held in both hands as a guide at the front, followed by a carriage drawn by four horses, it is no better than sitting quietly and offering the Dao to them.

The Dao is the mystery that all things treasure. If a person who possesses the Dao receives from Heaven the office of ruler, or from a sovereign the duties of assisting and instructing, they will be established as Son of Heaven (tianzi). If they are entrusted with assisting the government and teaching, they will be appointed to the Three Dukes (sangong), the highest-ranking assisting officials of ancient times. They are honored for one reason: they possess the Dao.

Gongbi refers to a large jade disc that a person can barely encircle with both arms, and sima refers to the four horses drawn by a single carriage. Placing the gongbi and sima first reflects the ancient ceremony of court audiences and visits, in which gifts were presented before the envoy conveyed his mission. Although jade discs and teams of horses are regarded as precious gifts, they are still not precious enough. It is better to kneel and offer the Dao, for the Dao is especially precious. The honor of the Son of Heaven and the Three Dukes comes from the Dao, and jade discs and horses cannot compare. Therefore all things revere the Dao and regard it as the profound and precious root.

Why have people revered the Dao since ancient times? Is it not because the good person, relying on the Dao, can obtain what they seek, and the not-good person, also relying on the Dao, can preserve themselves and escape guilt and calamity? For this reason, the Dao is treasured throughout the world.

This passage summarizes the preceding three sections. "The mystery of all things" shows that the Dao is the root that all things treasure. "Seeking and obtaining" shows that the Dao is the treasure of the good person. "Escaping guilt" shows that the Dao offers protection even to those who are not good. That all things under Heaven revere the Dao is the explanation of the word "mystery" (ao) through the word "precious" (gui).

Act through non-action (wuwei), handle affairs without disturbance, and take the tasteless as flavor. Whatever acts in accordance with wuwei expresses the central purpose of Laozi's thought. In daily life, this means taking non-rashness as the principle of conduct and taking plainness as the normal state of diet. All of these expound the main theme of wei wuwei, "acting through non-action."

To plan for difficult matters, one should begin while they are still easy. To accomplish great undertakings, one should start from what is small. All difficult matters under heaven begin from what is easy, and all great affairs under heaven develop from what is minute.

"Zuo" means to arise. One can achieve Wuwei (non-action) because one plans while matters are still easy and acts while they are still small. In the affairs of the world, things often begin easy and later become difficult, and they begin small and later become large. The ultimate difficulty arises from the initial ease, and the ultimate greatness arises from the initial smallness. Therefore, if one plans and acts at the very beginning, while things are still easy and small, one can later avoid difficulties, let matters grow gradually, and avoid exhausting one's efforts. Only in this way is it possible to achieve wuwei. If one does not plan early, and only hurries to deal with matters once they have already begun, then what was easy will gradually become difficult, and what was small may never grow large. One's efforts will be exhausted, and how could one then achieve wuwei?

Things that are stable are easy to hold. Signs of change, before they appear, are easy to plan for. Things that are fragile are easy to dissolve, and things that are minute are easy to disperse. Therefore, one should handle matters before they occur and govern disorder before it takes shape. This is planning while things are still easy.

A tree that requires an embrace to encircle grows from a tiny sprout. A nine-story terrace is raised from basketfuls of earth. A journey of a thousand li begins with the first step beneath one's feet. This is starting from what is small.

Promises made lightly are seldom kept, and regarding matters as too easy often leads to more difficulties. Therefore the sage (shengren) still regards things as difficult and treats them with caution, and so in the end there is no difficulty.

The preceding passage addresses how matters shift between difficulty and ease; here the focus turns to how the mind regards difficulty and ease. One who lightly promises others at first but finds it hard to fulfill in the end will lose trustworthiness. What seems easy at the outset often becomes difficult in the end. Therefore, one should not wait until a matter nears its conclusion and difficulties appear before regarding it as hard in the mind. Even when a matter seems easy at the start, one should remain constantly cautious and not dare to be careless, so that in the end one will not fall into straits.

"Great" (da) and "small" (xiao), "many" (duo) and "few" (shao), and "repaying resentment with De (Virtue)" (yi de bao yuan), meaning not hastening to retaliate but responding to resentment with kindness and virtue. Therefore the sage never regards himself as great, and precisely for this reason accomplishes great deeds.

The preceding passage addresses the size of matters; here the focus turns to the size of one's mental attitude. Even when one has achieved greatly, the mind often feels one's attainment is insufficient; even when one gains much, the mind often feels one has gained little. When others harbor resentment, one does not rely on one's strength and wealth to hastily contend and retaliate, but is willing to endure temporary injustice and, for the time being, respond to resentment with De. When one begins in a weak position with little gain, one naturally does not dare regard oneself as great; and when one later becomes strong and wealthy, one still does not dare regard oneself as great. Only by remaining humble throughout can one accomplish great deeds.

Ordinary people, in their undertakings, often fail just as matters near success. If one can treat the ending with the same caution as the beginning, one will not spoil the affair.

This continues from the word "zhong" (end) in the phrases "not falling into straits in the end" and "never regarding oneself as great." At the beginning, though one feels the matter is difficult, in the end one no longer exercises caution; at the beginning one does not dare regard oneself as great, but in the end becomes self-satisfied, and may fail just as the matter is about to be completed. Therefore one must be as cautious in concluding as in beginning. If one feels it difficult at the outset, one still treats it earnestly at the end; if one does not regard oneself as great at the beginning, one does not regard oneself as great at the end either. In this way one will not fail.

Acting by deliberate contrivance often spoils matters, and grasping and clinging often leads to loss. Following what is natural (ziran) and not acting willfully (Wuwei, non-action) means one will not ruin affairs; not clinging means one will not lose.

