《马王堆帛书之老子乙本》

The Way's origin lies in the state of the cosmos before its beginning, when it was merged in undifferentiated unity with boundless emptiness. Emptiness and the Dao formed one body, and the Dao preserved its pure oneness. At that time all was dim and obscure, with no distinction yet between light and dark. The subtle, spirit-like breath was faint yet pervaded everything, the essence (jing) was still and undisturbed, and nothing was scattered. Therefore the myriad things had not yet taken shape by relying on anything, and there was nothing that could be called "the myriad things."

Later, when forms came into being, the Dao revealed its characteristic of vastness without limit: Heaven could not cover it, and Earth could not bear it up. Small things took their smallness from it, and great things took their greatness from it. It fills everything within the Four Seas and embraces what lies beyond them. In shade it does not decay; in sunlight it does not wither. It remains constant and unchanged, yet it can adapt itself even to the tiniest insects. Birds fly by means of it, fish swim by means of it, and beasts run by means of it. The myriad things grow through it, and all affairs are accomplished through it.

People all follow it without knowing its name, and all make use of it without seeing its form. "One" is its designation, "emptiness" (xu) is its dwelling, "plainness" (su) is its essence, and "harmony" (he) is its function. Thus the Dao is so distant that it cannot be seen clearly and so profound that it cannot be fathomed. It is manifest, yet it cannot be exhausted by any name; it is vast, yet it has no fixed form. It stands alone, without any counterpart, and nothing can govern it.

Heaven and Earth, Yin and Yang, the four seasons, the sun and moon, the stars and clouds, and all living beings that crawl, wriggle, or move, as well as the plants that take root and grow, all obtain their life from the Dao. When they receive life, the Dao does not diminish; when they return to it, the Dao does not increase. The Dao is solid and strong, yet it cannot be harmed; it is soft and weak, yet it cannot be altered. No subtle or refined force can reach its utmost limit, and no investigation, however deep, can pass beyond its boundary.

Therefore only the sage (shèngrén), the person of supreme wisdom, can clearly perceive the forms of things and also discern sounds. One must first grasp the reality contained within the void (xū), and only then can one advance to the realm of the Great Void (dàxū). In this way one penetrates the subtle workings of Heaven and Earth, connects with all things without obstruction, and circulates everywhere without ever becoming full. One who follows this Dao (the Way) may be called discerning.

One who is truly perceptive can discern the limits of things, knowing what ordinary people cannot know and enabling others to attain what ordinary people find hard to obtain. This is called perceiving the hidden and penetrating to the utmost. When a sage-king governs according to this principle, the world submits to him. When those above detest evil and apply the right methods, the common people will not be confused. When those above are empty and still, those below are settled, and the Dao returns to its proper course. As long as the intentions of those above truly accord with the Dao, they can serve as the standard for the people; when those above act with sincerity, all things circulate everywhere.

When people are divided according to their proper roles, they will not contend with one another; when all things are given their proper names, each will remain in its rightful place. In governing, one does not force things by deliberate effort, and when circumstances turn chaotic, one does not relax one's vigilance. The Dao is vast, so it cannot be reached through deliberate pursuit; the Dao is profound and subtle, so it cannot be obtained by forcible searching.

The Dao holds to oneness and does not change. The essential grasp of the Dao lies in knowing the many from the few; the key to handling affairs lies in holding to the right Way and rectifying what is deviant and irregular. Looking forward, one can trace back to remote antiquity; looking backward, one can discern the most minute details. One who embraces the Dao and maintains its standards can unify the world. By examining remote antiquity, one comes to understand the reasons why things flow and change; by investigating the first beginnings of things before they appear, one can also understand how they came into being. This text is titled The Origin of the Dao (Dàoyuán).

The Classic of De (Dé Jīng): The highest De (shàngdé) does not deliberately display its virtue, and therefore truly possesses virtue; the lower De (xiàdé) refuses to lose the reputation of virtue, and therefore appears to possess it. The highest De acts in accordance with nature and does not cling to the notion "I am doing good"; the highest benevolence (shàngrén), by contrast, actively practices benevolence and deliberately accomplishes things.

Those of the highest De (Virtue/Power) do not dwell on displaying their Virtue, and so they truly possess it. Those of lesser De never forget that they have Virtue, and so they merely cling deliberately to De. The highest De acts without regarding its actions as intentional kindness. The highest ren (benevolence) acts, but regards its actions as deliberate. The highest yi (righteousness) acts and believes its conduct to be intentional. The highest li (ritual) acts, yet when it meets no response, it rolls up its sleeves and forces others to accept it.

Therefore, once the Dao is lost, one speaks of De; once De is lost, one speaks of benevolence; once benevolence is lost, one speaks of righteousness; and once righteousness is lost, one speaks of ritual. Ritual is the outward form of loyalty and sincerity in decline, and it is the beginning of disorder. The so-called "foresight," the presumption that one can anticipate affairs, is merely the flowery surface of the Dao, and it is the beginning of ignorance. Therefore, the great person abides in what is simple and sincere and does not dwell in what is thin and superficial. They value substance and do not pursue ornament.

Therefore, one should abandon the thin and the flowery and choose what is sincere and solid.

In antiquity, those who attained the One (the whole and root of the Dao) found that heaven became clear, earth became tranquil, spirit became numinous, valleys became full, and lords and kings became the rightful rulers of all under heaven. Yet if heaven remained clear without end, it would likely crack. If earth remained tranquil, it would likely quake. If the numinous quality of spirit never ceased, it would likely dissipate. If valleys remained full, they would likely run dry. If lords and kings persisted in a lofty, unbending nobility, they would likely topple.

