《老子道德經》

The Dao can be explained in words, but any principle that can be clearly stated and used to govern a state and instruct its people is not the eternal, natural “constant Dao.” The true, enduring Dao follows nature and enables people to attain longevity. To preserve the constant Dao, one should nurture the spirit through Wuwei (non-action), settle the people through stillness and freedom from affairs, restrain one’s radiance, conceal one’s traces, and avoid displaying one’s accomplishments. Such a Dao cannot be fully expressed in words.

Names can be used to describe wealth, honor, distinction, and a reputation that surpasses others, but these too are not names that endure naturally. A constant name should be simple, like an infant who cannot yet speak; undivided, like an egg before it has split; and inwardly bright, like a pearl hidden in a shell or jade concealed within stone, while outwardly plain and uncarved.

“Namelessness” is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. The Dao has no form and so cannot be named. It is the root of the Dao: from emptiness it sets Qi (vital energy) in motion and brings forth transformations, becoming the origin of Heaven and Earth. “Having a name” is the mother of the myriad things. Here, “having a name” refers to Heaven and Earth: they have form and position, and Yin-Yang has distinctions of firmness and softness, so they can be designated by names. Heaven and Earth contain and nourish primordial Qi, giving birth to the myriad things and bringing them to growth and maturity, just as a mother raises a child.

Therefore, by remaining without desire, one can observe the Dao’s subtlety; here, “subtlety” means the Dao’s essential principle. A person who is not led by desire can see where the Dao’s subtlety lies. By remaining in desire, one can observe where worldly things ultimately lead. “Without desire” and “having desire” are two states that arise from the same human mind, though they have different names. Those without desire can preserve themselves over time, while those with desire may bring harm upon themselves.

Both are called “mysterious,” meaning deep and unfathomable, because people with and without desire alike receive Qi from Heaven and Earth. “Mystery within mystery” means that within Heaven there is a still deeper Heaven. The Qi people receive varies in its abundance and purity: those who receive Qi that is balanced and harmonious may become worthy people or sages; those who receive Qi that is disordered and turbid may become greedy and lustful. Understanding this, one can remove sensual desires and maintain balance and harmony. This is the gateway to understanding the Dao’s subtlety.

Nurturing the Self, Chapter Two

Everyone in the world knows what beauty is and displays their own beauty; thus ugliness appears alongside it. Everyone knows what goodness is and claims merit and fame for themselves; thus non-goodness also arises, and people begin to compete with one another. Therefore, being and nonbeing depend on one another: wherever something appears as “being,” there is also a side that is regarded as “nonbeing.”

This scripture primarily expounds the principle of how things are both mutually opposed and interdependent, and how sages govern the world by following the natural Dao (the Way).

Difficulty and ease complement each other—when facing difficult matters, one should approach them as if they were easy. Long and short are relative—only by recognizing shortcomings can strengths be revealed. High and low are interdependent—when seeing heights, one must also consider the depths. Sounds respond to one another—when those above sing, those below harmonize. Front and back follow each other—when leaders act, followers emulate. Thus, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action), governs the world with the Dao, and teaches through "wordless instruction," leading by example.

All things grow naturally without refusal, each operating without cease. The primal Qi (vital energy) nurtures all beings yet claims no possession, acts without self-importance, and accomplishes without taking credit. Precisely because they claim no merit, their virtuous deeds endure. Those who fail to understand this principle resemble the "top six" line in the Book of Changes—creating artificial distinctions between high and low, long and short. Opening one source gives rise to endless variations, resulting in chaos.

The section on "pacifying the people" states: Do not exalt worldly notions of worthiness (referring to those skilled in debate yet deviating from the Dao), so the people will not compete for fame and profit. Do not treasure rare objects, so the people will not steal. Do not expose the people to temptation, so their minds remain undisturbed. Thus, the sage governs the state as one cultivates the self: purifying the heart, enriching the inner being, weakening contentious impulses, strengthening sinews and bones, keeping the people simple and guileless, free from excessive knowledge and desires. Even the clever dare not act recklessly under such conditions.