The "shi bai" (failure) in the phrases "ji hu cheng gong que shi bai" (nearly succeeding yet failing) and "bu hui shi bai" (will not fail) both refer back to the preceding passage. When someone deliberately sets out to accomplish something and wants it to succeed, they may instead ruin it. When someone sets their mind on grasping something and keeping what they have already obtained, they may instead lose it. Without any deliberate aim to accomplish something, there is neither success nor failure. Without clinging to possession, there is neither gain nor loss.

For this reason, the sage takes non-desire as desire and does not value goods that are hard to obtain. He takes non-learning as learning and returns to the principles that the masses overlook and pass by. Through this, he assists the myriad things in growing in their natural course and does not dare to act presumptuously.

The preceding passage says that "you wei (purposeful action) is not as good as wu wei (non-action), and clinging is not as good as having no attachment." This passage says that the sage's desire is "yu bu yu" (desiring non-desire), and the sage's learning is "xue bu xue" (learning non-learning). Goods that are hard to obtain are what the masses desire, yet the sage does not value them. This is not pursuing what the masses pursue, and so it is called "yu bu yu." What the masses chase, the sage does not chase. Where the masses hurry past without attention, the sage turns back to examine. This is not learning what the masses learn, and so it is called "xue bu xue." That the sage practices non-desire and non-learning in this way is because the principles of the myriad things are inherently wu wei and natural. The sage also practices wu wei, aligning with the myriad things in naturalness, just as the spokes of a wheel depend on one another to form the wheel together. The opening of this chapter speaks of "wei wu wei" (acting through non-action), and the closing speaks of following nature and not daring to act presumptuously. The beginning and end echo each other in meaning.

Chapter Fifty-Four

In ancient times, those who excelled at practicing the Dao did not seek to make the common people clever, but to keep them simple and unadorned.

To know something is called "ming" (clarity), and to know nothing is called "yu" (ignorance). The sages of antiquity made their own De (Virtue) manifest in order to enlighten the De of the people, and they also hoped that the people would move from ignorance toward understanding and acquire knowledge. To say "shi min yu" (cause the people to be ignorant) refers to the situation in which the people are, for the time being, ignorant and cannot be made to understand. In such a case, the sage follows this condition. This does not mean that the sage did not wish to enlighten the people.

To know the two approaches of governing by cleverness (yi zhi zhi li) and not governing by cleverness (bu yi zhi zhi li) is to be able to take them as a standard to emulate. The "two" here refers to governing by relying on cunning and governing without relying on it. Jie (model, standard) means exemplar or governing principle. Shi is the crossbar at the front of a carriage that riders lean on. When one rides upright and leans against the carriage rail, one appears to be seated on high. When one bows and rests against the crossbar, one appears to be seated low. A ruler who does not present himself as clever, and who places himself in a humble position, is like one who does not occupy the high seat but takes the lower place.

To understand and follow this standard is called Xuan De (profound virtue, the subtle and far-reaching power of De). Xuan De is deep and enduring. It seems to run contrary to ordinary worldly reasoning, yet in the end it achieves the greatest accord.

Wu Cheng explains that the people are hard to govern because they have too much cleverness and ingenuity. Thus, as soon as a decree is issued, someone finds a loophole, and as soon as a command is given, someone deceives. If the ruler governs with his own intelligence and also makes the people shrewd and artful, the people will become cunning and hard to rule, and governing the state will do more harm than good. Conversely, if the ruler restrains his own cleverness and governs with a humble attitude, causing the people to become simple, unpretentious, and free of desire, then governance becomes easy, and this benefits the state.

Wu Cheng further notes that Laozi, observing that in high antiquity, when rule was by wuwei (non-action), the people's customs were simple, and that in later times, when rule was by action, the people's customs became superficial and false, therefore advocated returning the people to simplicity. Wu Cheng holds that this does not mean the sage deliberately wished to keep the people ignorant. Rather, Laozi offered this corrective argument out of dissatisfaction with the customs of his age. Yet if such a doctrine is pushed to an extreme, its harm could resemble that of the Qin dynasty, which burned the classics and kept the people ignorant.

Rivers and seas are able to become the place where the waters of countless valleys gather because they excel at occupying low positions, and so they can collect the hundred rivers.

All waters flow toward the rivers and seas, just as all people under heaven turn toward a single ruler. The rivers and seas sit at the lower reaches of the streams and excel at receiving the waters that flow from lower ground, which is why they can gather the hundred rivers. A ruler who is able to embrace the people of the world widely follows the same principle.

Therefore, when the sage (shengren) wishes to stand above the people, he first lowers himself in his words. When he wishes to walk ahead of the people, he first places himself behind them. Lowering oneself in words means not speaking in a lofty, superior manner. Placing oneself behind means not rushing ahead of others.

The sage acts this way because his De (Virtue) of humility is deep, not because he intends to rise above others or lead them. Readers should not cling to the literal wording and thereby misunderstand the original intent.

Thus, when the sage stands above the people, they do not find it hard to accept. When he walks in front of them, they do not regard it as a calamity. What is "zhong" is being hard to accept, and what is "hai" is calamity.

Therefore the people of the world are happy to raise the sage up and never tire of him. Because he does not contend with others, no one in the world is able to contend with him.

