《道德经注释（清李涵虚）》

This is a commentary on the Dao De Jing (Daodejing) by Li Hanxu, a scholar of the Qing dynasty. The text lists the preface and the chapter titles of the Dao De Jing, but it does not yet include the scripture itself or the body of the commentary.

Immortals take Laozi as their foundational master. In dealing with the world, Laozi never contended with others in any matter. Outwardly, he gave up glory, wealth, and rank; inwardly, he nurtured his vital life and his lifespan. He was tranquil and composed, followed what is natural, and governed through non-action (wuwei).

What is meant by "non-action" is not letting all kinds of heterodox and deviant arts rise unchecked, nor pursuing chaotic, bizarre, cunning, or deceptive conduct. None of these is Laozi's teaching. What is meant by "naturalness" (ziran) is that a person's words and deeds accord with reason and embody and follow the workings of Heaven and Earth's transformations.

One keeps the centeredness of the mind without clinging to one extreme, contemplates emptiness without fixating on outward forms, and brings the mind to rest in xu (emptiness) and jing (stillness), keeping it hidden rather than displayed. One does not boast of the extraordinary or deliberately seek novelty, which is why the historical records call Laozi "a hidden gentleman of antiquity." The Daodejing (Dao De Jing), with its five thousand characters, draws on the words of the ancients to clarify principles, and these principles are applicable both to governing the world and to cultivating oneself.

When we read the Daodejing in everyday life, we may not fully grasp its profound meaning, yet we are willing to learn from it in our intentions and in our integrity. We hope to dwell in deep mountains and secluded valleys with two or three companions who share our aspirations, moving among the clouds and mists, leaning on our staffs and singing the praises of the sacred Way and its teachings. Without deliberately seeking knowledge or rashly taking action, we would simply follow the patterns of the Heavenly Dao, and regard this as a life of withdrawal and self-preservation, concealing our talents and our clumsiness.

One day, while touring various Daoist temples, I came across several volumes of the Yuanjiao Waishi (Outer Historian of the Round Peak). They described fellow practitioners traveling together, moving in and out of mountain forests and mists, leaning on their staffs and chanting the teachings of the sages. They did not concern themselves with worldly affairs, nor did they strive to act deliberately. They simply followed the law of nature, and this was their way of concealing their clumsiness and keeping to themselves.

Later, I came upon several more volumes of the Yuanjiao Waishi. They discussed the arts of prolonging life and nourishing vitality, which likewise did not depart from the Dao (the Way) of Laozi. The work includes Annotations on the Thirteen Classics, all of which comment on Laozi's writings, and among them the Commentary on the Daodejing is especially thorough. Appended at the end of the book is the Nine Levels of Following the Path (Xun Tu Jiu Ceng), which is more direct and easier to grasp. I asked a Daoist priest, "Who is Master Under-the-Tree?" He replied, "He is a man who lives in seclusion and farms." So I went to Juan Mountain to visit the Master. He praised his aspirations as comparable to those of the legendary recluses Chao Fu and Xu You, and he passed on to me the essential keys to cultivation.

After I returned, I had the Thirteen Classics printed and deposited them at a bookshop to honor the Master's devoted labor. I also had the Commentary on the Daodejing and the Nine Levels of Following the Path printed and sent to Daoist temples and Buddhist monasteries. This book is not long, yet it contains complete keys to cultivation, and it is convenient for the few of us to study together. If we can use it to perfect ourselves and also help others, perhaps this is where its value lies. I also recalled the words spoken when I received the teaching as a disciple: each follows his own lineage and takes a name rarely known in the world, like small streams flowing into a great river, each with its own source. Zixia received instruction from Huiweng, and our lineage descends from Zixia, so it has its own line of transmission.

Alas, in matters of heaven and earth, a few people like us need neither compete with others nor have the ability to. Daoyu is already seventy years old, Daosheng is nearing seventy, and Daohe is no longer young either. What is there to cling to in mountain life? It is nothing more than keeping the Commentary on the Daodejing and the Nine Levels of Following the Path close at hand, and chanting aloud among the cliffs and secluded valleys, our voices echoing through the streams and seeming to halt the drifting clouds, while we forget our surnames and ages.

Daoguang, in the year Rouzhao Dunzang (that is, the Bingwu year), in the month Zhongnanlü (the eighth lunar month), recorded by three recluses of Shu Mountain.

Laozi's Daodejing takes non-action (Wuwei) as its foundation. The Zhengyi (Correct Meaning) commentary and its annotations may appear to be original compositions, but they do not strive to make anything new. The Patriarch of the Dao handed down the scripture, and later Daoist disciples elaborated upon it, so the Great Dao became clearer.

Hanxuzi (Master Hanxu) was a gifted figure among the immortal adepts. In a dream they obtained a golden book. They were born into a family living beneath a tree, and their lineage had long dwelt on Mount Juan, with a sincere and simple household ethos. Quick-witted from childhood, they showed understanding at an early age, and as an adult they devoted themselves wholeheartedly to esoteric cultivation. After reading Fangwu Waishi (The Unofficial History of the Square Vase), they secretly hoped to attain the Dao, become an immortal, transcend the mundane, and have Master Lu walk at their side.

When I heard of this, I went to visit them. Using the name "Daoist of Mount Wu," I brought Qianxu along so I could observe their aspirations and bearing. Hanxuzi lived in a valley on the east side of Mount E. They had a quiet temperament, spoke little, cared nothing for glory or wealth, and passed their days playing the qin for their own enjoyment. After we became acquainted, we kept each other's company for many years. Sometimes I discussed with them the principle of chongxuan (the Doubly Mysterious, a Daoist idea that explains the profound and subtle nature of the Dao-body), and they usually grasped it as soon as they heard it. They then put their talents to use and wrote Yuanjiao Waishi (The Unofficial History of the Round Peak). It can be said to shine alongside Master Lu's writings.

Master Lu wrote the Xuanfu Lun (Treatise on the Mysterious Surface), and Hanxuzi wrote the Daoqiao Tan (Discourse on the Dao's Apertures). Master Lu wrote the Jiuzheng Pian (Chapter on Correcting the Path), and Hanxuzi wrote the Xuntu Shuo (Discourse on Following the Way). These are all pure and sincere essays. The most refined of them is their commentary on the Daodejing, which is enough to serve as a lamp for later generations. Titled Donglai Zhengyi (The Correct Meaning from the East), it can be placed alongside Master Lu's Nanhua Fumo (Ink Copies of the Southern Florescence). These two masters were truly the ones who best interpreted Laozi and Zhuangzi.

There are five faults in commentaries on the Daodejing, and three things in them worth commending. Of the five faults, the first is dwelling too heavily on governing the state and its affairs, and the second is dwelling too heavily on cultivating the self and nourishing the nature.

Some commentators understood that the Dao pervades both the self and the myriad things of the world, yet they could not state a principle that was grounded in reason and corroborated by the classics, and so they ended up veering onto heterodox paths. This is the third fault. Some people, not understanding the cultivation method of the Supreme Dao (zhidao), first speak of pacifying the people and enriching the state, holding that once these are achieved one has truly practiced wuwei (non-action). If they begin by discussing stillness and tranquility (qingjing), they inevitably sink into emptiness and quietude. This is the fourth fault. Some people, not understanding the virtue and function of the Supreme Dao, take returning to the root and restoring one's destiny as purposive action. If they begin by discussing sages and spirit-illumination, they inevitably become as vacuous as hymns of praise. This is the fifth fault.

What are the "Three Beauties"? The first is a commentary that connects the Dao with both inner and outer realms, and that divides its annotations into main commentary (zhengzhu) and supplementary commentary (fuzhu), so that the meaning of the scripture becomes richer and clearer. The second is a commentary in which the chapters connect with one another, complementing and echoing each other, so that the meaning of the scripture flows through. The third is a commentary whose author has genuine insight within the heart, whose words are not obstructed by the preconceptions of the Chan school, and who is able to clarify the meaning of the scripture.

I have often lamented that the central purport of the Daodejing has not been understood by the world. I wished to take up my brush and write a commentary on it, yet even now I regret that I never did. Now, reading the discourse of Li Hanxu, I find that it possesses the "Three Beauties" and is free of the "Five Faults." Had it appeared a thousand years earlier, the various schools would likely have had no need to write further commentaries, and Daoist adherents would not have had to spend so much of their breath in debate. For this reason, I am glad to select it, add critical annotations, and preserve it to pass on to those with lofty aspirations. In making these annotations, I also aim to clarify its true meaning through this commentary, to supply the commentary I never completed, and to lodge these ideas within the annotations.

A poem titled "Dong Lai Zheng Yi" (Orthodox Meaning from the East).

Huiweng first wrote a preface to evaluate this book, and his own preface in particular opened a path for people to enter the gate of De (Virtue/Power). He also saw purple qi rising over Guanzhong, as if he had seen with his own eyes a great-great-grandson born to the Li family. May all people of later generations be delivered through this work, so that the Dao of Former Heaven (xiantian zhi Dao) is held in ever greater honor. Many commentators have produced no edition like this one. It is like a precious jewel-box, kept and guarded for a long time, standing watch over Kunlun.

——Zhang Quanyi of Liaodong, the Mysterious Mysterious Daoist, Right Minister of the Jade Pivot, Proofreader of the Taiqing Dongxuan, who oversaw the study of cultivation merit and the selection of immortal affairs, respectfully inscribed this at Qingfu.

A commentary can clarify the subtle mystery of the Dao. Reading it again, one seems to see purple qi rising in the east. Those who play the zither and the flute are true men of refinement, and those who expound the scriptures are skilled debaters. I dwell on the Fangzhu immortal mountain, gazing out over the vast sea, and you ascend the Yuanqiao immortal mountain, looking down on Penglai. Today we sit together in the riverside pavilion and recite the Nanhua Jing (Scripture of Southern Florescence), and cannot help but laugh at our own foolishness.

——Chen Xingxi, Master Wenming Pudu, Compiler of the Three Pure Ones' True Writings, concurrently in charge of the secret archives of the Cavern Heavens, Founding Patriarch of the Eastern School, respectfully inscribed this.

Dwelling among cloud-covered mountains, the Dao lies within oneself. Shen and Qi (spirit and breath), deep and still, have a vast and substantial presence. Writing books in Qingdao, I rigorously guard against outside disturbances. Stilling restlessness in the Dantian (the region in Daoist practice where one holds the mind and nourishes qi), I hold the heart quietly within it. People call me "Great Abbot," yet I deliberately jokingly call him "Duke of the Great Wall." Through annotation, the meaning of the Daodejing seems to have gained a fence and a gate. Having understood the various scriptures, I find that their words and aims are broadly in accord.

——Written by the Heavenly Immortal Bai Qiong, Administrator.

Commentary on the Daodejing (Dongyan Zhengyi, Correct Meaning of the Dongyan Commentary)

Annotated by Hanxu Sheng, Master of the Purple Mist Cavern on Yuanqiao Mountain, who, after reverent fasting and bathing, respectfully wrote this commentary.

Proofread and printed at Yueyang Tower by the Daoist disciples Zhu Daosheng and Li Daoyu.

Chapter One

The Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao (the Way); the name that can be named is not the constant name.

Dao, the Way, is the principle by which one cultivates oneself within and governs the world without, and it is the standard practiced at every moment of daily life. The body of the Dao (Dao ti) is vast and profound and difficult to explain in words, yet when it manifests it can be described. It encompasses all manifest and subtle things, being both broad and refined, so the "Dao" spoken of here is not the ordinary dao. When one is in Wuji (the Ultimateless, the undifferentiated state without form or shape), it cannot be named. A name becomes possible only within Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the state in which the myriad things begin to differentiate). Taiji arises from Wuji, and it can be still or in motion, so the "name" spoken of here is also not the ordinary name.

The Jibu (Collected Commentary) explains that the path and standard that people commonly follow is called Dao. "Kedao" (can be spoken of) means can be stated and explained. The phrase "changdao" (constant Dao) refers to the great Dao. To describe the shape of something, one calls it a name (ming). "Keming" (can be named) means can be compared and designated. The phrase "changming" (constant name) refers to a name that is not fixed.

Wuming (nameless), tiandi zhi shi (the beginning of Heaven and Earth); youming (named), wanwu zhi mu (the mother of the myriad things).

"Wuming" is Wuji, and "youming" is Taiji. Wu transforms into you, and wu itself has no fixed name. When Wuji is still undivided, there are no signs and no forms, and no sound or scent to compare with, so it is said that Dao is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. After Taiji differentiates, the myriad things begin to come into being and be nourished, and the traces of creation appear, so Dao is said to be the mother of the myriad things. The "myriad things" here include Heaven and Earth. Dao exists before Heaven and Earth and from it arise Heaven, Earth, humanity, and all things, so it can be called their common source. The text says "mu" (mother), but it also implies "fu" (father).

Gu chang wuyu (constant non-desire), yi guan qi miao (to observe its subtlety); chang youyu (constant desire), yi guan qi jiao (to observe its boundary).

"Miao" (subtlety) refers to nameless things. It is settled and still, so one should observe it constantly in stillness. "Jiao" (boundary; tong "qiao," meaning orifice) refers to named things. It moves and changes, so one should observe it in responding to affairs. The commentaries interpret "wuyu" and "youyu" as "changjing" (constantly still) and "changying" (constantly responsive): one observes nameless Dao with a mind free of desire, and observes named things with a mind that responds to them. Alchemists (Danjia, practitioners of internal alchemy) called the xuanguan (the mysterious pass, the key orifice in cultivation practice) the "youwu miaoqiao" (wondrous orifice of being and non-being). This likely derives from this passage.