Wuwei (non-action) means avoiding forced interference and following spontaneity—thus nothing remains ungoverned. When moral transformation runs deep, the people naturally dwell in peace and contentment.

This passage elucidates the nature and function of the Dao. Though the Dao appears empty and formless, it exerts boundless influence. Profound beyond measure, it resembles the source of all things yet never boasts or becomes complacent. Like an unfathomable abyss, it contains all beings without displaying sharp edges.

For personal cultivation: One should restrain one's sharp edges and avoid excessive pursuit of fame and achievement. Resolve conflicts and grievances to maintain inner purity. Even when possessing unique insights, refrain from flaunting them—instead, blend harmoniously with others like light merging with dust. Preserve a tranquil and detached state of mind, for only thus can one endure. The Dao existed before heaven and earth, eternally unchanging; we should emulate this quality of the Dao in cultivating our nature and life.

Next, the attitude of heaven-earth and sages is described: Heaven and earth nurture all things without special favoritism toward humans, treating all beings with equal detachment like straw dogs. Sages emulate this by caring for the people without seeking reward, maintaining the natural attitude of Wuwei (non-action).

Between heaven and earth flows harmonious Qi, through which all things grow naturally. If humans can eliminate desires and keep their five organs pure, their Shen (spirit) will attain stability. Like bellows (tuoyue), it is precisely because of internal emptiness that the breath can circulate. Emptiness prevents exhaustion, while movement generates ever-renewing energy.

Finally, advice for self-cultivation: Excessive speech depletes one's vitality, while overactivity harms the spirit. Opening one's mouth easily invites misfortune—better to maintain inner equilibrium, nurture the spirit, cherish one's Qi, and practice reticence.

Chapter Six: Forming the Image discusses the nurturing of shen (spirit) within the human body. The "Valley Spirit" (referring to the ceaseless vital energy of life) does not perish because it is sustained. By nourishing the shen of the five viscera, one attains longevity. Each organ houses a distinct spiritual aspect: the liver stores the hun (ethereal soul), the lungs store the po (corporeal soul), the heart stores the shen (spirit), the spleen stores the yi (intent), and the kidneys store jing (essence) and zhi (will). If the five viscera are harmed, these five spiritual aspects depart.

The "Mysterious Feminine" (xuanpin) mentioned here refers to the origin of life. Xuan (mystery) represents heaven, corresponding to the nose, while pin (feminine) represents earth, corresponding to the mouth. Heaven, through the nose, allows humans to absorb the wuqi (Qi of the Five Phases). The clear Qi resides in the heart, forming shen, wisdom, and speech—its luminous aspect is called hun (yang in nature). Earth, through the mouth, enables humans to take in the wuwei (flavors and essences of food). The turbid Qi settles in the stomach, forming the body, bones, flesh, and blood—its substantial aspect is called po (yin in nature). The nose and mouth are like gateways through which the primordial Qi of heaven and earth flows. Breathing should be soft, continuous, and natural, with Qi moving gently and effortlessly.

Chapter Seven: Concealing Radiance uses the enduring nature of heaven and earth to illustrate the principles of life cultivation. Heaven and earth endure because they do not strive for their own survival but operate spontaneously, seeking no reward—unlike worldly people who exhaust themselves in pursuit of selfish gain. The sage (one who attains the Dao) withdraws yet is placed ahead, remains detached yet is preserved. The people cherish them as parents, and the spirits protect them as infants. Precisely because of their selflessness, they fulfill themselves.

Chapter Eight: The Nature of the Highest Virtue describes supreme virtue as resembling water. Water nourishes all things without contention, dwelling in low places that others disdain—thus, it comes closest to the Dao. In dwelling, choose low-lying ground; in mind, remain deep and tranquil; in relationships, be sincere and benevolent; in speech, keep trustworthiness; in governance, excel in order; in action, employ one’s strengths; in movement, seize the right timing. Because it does not contend, it incurs no blame.