All under Heaven are glad to raise him up, to place him in high position and at the front, and never grow weary of it. This is because he is humble and yielding and does not contend to be above or to be first, so no one can vie with him for rank or precedence. Thus the sage is able to occupy the high position and to seize the favorable moment, and in the end becomes the elder and forerunner of the multitude. Master Dong says: "To lower one's Virtue (De) is, in its manifestation, to be elevated; to place oneself behind is, in its manifestation, to be ahead." Yang Xiong also says: "When one dwells in a low place, others will raise one up; when one falls behind, others will let one lead."

The passage above is Chapter Fifty-Six.

Under Heaven, people all say that my Dao (the Way) is vast, yet it seems to resemble nothing at all. It is precisely because the Dao is vast that it appears to resemble nothing. If it resembled some particular thing, it would have long since become small.

"Unlike anything" means having no likeness to compare it with, so that it seems to have no special talent. To say that the great Dao "seems unlike anything" is like the people of Daxiang praising Confucius for his breadth of learning, yet not naming any single skill by which he could be called. The great Dao is too vast to be summed up by any one name, so it has no concrete achievement to praise, and it therefore appears to have "no special talent." Master Dong says: "If it could be compared to some one thing, it would become a concrete object. How could it still be called vast?"

I have three treasures, which I hold fast and guard: the first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to place myself ahead of all under Heaven.

"Holding fast" means guarding and not losing. "Compassion" refers to gentleness and tenderness, not forcing or hardening oneself. "Frugality" refers to simplicity and restraint, not extravagance or indulgence. "Not daring to be ahead of all under Heaven" refers to yielding and stepping back, not hurrying to be first. By keeping these three treasures, one appears to have no conspicuous talent even though the Dao is vast.

Because of compassion, one can be courageous. Because of frugality, one can be generous and expansive. Because one does not dare to be first, one can become the leader of all vessels and of the multitude. Now, if one abandons compassion and seeks only boldness, abandons frugality and seeks only expansion, or abandons stepping back and seeks only to rush ahead, one will surely come to ruin.

People with a compassionate heart may seem gentle and lacking in courage, yet for that very reason they are truly brave. People who live frugally may seem narrow in outlook, yet for that very reason they can achieve breadth. Vessels all have form, and only the one that can hold the foremost place is called the chief of vessels. Someone who does not dare to compete for first place, who willingly stays behind and does not presume to lead, will be chosen by others to go ahead. Therefore they can become the leader of the multitude and stand above all things.

If one abandons these three precious virtues of compassion, frugality, and humility, and instead takes rigidity for courage, extravagance and indulgence for breadth, and eagerness to surpass others for ability, one cannot preserve one's life and will only become one who walks toward death.

One who fights with compassion will be victorious, and one who holds a defensive position will be secure. When Heaven wishes to save someone, it protects them with compassion.

Compassion is the principle by which life is able to continue, and it is also one of the "seven virtues" (qi zhi de). Among the Three Treasures (sanbao) spoken of by Laozi, compassion ranks first. Here the discussion focuses on this one treasure, but the other two are also included within it. People draw close to a compassionate person just as children are devoted to their parents, and who among children would turn against their parents to attack them? Therefore, when one fights or defends with compassion, people cannot bring themselves to oppose or attack such a person, and so he is victorious and his position holds firm. Even if enemies do come to attack, those who help and support him will be many, and he will often still win and hold his ground. If human strength is insufficient, Heaven will also intervene to keep him from being defeated and scattered. The reason Heaven rescues him is that he has a compassionate heart and protects others through compassion.

Cao Cao and Fu Jian were insatiably greedy and lacked compassion. Wu and Jin, though perhaps not as compassionate as the sages, resisted external enemies out of necessity. Compared with Cao Cao and Fu Jian, they were comparatively benevolent and close to compassion. In the Battle of Red Cliffs (Chibi), the wind and fire favored Wu, and Cao's warships were burned. In the Battle of the Fei River, the sound of wind and cranes sent Fu Jian's army into panic and rout. Wu and Jin were weak in strength, yet they defeated the million-strong armies of Cao Cao and Fu Jian. This too may be said to be Heaven coming to their aid.

The one who excels as a commander does not indulge in displays of courage; the one who excels in battle does not rush into anger; the one who excels at overcoming the enemy does not engage in direct confrontation; and the one who excels at employing others places himself beneath them. This is the virtue of non-contention (bu zheng zhi de), which means making use of the strength of others. It may be said to accord with Heaven, and it has been the highest standard since antiquity.

This chapter once again explains the benefits that compassion (ci) brings. Among the four sentences, there are four instances of the character "excel" (shan). The first three concern warfare, and the last concerns the employment of people. In ancient times, battles were fought from chariots, and warriors who rode into combat often took pride in being fierce and bold. Before fighting began, commanders would also rouse the soldiers to press forward. Laozi's Way of compassion, however, does not regard these as the mark of skill in war. Soldiers do not take pride in reckless valor, battle is not won by inflaming the troops, and victory over the enemy need not wait until both sides have drawn up their lines and clashed. Indeed, the enemy may submit of its own accord without a weapon ever being drawn.

Even one who is exceptionally clever should appear as though unlearned in humility; even one who has ability should yield as though lacking it. By placing oneself in a lower position, one borrows the wisdom and capability of others to accomplish affairs. To refrain from force, avoid provoking the troops, and not confront the enemy directly, yet still prevail, is to perfect one's De through non-contention, just as Heaven does not contend and yet sets all things in motion. To willingly stand beneath others, not relying on one's own cleverness but drawing on the strength of others to achieve one's undertakings, is like Heaven acting without arbitrariness and yet bringing all things into being; hence it is called "matching Heaven" (pei tian). Only the sages of high antiquity reached this supreme state, which is why it is said to be "the ultimate of the ancients" (gu zhi ji).