"You" (having) and "wu" (non-having) come from the same source and differ only in name, so both are called "xuan" (profound, subtle principle). Observing "wuming" (the unnamed, the state before manifestation) without desire allows one to appreciate its subtlety. Observing "youming" (the named, the state already manifest) with desire allows one to perceive its outward forms and openings. Both are "xuan," and together they return to a single "xuan." This "xuan" contains all manner of subtlety and is the gateway through which the myriad subtleties enter. Neidan (internal alchemy) practitioners call the "xuanguan" (the crucial juncture where having and non-having transform) the "youwu miaoqiao" (the wondrous aperture of having and non-having), and their basis lies here.

Chapter Two (the Heshang Gong commentary edition, Heshang Gong, titles it "Nourishing the Body," Yangshen zhang; other editions title it "Beauty and Goodness," Meishan zhang):

When everyone under heaven knows that beauty is beauty, ugliness has already appeared. When everyone knows that goodness is goodness, unkindness has already followed. Thus, having and non-having give rise to one another, difficulty and ease bring each other about, long and short take shape through mutual comparison, high and low stand in contrast, sounds harmonize with one another, and front and back follow one another. The original text repeats the preceding sentence after "sounds harmonize." The commentary explains that "high" stands for what is above, and "qing" (overturning, tilting) stands for repeated reversal. The character xing (form) is the same in all editions, while the Wang Bi (Wang Bi) edition writes jiao (comparison) instead.

"Yi" means to cease or to depart, and the Guangyun (a rhyme dictionary) glosses it as "to go." Beauty and ugliness differ greatly, and once one understands what beauty is, one also stops clinging to ugliness. Goodness and non-goodness are far apart, and once one understands what goodness is, one can remove what is not good. Human beings originally possess an innate true nature (xiantian zhenxing) that is pure and beautiful. Later, under the influence of desires, evil and non-goodness arise. Therefore one must remove selfish desires (siyu) and restore one's natural, unadorned nature (tianzhen).

In cultivation, one should first take emptiness, stillness, and numinous clarity (xujing lingming) as the root, and then use transformation and application as the method. In this way existence can arise from non-existence, and existence can return to non-existence. At first the work is difficult, but later it becomes easy. A form or condition may change from long to short, or from short to long. Moving up and down in cycles, removing selfish desires, and seeking the natural true self are like kindred things attracting one another and like sounds answering one another. At the Zi hour (zishi, midnight), yang qi moves from behind and then turns back. At the Wu hour (wushi, noon), yin qi descends from the front. This is the method of cultivating the body.

Therefore the sage (shengren) manages affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without relying on words. When the myriad things arise, he does not refuse them (another edition reads "does not separate from them"). He lets them grow without claiming them as his own. He acts without relying on his merit, and when affairs are complete, he does not claim credit for them. Precisely because he does not claim credit, his merit does not vanish.

This passage continues the preceding discussion and concerns how the sage governs himself. In cultivating his own person, the sage adopts the way of non-action (Wuwei), and in teaching others to cultivate themselves, he uses the teaching without words. He dwells quietly in the world so that his aspirations may be fulfilled, and when he acts, his actions arise from inner realization. When myriad beings rise up and hope that the sage will take charge of them, the sage does not refuse. He not only bears the responsibility of governing but also does beneficial things for the common people, yet he does not claim the merit for himself. When his governance achieves results, he does not become self-satisfied.

Once the work is brought to complete success, the sage withdraws to rest, as when the Yellow Emperor traveled to Mount Kongtong to inquire about the Dao from Guangchengzi, or when Yu Shun, wearied of affairs of state, yielded the throne and retired. Heroes and talented men of later generations who, having achieved merit, were willing to yield likewise did not cling to their achievements. Only when one does not cling to merit can one continue to seek the way of self-cultivation, hold fast to one's original nature without departing from the Dao, and ultimately become a Perfected Person (zhiren). Cultivating oneself can bring order to the world, and perfecting oneself can also nourish all things; this is the principle at work here. Who says that Laozi's Dao exclusively exalts stillness and non-action and keeps itself aloof from worldly affairs?

Chapter Three

The Heshang Gong commentary edition titles this chapter "Chapter on Pacifying the People" (Anmin Zhang), while the Peng edition titles it "Chapter on Non-Action" (Wuwei Zhang).

When one does not esteem the names of the worthy, the people will not contend with one another. When one does not prize rare and precious goods, the people will not steal. When one does not display objects that arouse desire, the human heart will not be thrown into confusion. Therefore, in governing the people, the sage keeps their hearts simple and settled, sees that they have enough to eat, lessens their drive to compete and advance, and strengthens their bodies. He keeps the people from displaying cleverness and from cultivating excessive desires, so that even those who consider themselves clever dare not act recklessly. When one governs according to the principle of non-action, nothing will be left ungoverned.

At the end of the previous chapter, the sage was described as governing the world without claiming credit once the work was done. This chapter turns to the cultivation of the self. Even in governing a state, the sage does not compete with the common people through displays of worth and ability. Because he does not set talent against talent, the desire to contend for fame fades, and the people stop competing for reputation. He does not treat wealth and goods as objects of mutual prestige, so the drive for profit is cut off and the people stop stealing. He does not display things that would arouse greed, so the heart's desires recede. The people therefore remain undisturbed, and the sage's own mind is likewise at peace. To govern well is, at root, to be skilled at cultivating oneself.

Therefore, when the sage cultivates himself, he does not act recklessly, yet he is able to bring order to both body and mind. He does not chase after fame, profit, and desire. He holds fast to emptiness and stillness so that his mind stays clear and bright. He sets aside fame, profit, and desire and nourishes only his original Qi (yuanqi), so that body and mind are full. His will is gentle and yielding, and he takes softness and weakness as the way of application. His sinews and bones are firm and strong, and he takes firmness as the foundation of the body. He keeps himself serene and undemanding, living in harmony with the people of the world. The common people, too, are not driven by cleverness, knowledge, and greed, and they preserve their simple, unadorned nature. In this way, those in the world who rely on their own cleverness find no room to display their ingenuity, and they dare not act rashly. This is the principle by which the sage governs the world through Wuwei (wúwéi), or non-action.

Chapter Four (titled "The Chapter on the Source Without Origin" in the Heshang Gong commentary)

"Dao" (dào) is empty and formless, yet in use it seems never to be exhausted. It is deep and remote, as if it were the source of the myriad things. It blunts its sharpness, resolves tangles, softens its light, and merges itself with the dust of the world. It is profound and hidden, as if it exists yet is hard to grasp. I do not know whose offspring it is; in appearance, it seems to have existed before the Lord on High (Di).

Chapter 5

The commentary by Heshang Gong calls this chapter the "Chapter on the Use of Emptiness" (Xu Yong Zhang), while the Peng edition calls it the "Chapter on Holding to the Center" (Shou Zhong Zhang).

Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat the myriad things as straw dogs.

Heaven and Earth do not deliberately practice benevolence. They simply follow what the myriad things need. Each of the myriad things obtains what it requires and performs its own function. Because Heaven and Earth do not deliberately bestow favors, they embody the deepest benevolence. If the myriad things had to wait for Heaven and Earth to nurture and provide for them one by one before they could grow, that arrangement could never be complete. Heaven and Earth do not cut grass for wild beasts, yet the beasts eat grass on their own. Heaven and Earth do not feed dogs for people, yet people feed dogs on their own. In this way, the benevolence of Heaven and Earth becomes all the more vast. The "straw dog" (chu gou) mentioned here is a dog made of straw used in sacrificial rites, and the image can be extended to fruits, vegetables, chickens, pigs, and other things.

The sage is not benevolent; he treats the common people as straw dogs.

The sage (sheng ren) accords with the virtue (De) of Heaven and Earth. He likewise lets the common people make their own living and nourish themselves. This is what is meant by things being accomplished through non-action (wuwei).

Between Heaven and Earth, is it not like a bellows (tuo yue)? It is empty, yet it does not run dry; the more it is moved, the more air it releases. Too many words quickly reach their limit, and it is better to hold to the center.

Between Heaven and Earth, is it not like a bellows? A bellows is hollow, yet its hollowness never leaves it depleted, and the more it is worked, the more air flows out. Heaven, Earth, and the sage do not create and arrange all the food and necessities of life for the myriad things and the common people. This is because excessive speech and frequent intervention often lead to exhaustion and distress. It is better to keep to stillness and emptiness, and to hold to the balanced middle way.

Heaven, Earth, and the sage do not personally make food or tools for the myriad things and the common people, yet each thing and each person obtains what it needs. This is because their inner nature is empty, and so they can nourish all things universally. Heaven and Earth divide into upper and lower spaces, and between them lies an open, unobstructed emptiness, like a bellows without a bottom or flutes whose pipes connect. Breath moves naturally without human interference, so the void can contain the myriad things, and when set in motion it works quietly to promote their growth. Its capacity has no end.

Heaven and Earth do not speak, and the sage does not speak much. If one says too much, words acquire a fixed number, and what has a fixed number may be exhausted. It is therefore better to hold to the emptiness and stillness of the heart.

Chapter Six

(The Heshang Gong edition titles this chapter "Chengxiang Zhang" [Chapter on Forming Images], while the Peng edition titles it "Gushen Zhang" [Chapter on the Valley Spirit].)

"The Valley Spirit does not die" means that the marvelous function of emptiness, like a valley that is hollow yet able to give birth to and nurture the myriad things, does not vanish. This is called the "xuanpin" (the profound, deep maternal power capable of generation). "The gate of the xuanpin" is the root from which Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things come into being. It endures without end, seeming to exist yet hard to grasp, and one who can make use of it will never feel exhausted.

The sage cultivates the self by holding to the Middle Way (zhongdao), because the "middle" can nourish the Valley Spirit (gushen). The Valley Spirit is the originating nature of a person. "Valley" is a metaphor for emptiness, and "spirit" (shen) is a metaphor for numinous awareness. When the substance of nature is both empty and numinous, it does not grow dim, and what does not grow dim does not die.

Why is the Valley Spirit also called the Mysterious Female (xuanpin), the profound maternal body? "Mysterious" refers to Heaven, and "female" (pin) refers to Earth. When Heaven and Earth join, the Mysterious Female takes form, and within it lies vast emptiness and stillness. Confucians call this state "subtle and hidden," a realm where nothing can be seen or heard. Buddhists call it "that," a true nature beyond the distinction between good and evil. The sage relies on this empty Mysterious Female to nourish the numinous Valley Spirit. The Valley Spirit is therefore named after the Mysterious Female, and the name is given according to its function.

Mysterious and female are Qian and Kun. Confucius said, "Perhaps Qian and Kun are the gateway to the Yi?" The Kinship of the Three (Cantong qi) also states, "Qian and Kun are the gateway of the Yi." The so-called "method of the two orifices" refers to the mutual correspondence of metal qi (the essence-qi spoken of in refinement practice), which is the gate of the Mysterious Female. Yin and Yang move back and forth within it, and Kan and Li, the symbols of water and fire, unite within it. It is both the place where male and female join and the place where sun and moon exchange their light. The sage reverses ordinary use and turns it into the gate of life. Ordinary people, following common inclinations, make it the household of death. The harmonious union of Heaven and Earth (tiandi jiaotai) occurs right here.

For this reason the Mysterious Female is also called the "root of Heaven and Earth," the fundamental root that Heaven and Earth each contain. This root is the place where one returns to origin and restores the primal, refining qi into spirit (lianqi huashen). When the breath continues without break, seeming to exist and yet not exist, one is nourishing the Valley Spirit, and embryonic breathing (taixi) forms naturally. In practice, one does not force effort. Adjusting the outer furnace's fire by increase and decrease (huohou) then naturally reaches the proper measure. "Not diligent" means not laboring and not straining.

Heaven and Earth endure for a long time, and this speaks to the Dao of enduring life (changsheng zhi dao). Heaven and Earth can last because, when still, they are single-minded and, when moving, they unfold; when still, they gather inward, and when moving, they open outward. They give birth to and nourish the myriad things, extend their bounty widely, and cover and bear up all things without partiality, which is why they can endure. If Heaven and Earth attended only to their own survival, the lives of the myriad things would not flow smoothly, and the harmony within Heaven and Earth itself would suffer. If the original nature of the myriad things could not be preserved, the inner order of Heaven and Earth would also be damaged. When the myriad things are harmed, Heaven and Earth are harmed. Heaven and Earth do not claim life as their own possession. Instead, they take the growth of living beings as their own vitality. When living beings multiply and grow without cease, this is the very expression of Heaven and Earth's enduring existence, and so Heaven and Earth last long.

The sage (shengren) takes Heaven and Earth as a model. The sage nourishes the self through softness and humility. By seemingly placing the self behind, the sage in fact comes to stand in front and preserves the self. By gradually filling the self, the sage in fact gives the self vitality. The sage holds to inner centrality and uses it to govern outward conduct. Though the sage seems to pay no heed to life and appears to want nothing, by first forgetting the self, the sage in the end preserves the self and prolongs life.

None of these practices amounts to possessing the Dao as one's own. The sage's mind is calm and free of desire, and so the nature of the common people is restored to its simplicity. The sage enjoys long life, and so the lifespans of the common people are also extended. The Dao is without partiality, and at this level of attainment the sage seems to perfect the self as well. Because the sage is selfless, the self is in fact perfected. This is the sublime quality of the Dao.