Therefore, nobility must take lowliness as its root, and high position must take humility as its foundation. When lords and kings call themselves "orphan" (gu), "lacking" (gua), and "not good" (bugu), humble terms meaning lacking in virtue or goodness, is this not taking lowliness as the root? Is it not so? Thus, the highest honor appears, in fact, to be no honor at all. One should not aspire to the dazzling brilliance of fine jade, nor display the hard, protruding edges of stone.

The superior person, on hearing of the Dao (the Way, the fundamental pattern by which all things operate), diligently puts it into practice. The middling person hears of the Dao and half believes, half doubts. The inferior person, on hearing of the Dao, bursts out laughing. Were it not laughed at by such people, the Dao would not be worthy of the name.

For this reason the ancient teachers said: the bright Dao appears dim, the advancing Dao appears to recede, and the level Dao appears uneven. The highest De (Virtue) appears empty and receptive like a valley, the purest white appears stained, and the broad De appears insufficient. The vigorous De appears slack, and the plain and genuine appears to change. The greatest square has no corners, the greatest vessel is completed last, the greatest sound cannot be heard, and the greatest image has no definite shape. The Dao is profound and cannot be fully named. Only the Dao is skilled at beginning things and at bringing them to completion.

"Return" is the way the Dao moves, and "weakness" is the way the Dao functions. The myriad things under heaven are born from "being," and "being" is born from…

The Dao gives birth to One, One gives birth to Two, Two gives birth to Three, and Three gives birth to the myriad things. The myriad things turn their backs to yin and embrace yang, and through the blending of the two Qi (vital energy) of yin and yang they are formed…

Dao (dào), the Way, gives birth to the One, the original whole. The One gives birth to two, two gives birth to three, and three gives birth to the myriad things. The myriad things turn their backs on the yin and face the yang, and the vital energies of yin-yang (yīnyáng) mingle within them to form harmony. People all dislike being alone, widowed, or lacking food, yet the kings and lords use these very words to name themselves. Things are sometimes harmed by being increased and sometimes benefited by being diminished. When people teach others, they may also use the opposite principle to do so. Those who are headstrong and eager to prevail rarely meet a good end, and I take this saying as the root of my teaching.

The softest thing under heaven can pass through the hardest thing under heaven. It arises from what has no form and enters where there is no gap. Therefore I know the benefit of wuwei (wúwéi), or non-action, and of accomplishing things through it. Teaching without words and the benefit of following nature are things that very few people under heaven are able to achieve.

Which is closer to us, fame or life? Which is more precious, life or possessions? Which is more harmful, gain or loss? Excessive craving will certainly exact a great price, and hoarding too much will certainly bring heavy losses. Therefore, one who knows contentment will not suffer disgrace, and one who knows when to stop will not fall into danger, and so can endure for a long time.

The greatest completeness seems to be lacking, yet its function never wears out. The greatest fullness seems empty, yet its function is inexhaustible. The most upright seems crooked, the most eloquent seems tongue-tied, and the most skillful seems clumsy. The greatest abundance seems deficient. Restlessness overcomes cold, and stillness overcomes heat. Only one who understands clarity and tranquility can become the standard for all under heaven.

When all under heaven follows the Great Dao (Dadao), war horses are sent back to till the fields and haul manure. When all under heaven turns away from the Great Dao, warhorses breed in the outlying countryside. No crime is greater than the desire for gain, no calamity greater than not knowing contentment, and no fault more grievous than the insatiable pursuit of more. Therefore, one who knows sufficiency and regards contentment as sufficiency will always be content.

One need not leave the door to know the world, nor look out the window to recognize the Dao of Heaven (Tiandao). The farther one travels, the less one comes to know. Thus the sage understands without going out, recognizes without looking, and accomplishes without deliberate action (wuwei).

Those who pursue learning gain knowledge day by day, while those who hear of the Great Dao (dào) lose desires and attachments day by day. Diminish them again and again, until one reaches naturalness and non-interference, doing nothing contrary to the way things are. Those who wish to govern the world should constantly practice Wuwei (wúwéi), or non-action. Once one deliberately intervenes, one is no longer fit to govern the world.

The sage (shèngrén) always keeps an ordinary mind, taking the minds of the common people as his own. He treats the good with goodness, and he also treats those who are not good with goodness, so that goodness may be achieved. He treats the trustworthy with sincerity, and he also treats the untrustworthy with sincerity, so that sincerity may be achieved. Dwelling in the world, the sage keeps his mind calm and composed, so that the minds of all under heaven return to simplicity and wholeness. The common people all fix their eyes and ears upon him, and he treats them with the pure simplicity of an infant.

Coming forth into life and entering into death (chu sheng ru si) means moving from birth toward death. Among people, some belong to the category of long life, others to the category of early death, and some, though they seek to live, move in ways that lead them into the realm of death. Why is this? Because they overly crave nourishing life. It is said that one who is skilled at preserving life, when walking through mountains and forests, does not avoid the rhinoceros-like beast si or the tiger, and when entering armed ranks, is not harmed by weapons or armor. The si finds no place to gore him with its horn, the tiger finds no place to seize him with its claws, and weapons find no place to pierce him with their blades. Why? Because he does not enter the place of death.

The Dao (the Way) gives birth to and completes the myriad things, while De (Virtue/Power), the function and grace of the Dao, nourishes them. The myriad things thereby take form and are then fashioned into various vessels. Therefore the myriad things honor the Dao and value De. That the Dao is honored and De is valued is not conferred by anyone; it is simply so by nature. The Dao gives birth to the myriad things, nourishes them, causes them to grow, raises them, brings them to maturity, lets them multiply and flourish, and shelters them. It gives life to them without possessing them, acts without relying on itself, and causes them to grow without dominating them. This is called xuande (profound and subtle De).