The ancients who spoke of warfare said: "I do not dare to take the initiative in provoking conflict, but would rather take the defensive; I do not dare to advance an inch, but would rather retreat a foot." This is called drawing up ranks as though there were no formation, raising the arm to strike as though there were no arm, holding a weapon as though there were no weapon, and facing the enemy as though there were no enemy.

The commentary further explains that "compassion" (ci) is a precious treasure. The scripture says, "I dare not be first in the world." The military tradition has a similar saying: the one who initiates hostilities and attacks others is the host, while the one who is compelled to raise troops to resist the enemy is the guest. It is hard to advance an inch but easy to retreat a foot. Therefore, one would rather yield than press forward, and even when troops are deployed to meet an enemy, one is reluctant to engage in battle.

When armies clash, people usually arrange their ranks, form their battle lines, raise their arms, and advance on the enemy with weapons in hand. Yet if one does not form ranks, then even with troops it is as if there were none. If one does not raise one's arms, then even with arms it is as if there were none. If one does not hold a weapon, then even with weapons it is as if there were none. If one does not press toward the enemy, then even with an enemy before one it is as if there were no enemy.

The greatest calamity is nothing other than underestimating the enemy. Underestimating the enemy nearly causes one to lose this treasure of compassion. Thus, when two armies confront each other and their forces meet, it is the side that holds sorrow and pity in its heart that will prevail.

Those who command troops and manage warfare should be cautious and watchful, not daring to take the enemy lightly. To underestimate the enemy is to be quick to start fighting recklessly, which ultimately injures others and also causes one to lose the treasure of compassion. This is the greatest calamity. Even before battle has begun, once a mind of contempt for the enemy arises, one has already set out toward harming others and losing one's compassion. Hence the saying "nearly losing my treasure." "Resist" (kang) means to raise up and oppose. "The one who grieves" refers to a person who holds compassion and pity in the heart. Su Shi said: when two armies clash, if one side has raised troops only out of necessity, yet still feels pity for the dead and wounded, this manifestation of sorrow will bring it the aid of Heaven and people, and it will win. The compassionate side defeating the uncompassionate side does not necessarily depend on fighting; to cause the enemy to retreat or submit without battle also counts as victory.

Chapter 57

My words are easy to understand and easy to put into practice, yet no one in the world can truly understand them, and no one can truly put them into practice.

Laozi taught only the principles of softness, weakness, and humility (rouruo qianxia). His words are easy to understand, and the things he describes are easy to practice. But when the world declines and customs decay, people neither recognize how precious these words are nor manage to practice softness and humility.

Words have a root, and affairs have a governing principle. A clan elder can unify the whole clan, and a ruler can govern the state. Softness and humility can gather all kinds of teachings together, as the clan elder unifies the clan, and they can serve as the standard for all kinds of conduct, as the ruler governs the country. Laozi sighs that the people of his time were ignorant and unaware, and so did not understand how precious his words were.

"Those who understand me are few, and so my Dao (the Way) is precious. Therefore the sage wears coarse hè (cloth) on the outside and carries jade within." Laozi first laments that people do not understand him, and then says that few understand him, which seems like a sign of relief. In fact he is not relieved but sighs even more deeply. He says that few people recognize the value of his words, and this itself shows that his words are precious. If everyone understood them, his words would be no different from what ordinary people say, and they would not be considered valuable. Hè is a coarse woolen cloth worn by people of humble status. People do not understand the sage. They see only his plain outer clothing and feel no esteem for him, not realizing that within he holds principles as precious as fine jade.

The following passage, to the right, is Chapter 58.

Knowing that you do not know is superior; not knowing yet thinking you know is a flaw.

The truly wise person knows, yet appears not to know. Guarding wisdom with modesty and simplicity, such a person is called "shang" (superior). The ignorant person does not know, yet believes they have seen and heard enough, and so this is called a flaw.

Only by treating this flaw as a flaw can one avoid having it.

To regard "yi bu zhi wei zhi" (taking not-knowing as knowing) as a flaw to be guarded against, and to correct it earnestly, is to be spared from being troubled by it further. The sage has no such flaw precisely because they can perceive this flaw and guard against it, and so they do not fall into it.

The sage is born with wisdom, yet even though they know a great deal, they still seem not to know anything. How could they fall into the fault of presenting what they do not know as something they know? The sage has no such fault because it arises naturally, not because they deliberately treat a fault as a fault and correct it.

The sage does not regard their innate wisdom as something to rely on with self-conceit. Although they have no obvious faults to correct, when they see others who are not worthy, they reflect on themselves. When they see that the multitude has faults worth guarding against, they take those faults seriously, as if they were their own. Because they guard against others' faults as though they were their own, they never end up having such faults themselves.

When the common people do not fear the things that harm the body and shorten life, great calamity is about to arrive. The "great awe" mentioned here refers to the most dreadful thing, namely death. If a person does not fear what is sufficient to harm the body and shorten life, they will inevitably injure their body, cut short their lifespan, and ultimately hasten their death. Zhuangzi says that people, between bed mats and in their food and drink, do things that may harm the body yet do not know to be on guard; this is a failing.

Do not treat the surroundings of everyday life as places where one may be carelessly negligent, and do not loathe your own life. The "wu" here is read as "mou," meaning prohibition. "Xia" refers to becoming accustomed to something and treating it with contempt, and "yan" means to loathe or cast aside. If in daily life one has no misgivings about things that harm the body and shorten life, and grows so accustomed to them that one does them with ease, this is not fearing danger. To loathe life is to injure the body and hasten death, which amounts to discarding one's own life, and then great calamity will arrive.