The alternative titles listed at the opening of Chapter Eight are as follows. The Heshang Gong commentary (Heshang Gong zhu) calls it the "Chapter on Transforming the Nature" (Yixing Zhang), while the Peng edition calls it the "Chapter on Supreme Goodness" (Shangshan Zhang). The scriptural line "Supreme goodness is like water" means that the highest good is like water. Water excels at nourishing the myriad things without contending with them. It settles in the low places that people despise, and so it comes close to the Dao.

The most precious virtue of the Dao (Dào) is to humbly dwell in a low place and yet accomplish the function of the high. For this reason it is called "supreme goodness" (shàng shàn), the highest good. This supreme goodness can be illustrated by water. Water nourishes all things and enables them to grow, yet it does not contend with them for credit. It tends to flow into the low-lying places that people do not want to inhabit. Though people dislike low ground, they cannot harm water. Water benefits all things without claiming their merit, and it takes softness and weakness as its nature, so it comes very close to the Dao.

Human nature too should be like water, gentle and humble. One who holds to a humble disposition will have conduct that accords with goodness. With no thought of contending for advantage, one chooses a suitable place to dwell, keeps a mind that is deep and broad, meets others with benevolence, speaks with sincerity, governs affairs with order, and handles tasks according to each person's ability, acting in accordance with the proper timing.

At all times and in all places, one should maintain gentleness, humility, and non-contention. Because one does not contend, resentment and fault have no way to arise. Water willingly takes the low place, and people still dislike it. Yet people are sometimes low and sometimes high, and one who can accord with this principle in such a way is even more wondrous and more spiritually perceptive than water.

Chapter Nine

The Heshang Gong commentary edition calls this chapter the "Yunyi Chapter" (yùn yí zhāng), while the Peng edition calls it the "Chiying Chapter" (chí yíng zhāng), or "Holding Fullness."

To hold something and keep filling it without knowing when to stop is not as good as stopping in time. To sharpen a blade to the extreme is to be unable to keep its edge for long. A house filled with gold and jade cannot be kept forever by anyone. To become arrogant upon attaining wealth and rank only brings calamity upon oneself.

"Chi" means to obtain or possess, and "chuai" means to probe or test. A person who has already received their qi yet still generates a desire to seek more, to fill up to the brim, is initiating the very beginning of loss, and so it is better to stop at what is sufficient. Someone who probes for treasures and then immediately develops a mind of sharp edges and excessive zeal foreshadows failure, and therefore cannot keep such things for long. To stop when one could stop, yet refuse to stop, is like filling a hall with gold and jade with no one able to guard it. To fail to guard what one should guard is like becoming arrogant after attaining wealth and status, which ultimately invites calamity. This is how the principles of the human world operate.

"When merit is achieved and fame secured, the body withdraws. This is the Way of Heaven."

Now let us speak from the perspective of the Dao of Heaven. Heaven does not proclaim its own merit or reputation, yet it takes the nurturing of all things and the fulfillment of their flourishing as its merit and fame. When the myriad things are nourished to maturity and the four seasons complete their cycle, Heaven and Earth move on to a new phase. In winter, all things gather inward and hide away, precisely in order to accumulate the strength for the renewal of yang energy. What, then, can people see in the Way of Heaven?

Chapter Ten

(In the He Shanggong commentary edition, this chapter is titled "Chapter on Ability" (Nengwei Zhang). In the Peng edition, it is titled "Chapter on Profound De" (Xuande Zhang).)

"In holding the hun and po together as one, can you avoid separation? In concentrating the qi and reaching softness, can you become like an infant? In cleansing and purifying the mysterious mirror of insight, can you be without flaw? In loving the people and governing the state, can you refrain from acting? In the opening and closing of the gate of Heaven, can you remain in the feminine? In clear understanding reaching in all four directions, can you be without knowing? To give birth to things and nourish them, to give birth without possessing, to act without relying on one's own ability, to lead without dominating: this is called profound De."

Can you hold body and soul together as one and never let them part? Can you concentrate your qi until body and mind are supple, like an infant? Can you wash away the surface of your mind's perception so that no blemish remains? Can you love the people and govern the nation while following what is natural and refraining from forced action? When the senses and the mind open and close, can you remain yielding and never strive? When your understanding reaches in all directions, can you refrain from relying on cleverness and from presuming that you already know?

To give life to all things and to nourish them, to give life without claiming ownership, to act without taking pride in the result, to guide growth without controlling: this is what is called Xuan De, a virtue that is profound and follows nature.

"Zai" here carries the sense of a vehicle bearing a load. "Ying" may be understood through the Traditional Chinese Medicine concept of yingwei (nutritive and defensive qi): weiqi belongs to Yang, and yingqi belongs to Yin. "Yingpo" refers to the Yin po (corporeal soul). Some commentators equate "ying" directly with "po," but this easily causes misunderstanding. When the text speaks of the Yin po here, it also includes the Yang hun (ethereal soul) within it.

According to neidan (internal alchemy), on the fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month the hun-qi gathers in the lunar po, and the moon becomes full, symbolizing that the pure Yang qi has reached fullness. At this time the sage circulates the heche (River Chariot, the internal alchemy practice for conveying refined qi), bearing and moving it along so that the qianjin (Qian Gold, the internal alchemy term for pure Yang essential qi) becomes one's own. This is what the scripture means by "having attained the One, all affairs are complete." Once the One has been attained, it is not lost again. The sage carries the Yin po back, embraces and guards the One, and abides in it. The Earth po is thereby able to subdue the zhugong (cinnabar mercury, an internal alchemy term for the mind-spirit or the medicinal substance), and so it does not disperse.

After ten months of nourishment, the huozhou (fire-timing) within the body forms naturally, the warm qi is constantly present, and the yinghai (infant embryo, a metaphor in neidan for the completed inner elixir) grows on its own. The sage condenses jing-qi (essence-qi) until it reaches a soft, gentle state. This is precisely the fire-timing within the body.

"Xuanlan" refers to inner observation, and "dichu xuanlan" means quietly observing inwardly. When the heart-mind is clear and free of blemish or entanglement, this is what is meant by: "Having contemplated emptiness, one no longer clings even to emptiness. When the emptiness that was contemplated no longer exists, one no longer clings even to non-being. Not clinging even to non-being, one becomes clear, still, and constantly at rest."

Loving the common people allows them to be settled, and governing the state allows it to be wealthy. When the people are settled and the state is wealthy, one can practice governance through wuwei (non-action). The settling of jing-qi is used to illustrate the "settling of the people" in cultivating the body, and the sufficiency of qianqi (lead-qi) illustrates the "wealth of the state." Lianji (refining the self, cultivating the mind and gathering the spirit) settles the jing-qi, and huandan (returning the elixir, consolidating the inner elixir) makes the qianqi sufficient. Only through lianji and huandan can one follow the Way of embracing the One through wuwei. The cultivation of the body works in the same way.

Cultivating the body means taking "guarding the feminine" (shou ci) as the core practice, that is, holding to a state of softness, stillness, and inward restraint. Nourishing the spirit and gestating the Neidan (internal elixir) also depend on guarding the feminine. Does this mean that once the Celestial Gate (tianmen) opens and the Yang Spirit (yangshen) can come and go freely, practitioners are finally free of the hardship of guarding the feminine?

When cultivating the body, knowledge and discriminating thought become a source of disturbance. Once the sacred body (shengti) is achieved, the spirit of knowledge is transformed and reaches perfect and complete awakening (zhengdeng zhengjue), a state of clear and unobstructed understanding of all principles and affairs. Can we then say that one is no longer troubled by knowledge?

Beyond this, there is the work of "giving birth to sons and grandsons," which refers to the transfer of the cauldron and division of the embryo (huanding fentai), a teaching in Daoist internal alchemy about further transforming and dividing the internal elixir. There is also the accumulation of a store of merit, which is achieved by establishing meritorious works and saving the people of the world. Yet although one gives life and nurture, one does not claim ownership of this generative work, as if shattering empty space. Although one acts, one does not rely on one's own action. This is great compassion. Holding a mind that protects the state and shelters the people, and persisting in this through thousands and myriads of kalpas without ever boasting of being a lord in Heaven, is what can truly be called profound virtue (xuan de), a virtue that is deep and does not show itself.

Chapter Eleven

The Heshang Gong Commentary titles this chapter "The Chapter on Uselessness," while the Peng edition titles it "The Chapter on Use."

Thirty spokes converge on a single hub. It is because the hub is hollow that the cart can function. Clay is kneaded and shaped into a vessel. It is because the vessel is hollow that it can hold things. Doors and windows are cut out to build a house. It is because the interior has emptiness that the house can be lived in. Therefore, what has form brings convenience, but it is the formless emptiness that makes it truly useful.

Chapter 11 Commentary

Thirty-six spokes support a cartwheel, symbolizing the movement of the sun and moon. The hub (che gu, the central part of the wheel that connects to the axle) sits at the center of the wheel, where the spokes converge. The inside of the hub is hollow, and the spokes gather around its outer edge. It is precisely because the hub is empty that the wheel can function.

"Shan" refers to mixing water and earth into clay, and "zhi" refers to fine clay. When making pottery or bricks, the clay is not yet shaped and has no recognizable form. Only after it is kneaded and molded does it become a usable vessel. A house gains light only once doors and windows are cut into its walls, and without them it would be of no practical use. Once the openings are made and shaped, the house can serve its purpose as a dwelling. Thus, solid forms provide convenience, while the empty spaces within them make their function possible. Things come into being from non-being, and this principle applies broadly.

Chapter 12

(The Heshang Gong edition, Hé Shàng Gōng běn, calls this chapter "Examining Desire" (Jiǎn Yù Zhāng), and the Peng edition calls it "The Belly" (Wèi Fù Zhāng).)

[The five colors blind the eye; the five tones deafen the ear; the five flavors dull the palate; galloping in the chase drives the heart to madness; rare goods lead people astray in their conduct. Therefore the sage (shèng rén) attends to the belly and not the eye, discarding the one and choosing the other.]

"Shuang" means losing normal function and being harmed, and "kuang" means unrestrained indulgence. Everyone covets rare treasures, and carrying precious objects about also hinders one's movements. Colors, music, delicacies, hunting, and precious goods all harm people in this way. For this reason, the sage values inner fullness and disregards outward pleasures. He sets aside external things and chooses what the inner self truly needs.

Chapter 13

(The Heshang Gong edition calls this chapter "Loathing Shame" (Yàn Chǐ Zhāng), and the Peng edition calls it "Favor and Honor" (Chǒng Guì Zhāng).)

[Favor and disgrace bring alarm as if one were startled; regard great calamity as seriously as one's own body.]

Receiving favor or suffering disgrace is like being startled. Regarding great calamity as one's own body means taking it as seriously as one's own safety. When favored, one who remains wary will guard inner worth as carefully as one would keep a fine jade hidden away. By protecting that inner treasure and disregarding external things, one can let go of outward concerns and choose what the inner self requires.

When one feels alarm at being favored, one should keep one's jade hidden away. When one feels alarm at being disgraced, one should firmly re-establish one's roots. This is the bearing of one who cultivates oneself in quiet devotion and resolves to strive. To regard honor as one regards one's own self is to be content to practice the Dao (the Way) and to dwell at ease in good repute. To regard calamity as one regards one's own self is to blunt one's sharpness and avoid drawing slander. This is the method of cultivation that embraces the original source and holds fast to true nature.

[What is meant by "being alarmed by favor and disgrace"? "Favor is lowly" (chong wei xia). Wang Bi's edition and other versions read "favor is lowly," while Peng Haogu's edition reads "favor and disgrace are lowly" (chong ru xia).] [To be alarmed when one receives favor, and equally alarmed when one loses it: this is what is meant by "being alarmed by favor and disgrace."]

"Favor is lowly" means that favor is unstable and often turns to decline, so that gain and loss alike cannot be relied upon. Whether one is favored or out of favor, one should be constantly cautious and constantly diligent. This is what is meant by "being alarmed by favor and disgrace."

[What is meant by regarding honor and great calamity as one regards one's own self? The reason I have great calamity is that I have this body. Once I no longer cling to the self, what calamity could there be? Therefore, one who values the self above all in governing the world may be entrusted with the world, and one who cherishes the self and governs the world by means of it may be given the world.]

This passage explains "honor" and "calamity." It opens by stating the source of calamity: it arises from clinging to the self. Understanding this, one must move from having calamity toward being free of it. The commentary further says that one who can place the self within the world and take up the world with one's own person may be entrusted with the world, and one who cherishes the self and bears the world by means of it may be given the world.

The first section concerns "Valuing the Body" and "Calamity." It explains why people encounter troubles: while the physical body remains, calamities can fall upon it, but once the form is shed and the spirit (shen) endures, misfortune has nothing to attach to. Some who remain in the world, keeping their true qi full and conducting themselves quietly without revealing their traces, are likewise beyond the reach of external harm.

Therefore one must cherish one's body. To regard oneself as the life entrusted to the world, and not to treat this priceless body lightly, is the only way to entrust oneself to the world. This is the principle that the Yellow Stone Elder (Huang Shigong) taught Zhang Liang, whose courtesy name was Zi Fang. One must also guard oneself and not lightly display one's rare talents to the whole world, for only then can one entrust oneself to the world. These are the words with which Zhang Jiuling admonished Li Mi, who styled himself Marquis of Ye.

To preserve oneself well is to govern oneself well, and to govern oneself well is to govern worldly affairs well. Confucius said: "The dragon and the snake hibernate in order to preserve their bodies; action that benefits the settling of the self advances one's virtue." The gentleman keeps his talents concealed within himself and waits for the right moment to act. What could fail him in whatever he undertakes?