All things under heaven have a beginning, and this beginning is regarded as the mother of all under heaven. Once one has recognized the mother, one can thereby recognize the things she has borne.

All things under heaven and earth share a common origin, which may be regarded as the mother of the world. To know the mother is to understand the things born from her, and having understood those things, one should still return to and hold fast to the origin, and one will be free of danger for life. To block the openings of desire and close the doors of craving is to be spared toil for life; to indulge desire and busy oneself with affairs is to fall into distress for life. To perceive what is subtle is called ming (clarity); to keep to what is soft is called qiang (strength). To make use of the light, yet return to inner clarity. If calamity comes from indulgence, this is a violation of the constant Dao (changdao).

Were I to have even a little understanding and walk the great Dao (the Way), I would fear above all straying from it. The great Dao is level and smooth, yet people are fond of taking crooked paths. The court is ornately decorated while the fields lie waste and the granaries stand empty; people wear embroidered robes, carry sharp swords, eat and drink to excess, and hoard more wealth than they need. None of these conditions accords with the Dao.

What is well established cannot be uprooted, and what is well embraced and held cannot easily slip away. Thus one's descendants can continue ancestral sacrifices for generations without end. Cultivating the Dao in one's own person makes De (Virtue/Power) genuine; cultivating it in the family makes De abundant; cultivating it in the village makes De enduring; cultivating it in the state makes De flourish; and cultivating it throughout the world makes De pervasive. Observe the self to know the self, observe a family to know a family, observe a state to know a state, and observe the world to know the world. How do I know the condition of the world? By this very principle.

One who possesses profound De (Virtue) is like a newborn infant. Venomous insects, scorpions, and poisonous snakes will not sting them, and fierce birds and beasts will not pounce on them. Their bones and sinews are soft and weak, yet their grip is firm. They do not yet know of the union of man and woman, yet their member may stiffen, which shows that their Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are abundant. An infant may cry all day without growing hoarse, because their harmonious Qi is complete. To understand the way of harmony is called constancy (chang), and to understand constancy is called discernment. To crave the augmentation of life only invites calamity, and to let the mind drive the Qi to force its way is called rigidity. When things reach the height of their vigor, they turn toward decline. This is called being contrary to the Dao (the Way), and whatever is contrary to the Dao soon perishes.

Those who truly understand the Dao do not speak much, and those who speak much do not truly understand it. Block the openings of the senses and shut the gates of desire. Temper one's brilliance and merge with the dust of the world. Blunt one's sharpness and resolve entanglements. This is called Xuantong (profound oneness, merging with the profound Dao). Such a person cannot be drawn close by others, nor kept at a distance. They cannot be benefited, nor harmed. They cannot be elevated, nor debased. For this reason, they become the one most honored under heaven.

To govern a state, one must rely on uprightness, and to wage war, one must rely on surprise. But to win the empire, one must do so without disturbing the people. How do I know this to be so? The more prohibitions there are in the realm, the poorer the common people become. The more sharp implements the people hold, the more confused the state grows. The more cleverly people scheme, the more strange things arise. The more elaborate the laws and regulations, the more thieves and bandits there are.

Therefore the sage says: "When I act through non-action (wuwei), the people transform themselves. When I love stillness, the people set themselves right. When I do not interfere, the people grow prosperous of their own accord. When I have no desires, the people return to simplicity and integrity."

When governance is lenient and generous, the people are simple and at peace. When governance is harsh and meticulous, the people are weary and in want. Misfortune lies hidden within good fortune, and who can know where it all ends? The upright Way may turn into its opposite, and goodness may turn into evil. People have been lost in this confusion for a very long time.

For this reason, one may be upright without injuring others, incorruptible without being sharp-tongued, straightforward without being rigid, and bright without dazzling others.

Governing the people and serving the Way of Heaven, nothing surpasses restraint. It is precisely because one practices restraint that one can conform to the Dao early on. To conform to the Dao early is called accumulating De (Virtue/Power) deeply. When De is accumulated deeply, nothing can exhaust it, and what cannot be exhausted has no discernible limit. Without a limit, the state can endure for a long time. Grasping the root on which the state depends is what makes it last. This is called having deep roots and firm foundations, the principle by which something survives for a long time and maintains its clarity over the long term.

Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish: it should not be stirred or interfered with too often. When the realm is governed according to the Dao, ghosts and spirits will not manifest to cause harm. This is not because ghosts and spirits lack efficacy, but because their efficacy does not injure people. Nor is it that they would not harm people; rather, the sage does not harm people either. Since neither ghosts and spirits nor the sage harm people, De gathers throughout the realm.

A great state is like the lower reaches of a river, the place where the female principle of the world gathers and where all things converge. The feminine often overcomes the masculine through stillness, and because it is still, it is suited to lying in a low position. Thus, when a great state treats a small state with humility, it wins the small state's allegiance, and when a small state treats a great state with humility, it is received by the great state. One gains allegiance by taking the lower place, and the other is accepted by taking the lower place. The great state simply wants to unite and shelter its people, and the small state simply wants to come under the great state's protection and serve it. If both achieve their aims, then the great state should be the one to take the lower position.

Dao (the Way) is the place where all things gather and find their support. It is the treasure of the good person and the refuge of the person who is not good. Fine words can win others' regard, and honorable conduct can earn others' esteem. When a person has faults, what reason is there to cast them aside? Therefore, when the Son of Heaven is enthroned and the Three Dukes and Nine Ministers are appointed, even if someone offers precious jade discs as a gift and sends a team of four horses to accompany them, it would be no better than sitting down and offering Dao. Why did the ancients value Dao so highly? Is it not because seeking it brings gain, and because even one's offenses can be pardoned through it? Thus, Dao is the most precious thing under heaven.