Only by not treating lightly the things that may harm the body can one avoid loathing one's life, and in this way great calamity will not arrive. This passage has a variant reading. Older editions have "bu yan" ("not loathing"), but Liu of Luling held that it should be "bu xia" ("not treating lightly"), and Wu Cheng adopted "bu xia."

Therefore, the sage (shengren), one who has cultivated De (Virtue), knows self-knowledge (zi zhi) but does not deliberately display himself, and he knows to cherish his own body but does not inflate his own worth. For this reason, he discards the former and chooses the latter.

"Self-knowledge" (zi zhi) means understanding the principle of cherishing oneself. "Self-display" (zi jian) means revealing to others what one knows. "Self-exaltation" (zi gui), which the following text calls "valuing life" (gui sheng), refers to excessive craving for life. The sage clearly understands the principle of cherishing the self, yet he can hold his De within, keep his wisdom hidden deep inside, and act as though he knows nothing, never revealing what he knows.

Although the sage deeply understands the importance of cherishing his body, he follows the natural course of the Dao (Way) and does not treat the preservation of life as a goal in itself. For this reason, he does not overly crave life or elevate his own worth. What is to be discarded here is self-display and self-exaltation. What is to be chosen is inner self-knowledge and the cherishing of one's own body.

The earlier passage says that if one does not respect what inspires awe, great disaster will follow, and if one does not avoid arrogance toward others, one will be rejected by them. These words are addressed to ordinary people. The sage does not need to wait until he knows awe before he becomes cautious, nor does he need to deliberately warn himself against arrogance toward others. Inwardly, he already possesses the substance of self-knowledge and self-care, and he shows no outward signs of self-display or self-exaltation. What is absent is what should be discarded, and what is present is what should be chosen.

The passage to the right is Chapter Sixty.

To be bold in daring to act can lead to death, while to be bold in refraining from reckless action can preserve life. Of these two ways of conduct, one is beneficial and the other is harmful.

Here it is said that one who dares to use punishment and to harm others may be called "courageous" (yong). "Dare" (gan) means daring to commit evil, and "not daring" (bu gan) means not daring to commit evil.

Suppose two people have both broken the law. The first dares to do evil, and his malice is greater than that of an ordinary offender. He deliberately wrongs others and refuses to reform, and such a person should be put to death. The Canon of Yu (Yu Dian) calls this "harmful punishment" (zei xing), and the Announcements of Zhou (Zhou Gao) calls it "deliberate offense" (fei sheng), meaning that he intentionally does wrong and persists in it, so he must not be spared. The second does not dare to do evil, but through negligence or accident he commits a crime, and he should be pardoned. The Canon of Yu says "pardon for faults and calamities" (sheng zai si she), meaning that crimes arising from error or misfortune should be forgiven. The Announcements of Zhou says "not persistent" (fei zhong), referring to one who is not consistently evil and has erred only by chance, so he should not be executed. Punishing deliberate offenses and pardoning negligent ones is the principle by which rulers apply punishment.

Laozi's view is different again. Of these two practices, one is beneficial and the other harmful. Pardoning those who do not dare to do evil and who offend through error is appropriate, but executing those who dare to do evil may lead to killing the innocent by mistake. Therefore, while those who do not dare to do evil should indeed be pardoned, those who dare to do evil should not be lightly put to death either.

"Tian zhi suo wu, shu zhi qi gu? Shi yi sheng ren you nan zhi." ("What Heaven detests, who knows its reason? Therefore even the sage finds it difficult to judge.") Those who dare to do evil may be the ones Heaven detests, but what Heaven detests and the reasons behind it are profound and hard to fathom, so who can know them for certain? Even when such a person seems deserving of death, the sage still finds the decision difficult and does not dare to kill lightly.

"Tian zhi dao, bu zheng er shan sheng, bu yan er shan ying, bu zhao er zi lai, tan ran er shan mou. Tian gang hui hui, shu er bu shi." ("The Way (dao) of Heaven does not contend, yet it excels at winning; it does not speak, yet it excels at responding; it is not summoned, yet things come of themselves; it appears calm, yet it excels at planning. The net of Heaven is vast; though its meshes are wide, nothing slips through.") The Way of Heaven does not compete with people, yet it always prevails. It issues no commands, yet it responds. It is not called, yet things arrive on their own. It seems smooth and unforced, yet it arranges everything well. The net of Heaven is broad, and though its meshes look loose, nothing escapes it.

The sage does not readily kill, so it may seem that evildoers always escape punishment. Yet the net of the Way of Heaven (Tiandao) never lets anything slip through. Heaven punishes wrongdoers not as people do, by contending with them through force or argument. Heaven has its own fixed measure and will in the end prevail over humanity, and when retribution arrives it answers the deed as an echo answers a sound. Retribution comes swiftly, arriving unbidden and without need to be summoned. Those whose wickedness is grave will surely meet with retribution, and no scheme they devise can save them. Heaven's Dao is without deliberate intent, yet it is calm and at ease, and the retribution it arranges is more subtle than any human plan. The net of Heaven is vast and seems loose, but it has never let a single person go. Those who do evil cannot ultimately escape it. Even though the sage does not kill them, the Way of Heaven will itself bring them to account.

Why should one frighten the people with death when they do not fear dying? If the people always feared death, then I could seize and execute anyone who behaves perversely, and who would dare to do evil?

"Qi" (qi, here meaning "perverse" or "deviant") refers to what is improper and crooked. If the ignorant people were kept in constant fear of death, then whenever someone who does evil is taken and executed, everyone would know to be afraid, and who would dare to do wrong? Yet even when those who do evil are put to death, others continue to do evil. This shows that the people are foolish and do not understand how to fear death. Those who do evil, even when they are certain to face punishment and execution, do not fear their rulers. Since this is so, how could one rely on death to intimidate the people and kill them lightly?