Chapter Fourteen

(The Heshang Gong commentary calls this chapter "Praising the Mysterious," that is, extolling the profound and subtle Dao.)

Look for it and it cannot be seen; it is called yi (the formless). Listen for it and it cannot be heard; it is called xi (the soundless). Reach for it and it cannot be grasped; it is called wei (the intangible). These three cannot be probed to their ultimate ground, and so they blend together as one. Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark. It stretches on without end and cannot be named, and in the end it returns to the state of no thing and no form. This is called the shape without shape, the image without image, which is what is meant by huanghu (the elusive and indistinct).

Face it and you cannot see its beginning; follow it and you cannot see its end. Hold fast to the Dao of old in order to master the things of the present, and you can know the origin of all things. This is called the guiding thread of the Dao.

The realm that cannot be seen or heard is called the "Gate of Xi and Yi" (xiyi zhi men), a profound state beyond the grasp of the senses. This gate is where human nature (xing) and emotion (qing) find their resting place. "Yi" conceals nature, and "xi" conceals emotion, which is why it cannot be seen or heard. Between nature and emotion there also flows a true intention (zhenyi). One tries to grope after it but cannot obtain it, so it is called "wei" (subtle). These three should not be questioned separately. They should be joined into one, so that they meet.

Whether above or below, it seems closed. It is neither bright nor dark, as if it exists and yet as if it does not. "Shensheng" means to be cautious and watchful. In this realm, closed above and below and seeming both to be and not to be, one must stay alert to what cannot be seen, yet one cannot describe its beginning or its end. Amid this "huanghu" (dim and indistinct) state, there seems to be something within, which in the end returns to nothing. This is what is meant by "a shape without form, an image without image." The truth that appears within huanghu has no visible beginning or end. It may well be the "Yuanshi zhi Qi" (the primordial qi of the beginning of all things).

The Dao spoken of in antiquity is the original substance of the primordial beginning, and the things before our eyes are the functions through which the Dao manifests. Though ancient and present differ, one can grasp the ancient Dao to govern the present, producing something from nothing ("wu zhong sheng you"). To recognize the Dao before the primordial beginning and to infer what follows it is to hold the guiding threads of the Dao. Recording years, months, days, and hours, and even recording a single talisman or a single quarter-hour, all belong to the calendar of the Dao.

Chapter 15 (the Heshang Gong commentary edition calls it "Xiande Zhang," the Chapter on Manifest Virtue; the Peng edition, "Peng ben," calls it "Baoying Zhang," the Chapter on Preserving Fullness).

The ancient masters who were skilled at cultivating the Dao (Dao) understood methods of tending the body that were subtle and profound, penetrating the mysteries so deeply that they could not be fully fathomed, and so they did not presume to guess at them. When one wished to describe their appearance, one could only approximate it by means of physical images. In this chapter, seven clauses contain the character ruo (as if), and all are comparisons of this kind: they are cautious, like someone wading across a river in winter; alert, like someone mindful of the neighbors on every side; dignified and upright; loosening, like ice about to melt; simple and unadorned in their sincerity; and open-hearted, like a valley, their substance so full and thick that it seems still undifferentiated and murky.

Who can wait quietly within the turbidity and let it gradually clear? Who can remain at peace, holding fast, and wait a long time for the signs of life to slowly emerge? The one who cultivates the Dao simply waits and does not hasten to seek more. What is meant by "one who holds to this Dao does not seek to be full" is that such a person does not seek a surplus. Only because they do not seek fullness can they preserve the constant Dao (changdao) that is already present, without deliberately inventing new methods, and so they do not violate the true Dao.

Wei Boyang (Wei Boyang, an alchemist of the Eastern Han) said: "When you approach the furnace, the weights must be set exactly, for five parts of water still leave a margin. Only when the two are used together does the method accord with the true way, and what is obtained is weightier than before; if a third material is not added, the fire is matched accordingly." This likewise expresses the principle of not seeking excess and of keeping to the constant method. The Cantong qi (Token of the Unity of Three) by Yunya Zi probably also comprehends and inherits the Daode jing (Classic of the Dao and De) of Taishang (the Most High, that is, Laozi), and did not create a new method.

Chapter Sixteen: the Heshanggong edition calls it the "Chapter on Returning to the Root" (Guigen zhang), while the Peng edition calls it the "Chapter on Emptiness and Stillness" (Xujing zhang).

Reduce inner distractions and desires to a minimum, and keep to stillness. As the myriad things flourish and grow, I observe through them how they return to their origin. Though the myriad things are abundant and diverse, each in the end returns to its own root. Returning to the root is called stillness, and stillness is called returning to the original state of life. Returning to the original state is called the constant Dao (changdao), and knowing the constant Dao is called enlightenment. Failing to know the constant Dao, one acts recklessly and invites calamity.

One who knows the constant Dao is able to embrace all things. Being able to embrace, one's actions become impartial. Being impartial, one becomes a model for the multitude. Becoming a model for the multitude, one accords with Heavenly Dao (tiandao). According with Heavenly Dao, one is in harmony with the Dao. Being in harmony with the Dao, one endures long and is free from danger throughout life.

To "zhi" is to place or settle; "xu" refers to an empty vessel; "ji" means cultivating the Dao to its utmost limit; "shou" means dwelling in stillness; "jing" is wuwei (non-action); "du" means holding fast with care so that the Dao is not lost; "wanwu bingzuo" means that all things begin to grow; "wu" refers to the practitioner themselves; "guan" means waiting in quiet observation; and "fu" means returning.

The one who cultivates the self places the yuanshen (original spirit, the inner source of spirit) in emptiness and thereby attains the Dao. Having attained it, one should abide in leisurely stillness and non-action, hold fast with care so as not to lose the Dao, and quietly wait for the myriad things to arise within emptiness, while also observing their return to their source. In this way, one movement and one return give rise to transformation and shenming (spirit-illumination). Once this is understood, the Way of Seven Returns (qifan zhi dao, a path of cultivation centered on cyclical reversal and transformation) is complete.

All things flourish and grow, each moving from wuwei to youwei (purposive action) and from youwei back to wuwei, entering and exiting change in accordance with the operation of zaohua (the transforming process of creation). Thus spring brings growth, summer brings flourishing, autumn brings gathering in, and winter brings storage, followed by withering and falling as all things return to their root. When things return to their root, movement returns to stillness; this is "jing." When stillness reaches its extreme, one returns to the state of having no things and merges again with creation; this is "fuming" (restoring one's destiny). After fuming, one can recognize the constant Dao. Keeping constant tranquility enables one to respond to things sustainably, and within stillness one becomes ever more clear. Therefore, recognizing the constant Dao is called "ming" (illumination).

People do not understand that the constant Dao lies in returning to the root and restoring one's destiny. Instead, they keep busy with construction and contrivance, cling to active affairs and names and forms, and drain their spirit, so that reckless action brings danger. How could one fail to recognize the constant Dao?

"Rong" means nurturing; "gong" means vastness; "wang" means nobility; "tian" means supreme; and "dao" means the ultimate of emptiness and nothingness. The meaning is that nurturing the yuanshen in stillness allows creation to become vast, enters the realm of utmost sagacity and spirit, and returns to the authentic state of utter emptiness and nothingness. When the body unites with emptiness, it can endure for a long time without decay. The "mo shen" (no-body) spoken of here means having no physical form: with spirit but no body, water and fire cannot harm it, metal and stone cannot destroy it, tigers and rhinoceroses cannot devour it, and weapons cannot cut it down. What danger could there be?

The highest type of ruler is one whom the common people barely know exists. The next best is one whom they draw close to and praise. Below him is one whom they fear, and the lowest is one whom they despise. When a ruler's trustworthiness falls short, the people will not place their trust in him. The best ruler is unhurried and cautious in his conduct and seldom issues commands. When affairs are accomplished and the work is complete, the common people all say, "We accomplished this naturally, on our own."

The next tier down belongs to the lesser levels of the Great Dao (Dà Dào). The highest form of governance lets things follow their natural course: affairs succeed without deliberate action, and the realm is well ordered without commands or words. Below that, when non-action (Wuwei, wúwéi) and non-speaking cannot be achieved, the people are guided through affection and praise, and transformation is promoted through teaching. Below that, if affection and praise fail to bring the people to allegiance, laws are used to instill fear and compel obedience. Below that, if laws cannot make the people fearful and submissive, cunning stratagems are used to deceive and control them. When governance comes to rely on cunning, the prevailing customs have already declined, and the rest is not worth discussing at length.

For this reason, the text stresses again that trustworthiness must come from the heart. When those in high position love sincerity and good faith, the common people dare not treat one another without genuine feeling. When the good faith of those above is ample, those below speak the truth. When it is insufficient, those below will naturally distrust them. Thus the sage must make good faith the foundation of governance. What is meant by "valuing speech" (guì yán) is being careful in what one says. The ruler personally carries out substantive government and transforms the people through a calm, unhurried manner, so that their hearts submit. For this reason, edicts and words must be treated with particular caution. When an affair is accomplished, the people do not feel that anyone arranged it. They simply follow the principle of nature and consider that everything was naturally so.

In my view, this chapter can be used to discuss governing the state and also to explain self-cultivation. The Highest De (shàng dé) takes stillness and tranquility (qīngjìng) as its practice. The six roots (liù gēn: eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) are all settled, with no deliberate action and no mind of contrivance. The next tier cultivates through affection and reverence, responding with mutual resonance, which is acting within non-action. The tier below that controls and steers through standards and efficacy. The one below that investigates and seeks through cunning, which is what is called "technique" (shù), a path of deliberate action that relies on doing in order to reach an aim. The most refined state is still spontaneous accomplishment through resonance. The crucial key to all of this is "trust" (xìn). Trust belongs to Earth, and in the cultivation of the Golden Elixir, from beginning to end the earth of intention (yì tǔ, the central and balanced earth on which the mind rests) serves as the wondrous function, and everything finally returns to naturalness. The words of this chapter are profound: they can explain both the governance of the world and the cultivation of the self.

(In the Heshang Gong commentary this chapter is called the "Chapter on the Thinning of Customs" (Su Bo Zhang), and in the Peng edition it is called the "Great Dao Chapter" (Da Dao Zhang).)

When the Great Dao (Dao) declined and was abandoned, the promotion of benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi) appeared. When wisdom and cleverness (zhiqiao) were displayed, grave hypocrisy arose. When harmony broke down among kin, filial piety and loving kindness were made conspicuous. When the state fell into darkness and disorder, loyal ministers appeared.

This chapter describes how the world turned from flourishing to decline, and it can also be read as a guide to self-cultivation. It makes two points. First, because governance no longer followed wuwei (non-action), benevolent policies of kindness were enacted afterward. This is like losing an unbroken, whole original substance, so that cultivation is needed to restore it. When rulers use scheming and stratagem to probe and search out the people's conditions again and again, the people only hide their true thoughts more deeply. This is like using ingenuity to seek out medicinal substances, which then hide from one another all the more. The appearance of filial piety and kindness within families is meant to reconcile discord among relatives. This is like entering a quiet chamber to practice taiding (settled, undivided stillness), in order to calm the agitation of the six roots (liugen), namely the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind. The appearance of loyal ministers in the state is meant to rescue it from chaos. This is like the presence of true gold within the xuanmen (Mysterious Gate, the gateway of Daoist cultivation), used to heal weakness and exhaustion.

At this point the author sighs that the simple, peaceful governance of high antiquity, and the non-action cultivation embodied in shangde (superior De), have long since receded into the distance.

Chapter 19

(In the Heshang Gong commentary this chapter is called the "Chapter on Returning to Simplicity" (Huan Chun Zhang), and in the Peng edition it is called the "Chapter of the Three Abandonings" (San Jue Zhang).)

Cut off self-reliance on cleverness and discard ingenuity, and the people will gain a hundredfold. Cut off the deliberate display of benevolence and righteousness and discard the constraints of moral labels, and the people will recover their natural filial piety and kindness. Discard deceit and greed for profit, and thieves will vanish. These three principles cannot be realized through words alone, so people must be given something to rely on and follow: preserve the plainness of original nature, guard the simplicity of one's inborn character, reduce selfish thoughts, and lessen desires.

Here, jue (cutting off) carries the sense of "great" or "utmost." The commentary further says: "Zhisheng bu jue qiao qi li, daozei wu you," meaning that the utmost sage does not need to cut off cunning or abandon profit deliberately, and thieves will not appear.

The word jue has the sense of being broad and of reaching the utmost. When the most sagely sage does not act through cleverness, social customs become honest and simple, and the common people gain more real benefit. When the most noble benevolent person does not deliberately insist on benevolence and righteousness, popular customs become close and harmonious, and the people return to filial devotion and affection. When the most skillful person does not seek private profit—for most who seek profit are cunning and calculating—then when those above have no clever schemes, those below will have no thieves.

Sagely wisdom need not rely on cleverness; benevolence need not rely on deliberately insisting on benevolence and righteousness; skill need not take profit-seeking as its purpose. These three should preserve their plain nature and not be overly embellished. To keep society in a state of generous simplicity, with all things together receiving the transforming influence of the Great Dao, and to let the people each find their place, is merely to follow their plain and true nature. To reveal purity and hold fast to simplicity, to reduce selfishness and desire, means the people need not excessively pursue ornamentation; this is, rather, beautiful.

Chapter Twenty

(In Heshang Gong’s annotated edition this chapter is titled “Chapter on Differing Customs”; in the Peng edition it is titled “Chapter on Cutting Off Learning.”)