The highest goodness is like water. A person of the highest goodness is also like water in character. Water nourishes all things without competing with them. It settles in the low, damp, muddy places that everyone else dislikes, yet flows and dwells there quietly. For this reason, water is closest to the Dao (the Way), the fundamental principle by which all things move and function.

Water’s nature is almost the same as the Dao’s: it is good at choosing low places for its dwelling; its heart is deep and calm; it treats others with honesty and trustworthiness; in governing, it is good at bringing order, making things clean and fair; in its work, it makes good use of its abilities, able to be square or round and to adapt to bends and straight lines; in its movements, it is good at seizing the right moment, spreading out in summer and freezing in winter. It moves with the seasons and does not go against the timing of Heaven.

Water never competes. Block its path, and it stops; clear a way for it, and it flows. It follows the course of circumstances and submits to human arrangements, so it makes no mistakes. This is water’s nature, and no one under Heaven resents it.

Keeping to the Mean, Chapter Nine

Holding a vessel and continually filling it until it is full is not as good as knowing when to stop. If it is filled too far, it will surely spill. Sharpen a blade too keenly, and it cannot stay sharp for long. After too much honing, it will eventually wear down and be discarded.

No one can keep a hall filled with gold and jade secure. Too many desires damage the spirit; too many possessions burden the body. After becoming wealthy and honored, arrogance and self-satisfaction invite calamity. When wealthy, one should aid the poor; when honored, one should show compassion for the lowly. Arrogance and excess instead will surely bring harm.

Once one’s achievements are complete and one’s reputation has risen, one should withdraw and yield one’s position. This is the Way of Heaven. It means that when a person’s work has succeeded, achievements have been established, and a reputation has been praised, refusing to step aside and leave a position of power may invite calamity. This is the constant law of Heaven. The sun begins to move west once it reaches its highest point; the moon wanes after becoming full. When things flourish to their utmost, they decline; when joy reaches its peak, it turns to sorrow.

The Power to Act, Chapter Ten

The human body carries the hun (spiritual consciousness) and po (physical vitality), which form the foundation of life. One must carefully nurture them, for excessive joy or anger will scatter the hun, while sudden fright will harm the po. The hun resides in the liver, and the po dwells in the lungs—thus excessive indulgence in rich food and wine damages these organs.

Maintaining the hun in tranquility aligns it with the Dao (the Way) without confusion, while stabilizing the po prolongs life. "Can you embrace the One and not let go?" refers to holding fast to the "One" (the harmonious Qi [vital energy] born of the Dao), keeping it within the body to achieve longevity. This "One" permeates all under heaven: Heaven attains it and becomes clear, Earth attains it and becomes tranquil, and rulers attain it to bring peace to the world. For humans, the "One" manifests internally as focused intent and externally as action. When extended to all things, it becomes De (Virtue/Power). All these are called the "One"—meaning undivided concentration of mind.

"Concentrating Qi to achieve softness" means focusing and retaining Jing (essence) without dispersion, allowing the body to respond with pliancy, pure as an infant's. With no distracting thoughts within and worldly affairs disregarded without, the Shen (spirit) will not be depleted. "Cleansing the mysterious mirror" refers to purifying the heart-mind (the "mysterious mirror" being the mind's capacity to perceive all things), keeping it spotless. Those cultivating the self nurture Jing without obsessing over breath, while rulers governing states spread De without deliberate display.

The "Gate of Heaven" signifies the North Star's Purple Palace (symbolizing the crown of the head), its opening and closing representing the transformations of Yin-Yang. For cultivators, the "Gate of Heaven" is the nostrils—opening with exhalation, closing with inhalation. "Can you play the role of the female?" means self-cultivation should emulate the quiet softness of the feminine, while governance adapts flexibly without forceful dominance. "Understanding illuminates the four directions" describes the Dao's radiance, shining like sun and moon across all quarters—seeming invisible and silent, yet filling heaven and earth.

"Producing without possessing" means the Dao gives birth to all yet claims nothing; "acting without relying" means it nurtures all without seeking reward; "nourishing without controlling" means it sustains all without domination. This is the profoundest "Mysterious De"—the Dao's virtue, hidden yet profound, hoping humanity may comprehend it.