Those who govern killing and punishment already exist in the world. To kill in place of the one who governs killing is like cutting wood in place of the great carpenter (dajiang, a master craftsman). Of those who cut wood in place of the great carpenter, few fail to injure their own hands.

If the common people are not afraid of death, can those who commit evil be killed at will? Laozi says there is a supreme agent who presides over killing, and this agent is Heaven. Only Heaven can take a life, just as only a carpenter can cut and shape wood. If a person tries to kill in Heaven's place, it is like cutting wood in the carpenter's place. The hand that does the cutting is likely to be injured, and by analogy, one who kills on behalf of Heaven will surely bring many calamities upon themselves. Even without human-caused disaster, they will certainly be punished by Heaven.

The above is Chapter 61, which has five sections. The first section discusses the ordinary use of punishment, which should not be applied uniformly and reflects a spirit of leniency and compassion. The second section says that the will of Heaven is hard to fathom, so people should not kill lightly. The third section says that Heaven can send punishment upon people in order to warn the world. The fourth section says that death should not be used to frighten the common people, and that killing should not be done lightly. The fifth section warns people not to take Heaven's place in carrying out killing. How deep Laozi's compassion was!

The three sections beginning with "When the common people go hungry" discuss how Heaven can use punishment to warn the world. The fourth section says that death should not be used to frighten the common people, and that killing should not be done lightly. The fifth section warns people not to take Heaven's place in carrying out killing. How deep Laozi's compassion was!

The common people go hungry because the rulers collect too much in taxes, and so the people suffer from hunger.

The word "food" here refers to the sustenance that the ruler takes from the people, while "tax" refers to what the people pay to support the ruler. When rulers extract too much from the people, the people become both hungry and impoverished.

The common people are difficult to govern because the rulers' administration is meddlesome and willful, and so the people are hard to manage.

When rulers control the people through cunning schemes and stratagems, the people in turn respond with deceit and trickery toward their rulers, and so they become difficult to govern.

The reason the common people do not fear death is that they place too much value on nurturing life (yangsheng), and so they come to treat death lightly. Only those who do not single-mindedly pursue the enjoyments of life surpass those who value preserving their lives too highly.

Regarding life as overly precious and constantly pursuing longevity is what the text calls shengsheng zhi hou (excessive regard for life). When the desire to survive grows too strong and one overdoes nourishing life, the effort meant to avoid death can instead invite danger. The perfected person (zhiren), one who accords with the Dao (the Way), does not fail to cherish life. Rather, they follow what is natural and do not deliberately strain after survival. Such a person may seem indifferent to their life, yet precisely for this reason they preserve themselves, and this protects their life better than anxious effort to nourish it.

When a person is alive, the body is soft and pliant, able to bend and move. After death, the body becomes stiff and rigid. Grasses and trees, while living, have soft and tender stems and branches; after they die, they wither and dry out. From this one may infer that whatever is excessively hard and strong tends toward decline, while what is soft and yielding is closer to vitality.

Therefore, in warfare, relying solely on force often fails to win, and a tree that grows too thick and hard is likely to be felled. Bing qiang ze bu sheng (when armies are strong, they do not prevail) means that if military action depends only on strength, one easily becomes overconfident or invites defeat. Mu qiang ze gong (when wood is strong, it is taken) means that wood grown hard and thick is easily chosen for use and cut down. Being soft and not contending is what truly allows one to preserve oneself.

When armies deliberately show weakness, it is because their strategy runs deep and their skill is high. The enemy, thinking them weak, grows contemptuous and careless, and so victory comes easily. Those who rely on their strength tend to plan shallowly and grow proud. When the enemy feels threatened, it prepares its defenses, and so the strong fail to win. The art of war calls for beginning with the stillness of a maiden, leaving the enemy's gates wide open and convincing it that you are weak. Then, once you move, you must be as swift as an escaping hare, so that the enemy has no time to resist, and victory follows.

When the army of Qin passed through the territory of Zhou, three hundred of its soldiers climbed into their chariots by vaulting over the crossbar in front, displaying an arrogant show of strength. Yet in the end they were defeated at Xiao. When the army of Qi entered the state of Jin, its soldiers raised stones and hurled them at the enemy to display their courage. Yet in the end they were defeated at Di. These are examples of men who relied on their advantage in strength and yet failed to win.

"Gong" refers to the girth of a tree that can be encircled by two hands. A tree that is supple and sways easily has slender branches near its tips. A tree that is hard and does not sway is thick at its base, with a trunk so broad that two arms can barely embrace it. Here, while discussing warfare, the text also turns to the image of trees.

Therefore, what is hard and strong lies below, and what is soft and yielding lies above.

The preceding passage says that an army that relies on its strength will be defeated by others. This is like standing in a low position, unable to occupy the higher place held by the one who prevails. The hard, sturdy part of a tree lies near the root, which is also low, not high like the slender branches. From this we may reason about the principles of the world. In matters of personal virtue and conduct, those who rely on their own firmness and treat others with arrogance will in the end fall from their high position and find themselves beneath others. Those who are gentle and humble, on the other hand, are respected and supported by the multitude and are able to rise to a higher place.

The above is Chapter Sixty-Three.

Is not the Dao of Heaven (Tiandao) like the drawing of a bow? When the tip of the bow is too high, it is pressed down; when the body of the bow is too low, it is raised up. What has surplus is reduced, and what is lacking is supplemented.