[“Cut off worldly learning, and there will be no worries. Between a respectful response and a perfunctory response, how much difference is there? Between good and evil, how much difference is there? What others fear—can one fail to fear it?”] (The Wang Bi edition reads “one cannot but fear it”; therefore Li Hanxu held that Wang Bi’s commentary also contains great errors.)

What is called “cutting off learning” means that the Great Dao is complete and De is fully realized. When Dao and De are complete, what is there still to worry about? The sage views the multitude as he views a respectful, straightforward response and a flattering, perfunctory response alike; when he regards good and evil, he does not feel that they are far apart. The sage has no worries, and therefore no fears. What people fear is that cutting off worldly learning and reaching this state is difficult. But should one, because others are afraid, also fear this fear and therefore fail to pursue “cutting off learning”? Hence it is said: “Do not fear fear.”

The Great Dao (dadao) is vast and boundless, seemingly without any end in sight. The multitudes are all elated, like guests at a lavish banquet or like people climbing a spring terrace to admire the view. I alone am quiet and placid, showing no sign of anything, like an infant who has not yet learned to laugh, drifting leisurely as if I had no place to return to.

Everyone feels they have gained something, while I alone seem to have obtained nothing. My heart is truly that of a fool, murky and undifferentiated (hundun)! Worldly people all appear shrewd and clear-minded, while I alone am dim and dull. Worldly people are all adept at discernment and distinction, while I alone am sluggish and unperceptive. I am as hazy as faint light, as still as if there were nowhere to settle.

Everyone has something to rely upon and a skill of their own, while I alone seem obstinate and shallow. I am different from the multitudes: what I treasure is the "shi mu" (the Nourishing Mother), which takes the Dao as its root and draws its sustenance from the Great Dao.

The Great Dao of Primordial Heaven (xiantian dadao), the original Dao that existed before heaven and earth took shape, is like the undivided chaos of the primeval age. It achieves its effects without deliberate doing, and it brings order to all things without issuing commands. For this reason, people are transformed by its simple and sincere atmosphere and live together in harmony and contentment. All share in the bounty of the Dao as if partaking of a rich sacrificial feast, and all live within its world as if ascending a terrace on a spring day. Even if we compare this scene with the customs of the legendary Huaxu Kingdom (Huaxu Guo), nothing could be finer.

The sage said: "I alone am still and tranquil, so deep that no sign of me can be seen, like an infant who has not yet learned to smile." Chengcheng, here, means riding along with the Dao and moving in accordance with it. Between rising and falling, the Dao operates within them without ceasing, yet it seems to have no fixed support or resting place. Therefore, the multitude all feel they have something to rely on and something to pursue, while I alone seem to stand apart from the world. The multitude all appear clever, while I alone seem dull; this is the meaning of "great skill seems clumsy" (da qiao ruo zhuo).

"In a state of hu huang, the heavens and earth seem dim and obscure; in a state of piao hu, it seems that movement and return have no fixed place. From this we can see that the multitude all seem to have their uses, while I alone appear confused and muddled, drifting like one who is dull and unpolished. Others are not like me, and I am not like others; I appear clumsy. In a state of hu huang, the heavens and earth seem dim and obscure; in a state of piao hu, it seems that movement and return have no fixed place. From this we can see that the multitude all seem to have their uses, while I alone appear confused and muddled, drifting like one who is dull and unpolished. Others are not like me, and I am not like others."

The single grain of yang elixir (yi li yang dan), which in neidan (internal alchemy) symbolizes pure yang essence, is called muqi (the mother qi, the root qi from which all things are generated). I alone seek it and take it in, in order to attain long life. The difference between the multitude and the sage is like the difference between wei and e (ancient replies, often used to describe differences in tone or attitude), or between good and evil. Is this not why the sage alone advocates a Dao that transcends worldly learning?

Chapter Twenty-One

(The Heshang Gong edition calls this chapter the "Chapter on Emptying the Heart" (xuxin zhang), and the Peng edition calls it the "Chapter on the Virtue of Emptiness" (kongde zhang).)

[The form of one who possesses great De (da de) follows only the Dao. The Dao is a thing that is hu huang. Within its hu huang, there seems to be an image; within its huang hu, there seems to be a substance. In its deep and obscure interior, it contains jing (essence). Its jing is very real, and within it there is trustworthy substance. From antiquity to the present, the name of the Dao has never ceased, and through it we survey the origins of all things. How do I know the condition of the origins of all things? By means of the Dao.]

Kong (emptiness, vacancy) carries the sense of emptiness and vastness. A De (Virtue/Power) vessel that is emptied to its utmost limit and extends without boundary can contain subtle things, and for this reason the great Dao (the Way) becomes manifest through it.

As a kind of existence, the Dao is huanghu (indistinct and shifting). To say that it is apart from its xingti (nature-substance) is to say that it originally has no form. Yet suddenly, within this huanghu, the formless seems to take on shape. Then, moving from huanghu to huangran (clearly visible), within non-being there again seems to arise something substantial. Some hold that "hu xi huang" and "huang xi hu" are arranged only for the sake of sound and rhythm. They do not realize that the sages inverted the order of the characters, thereby also embedding in the sequence the order in which the operations of the Dao's methods turn.

"Hu xi huang" speaks of the original image of xingti. "Huang xi hu" speaks of the things born from xingti. When Yin-Yang (the interaction of yin and yang) join, like a man below and a woman above in union, they generate jingqi (essence and Qi). It appears to be one thing, but it contains two forces in mutual interaction. Therefore the first phrase speaks of "xiang" (image), the middle phrase speaks of "wu" (thing), and the last phrase speaks of "jing" (essence). The order of the phrases also implicitly contains the process by which the Dao generates all things.

Jing arises when xinghuo (nature-fire) shines downward and responds reciprocally, bringing to light the emotion within kan (the Water trigram). Because it is subtle and hard to fathom, it is called "yao xi ming xi" (deep, dim, obscure). The jing within this deep obscurity is the true jing. To obtain true jing, one must first know "xin" (sign, response). When true jing first appears, its momentum is vast, like a tide surging up or ice and snow melting. The practitioner must wait for this response just as it emerges, confirm that it is true jing, and promptly gather and govern it. If the timing is grasped without the slightest error, there is hope of achieving jin xian (Golden Immortal, a high-ranking immortal in Daoist terms).

True jing is also called zhen jin (true gold), shou jing (first scripture), zhen shui (true water), shen shui (spirit water), zhen qian (true lead), qian qi (lead Qi), baihu (White Tiger), or hu qi (tiger Qi). All of these refer to the same true jing. Therefore, since antiquity, the scriptures have never abandoned the name "zhen jing." From the truth of one thing, one can observe the principle governing all things: all things value the yuanqi (primordial Qi) that first generates them. "Yue zhong fu" means examining the beginnings of the myriad things. Thus Laozi (Laozi) also said: "How do I know the initial state of the myriad things? By this very principle."

Bending keeps one whole, yielding lets one straighten, hollowness allows one to be filled, wearing out brings renewal, having little gains, and having much leads to confusion. For this reason the sage holds to "embracing the One" (baoyi, keeping to the root and to a single, undivided cultivation principle) and takes it as the standard for all conduct under heaven.

The sage does not display himself, and so he is clear. He does not insist on his own rightness, and so he is distinguished. He does not boast of his merit, and so his achievements endure. He does not exalt himself, and so he lasts long. Because he does not contend, no one under heaven can contend with him. When the ancients said that "bending keeps one whole," were they speaking in empty words? Indeed not. The way to preserve oneself lies in returning to this principle.

"Bending and being kept whole" means securing preservation through yielding. "Yielding and being straightened" means overcoming the hard with the soft. "Hollowness and being filled" means that humility is what brings benefit. "Being worn and being renewed" means that things which decline may yet be reborn. "Having little and gaining" means that knowing contentment avoids inviting disgrace. "Having much and being confused" means that desire causes one to lose one's way.

These are sayings handed down from antiquity, and they concern the essential principles of cultivating the self. Therefore, when the sage governs the world, he necessarily holds to "embracing the One" and makes it the standard for all under heaven. What is meant by "embracing the One" is not displaying oneself, not insisting on one's own rightness, not boasting of merit, and not exalting oneself. Wang Bi used these four clauses to explain "bending keeps one whole," but his commentary is quite inappropriate. He failed to see that "therefore clear," "therefore distinguished," "therefore lasting," and "therefore meritorious" each explain, in turn, the corresponding preceding clause.

Someone asked, "Why did the ancients cite the phrase 'to yield and bend is to be preserved whole' (wei qu fan er neng bao quan)?" I answered that Taishang (Laozi) was quoting an ancient saying on self-cultivation to illustrate the principles that govern all under heaven, which is why he asked, "Can these be empty words?" If a person can respectfully hold to a heart of pure sincerity, then everyone under heaven will surely come to fully accept and follow this standard.

Chapter 23

(The Heshang Gong edition calls this chapter "Xuwu Zhang" (Chapter on Emptiness and Non-Being), and the Peng edition calls it "Ziran Zhang" (Chapter on Naturalness).)

"Few words accord with nature. A whirlwind cannot last a whole morning, and a downpour cannot last a whole day. Who causes these things? Heaven and earth do. If the power of heaven and earth cannot last long, how much less can that of humans? Therefore, those who engage in the Dao align with the Dao when they cultivate it, align with De (Virtue) when they cultivate De, and align with the loss of the Dao when they turn away from Dao and De. Those who align with the Dao, the Dao gladly receives. Those who align with De, De gladly receives. Those who align with the loss of the Dao, the loss of the Dao gladly receives. When trust is insufficient, people will not believe."

"Few words" refers to making no sound and to not acting. Those who enter the Dao take Wuwei (non-action) and Ziran (naturalness) as their foundation. Wuwei brings stability, and naturalness proceeds step by step. If this were not so, one's conduct would be as hasty as a whirlwind or a downpour. Even what heaven and earth do cannot last, and how much less so what humans do?

Therefore, all who cultivate the Dao should, in cultivating virtue and practicing the Dao, follow what is natural, so that they can align with the Dao and De. The "loss" mentioned here is Wuwei: by following non-action, one naturally accomplishes what is achieved through non-action. The Dao, De, and loss all gladly accept this natural state of non-action. When trust is insufficient, it is because there is first a mind that does not believe in the natural Dao.

Chapter 24

(The Heshang Gong edition calls this chapter "Ku'en Zhang" (Chapter on Bitter Kindness), and the Peng edition calls it "Qikua Zhang" (Chapter on Straddling).)

Those who rise on their toes cannot stand firm, and those who stride with long steps cannot go far. Those who display themselves do not see clearly, those who insist they are right are not made distinct, those who boast of themselves have no merit, and those who are self-important cannot endure. From the standpoint of the Dao (the Way), these behaviors are like leftover food or superfluous growths on the body, which everyone may come to loathe, and so one who embodies the Dao does not act in this way.

Standing on tiptoe to look far, one must keep the head raised and cannot stand for long. Striding hastily on a journey, the feet are easily injured, and one cannot go far. Self-display, self-righteousness, self-boasting, and self-importance are all things done by those who do not accord with what is natural, and in the end they rarely achieve anything. Viewing cultivation through this principle, eating too much or walking too much both hinder practice. A dog that eats to excess falls ill, and an ox that is overworked becomes exhausted, how much more so a person? Therefore, one who embodies the Dao does not adopt these practices.

Chapter 25

(The Hé Shàng Gōng (Heshang Gong) edition calls this chapter "Xiàng Yuán Zhāng" (Chapter of the Image Origin), while the Peng edition calls it "Hùn Chéng Zhāng" (Chapter of the Undifferentiated Whole).)

There is a something that is undifferentiated and whole, which existed before Heaven and Earth took form. It is still and vast, stands alone, and does not change; it moves everywhere without rest, and may be called the source of all things under Heaven. I do not know its proper name, so I call it "Dao," and, forcing a name upon it, I call it "Great."

"Great" means ceaseless movement; ceaseless movement leads to reaching far; reaching far leads back to the origin. Therefore, the Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the ruler is great. Within the cosmos there are four great things, and the ruler is one of them. Humans take their pattern from Earth, Earth takes its pattern from Heaven, Heaven takes its pattern from the Dao, and the Dao takes its pattern from what is naturally so.

"Hun-cheng" (primordial wholeness) refers to the Dao before it differentiated into the myriad things and before it had any name. At that time heaven and earth had not yet opened, and there was only the original qi, undivided and without name or form. To say it is "nameless" means it existed before heaven and earth. "Ji" (stillness) means quiet and pure, and "liao" (emptiness) means void. The Dao stands alone in this stillness and emptiness without altering its true and constant nature. This is the Dao as undivided wholeness.

The Dao circulates ceaselessly like a single thing. It embraces all creatures without being harmed, and so it may be called the root of all things under heaven. The Dao Ancestor (Daozu) held that since the opening of heaven and earth, people should know that before chaos was divided, this source qi already existed. Heaven, earth, humanity, and the myriad things were all nurtured and born from it. If one asks what it is called, people do not know its original name, so they reluctantly call it by the character "Dao." The character "Dao" contains the meanings of "head" and "walking," indicating that it precedes the movement of heaven and earth and transforms all things. Because the name is only a reluctant designation, it is also called "great." "Great" indicates that it holds the first position before all things. From then on, people called it the "Great Dao."