The wheel has thirty spokes (an ancient representation of the lunar cycle), all converging at the central hub. The hub is hollow, allowing the spokes to unite. Those who cultivate themselves should clear distracting thoughts and eliminate desires, keeping the five viscera in a state of emptiness so that the spirit (Shen) may return to its original nature. It is precisely because the hub is empty that the wheel can turn; it is because the carriage interior is empty that people can ride within it.

When crafting vessels from clay, the earth must be evenly blended. The usefulness of a vessel lies in its hollow center, which allows it to hold things. When building a house, doors and windows must be carved out—their utility comes from the emptiness within, allowing people to enter, exit, and dwell. Thus, the "presence" (the solid form) provides convenience, but it is the "absence" (the empty space) that truly enables function. Just as the abdomen must remain empty to house the spirit, if it is filled to excess, the body will perish. Emptiness is essential because it accommodates all things; the formless Dao (the cosmic origin) governs the manifest world through this very principle of emptiness.

Chapter Twelve speaks of tempering desire:

Indulging in dazzling colors dulls the eyes (excessive pursuit of beauty depletes essence [Jing]);

Immersing in music deafens the ears (overstimulation disrupts the spirit [Shen]);

Gorging on delicacies numbs the palate (gluttony distances one from the Dao);

Reveling in the hunt agitates the mind (intense exertion disperses vital energy [Qi]);

Craving rare treasures corrupts virtue (insatiable greed harms body and soul).

Thus, the sage focuses on inner cultivation:

Preserving the innate nature of the five viscera,

Rejecting the six desires (of the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind),

Regulating the heart’s intent and breath,

Nurturing spiritual wisdom.

They do not chase external sensory pleasures—

The eyes do not wander carelessly (haphazard gazing leaks essence [Jing]);

They discard outward temptations and choose inner refinement.

Chapter Thirteen speaks of contentment:

Favor and disgrace alike unsettle the mind (for one takes gain and loss too seriously).

The greatest misfortune is excessive self-concern

(If even the body is disregarded, what else is there to fear?).

Thus, only those who can bear the world as their own responsibility

Are worthy of being entrusted with it;

Only those who forget the self in loving the world

Are deserving of the world’s trust.

This passage discusses the psychological states people experience when facing honor and disgrace. When receiving high honors, one trembles with fear as if standing atop a precipice; when suffering humiliation, one similarly feels terrified of impending disaster. Why is this so? Because people place excessive importance on their physical bodies and desires. Having a body inevitably brings worries of hunger, cold, and toil, while indulging desires easily invites misfortune. If one could transcend physical constraints and merge with the Dao (cosmic origin), moving freely like drifting clouds, where then would worries remain?

Only those who truly cherish their own lives are fit to shoulder the responsibility of governing the world. Such rulers care for themselves not for selfish desires, but to become pillars of support for all people. Only those possessing this virtue are worthy to rule the world, maintaining their position long without error.

The passage then explains the mysterious characteristics of the Dao: Looking at it, you cannot see it—this is called "Yi" (formless); listening for it, you cannot hear it—this is called "Xi" (soundless); grasping for it, you cannot touch it—this is called "Wei" (shapeless). These three qualities cannot be fully expressed in words, for the Dao has no color, sound, or form—it can only be perceived through quiet contemplation. When Yi, Xi, and Wei blend into one, they constitute the primordial chaos-state of the Dao.

This passage elucidates the profound nature of the Dao (the Way), the core concept of Daoism representing the cosmic origin and fundamental order. The Dao exists as a unified whole in primordial chaos, encompassing three essential elements (likely referring to Heaven, Earth, and Humanity as the Three Powers), yet ultimately merging into singular oneness. Neither dazzlingly bright above nor dimly obscure below, it stretches endlessly without boundaries, defying any concrete definition or name.