Doing things as things, treating affairs with seriousness, and savoring flavors finely; whatever the size or quantity, one responds to resentment with De (Virtue). One who plans for difficult matters should begin from where they are easy, and one who achieves great things should begin from the minute. The difficult matters under Heaven all begin from the easy, and the great matters under Heaven all develop from small beginnings.

Therefore, the sage never regards themselves as achieving great things, and for this reason is able to achieve them. Promises made lightly are often hard to fulfill; when one takes everything to be easy, one encounters more difficulties. For this reason, the sage always regards matters as weighty and difficult, and in the end is able to bring them to completion.

When things are still stable, they are easy to hold on to; before any sign appears, they are easy to plan for; while still fragile, they are easy to break apart; while still minute, they are easy to scatter. Matters should be dealt with before they happen, and disorder should be governed before it takes shape.

A tree that takes two arms to encircle grows from a tiny sprout; a nine-story terrace is built one basketful of earth at a time; a journey of a thousand li begins at one's feet. Forcing action often ruins affairs; insisting on holding on often brings loss. Therefore the sage does not force action, and so does not ruin things; does not insist on holding on, and so does not lose them.

People often fail in their undertakings just as they are about to succeed. For this reason it is said: "If one is as cautious at the end as at the beginning, one will not ruin the affair." Thus the sage pursues what ordinary people do not pursue and does not prize goods that are hard to obtain; he learns what ordinary people do not learn and remedies the faults that the multitude commonly commits. He follows the natural dispositions of the myriad things and does not dare to interfere with them through contrived action.

The ancients who understood the Dao (the Way) did not seek to make the people clever, but to keep them simple and unadorned. The reason the people are difficult to govern is that…

In ancient times, those who practiced the Way (Dao) did not seek to make the common people clever, but to keep them simple and unadorned. The people were hard to govern because they were full of cunning and knowledge. To govern a state by means of cunning and knowledge is a calamity for the state; to govern it without them is the state's blessing. Always understanding the difference between these two ways of governing is the standard of governance. Always holding to this standard is what is called profound De (xuan de), a virtue that is deep, mysterious, and in accord with the Dao. Profound De is vast and far-reaching. It seems to run counter to the ordinary inclinations of the myriad things, yet in the end it brings about the greatest smoothness and success.

Rivers and seas become the place where all the streams return because they are good at lying low, and so they can gather the hundred rivers. Thus, if the sage wishes to stand above the people, he must lower himself in his words; if he wishes to lead the people, he must put himself behind them in his actions. In this way, when he is above, the people do not feel burdened, and when he is in front, the people do not feel harmed. All under heaven are glad to raise him up and never tire of him. Is this not because he does not contend with anyone? For this reason, no one under heaven is able to contend with him.

A small state with few people: the state is not large, and its population is not great. Let the common people, even though they have various implements, not make use of them; let them value their lives and not lightly migrate to distant places. Although there are boats and carts, there is no need to ride them; although there are armor and weapons, they are neither displayed nor used. Let the people return to the practice of knotting cords to keep records. Let them find their food sweet and their clothing comfortable, delight in their own customs, and dwell at ease in their own homes. Neighboring states can see one another, and the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs can be heard across the border, yet the people, until they die of old age, never go back and forth to one another.

Trustworthy words are not ornate, and ornate words are often not trustworthy. The truly wise do not seek to be broadly learned, and the broadly learned are not necessarily wise. The skillful do not boast of their abundance, and those who boast much are not necessarily skillful. The sage accumulates De (Virtue), and the more he helps others, the more he himself gains; the more he gives to others, the more abundant he himself becomes. Thus, the Dao (the Way) of Heaven benefits all things without harming them, and the way of humanity acts without contending with others.

Everyone under heaven says that my teaching of the Dao (dào) is vast, yet it does not appear to resemble what the world calls by that name. It is precisely because it does not conform to worldly measures that it seems vast. If it resembled the world, it would have become small long ago.

I always hold fast to three treasures. The first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is not daring to be first under heaven. Because of compassion, one can be courageous. Because of frugality, one can be generous. Because one does not dare to be first, one can become the leader that others honor. Now, if one abandons compassion and pursues courage alone, abandons frugality and seeks only expansion, or abandons humility and competes to be foremost, one is headed toward death. To fight with compassion is to win, and to defend with compassion is to stand firm. When Heaven wishes to aid someone, it protects them with compassion.

The skilled commander does not display martial force, the skilled warrior does not easily give way to anger, the skilled victor does not engage the enemy head-on, and the skilled leader of people places himself below them. This is called the De (dé) of non-contention. To lead others well and to place oneself beneath them is to accord with the Dao of Heaven, and it has been the highest standard since ancient times.

There is a principle of accord with the Dao of Heaven in the deployment of armies as well, and this too has been the highest standard since ancient times.

When it comes to warfare, there is a saying: "I dare not take the offensive, but would rather remain on the defensive; I dare not advance an inch, but would rather retreat a foot." This is called not contending for supremacy. To stretch out an arm and throw a punch, or to pick up a weapon, is to push oneself into opposition. No calamity is greater than making enemies, and once one engages an enemy, one may lose one's own precious possessions. Therefore, when two armies are evenly matched, the side that is compassionate will prevail.

My words are easy to understand and easy to practice, yet no one under heaven can truly understand or practice them. Words have a root, and actions have a governing principle. Because people do not know this root and governing principle, they do not understand me. Few understand me, and that is why I am precious. Thus the sage (shengren) wears coarse cloth while carrying jade within their robes: outwardly plain, inwardly precious.