The Great Dao is present everywhere. Above, it reaches heaven, symbolized by the trigram Qian (Heaven), and below, it reaches earth, symbolized by Kun (Earth). It moves outward and far away, reaching every place. Likewise, Kan (Water), associated with the north, and Dui (Lake), associated with the west, though distant, are all within the Dao's movement. When the Dao's movement reaches its extreme, it returns. According to the orientations and changes of the eight trigrams of the Yijing (Book of Changes), it may sprout in the east, symbolized by Zhen (Thunder), grow in the southeast, symbolized by Xun (Wind), appear in the south, symbolized by Li (Fire), and finally be completed in the northeast, symbolized by Gen (Mountain).

Dao, heaven, earth, and the king together are called "the four great ones within the realm" (yu zhong si da). Heaven is vast because the Dao encompasses everything. Earth is vast because heaven covers it. The king is also great because earth supports him. The king holds one of the four great positions and is the leader of the people, yet as the ruler of the human world, he is still not separate from humanity. Humans dwell on the earth, so they take earth as their model. Earth lies beneath heaven, so it takes heaven as its model. Heaven exists within the Dao, so it takes the Dao as its model. The most subtle aspect of the Dao lies in following what is natural, and therefore it ultimately takes naturalness as its standard.

"Heavy" refers to water, and "light" refers to fire. Fire is born within water, so heaviness is the root of lightness. "Stillness" refers to ding (settledness, the inner mind at peace), and "agitation" refers to hui (keen intelligence, the lively activity of the mind). Hui arises from within ding, so stillness is the master of agitation.

A gentleman of genuine talent and virtue never strays from the principles of lightness and heaviness in his daily conduct, so that his actions are carried out with ease and agility. Even when he is placed in a splendid and noble setting, he can remain detached in his leisure and does not let worldly splendor disturb the stillness of his mind.

Why, then, would a lord of ten thousand chariots (wansheng zhi zhu, a ruler commanding ten thousand war chariots) treat the realm with carelessness? If one seeks lightness alone, one loses the inner zhen shui (true water), and the fire loses its foundation. If one is restless alone, one loses the inner zhen ding (true stillness), and hui loses its master. Fire is born from water, and water is the root of fire's function, so water is like a minister. Hui issues from ding, and ding is the master of hui, so ding is like a ruler.

Chapter 27 (the Heshang Gong commentary titles it "Chapter on Skillful Use"; the Peng edition titles it "Chapter on Essential Subtlety")

A skilled walker leaves no tracks of wheel or foot; a skilled speaker makes no error or flaw in his words.

Being skilled at walking, one leaves no wheel-tracks; being skilled at speaking, one leaves no flaw to find; being skilled at reckoning, one needs no counting-tokens; being skilled at closing, one cannot be opened without a bolt; being skilled at binding, one cannot be untied without a rope.

Therefore the sage is always skilled at rescuing people, so no one is abandoned, and always skilled at dealing with all things, so nothing is discarded. This is called ximing (literally "inheriting the light"), meaning that one who perceives first awakens one who perceives later, so that minds respond to one another and each is mutually awakened to clarity.

Thus the good person is the teacher of the one who acts badly, and the one who acts badly serves as a mirror for the good person. If one neither honors the teacher nor values the mirror, then, though one thinks oneself clever, one is in truth deeply confused. This is the essential subtlety of cultivating the self.

Li Hanxu comments: "No wheel-tracks" refers to the natural circulation of the hechē (the "river chariot," the neidan (internal alchemy) term for moving essence and qi). If one deliberately visualizes and forces the circulation, one loses its naturalness. "No flaws" refers to following the zushu (transmitting and adhering to the fundamental principle) naturally; if one contravenes it, one loses its original intent. "No counting-tokens" refers to the naturalness of the huohou (the grasp of timing and measure in neidan); if one reckons with counting-rods, one becomes bound to the yao (hexagram lines). "Cannot be opened" refers to an inner sealing that is naturally firm; if it can still be opened, one has merely forced the eyes and ears shut. "Cannot be untied" refers to natural condensation; if it can be untied, it was forced together.

The sage holds fast to the natural and constant goodness, perfecting both himself and others, so every person is worth valuing. He perfects himself and the myriad things, so every thing has its own worth. The good person can make virtue shine, and those who are not good draw near and are transformed by it. When the good person sees the faults of others, he reflects on himself and takes warning. In this way people become teachers and models for one another. If one does not regard mutual learning and mutual example as worthy of value and care, one thinks oneself clever while remaining confused even with wisdom. This is the essential subtlety of cultivating the self.

Chapter Twenty-Eight (Fanpu Zhang, the "Returning to the Uncarved Block" chapter in the Heshang Gong edition; Changde Zhang, the "Constant De" chapter in the Peng edition)

[Knowing what is masculine and strong, yet keeping to what is feminine and weak, one becomes the valley of the world. Becoming the valley of the world, the constant De does not depart, and one returns to the state of an infant.]

This passage develops two layers of meaning, both of which practitioners of self-cultivation should understand and observe.

The first layer is "xiong shi ci hua" (the male bestows, the female transforms). The Cantong Qi (Kinship of the Three) says: "The yang male sows the profound and subtle works, and the yin female governs the yellow qi, letting it transform and nourish." To understand this is to know how to act; to hold to it is to be able to nurture. When male and female qi interact, metal qi hides within water and then emerges again from it. When metal qi is abundant, it surges like a stream at high tide, even flowing upstream against the current. Although its momentum resembles that of a stream, one must still follow the sequence of cultivation in which yang fire advances and yin tally (fu) approaches, and must not depart from the constant way of returning to the root and restoring destiny (guigen fuming). Therefore one must return to the "earthen cauldron" (tufu), an image for refining Neidan (internal alchemy), and warm the "embryo infant" (taiying), a metaphor for the inner elixir.

The second layer is "xiong gui ci fu" (the male returns, the female lies hidden). The Wuzhen Pian (Awakening to Reality) says: "Within the male, the female is embraced, and the sacred embryo is formed." Viewed from the standpoint of giving birth to the myriad things, when yin reaches its extreme it gives rise to yang, so the female contains the male. Viewed from the standpoint of nourishing the myriad things, when yang reaches its extreme it gives rise to yin, so the male contains the female. To "embrace the female within the male" means that after yang qi has returned and united with the elixir, yin qi must still lie hidden to warm the elixir body. Its momentum is like a stream falling from high ground into a valley. Therefore the way of guarding the female is like the valleys of the world, which allow water both to flow and to find a resting place. This is constant primal virtue (yuan de), which must not be separated from its root. Entering the valley is like entering the "Yellow Court" (Huangting), the central region of the body cultivated in practice. Returning to infancy means quieting body and mind and warming the sacred embryo.

The text concludes: "Knowing the white yet keeping to the black, one becomes a pattern for the world. Becoming a pattern for the world, constant virtue does not go astray, and in the end one returns to Wuji (the limitless, undifferentiated source)." Here white and black are symbols of yin and yang in cultivation, and Wuji refers to the undivided, boundless origin, the state before any differentiation.

The sage understood the principle by which yin and yang, female and male, join together. He disclosed its subtle workings and explained them through the two colors white and black. White stands for Golden Essence (jinjing), and black stands for the root of Water. Golden Essence arises when the yang essence-breath is implanted into the yin root. When Golden Essence is implanted into the female yin, all things acquire a pattern to follow. The cultivator who holds fast to constant De (Virtue), without deviation or error, ultimately returns to Wuji (the Ultimate Void, the original state without form or division).

Before Golden Essence has come into being, the body of Mother Kun (the fundamental yin principle) is empty. When it unites with Father Qian (the fundamental yang principle), the body of Kun becomes full and forms the Kan trigram (Water, which contains yang within yin). Once the Kan trigram has taken shape, the moon appears in the Dui direction (the West), and this is called "Gold within Water." Gold within Water is nourished by Mother Kun and so is also called "Mother Qi." The line from the Wuzhen Pian (Understanding Reality), "Take white from within black to make the elixir's mother," refers precisely to this level of meaning.

A white light appears within Mother Qi, and it is called "yang light." When this yang light appears, the cultivator uses his Mercury (representing the mind-spirit or yang qi) to greet it. This is what is called "seeking the medicine at the second phase." When the inner and outer halves correspond and reach the state of "two-eight of the same kind" (where yin and yang essence-qi are matched in proportion), the cultivator seizes the moment and gathers them together, refining the yang elixir, which is the elixir's mother.

However, this transformation takes place outside the body, so the elixir's mother can only be counted as "external medicine" (waiyao). The cultivator uses external medicine to cultivate internal medicine, using Mother Qi to subdue Child Qi. Within the elixir's mother a further substance arises, Yang Lead (representing a purer yang essence-qi). At this point the cultivator drives the River Chariot (the method of circulating the qi-mechanism) to propel it, causing it to move backward and return to its original palace, where it is stored in the Earthen Cauldron (the place within the body where internal alchemy is refined). Once the four phases have united and the three forms have mingled (referring to the joining of the related essence, qi, and intention in cultivation), longevity can be attained.

Although the method of cultivation is like this, one must first achieve "knowing the white and guarding the black." One must understand the bright yang, yet first hold to the stillness of yin; only by guarding yin stillness can yang brightness appear, and once yang brightness has appeared, one must still return to yin stillness. This contains three functions, and it is a principle that all things under heaven may follow. Cultivating in this way, constant De will not go astray; when De does not err, one can attain Wuji and refine the spirit to return to emptiness.

"Knowing the white, one must guard the black" describes yang qi entering into yin. "Guarding the black, one can then know the white" describes how yang arises from the yin within yang. "Knowing the white, one must still guard the black" describes the spirit returning inward and the qi settling and lying hidden. The principles of heaven, earth, and the myriad things are all like this, and therefore this can serve as the standard for everything under heaven.

Chapter 29

(The Heshang Gong edition calls this the "Wuwei zhang" (Chapter on Non-Action), and the Peng edition calls it the "Shenqi zhang" (Chapter on the Sacred Vessel).)

To follow ordinary norms in living as a person is what the world calls glory. To go against those norms in cultivating the Dao (the Way) of immortality is, in the eyes of the world, to suffer humiliation. Yet one should understand the glory of worldly achievement while also being willing to accept the neglect and humiliation that come with cultivating immortality. Practicing this path of willingly enduring humiliation is a cultivation that transcends worldly learning. By humbly nourishing qi (vital energy) and keeping the mind as empty and still as a vast valley, one can reach the "constant De" (constant virtue) of "extending emptiness and guarding stillness" (zhi xu shou jing). Once constant De is abundant, one can return to the undivided, simple original state, returning to the root and restoring the origin (fanben huanyuan).

The undivided, simple original state disperses and transforms, giving rise to the myriad things. As the myriad things flourish, their materials can be shaped into vessels. The sage uses these vessels in the way one who governs Yin-Yang nurtures the myriad kinds, allowing them to preserve one another and return to unity. Therefore, the great Dao for governing the realm does not value division.

Those who wish to take control of the world and force their own action, I see, will not succeed. The world is a sacred vessel (shenqi) and cannot be forcibly remade. Forcing action spoils it, and grasping at it loses it.

Among the myriad things, some go forward and some follow; some breathe out slowly and some blow quickly; some are strong and some are weak; some carry and some fall. Therefore, the sage removes extremes, extravagance, and excess.

Chapter Thirty

The realm (tianxia) may be compared to the human body, and the "sacred vessel" (shenqi) refers to that which is most precious and must not be handled carelessly. The primordial Dao (xiantian dadao), the fundamental principle that exists before Heaven, Earth, and the myriad things come into being, is accomplished through naturalness and Wuwei (wuwei, non-action). Ordinary people often suspect that Wuwei is merely emptiness and stillness, so Laozi uses this passage to enlighten them: do people understand Wuwei as emptiness and stillness? Suppose one wished to govern the realm through purposeful decrees, only to find that the more one acts, the more disorder arises, the more numerous and tangled the edicts and measures become, and the more affairs fail to get done, leaving people without rest.

The sacred vessel of the realm is extremely precious. Governing it through purposeful action only multiplies affairs, and it is better to be non-acting and avoid stirring up trouble. Therefore, one must not act recklessly. Forcing success brings failure, and grasping insistently brings loss. What holds true for the realm holds true for the myriad things as well.

The changes within the human body follow the same pattern. At times the Yang qi departs and moves on its own; at times the Yin qi arrives and follows it. At times the breath is hurried, and at times it is long and deep; at times the qi is abundant and the body strong, and at times the qi is weak and the body lean. At times the breath lifts the body upward, and at times it causes the body to sink. All of these changes arise spontaneously. Therefore, the sage who practices the Dao discards excess, extravagance, and immoderate display. These three are the ills that arise from a preference for forcing action, and so they should be eliminated.

The Heshang Gong (Hé shàng gōng) commentary edition titles this chapter "The Chapter on Frugality and Restraint in Arms" (Jiǎn wǔ zhāng), while the Peng edition titles it "The Chapter on the Strength of Armies" (Bīng qiáng zhāng).

【One who assists a ruler with the Dao does not seek to dominate the realm by military force, for such conduct readily invites retaliation in kind. Where armies have encamped, thorns and brambles grow; after great wars, years of famine are sure to follow. Therefore, one who is skilled at employing soldiers achieves the aim and then stops, and does not go on to press for dominance.】

Those who assist a ruler with the Dao (the Way) do not rely on military force to show strength to the world. If a ruler flaunts his martial power, he is likely to provoke retaliation, for in human affairs there is a constant cycle of retribution. Wherever armies pass, fields tend to lie waste and thorns take over, and after great wars, years of famine often follow. Bearing in mind the wounds and calamities that war leaves behind, one should not speak of soldiering lightly.