The two clauses "pressing down" and "raising up" speak of the bow, while the two clauses "reducing what is surplus and supplementing what is lacking" speak of the Dao of Heaven. When a bow is relaxed, its body bends downward and its bow-tips point upward. When it is drawn, the body of the bow is lifted and the bow-tips point downward. In other words, drawing a bow presses down what is high on the body and raises what is low at the tips. The Dao of Heaven reduces what is surplus in the way one presses down the bow's body, and fills what is lacking in the way one raises the bow-tips.

The Dao of Heaven diminishes what is excessive and supplies what is insufficient, but the practices of the human world often run the opposite way: they take from those who lack and offer their substance to sustain those who already have more.

The Way of Heaven reduces what is overflowing and adds to what is humble. Human ways, however, often take from what is lacking to add to what is already abundant: they absorb the small to swell the great, and they seize the possessions of the poor to enrich the rich. In this way they go against the Way (Dao).

Who can take their own surplus and offer it to all under heaven? Only one who possesses the Dao.

A ruler who possesses the Dao, though so exalted as to be the Son of Heaven, does not keep his nobility and wealth for himself. He eats simply, dresses plainly, and lives in modest halls. He economizes on resources for the sake of the people and refuses to waste them. He surveys the fields, teaches the people to cultivate and plant, and lightens their taxes, so that every household has savings and everyone has sufficiency. This is using one's own surplus to nourish all under heaven.

Therefore the sage acts without claiming credit for his deeds and accomplishes his work without dwelling on his merit. Does he not wish to display his own worth?

The sage's achievements are enough to bless all under heaven, and this is precisely the surplus within him. He does not boast of his talents, as though he had none. He does not claim his accomplishments as his own merit, as though he had none. He is unwilling to flaunt that he is more worthy than others. These are all ways of reducing the part of himself that is in surplus.

The above is Chapter Sixty-Four.

Nothing under heaven is softer than water, yet in attacking what is hard and strong, nothing surpasses it, for there is nothing else that can take its place.

Metal and stone are extremely hard, yet wearing them down depends on water. Water is the most powerful means of overcoming what is hard, and nothing exceeds it. Even if one wished to substitute something else for water, nothing could take its place.

Softness overcomes hardness, and weakness overcomes strength. Everyone under heaven knows this principle, yet no one can truly put it into practice.

Water is the softest of things, yet it can overcome the hardest metal and stone, which shows that softness can prevail over hardness. Everyone under heaven knows this principle, yet no one can practice the Way of softness, probably because they look down upon it.

Therefore the sage says: "One who can bear the filth of the whole state may be called lord of the altars of soil and grain (shèjì, the ruler who oversees the state's sacrifices and governance); one who can bear the misfortunes of the whole state may be called king of all under Heaven."

"Filth" (gòu) means dirt, and "misfortune" (bùxiáng) means inauspiciousness. Filth and misfortune are things people regard as shameful and base, things that bring humiliation to those in lowly positions. The sage, however, does not see them this way. Even when the whole state places the reputation of filth and misfortune upon him, he takes it on and does not refuse. This is because he keeps to softness and willingly remains in a lowly, humiliated position, unlike the strong person, who always seeks to stand high above others and enjoy honor and glory. Such a person can receive the sacrificial offerings of the spirits, and so he can preside over the state; he can also win the support of the common people, and so he can rule all under Heaven. The strong person provokes the anger of the spirits and drives the people to rebellion, and in the end loses both state and empire. The soft person, by contrast, wins the protection of the spirits and the allegiance of the people, and therefore preserves both state and empire. This is the outcome of softness overcoming strength.

Laozi held that reversal, moving toward the opposite, is how the Dao (the Way) operates, and that this is where the De (Virtue/Power) is profound and hard to fathom. For this reason, although Laozi speaks of correct principles, his words often sound as though they contradict common sense. Correct principles can seem paradoxical, just as brightness can appear dim, advancing can appear retreating, uprightness can appear crooked, and skill can appear clumsy. What appears dim is another expression of brightness. What appears to retreat is done in order to advance. What appears crooked is done in order to preserve uprightness. What appears clumsy is done in order to reach true skill. What appears contrary is done in order to return to the proper Way.

The passage that follows speaks of "he da yuan" (resolving a great resentment), meaning that one intended to dispel the resentment of a good person but in the end failed to do so. This is an example of a passage that seems to speak in reverse while actually clarifying correct principle.

An older edition placed the line "shang nai suo yi wei zheng" (this is what makes it correct above) at the end of the previous chapter. Wu Cheng disagrees with this placement. The four-line passage in the previous chapter that begins with "sheng ren yun" (the sage says) is already complete in meaning and should not have another line appended. Other chapters do not follow such a pattern either. The chapters "Jue Xue Wu You" (Abandon Learning, Be Free of Worry) and "Xi Yan Zi Ran" (Sparing Words Is Natural) both open with a four-character phrase that states the chapter's central idea, followed by a detailed explanation. This chapter follows the same structure. Moreover, the words "fan," "yuan," and "shan" rhyme, which suggests that "shang nai suo yi wei zheng" belongs at the opening of this chapter.

To reconcile a great resentment, some lingering resentment is bound to remain. How can such a settlement be considered a proper one?

"Harmonize" means mediating and calming. "Resentment" (yuan) is bitterness toward another person, and "great resentment" refers to deeply accumulated grievances. "Lingering resentment" refers to hatred that remains in the heart and has not been fully dispelled. The phrase "to assist the ruler of Wei" means helping the ruler of the state of Wei.