To know that one does not know is superior; to not know and yet believe one knows is a flaw. The sage has no such flaw because they regard the flaw as a flaw, and for this reason they are able to be free of it.

When the people no longer fear authority, a great calamity is about to arrive. Do not force them into restless dwelling, and do not oppress their means of livelihood. Only when the people are not oppressed will they not turn away from their rulers. Therefore, the sage knows himself but does not display himself; he cherishes himself but does not exalt his own station. Thus he sets aside the latter and chooses the former.

To be forceful and press ahead recklessly may bring about death; to be courageous in restraint and not act rashly may instead preserve life. Of these two courses, one is beneficial and the other harmful. What Heaven detests, who can know the reason for it? The Dao of Heaven (Tiandao) does not contend, yet excels at winning; it issues no commands, yet excels at responding; it does not summon, yet things come of their own accord; it is at ease in its dwelling, yet excels at planning. The Dao of Heaven is like a vast net: its meshes seem wide and sparse, yet nothing slips through.

If the common people are always unafraid of death, how could one frighten them with death? Suppose the people always feared death. Then, for those who commit crimes, if I could seize them and put them to death, who would dare to commit crimes? If the people always feared death, there would be specialists whose task was to carry out killing. To kill in place of the one who presides over killing is like chopping wood in place of the master carpenter, and those who chop in place of the great carpenter rarely fail to injure their own hands.

The people go hungry because those in authority take too much grain in taxes, and so they starve. The people are hard to govern because those in authority are always trying to do something, and so they are hard to govern. The people treat death lightly because they pursue rich and abundant living to excess, and so they treat death lightly. Only those who regard life as excessively precious will place such importance on nourishing life.

When a person is alive, the body is soft and pliant; after death, it becomes stiff and hard. The myriad things, including grasses and trees, are tender and supple while alive...

Human beings are soft and supple while alive, but after death they become stiff and hard. The myriad things and plants and trees are tender and easily broken while alive, and after death they wither and dry out. Therefore, it is said that hardness and strength belong to death, while softness and weakness belong to life.

For this reason, when an army relies on its strength it cannot prevail, and when a tree grows too hard and strong it is apt to snap. From this it is evident that what is strong ends up in a lower position, while what is soft and yielding instead comes to dwell in a higher one.

The Way of Heaven is like the drawing of a bow: where it is high, it is pressed down; where it is low, it is raised up. What is in excess it diminishes, and what is lacking it supplements. The regularity of the Way of Heaven is to reduce what is excessive and to augment what is insufficient; the practice of people in the world, however, is often to diminish what is lacking in order to offer it up to what is already in excess. Who can take what they have in surplus and give it to all under Heaven? Only one who possesses the Dao (the Way) can do so. Therefore, the sage acts without claiming the fruits of his action; when the work is accomplished, he does not dwell upon his merit. He does not wish to display his own worthiness.

Nothing in the world is softer than water, yet nothing surpasses it in overcoming what is hard and strong, because nothing can take its place. Water overcomes the rigid, and softness overcomes the strong. Everyone in the world knows this principle, yet no one is able to put it into practice.

Therefore the sage says: "One who bears the humiliation of the whole state is worthy to be its lord; one who bears the misfortunes of the whole state is worthy to be king of all under Heaven." Upright words often sound like their opposite.

Once a great resentment has been calmed, lingering resentment is bound to remain, so how could this be considered a proper resolution? Therefore the sage holds the left tally (zuo qi), the proof of agreement, yet does not use it to demand repayment from others. One who possesses De (Virtue) can keep the contract, and one with De can also bring affairs to a smooth outcome. The Way of Heaven (Tiandao) draws near to good people and often assists them.

Here, "qi" (tally) refers to the token that both parties to an agreement hold. The phrase "holds the left tally yet does not use it to demand from others" means that although the sage possesses the proof, they do not use it to press or reproach others.

The Dao (the Way, the fundamental pattern of the cosmos and all things), if it can be fully articulated, is not the eternal Dao. A name that can be clearly fixed is not the eternal name. The nameless is the beginning of all things, and the named is the source of all things. Therefore, one who is constantly free of desire can observe the subtleties of the Dao, and one who constantly has desires can observe the boundaries within which manifest things appear. The nameless and the named both arise from the Dao and differ only in name. The Dao is deep and profound, the gateway to all subtle mysteries.

When everyone under heaven knows what beauty is, the distinction between beauty and ugliness appears. When everyone knows what goodness is, the not-good appears alongside it. Existence and non-existence give birth to each other, difficulty and ease complete each other, long and short reveal each other, high and low depend on each other, sound and voice respond to each other, and before and after follow each other. These relations are always so. Therefore, the sage manages affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without relying on words. He lets all things grow naturally without presuming to originate them, acts without claiming credit for his accomplishments, and when his work is complete, does not dwell on it. Because he does not dwell on it, his achievements do not leave him.

By not exalting worthy men, he keeps the people from competing for reputation. By not prizing rare goods, he keeps the people from theft. By not displaying objects that arouse desire, he keeps the people's hearts from being disturbed.

Without praising the worthy, the people will not compete with one another. Without prizing goods that are hard to obtain, the people will not steal. Without displaying objects that arouse desire, the people's hearts will not be thrown into confusion. For this reason, the sage (shengren) governs the realm by emptying the people's minds and filling their bellies, by weakening their ambitions and strengthening their bones. He always keeps the people free of knowledge and free of desire. Even when some clever people dare to act, they will not presume to act on their cleverness, and so the realm will not be hard to govern.