The ancients who were skilled in using troops mobilized only to root out treachery, halt violence, quell disorder, and bring peace to the people. Wherever their armies arrived, the common people looked toward them as one looks toward a timely rain. They went to war only to relieve urgent need and resolve distress, not to make a show of strength.

Even when troops must be raised out of necessity, one must guard against boasting, claiming credit, and arrogance. Boasting easily breeds a fondness for war, claiming credit easily leads a person to rely on troops again and again, and arrogance makes one eager to display military force. If a campaign, though intended to save the people, prolongs their suffering over a long period, then large-scale warfare has no end. At such a time, one should do one's utmost to relieve the people rather than use the occasion to display strength.

If the enemy's strength has not yet declined and the two sides remain entrenched in fortified positions for a long time, even an originally vigorous army will gradually grow weary and decrepit, which is also a drain on one's own forces. To attack a party that lacks righteousness, only to find oneself committing acts contrary to righteousness, is not as good as farming and defending the land, allowing the army to rest and recover.

Those who delight in displaying strength should also observe the transformations of all things. When a thing develops to the peak of vigor, it turns toward old age. Strength inevitably gives way to decline, and deliberately using external things until they are exhausted is contrary to the Dao. Having already departed from the Dao, one should stop at once.

This chapter weighs the advantages and dangers of warfare, and it uses the word wu (things, creatures) to point to the principles of cultivating the Dao. People act deliberately and exert themselves forcibly usually because their essence (jing) and vital energy (qi) have been depleted. Only then do they resort to nourishment and guiding exercises (daoyin). Reaching this stage counts as a first measure of success. Passing through Foundation-Building in a Hundred Days (zhuji), roughly a hundred days of practice that lays the groundwork, and then Three Years of Refining the Self (lianji), a long discipline that tempers body, mind, and nature, counts as a second measure. If the cinnabar foundation (danji) has not yet been established and the mind and nature are not yet clear, one may continue Foundation-Building and Refining the Self until accomplishment comes. But one should not treat existing achievements as skill to show off. Pursuing fullness without knowing when to stop will eventually lead to exhaustion and decline. When the great medicine (dayao), the key substance or critical phase in internal alchemy (neidan), is about to appear, forcing things will be useless if the moment is missed. Therefore it is said that when things become excessively strong, they age, and it is better to withdraw in time.

Chapter 31

(In the Heshang Gong edition this is called the Yanwu zhang, or "Chapter on Ceasing Warfare," and in the Peng edition the Jiabing zhang, or "Chapter on Fine Weapons.")

Fine weapons are inauspicious instruments. All creatures despise them, so one who possesses the Dao does not use them. When a gentleman is at home, he honors the left; when he employs soldiers, he honors the right.

Weapons are inauspicious instruments, not implements that a gentleman values. They are used only when there is no alternative, and a calm and detached state of mind is the highest ideal. Even after a victory, one should not regard it as a fine thing. To treat victory as something to boast of is to take delight in killing people. One who delights in killing cannot realize his aspiration to govern the world.

Thus, in auspicious ceremonies the left is honored, and in funerary and other inauspicious rites the right is honored. The deputy general stands on the left and the commander-in-chief stands on the right, which means the arrangement follows the manner of a funeral. When many people are killed in battle, one should weep for them with grief and sorrow. Even when victorious, one should observe the rites of mourning.

"Jia" means auspicious, yet to speak of "jia bing" (taking warfare as a fine affair) is inauspicious. This shows that warfare cannot be something to be cherished. War brings all kinds of calamities and harms the myriad things, and the more elaborate its planning and deployment, the greater the disorder it causes. How could one who possesses the Dao (the Way) be willing to take on the reputation of being fond of war?

Therefore, when the junzi (gentleman) dwells at ease, he honors the left, because the left symbolizes auspiciousness. When he employs troops, he honors the right, because the right symbolizes ill omen. This further shows that war is inauspicious. Weapons are not what the junzi naturally favors. He uses them only when forced to, and his foremost aim is to rescue others from peril. In warfare one must not act hastily or with a fierce desire to contend. The army should be kept quiet and solemn, maintaining tranquility and restraint. Even when victory returns, one does not regard war as something to boast about. If someone regards warfare as a fine affair, his heart must be fond of killing. How could such a person be allowed to gain favor at court and wage war extensively across the realm?

I have observed the affairs of the world and cannot help but sigh. In joyous affairs the left is honored, while in funerals and other inauspicious matters the right is honored. The left belongs to yang, and yang governs life. The right belongs to yin, and yin governs killing. Therefore the army has a Shang Jiangjun (Supreme General) and a Pian Jiangjun (Deputy General). The deputy general, without the supreme general's command, does not dare to attack and kill on his own. This shows that he still wishes to preserve life, so he is placed on the left. The supreme general holds the authority over slaughter, so he is placed on the right. The right also corresponds to funeral rites. Among the inauspicious affairs under heaven, none is more grievous than mourning. Placing the supreme general on the right is precisely a way of borrowing the symbolism of the funeral rite to warn him against killing rashly.

Alas, when a general achieves his merit and fame, it is often accompanied by the deaths of countless soldiers, and this is truly painful. Therefore, after killing great numbers of people, one should weep with sorrow. Even when victorious in battle, one should treat the victory with the feeling of conducting a funeral. What the supreme Dao holds in its heart is precisely the intention of Heaven and Earth, which cherish life and wish for the myriad things to grow.

Chapter 32

(The Heshang Gong commentary titles this chapter "Chapter on Sacred Virtue," while the Peng edition titles it "Chapter on the Nameless.")

The Dao (the Way) is constant and has no name. It is simple and unadorned, whole and undivided. Though it appears small, no one under heaven dares to place it under their command. If lords and kings can uphold the Dao, the myriad things will naturally come to submit to them. When the qi of heaven and earth unite, sweet dew descends, and no one needs to command it. The dew falls evenly and nourishes all things on its own. When the Dao begins to operate, names arise, and once names have come into being, one should know when to stop. Knowing when to stop allows one to avoid danger. The Dao exists in the world as streams flow into rivers and seas.

The Dao has no fixed form. It is pure, deep, and unadorned. It resembles Wuji (the undifferentiated primordial state), and although it appears small, it stands above Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate, the fundamental state from which all things arise). How could it be controlled or placed in a lowly position? If lords and kings can preserve simplicity, they can keep the whole intact and undivided, and the myriad things will naturally come to submit. When the qi of earth rises and the qi of heaven descends, heaven and earth unite and sweet dew arrives. No deliberate arrangement or governance is needed, because the vital currents adjust themselves into an even harmony. The passage here speaks of a balance between shen (spirit) and qi.

Qi condenses into fluid, which is first called the "Golden Liquid Returning Elixir" (Jinye Huandan), a term in neidan (internal alchemy) for refined medicinal substance. Once the name "Golden Liquid" exists, one should know to let it remain and be nourished within the earthen cauldron (tufu), a metaphor in cultivation for the body or the alchemical furnace. Knowing when to stop keeps one from falling into danger. If one simply embraces unity, keeps the mind empty and still, and remains tranquil, one can settle naturally. Extending this principle to the world, the Dao is like streams flowing into rivers and seas, and all things find their proper place.

Dao (the Way) flows broadly and everywhere, and it can act in any direction. All things rely on Dao to be born, yet Dao does not refuse them and does not take pride in its work. When things are accomplished, Dao does not claim them as its own. Dao nourishes all things but does not act as their master. It is often without desire and without action (wuwei), so it can be called small. Yet all things return to Dao, and it still does not act as their master, so it can also be called great. The sage never presents himself as great, and for this reason he is able to achieve true greatness.

The flow of Dao is vast and boundless, and it can be drawn upon everywhere. All things depend on Dao to live, yet Dao does not refuse them and simply follows the proper time and course of events. When the work is done, Dao claims no merit. Dao nourishes and covers all things without becoming their master, and this shows the De (Virtue) by which it broadly generates the myriad things. Fundamentally, Dao is non-acting, so nothing can give it a name. It keeps to what is real and constant and has no selfish desire. It is so minute that nothing can break it, and for this reason it may be called small. All things gather and return to Dao, yet it does not act as their master. It is so vast that nothing can contain it, and for this reason it may be called great. The sage also does not display his own greatness, and so he is able to achieve true greatness.

Chapter 35 (titled "Ren De Zhang," the Chapter on Benevolent Virtue, in the Heshang Gong edition)

Holding fast to the Dao (the Way), the people of the world will naturally turn toward you. Once they have come, each dwells in peace, free from calamity and anxiety, living in tranquility, harmony, and contentment. Music and fine food can make passersby stop and enjoy a moment of pleasure, but when the wine is gone and the songs have ended, they will not linger. The Dao is different. When spoken aloud, it seems plain and tasteless, yet it transcends what the eyes can see and the ears can hear, and its use is inexhaustible.

The "great image" (daxiang) here means that the Dao has no fixed form and yet encompasses all the myriad things. One who holds fast to the Dao will draw the world to them and let it live in peace and harmony. The commentary further illustrates with the image of saliva rising in the mouth and moistening the body: although the Dao appears bland, its working is constant.

When you wish to contract something, you must first let it expand; when you wish to weaken something, you must first let it grow strong; when you wish to abolish something, you must first let it rise; when you wish to take something, you must first give to it. This is called "subtle illumination" (weiming), the principle of what is hidden yet clearly perceived. The soft overcomes the hard, and the weak overcomes the strong. Fish cannot leave the deep waters, and a state's effective instruments of power should not be shown to others lightly.

"Gu" (gù) means "originally" or "previously." "Xi" (xī) means to draw in and contract. To make something contract, one must first expand it, because it gathers back only after it has spread out. To weaken something, one must first strengthen it, because after advancing it will eventually retreat. To bring about its decline, one must first let it flourish, because after glory it will eventually fade. To take something, one must first give, because after departing it will eventually return. Things turn back and forth and depend on one another, and from subtle signs one can see the obvious trend. This is called "weiming" (wēi míng), seeing clearly through the subtle. The soft and yielding can overcome the hard and strong, so that the opponent submits on its own without a battle. Knowing that fish cannot leave deep water, one understands that the Dao (Way) cannot leave oneself. Knowing that a vessel should not be shown to others, one understands that the Dao must be personally realized and practiced.

The operation of the Dao is often spontaneous and does not force anything, yet nothing fails to be accomplished. If the lords and kings (houwang, a traditional term for feudal lords and rulers) can hold to this principle of wuwei (non-action), the myriad beings will grow and transform naturally. If, during that transformation, people's minds again stir into agitation, I will settle them with "wu ming zhi pu" (wú míng zhī pǔ), the uncarved block, the simple and undifferentiated original nature. Holding to the uncarved block, one no longer generates excessive desires. With few desires and a tranquil mind, the world will naturally be at peace.

As for "wu wei er wu bu wei" (wú wéi ér wú bù wéi), it means accomplishing affairs through non-action. The commentary on the scripture uses cultivation as its metaphor: one holds to centrality, regulates the outer world, and concentrates the spirit so that the body is perfected. When lords and kings can guard the Dao, the myriad beings transform on their own. When a ruler rectifies himself and does not force his actions, he can govern the realm. Is this not the remnant custom of high antiquity that one can imagine? Only, after a long period of "taiping" (tài píng, great peace), various undertakings arise, and feasting, pleasure, and extravagant luxury gradually increase, which is no blessing for the state. Therefore, the simple and undifferentiated original nature must be used to settle people's minds, so that they return to simplicity and truth and reduce their agitation. When people stop stirring, the myriad things can be at rest. Without deliberately pursuing great peace under heaven, the realm will naturally return to order.

Superior De (Virtue/Power) does not keep the notion of "having De" in mind, and so it truly possesses De. Inferior De constantly wishes not to lose the reputation of "having De," and as a result possesses no real De. Superior De follows what is natural and does not deliberately strive to act, whereas inferior De acts purposefully and keeps a clear aim in mind.

Superior ren (benevolence) acts, but without a deliberate aim to achieve results, and so people are genuinely won over. Superior yi (righteousness) also acts, but with a clear intention, and so people respect it and are moved. As for li (ritual propriety), dynastic institutions change over time and local customs differ, so it is especially difficult to put into practice. If it is forced upon people and they do not respond, they will wave their arms and argue, each insisting on their own way, which only makes the affairs of the realm harder to manage.

Therefore, only once the Dao (the Way) is lost is De spoken of; once De is lost, ren is spoken of; once ren is lost, yi is spoken of; and once yi is lost, li is spoken of. Li is the product of the thinning of loyalty and sincerity, and it is the beginning of disorder. What is called "foreknowledge" (qianshi) refers to the cleverness and insight displayed in advance. It is merely the surface splendor of the Dao, yet it may become the beginning of ignorance.

Therefore, the great person (dafu) who establishes himself values substance and does not pursue superficiality; he emphasizes genuineness and does not chase outward brilliance. He discards what is ornate and shallow, and chooses what is solid and true.

The Great Dao does not contend, and so it allows the common people not to contend either. How profound this principle is! When the Dao (Dao) is lost, people turn to advocating benevolence (ren). When benevolence is lost, they turn to advocating righteousness (yi). When righteousness is lost, they turn to advocating ritual propriety (li). What the passage goes on to describe is a lament that the customs of the world keep changing. It does not mean that benevolence and righteousness are themselves flawed.