When people become estranged, the grievance is usually resolved only through mediation. Between two good people there is no enmity to begin with, so why would they need someone else to mediate? When two wicked people become enemies, they often destroy each other through the harm they have done. One may prevail and the other be defeated, or both may be ruined. Bystanders can simply watch how things unfold.

Only when a good person unfortunately becomes an enemy of a wicked person is it necessary to seek a way to mediate. The good person is generous and even-tempered. Although unwilling to be an enemy, the good person may still be harmed when the wicked person, harboring resentment, takes revenge. Therefore, one who wishes to help the good person should reconcile the two sides and help them release their hatred.

Yet if one merely suppresses the wicked person's desire for revenge so that it cannot succeed, while the resentment still accumulates in the heart, it may erupt again later. In that case, mediation in the present does not eliminate future revenge. How, then, can this be considered truly helping the good person?

For this reason, the sage holds the left tally, the half of a contract that serves as proof of agreement, but does not use it to demand repayment from others. A tally was a token carved into a piece of wood and split in two, with each party holding one half. By acting this way, the sage treats all things with a mind that seeks nothing in return. This is the practice of wuwei (non-action), in which one does not force outcomes but lets them settle naturally.

Those with De (Virtue/Power) treat others the way one holds the left half of a tally: they do not press for repayment but let people come forward to settle according to the agreement. Those without De manage affairs like a bookkeeper who keeps accounts and reckons each item, deliberately calculating gains and losses in human affairs. Here, the tally (qì) is a token carved on a piece of wood and split into two halves, each party holding one, which are fitted together to verify an agreement. The levy (chè) refers to the taxation system of ancient times.

"Those with De hold the tally, those without De hold the levy" means that those with De deal with people and things without deliberate scheming and let affairs develop naturally, while those without De purposely reckon and seek to collect. The commentary further uses the phrase "resolving resentment" to show that deliberately doing good still carries a mind that seeks something in return. It is better to observe things quietly and let everything follow its natural course.

Those who have De (Virtue) handle affairs without a partial or calculating mind. Those who lack De handle affairs with a calculating heart.

"Che" means to pass through and to even out. In antiquity, the zhufa (assistance system) was practiced. One well-field (jingtian) was divided into nine plots. Eight households each received one plot as private land, and a ninth plot was held in common, cultivated jointly by the eight households. The harvests from the private plots varied. Some could feed nine people, others eight, seven, six, or even five. This was because the households differed in the number and strength of their laborers.

When the Zhou dynasty adopted the che system, it was concerned that separate cultivation of private plots by the eight households would produce unequal harvests. So the households were made to labor together on all the plots and then share the yield equally, so that each household received the same amount and no differences remained. The official in charge of the left tally (Si Zuoqi) only handed out what was owed to whoever came to collect it. He did not calculate or compare the circumstances of the recipients, and so the text says, "those with De administer the che." Those who set the laws worried about unequal distribution and so calculated, and the text therefore calls them "without De." As for those who mediate between people in feuds, they worry that good people will be harmed, and so they deliberately intervene. This is also like the Si Che official who specially looks after weaker laborers, worried that they would receive too little.

The phrase "Tiandao wu qin, chang yu shanren" (The Way of Heaven has no favorites; it always sides with the good) uses the word "yu" to mean to help or to protect. The sage treats all things without partiality. Would the sage then allow evildoers to take revenge and watch good people suffer? Some say that the Way of Heaven has no close favorites, yet it often helps the good. The sage does not intend to help good people, but Tiandao naturally protects them and keeps evildoers from harming them freely.

Earlier, the text said that the sage does not use punishments, and Tiandao naturally disciplines wrongdoers. Here it says that the sage does not deliberately mediate feuds, and Tiandao naturally protects the good. This reflects Laozi's Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness: everything is left to the operation of the Way of Heaven. Tiandao punishes evil and protects good without the purposive intention of human beings. That evildoers meet misfortune and good people receive blessing is a matter of natural principle.

The above is Chapter Sixty-Six.

"Small state, few people" (xiao guo gua min): let the common people possess ten times or a hundred times the number of implements, yet not use them; let the people value their lives and not lightly migrate to distant places.

Ten people form one shi, and a hundred people form one bo. "Implements of shi and bo" (shibo zhi qi) refers to large tools that require many people to use together. If people do not use these implements, do not strive to make them, and do not covet them, then such implements will have no use.

"Valuing death highly" (zhong si) means regarding death as a great matter, and therefore cherishing and nurturing life. "Not migrating far" (bu yuan xi) means being born in one place and dying in the same place, without moving elsewhere. Laozi wanted to rescue the declining Zhou dynasty and return society to the simple, unadorned state of remote antiquity. He held that when a land is vast and its population large, it is difficult to govern. He therefore wished for a small state with few people, so that the common folk would not long for the outside world and would find self-sufficiency at home.

Even if there are boats and carriages, there will be no place to ride them. Even if there are armor and weapons, there will be no occasion to display and use them.

Boats, carriages, and weapons are not things a single person can use alone. They are precisely the "implements of shi and bo" mentioned above. With no place to go, boats and carriages are useless, and with no fighting, armor and weapons are useless as well.

Return the people to the practice of recording events by knotting cords (jie sheng ji shi).

Once the people are simple and affairs are uncomplicated, one can restore the governing method of high antiquity, in which events were recorded by knotted cords. Even if there were writing and contracts, they could be set aside. What Laozi meant by "not using" applies not only to large implements shared by many people.

Let the people find their food sweet, their clothing beautiful, their dwellings comfortable, and their customs joyful.

This describes the people cherishing life and not moving far. They regard what they eat as sweet and what they wear as beautiful. Their hearts are full and content, and they treasure and nurture their lives.