The Dao (the Way) is empty, yet its use is inexhaustible. It is deep and vast, seemingly the source of all things. It blunts its sharpness, unties its tangles, softens its brilliance, and merges with the dust of the world. It is profound and obscure, seemingly always existing. I do not know whose child it is. It appears to have been present before the Lord on High (Tiandi).

Heaven and earth are not benevolent; they regard the ten thousand things as straw dogs (cǎo zhā quǎn), used and then discarded in sacrifice. The sage is not benevolent either; he regards the common people as straw dogs. Is the space between heaven and earth not like a bellows? It is empty yet never exhausted; when it is set in motion, more breath comes forth. Too many words lead quickly to exhaustion, and it is better to hold fast to the center.

The Valley Spirit (Gushen), the empty yet numinous Dao (the Way), never dies. This is called the Mysterious Female (Xuanpin), the profound maternal power that gives birth to all things. The gateway of the Mysterious Female is the root from which heaven and earth and the myriad things arise. It flows on unbroken, as if it were always there, yet however much one draws upon it, it never runs dry.

Heaven endures long, and earth abides long. Heaven and earth can last so long because they do not live for themselves, and therefore they can exist for a long time. For this reason the sage places himself behind, yet finds himself in front; he sets himself outside of concern, yet is preserved. It is precisely because he does not put his own interests first that he is able to fulfill himself.

The highest good is like water. Water excels at nourishing the myriad things, yet it does not contend with them. It rests in the low places that people despise, and so it comes closest to the Dao. In dwelling, it is good to choose low ground; in the heart, it is good to maintain depth; in giving, it is good to be generous; in speech, it is good to keep faith; in governing, it is good to bring things to order; in affairs, it is good to make the most of one's abilities; in action, it is good to seize the right moment. Because it does not contend, it is free of fault.

To hold and fill a vessel to the brim is not as good as stopping in time. To repeatedly grind and sharpen a blade is to ensure that its edge cannot be kept for long.

Holding on to fullness and piling things high is not as good as stopping at the right point. Hammer and grind a vessel over and over, and it will not last. A hall full of gold and jade cannot be guarded by anyone. To be wealthy and honored yet arrogant and self-satisfied only brings disaster upon oneself. Withdrawing in time once one's work is accomplished accords with the Way of Heaven (tiandao).

Can one embrace the po (the bodily soul, the vital energy paired with the hun) and hold to it, never departing from the Dao (dào, the Way)? Can one gather the jing (essence) until it reaches a state of softness, like an infant's? Can one clear the mind of distracting thoughts until it is like a clear mirror, without any flaw? Can one love the people and govern the state without relying on cleverness and stratagem? When the gates of Heaven open and close, can one remain yielding and still? Can one see clearly and penetrate in all four directions without using cleverness and stratagem? To let the myriad things grow and nourish them without claiming them as one's own, to advance their growth without lording over them: this is called the profound De (xuan de), a virtue that is deep and natural.

Thirty spokes converge on a single hub, and it is the hollow at its center that makes the cart useful. Clay is kneaded into a vessel, and it is the hollow within that allows it to hold things. Doors and windows are cut to build a house, and it is the empty space of the doors, windows, and interior that makes the house habitable. Thus, things with form provide convenience, while the formless emptiness enables them to function.

Vivid colors dazzle the eye, and racing across the hunting fields makes the mind wild. Rare and precious goods hinder a person's movements. Too many flavors dull the sense of taste, and clamorous music impairs the sense of hearing. Therefore, the sage governs the realm by attending to people's basic needs for life and does not chase sensory pleasures. One should let go of external temptations and choose what is truly needed for living.

To be favored or to be humiliated is to be startled as if by fright, and to hold the body as precious is to be as anxious as one facing a great calamity. What is meant by "favor and disgrace as if startled" (chǒng rǔ ruò jīng)? Favor places one in a lowly position to begin with: one is uneasy when favored and equally uneasy when that favor is lost, and this is what is meant by "favor and disgrace as if startled." What is meant by "to hold the body as precious as a great calamity" (guì dà huàn ruò shēn)? I have great calamity because I have a body. If I had no body, what calamity could befall me?

Therefore, one who cherishes the world as he cherishes his own body may be entrusted with the world, and one who loves the world as he loves his own body may be given the world to care for.

Seeing it, one cannot see it, so it is called "subtle" (wei); listening to it, one cannot hear it, so it is called "rare" (xi); reaching for it, one cannot touch it, so it is called "formless" (yi). These three kinds of perception cannot be traced to their end, so they are considered together as a single whole. This One is not bright above, nor dark below. It stretches on without end and cannot be named, and in the end it returns to the myriad things. This is called "the form of no form, the image of the myriad things," and it is also called huanghu (elusive and hazy). Follow it and you cannot see what lies behind it; face it and you cannot see its beginning. To grasp the Dao (the Way) of the present in order to govern the things before us, and thereby to know the origin of antiquity, this is the guiding thread of the Dao.

The ancient masters who understood the Dao were subtle and mysterious, penetrating and profound, so deep that they could hardly be known. Because they were so hard to know, one can only force a description of their appearance: cautious, like crossing a river in winter; hesitant, like one who fears the neighbors will notice; dignified, like a guest; relaxed, like ice melting; simple, like unworked wood; murky, like muddied water; open, like a valley.

When what is muddy is allowed to settle, it will slowly clear; once it is stable, if it is set in motion again, it will slowly come to life. Those who preserve this Dao do not wish to be full, and so they can avoid decline, and they do not rush toward accomplishment.