Ritual (li) takes loyalty and trustworthiness (zhongxin) as its root. When social customs have grown thin and people begin to belittle and quarrel with one another, ritual must be used to restore sincerity and integrity. The so-called "foreknowledge" (qianshi) refers to the clear wisdom that appears when one's nature and life (xingming) accord with the Dao. Yet when the brilliance of wisdom becomes excessive, it can instead plunge a person into ignorance and darkness, and this too is a change in "foreknowledge." Therefore, a person of substance who establishes themselves in the world should cultivate sincerity rather than superficiality, value what is real rather than covet empty display, and know how to choose and reject appropriately. Seen in this light, the simple and unadorned customs may still survive in the world.

Chapter 39

In antiquity, all things obtained the One (yi, the fundamental unity of the Dao) and so each found its proper place. Heaven obtained the One and became clear. Earth obtained the One and became tranquil. The spirit (shen) obtained the One and became efficacious. The valleys obtained the One and became full. The myriad creatures obtained the One and came to life. The lords and kings obtained the One and became the rightful rulers of the realm.

That they could reach these states was entirely because they obtained the One. If Heaven were not clear, it would likely crack. If Earth were not tranquil, it would likely quake. If the spirit were not tranquil, it would likely lose its efficacy. If the valleys were not full, they would likely run dry. If the myriad creatures did not come to life, they would likely perish. If the lords and kings could not hold to rectitude and remain noble, they would likely be overturned.

Thus, nobility must take lowliness as its root, and high position must take lowliness as its foundation. Lords and kings often call themselves "orphan" (gu), "widow" (gua), and "bugu" (a humble term meaning one who lacks virtue and has little blessing). Is this not taking humility as the root? Therefore, when honor and status reach their utmost, it is as though there were no honor or status at all. One should not wish to be lofty and dazzling like jade, nor isolated and hard like stone.

"Of old" refers to the original source at the very beginning, and "One" is the starting point of the number of all things. That which was first produced is called "One." Before the Supreme Beginning, nothing could be grasped; only after it did a sufficient root appear. To understand this "One," one must trace back to the Supreme Beginning. Between the time before and the time after it there was qi (qì), without fixed form, yet with genuine evidence. Among the Five Phases (wǔxíng), water is the "One." The water spoken of here is the source water of utmost goodness and clarity, possessing inconceivable merit. To call it "water" seems forced, yet not to call it water seems like emptiness.

Now, let us trace back from the things that obtained the One. When the Dao (dào) first moved, Heaven was opened through it, relying on the One to open. Yet without this water, Heaven and Earth would have no way to be separated, so how could the clarity of Heaven become manifest? Earth was opened through it and completed by relying on the One. Yet without this water, Earth would have nothing to bear it, so how could it be settled and secure? Spirits became manifest through it and carried out their office by relying on the One. Yet without this water, they would have no nourishment, so how could their efficacy be displayed? Valleys became passable through it and connected by relying on the One. Yet without this water, they would have nothing to sustain them, so how could they be filled? The myriad things were born through it and came to life by relying on the One. Yet without this water, they would have no nurture, so how could they obtain life? Marquises and kings became rulers through it, taking the One as their root. Yet without this water, their governance would have no effect, so how could they bring all under heaven to peace and accord with the right Way?

Heaven, earth, spirits, valleys, the myriad things, and the lords and kings all differ in form, yet what allows them to be clear, tranquil, numinous, full, to grow, and to remain steadfast is their holding fast to the "One of the Dao" (the root of the Dao). That they remain clear without splitting apart is because water-qi cleanses them; that they remain tranquil without stirring is because water-qi bears them up; that they remain clear without exhausting themselves is because water-qi keeps them moving; that they remain full without running dry is because water-qi fills them; that they grow without perishing is because water-qi nourishes them. That they stay steadfast without withering, and that those of exalted position receive the support of water's virtue, is because water's nature is humble, flowing to what is low.

From of old, rulers who held themselves humble were thereby exalted and radiant. Thus the noble take the humble as their root, and the high takes the low as its foundation. "Gu" (orphan), "gua" (widower), and "bugu" (lacking virtue), self-references used by the lords and kings, all display a marked humility. Yet they may not realize that possessing the four seas, being the Son of Heaven, and enjoying the finest foods of the realm came precisely from observing this humble way embodied in "orphan, widower, lacking virtue." Is this not taking the humble as the root?

When the lords and kings hold to humility, they are holding to the "One of the Dao." The same holds for the myriad things. For example, to make many carriages is meant to carry goods by cart; yet if the carriages are too numerous and driven at will, they will all be wrecked without one knowing it. Or take jade: if it is merely ordinary and commonplace, or appears fragmented and scattered, showing a profusion of disorder, then the supreme Dao will not care to take it up.

Chapter Forty

(The Heshang Gong edition calls this chapter the "Chapter on Discarding Use.")

[Returning is the movement of the Dao; weakness is the function of the Dao. All things under heaven are born from being, and being is born from non-being.]

"Returning" means to come back. When the deep and hidden heaven and earth join, the one yang returns and arises, which is the manifestation of the Dao beginning to turn. "Weakness" means gentleness. When body and mind are still and placid, and the breath is kept unified and soft, this is the subtle function of the Dao.

The "returning elixir" (a term of Daoist internal alchemy) speaks of entering the non-being of the Kun hexagram from the being of the Qian hexagram: Qian sows the seed, Kun gestates it, and thus being arises from non-being. Therefore it is said that all things under heaven are born from being, being is born from non-being, and so it is for all things without exception.

Dan (the cinnabar) refers to the process in Daoist internal alchemy (neidan) of refining jing (essence), qi (vital energy), and shen (spirit) and forming the internal elixir. It means bringing the "existence" of Qian into the "non-being" of Kun, so that Qian sows the seed and Kun gestates it, and something arises from nothing. For this reason the scripture says, "The Dao gives birth to One, and One gives birth to existence; existence gives birth to non-being," and the generation and transformation of all things follow the same pattern. Here, "Qian" and "Kun" are the yin-yang hexagrams of the Yijing (Book of Changes), and they are also used as metaphors for the power that brings all things into being.

Chapter Forty-One

The Heshang Gong edition titles this chapter "The Chapter on Sameness and Difference," while the Peng edition titles it "The Chapter on Hearing the Dao."

When men of superior capacity hear the Dao, they diligently put it into practice. When men of middling capacity hear the Dao, they seem to keep it in mind and yet seem to forget it. When men of inferior capacity hear the Dao, they burst out laughing. If they did not laugh at it, it would not be worthy of being called the Dao.

Therefore, the ancients who composed sayings put it this way: the bright Dao appears dim; the advancing Dao appears to recede; the level Dao appears rugged; the highest De appears like a low valley; the purest white appears sullied; the broadest De appears insufficient; the vigorous and steadfast De appears indolent; the genuinely simple appears changeable; the greatest square has no corners; the greatest vessel is completed last; the greatest sound is faint; the greatest image has no visible form. Only the Dao is skilled at lending itself to all things and helping them to fulfill themselves.

Whether a person of superior capacity (shang deng genqi) can succeed in cultivating the Way (Dao) depends on diligence (qinfen). Such people do not show off, do not let their edges show, do not seek novelty, do not regard themselves as full, do not deliberately display themselves, and do not grow complacent. When they practice the Dao, they may appear to be slacking. When they believe in and accept the Dao, they may seem unsure of it even to themselves. Only such people can blunt their sharpness and cultivate slowly, dwell in the mundane world while keeping to emptiness and stillness (xujing), attain accomplishment without outward display, and treasure time while revering the Dao. Those who cannot do these things are like people of middling capacity, persevering at times and giving up at others. When people of inferior capacity hear these teachings, they always laugh. How could such people blunt their sharpness and cultivate slowly, dwell in the world while keeping to stillness, attain accomplishment without display, or treasure time and revere the Dao? Those who cannot do these things are like people of middling capacity, persevering at times and giving up at others. People of inferior capacity only laugh, so how could they be called diligent?

People of middling capacity, upon hearing the Dao, practice it intermittently, so it is said that they seem to remember it and yet seem to forget it. People of inferior capacity who laugh at the Dao are those who slander it. Yet even if they laugh, they do no harm to the Dao. If no one laughed, however, the Dao's profundity and its difficulty to grasp would not be apparent. The ancients framed their arguments with this intention as well.

The ancients said that one who cultivates the Dao should be "ming ruo mei" (appearing clear yet seeming dark), that is, not display oneself. They said one should be "jin ruo tui" (advancing as if retreating), that is, not let one's edges show. This is the appearance of blunting sharpness and cultivating gradually. One should be "yi ruo lei" (level, like ordinary people), that is, not seek novelty. One should be "shang de ruo gu" (superior De seeming like an empty valley), that is, not regard oneself as full. This is the appearance of dwelling in the world while keeping to emptiness and stillness. "Da bai ruo ru" (the greatest whiteness seeming soiled) means not deliberately displaying oneself. "Guang de ruo bu zu" (broad De seeming insufficient) means not growing complacent. This is the appearance of attaining accomplishment without outward display. "Jian de ruo tou" (establishing De seeming like idleness) and "zhi zhi ruo yu" (plain uprightness seeming to change) mean that although practicing the Dao may appear slack and accepting it may seem uncertain, one is in truth treasuring time and revering the Dao.

These are all expressions of diligent cultivation by people of superior capacity, and they are beyond the reach of those of middling or inferior capacity. Therefore, a square vessel has corners, but a truly great square shows no corners and simply holds to the center. A vessel that rushes to completion cannot become a great vessel, and so it is with seeking the ultimate realm of the Dao. The greatest sound is silent, and the greatest form has no visible shape. This is just what the Zhongyong (Doctrine of the Mean) describes: reverence that does not dare to slacken even when no one hears, and caution that does not dare to relax even when no one sees. Is this not the very principle at issue? To embrace the Dao in the world, to give to others without end, and to bring the work of transforming and nourishing all things to full fruition: this is truly the highest cultivator of the Dao.

"The Dao gives birth to One; One gives birth to Two; Two gives birth to Three; Three gives birth to the myriad things."

The Dao (the Way) stands above the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity (sancai), and precedes the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Taishang Laojun (Supreme Lord Lao) discusses how all things arise and change, and so begins with the Dao. The Great Dao has no form. It exists in a state of undifferentiated wholeness without boundary. When stillness reaches its extreme and movement begins, the One appears.

This One refers to Water, which corresponds to the Kan trigram (Kan) of the Eight Trigrams (Bagua, Eight Trigrams) and lies in the north. All things come into being from Water and also return to it at their end: when things reach completion, every kind of life returns to its root, and when a new beginning appears, the single Yang returns (yi yang lai fu, the return of the single Yang), and yang qi sprouts anew. Yang corresponds to Fire, so although the One is Water, it also contains Fire. This is what is meant by "One gives birth to Two."

When Water and Fire are harmonized and Yin and Yang unite, the vitality of Wood begins to sprout and the myriad things flourish. This is what is meant by "Two gives birth to Three, and Three gives birth to the myriad things." Taken as a whole, these words describe the generation and transformation of Heaven, Earth, and all things, while also containing the principles of internal alchemy (Neidan).

In my view, the sequence of the Later Heaven (Houtian) Five Phases is intricate and must be laid out with all five numbers to be complete. Metal generates Water, corresponding to "Four gives birth to One." Water generates Wood, corresponding to "One gives birth to Three." Wood generates Fire, corresponding to "Three gives birth to Two." Fire generates Earth, corresponding to "Two gives birth to Five." Earth generates Metal, corresponding to "Five gives birth to Four."

The sequence of the Prior Heaven (Xiantian) Five Phases is simpler. Naming only three numbers is enough to encompass all five phases. Fire arising within Water corresponds to "One gives birth to Two." Wood flourishing through Fire corresponds to "Two gives birth to Three." Because the moment Wood first sprouts is also the moment the myriad things begin to emerge, "Three" can encompass all things.

In the method of cultivating the Golden Elixir (jindan), the Five Phases (wuxing: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) can all be subsumed under "One" or "Two." When Water and Fire are cultivated together, Three, Four, and Five serve only as auxiliaries, so there is no need to speak of "Three" specifically. The Most High (Taishang) mentions "Three" because it can be extended to all things, and so it is named in passing.

Nor is it necessary to speak specifically of "Two." When a single Qi condenses into the elixir, Two, Three, Four, and Five are merely auxiliary, and all the Five Phases are contained within One. The arising of yang Fire within Water is One containing Two; the hidden Wood-mercury within Water is One containing Three; the Metal-lead revealed within Water is One containing Four; and the true Earth contained within Water is One containing Five.

Nor is it necessary to speak specifically of "One." That which is profound and subtle, gestating within emptiness, may still be subsumed under the Dao (the Way). Viewed in this light, is the method of refining the Returning Elixir (huandan), that is, the Golden Elixir, not utterly simple and easy? Though the teachings are many, they all return to the fundamental essentials. It is only because these scriptures are precious that one does not begrudge their verbosity. All things are contained within the Five Phases. Nor is it necessary to speak specifically of "One": that which is profound and subtle, gestating within emptiness, may still be subsumed under the Dao. Is the art of the Returning Elixir not utterly simple and easy? Though the teachings are many, they all return to the essentials. One only thinks these classics precious and does not mind their abundant words.

All things carry yin on their backs and embrace yang in their arms. Yin and yang Qi interfuse, and thereby reach harmony.

Earlier it was said that "Three" gives birth to all things, and "Three" corresponds to the number of Wood. The growth of all things rests on the flourishing of Wood-Qi, and Wood flourishes through Fire, which is itself born from Water. Therefore, the essential nature of all things is yin outwardly and yang within. Yin outside and yang inside means empty without and full within. Nourishing yang within stillness and emptiness is what is called chongqi (the Qi that makes yin and yang intersect and harmonize).