Cultivating the heart-mind requires bringing the mind to a state of utmost emptiness and stillness, and concentrating on holding fast to that tranquility. As the myriad things rise together, I thereby observe how they return to their origin. The myriad things stir in profusion, each ultimately returning to its root; this is called "stillness." Stillness is the return to the source of life. Returning to the source is the constant regularity of things, and to recognize this regularity is called clarity. Not recognizing the regularity, one acts recklessly, and reckless action invites calamity.

One who recognizes the constant regularity has a broad and open mind; a broad mind is capable of impartiality; impartiality makes one fit to be ruler of all under heaven; being a ruler, one can then accord with Heaven; accordance with Heaven brings one into harmony with the Dao. One who is in harmony with the Dao is free from danger throughout life.

The best ruler is one whose existence the people merely know of; the next is one whom the people draw near to and praise; the next is one whom the people fear; and the worst is one whom the people despise. When a ruler's sincerity is insufficient, the people will not trust him. The best ruler is sparing in his words and does not issue commands lightly. When affairs are accomplished and undertakings completed, the people all say, "We ourselves have done this."

Therefore, it is only when the Great Dao has declined that benevolence and righteousness come to be advocated; only when cleverness and cunning arise that great deceit appears; only when harmony among kin has broken down that filial piety and parental kindness are emphasized; and only when the state falls into disorder that so-called loyal ministers appear.

Discarding the display of sagacity and the use of cleverness and calculation will bring the people a hundredfold in benefit. Discarding the deliberate promotion of benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi) will return the people to filial piety (xiao) and compassion (ci). Discarding artifice, deceit, and the pursuit of profit will lead the people to treat rare and precious things as unimportant. These three statements are incomplete when read alone, so they must be followed by a clarification of their underlying direction: preserving pu (the uncarved block), the simple and genuine original nature, while reducing selfish motives and lowering desires.

Abandoning worldly learning frees one from worry. How much difference is there between a respectful assent and a harsh rebuke? How much difference is there between beauty and ugliness? What people fear, one cannot but fear as well. How vast and indistinct the realm between heaven and earth!

Everyone is jubilant, as though attending a grand banquet or climbing a terrace to gaze out on a spring day. I alone remain calm and still, showing no sign yet, like an infant who does not yet know how to smile. I am weary and sluggish, as if I have no place to return to. Everyone seems to have more than enough, while I alone seem a fool, my mind muddled and chaotic. The world is bright and discerning; I alone am dim and obscure. The world is sharp and scrutinizing; I alone am slow and unhurried. The Dao (the Way) is deep and elusive, vast as the sea, and seems to have no place to rest. Everyone has something to rely upon; I alone am stubborn and crude. I wish to be different from others and to treasure the Dao, the source that nourishes all things.

The form of De (Virtue) follows wholly from the Dao. The Dao, as a being, is elusive and subtle.

The form of great De (dé) follows only the Dao (dào). The Dao is elusive and profound, vague and hard to fathom. Within its vagueness there seems to be an image; within its depths there seems to be substance. How dim and deep it is, yet within it lies essence, jing (jīng), and qi (qì). This essence is entirely real, and within it are credible signs of verification. From the present back to antiquity, the name of the Dao has never disappeared, so one can follow it to know the origins of all things. How do I know the circumstances of the origin of all things? Through this very principle.

Those who hurry to cook often fail to do the work well. Those who display themselves cannot become clear, those who consider themselves right cannot become enlightened, those who boast of their merit have no achievements, and those who are arrogant cannot endure long. Viewed from the standpoint of the Dao, these practices are like surplus food and burdensome conduct. All things detest them, so the person of the Dao does not act this way.

Bending instead preserves wholeness, yielding instead allows straightening, hollowness instead allows fullness, and wear instead allows renewal. Taking little instead gains something, while taking much instead brings confusion. Therefore, the sage holds fast to the Dao as the foundation and uses it as the standard for governing all under Heaven. Because the sage does not display himself, he becomes clear; because he does not consider himself right, he becomes enlightened; because he does not boast of his merit, he achieves results; because he is not arrogant, he endures long. Precisely because he does not contend with others, no one under Heaven can contend with him. The ancients' saying that "yielding preserves wholeness" probably means just this; true preservation ultimately returns to the Dao.

Not boasting of oneself is why one's achievements endure; not regarding oneself as right is why one can last long. Precisely because one does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with such a person. The ancient saying that "to bend is to be preserved whole" is truly apt: genuine preservation ultimately returns to the self.

Speaking little accords with nature. A gale does not last a whole morning, nor does a downpour last a whole day. Who makes them so? Heaven and Earth. If the winds and rains of Heaven and Earth cannot endure, how much less can human affairs? Therefore, one who acts in accordance with the Dao (the Way) is one with the Dao; one who attains De (Virtue/Power), here meaning one who succeeds by conforming to the Dao, is one with De; and one who loses is also one with loss. Those who are one with De, the Dao also brings to completion; those who are one with loss, the Dao also causes to lose.

There is something formed in undifferentiated wholeness that existed before Heaven and Earth. It is still and empty, stands alone and endures unchanged, and can serve as the source of all things under Heaven and Earth. I do not know its original name, so I provisionally call it "Dao," and reluctantly name it "Great." Being great, it moves without ceasing; moving without ceasing, it extends far; extending far, it returns to its origin. Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the king is also great. In the world, these four are called "great," and the king is one of them. Humans model themselves on Earth, Earth models itself on Heaven, Heaven models itself on the Dao, and the Dao models itself on ziran (spontaneity, the state of being so of itself).

Heaviness is the root of lightness, and stillness is the master of restlessness. Therefore, the gentleman travels all day without leaving his baggage cart (the goods and vehicles used on journeys), and even when he lodges in a comfortable inn, he remains at ease. How could a ruler commanding ten thousand war chariots treat the realm lightly, letting his own conduct become frivolous? Lightness loses its root, and restlessness loses its master.

The skilled walker leaves no tracks; the skilled speaker makes no faults; the skilled reckoner needs no counting rods (the bamboo or wooden slips used for calculation in antiquity). The skilled closer of doors needs no bolt or key, yet what he shuts cannot be opened; the skilled binder needs no cord, yet what he ties cannot be untied. The sage is always skilled at rescuing people, so he abandons no one; he is skilled at making use of all things, so he abandons nothing. This is called discernment. The good can serve as teachers to the not-good, and the not-good can serve as lessons for the good. One who does not respect the teacher or value the lesson, though he thinks himself clever, will fall into confusion. This is the subtle and essential principle.

Knowing the strong yet keeping to the weak, one becomes like the streams and valleys of the world. Becoming the valley of the world, the constant De (Virtue/Power) does not depart, and when the constant De does not depart, one returns to the state of an infant.

Knowing the white yet keeping to the dark and obscure, one becomes like the lowlands of the world. Becoming the lowland of the world, the constant De is full, and when the constant De is full, one returns to the uncarved block (pu). Knowing the manifest yet keeping to the hidden, one becomes the model for the world. Becoming the model for the world, the constant De does not err, and when the constant De does not err, one returns to the root. When the uncarved material is divided, it becomes various vessels; the sage employs them and becomes the chief of all officials. Great craftsmanship does not cut or trim.

To seize the world and govern it according to one's own will, I see that this cannot succeed. The world is a sacred vessel, not something to be forced into action or manipulated. To govern it by force is to ruin it, and to grasp it tightly is to lose it. Among the myriad things, some lead and some follow; some are warm and some are cold; some are strong and some are weak. Therefore the sage sets aside extremes, excess, and extravagance.

By means of the Dao (dào, the Way), one assists the ruler, and does not use force of arms to dominate the world. Warfare tends to bring its own calamities, and wherever armies march, brambles and thorns spring up. One who is skilled in war stops as soon as the aim is achieved and does not use it to assert dominance. Having achieved the goal, such a person is not arrogant, does not boast, and does not flaunt their merit. Once the matter is done, they occupy a position of strength only out of necessity. This is called "achieving results without striving for strength" (guo er qiang). When things grow strong to the extreme, they age, and this is called being out of accord with the Dao. What is out of accord with the Dao will soon perish.

Weapons are inauspicious implements, and people often loathe them, so one who possesses the Dao does not regard them as things worth pursuing. The gentleman ordinarily honors the left, but in warfare honors the right, which is why weapons are not implements for the gentleman to use. Weapons are inauspicious things and should be used only when there is no alternative. One may prize their sharpness and strength, yet one should not praise them. To praise them is to take delight in killing, and those who delight in killing cannot realize their aspirations in the world.

Accordingly, auspicious ceremonies honor the left, while funeral rites honor the right. In the army, the deputy general stands on the left and the commanding general stands on the right, which means that war is treated according to the rites of mourning. When many have been killed, one should mourn them with a sorrowful heart, and even when victory has been won, it should be treated in the manner of a funeral.

The name of the Dao (the Way) is Pu, the Uncarved Block, the original and unworked state. Though the Pu is small, no one in the world dares to treat it as a subject. If lords and kings can hold fast to the Pu, the myriad things will naturally turn to them. When the Qi (vital energy) of Heaven and Earth come together, they send down sweet dew, and no one commands it, yet it naturally settles into balance. When affairs begin to establish institutions, names arise, and once names exist, one should know when to stop. Knowing when to stop, one will not fall into danger.

The way the Dao is present in the world may be compared to the relation of mountain streams and valleys to rivers and seas. Streams and valleys can flow into the rivers and seas because the rivers and seas lie in a low position.

To understand others is a kind of cleverness; to know oneself is true clarity. To overcome others is to have strength; to overcome oneself is to be truly firm. To know contentment is to be rich; to persist in vigorous practice is to have resolve. Not losing one's root is what allows one to endure, and to be remembered after death is what may be called long life.

Dao flows like water, present everywhere, and it can turn to the left or to the right. When its work is accomplished, it does not claim the credit, and it does not boast of its achievements. All things return to it, yet it does not act as their master; therefore it may be called small. All things return to it, and it does not act as their master; therefore it may also be called great. The sage can accomplish great deeds precisely because he never regards himself as great, and for this reason he is able to achieve greatness.

When one holds fast to the Great Dao, the people of the world will turn to it. Having turned to it, they do not harm one another, and the world becomes settled and at peace. Music and fine food can make passing travelers stop, but the words that the Dao speaks are bland and tasteless; one looks at it and cannot see it, listens to it and cannot hear it, yet in its use it is never exhausted.

To contract something, one must first allow it to expand; to weaken something, one must first allow it to grow strong; to take something away, one must first give to it; to seize something, one must first give to it. This is what is called subtle insight. The soft and yielding overcome the hard and strong. Fish cannot leave deep water, and the sharp instruments with which a state maintains its power should not readily be shown to others.

The Dao (the Way) has an enduring, unchanging name. If lords and kings are able to hold fast to it, the myriad things will transform and develop of their own accord. When the myriad things, in their transformation, give rise to desire and stir into disorder, I will settle them through the simple, uncarved nature (pu) that the Dao embodies. Settled by this uncarved nature, they will not be disturbed. Undisturbed, they return to stillness, and Heaven and Earth will naturally regain their order.

"Pu" (uncarved block) refers to a state that has not been carved or refined, genuine and natural. "Zhen" (to settle, to subdue) here means to make stable and to restrain.