The Dao transcends all tangible forms: it cannot be distinguished by colors like azure, yellow, red, white, or black; described by musical notes like gong, shang, jue, zhi, or yu; or measured by dimensions like length, size, or magnitude. It ultimately returns to the state of "non-being" (wu wu)—having no material form yet capable of shaping all things, appearing formless yet establishing forms for all existence. This condition is called "hu huang" (dim and indistinct), seeming to exist while seeming not to exist, forever beyond precise grasp.

When facing the Dao, one cannot see its beginning when approaching nor discern its end when following. The sages (those who have attained the Dao) grasp this eternally existing Way to govern all present affairs. By comprehending the current manifestation of "the One" (embodiment of the Dao), one may understand the origins of antiquity—this constitutes the fundamental principle of the Dao.

The ancient sages who truly attained the Dao reached a state of exquisite subtlety, becoming one with Heaven. Their cultivation of De (Virtue/Power) was unfathomably profound: inwardly observing like the blind and listening to their hearts like the deaf (describing a state transcending sensory perception). Such profound Daoist wisdom remains inherently difficult for ordinary people to genuinely comprehend.

This scripture primarily discusses the mental attitudes and behavioral principles that Daoist cultivators should maintain.

It first describes the external demeanor of practitioners: cautious as crossing a winter river, acting with exceptional prudence; vigilant as fearing one's neighbors, exercising restraint in movement as if wary of being discovered breaking laws; dignified as being a guest, maintaining respectful composure when facing the host.

The text then addresses internal cultivation: melting away desires like thawing ice and snow, gradually emptying and purifying the heart-mind; remaining simple and unadorned like uncarved wood, preserving inner Shen (spirit) while avoiding outward extravagance; spacious and accommodating as a valley, embracing all merits and fame with profound humility; maintaining original nature like turbid water, neither deliberately displaying oneself nor conflicting with others.

Using water as metaphor: Who can become clear by remaining still like turbid water? Who can gradually attain vitality through prolonged tranquility? Those preserving this way of enduring life never pursue excessive fullness. Precisely because they avoid overflow, they remain content with the old rather than seeking new achievements—contentment with the old conceals one's radiance, while pursuit of the new values worldly success.

The final "Returning to the Root" chapter reveals: Daoist cultivation requires reaching a state of extreme emptiness (completely abandoning desires to purify the five viscera) and maintaining ultimate stillness (acting with sincere gravity). Only thus can one preserve authenticity amidst the transformations of all things.

All beings flourish and multiply, yet through observing their cyclical patterns I have discovered a principle: all things ultimately return to their source. Humanity should value this fundamental truth. Observe how luxuriant plants and trees appear in their prime, yet eventually wither and shed leaves, returning to their roots to regenerate anew.

This return to origin is called "stillness" (jing), for roots are quiet, soft and humble, dwelling below yet capable of rebirth. This tranquil state is termed "restoring life's mandate" (fuming - returning to life's source). Maintaining this stillness allows one to return to life's origin and attain perpetual renewal. This principle of cyclical return is eternal and unchanging; understanding it constitutes "illumination" (ming - wisdom). Those ignorant of this law who act recklessly invite calamity.

Those who truly comprehend eternal principles develop expansive, all-embracing minds, and this inclusiveness brings impartial justice. Achieving such justice enables one to become "sovereign of the world" (referring to realized beings). When body and mind are properly aligned, form becomes unified in tranquility, gathering countless spiritual energies (shen) within oneself. Attaining this sovereign state connects one with heavenly Dao, and union with the Dao brings enduring existence beyond decay.

Mastering these four qualities - justice, sovereignty, heavenly attunement, and Dao-union - allows one's virtue (de) to become vast, avoiding calamities while sharing heaven-and-earth's longevity without peril.

(Regarding Chapter 17 "Pure Customs") The supreme rulers of antiquity (taishang - nameless sage-kings of remote times) were merely known to exist by their people without deliberate veneration, for society then embodied primal simplicity. The next tier of rulers were beloved and praised by people for their visible virtue (de) and tangible benevolence. Inferior rulers inspired fear through penal governance. The lowest rulers earned public contempt through oppressive restrictions that prevented authentic interaction. When rulers lack sincerity, the people respond with deception.

In ancient times, wise rulers acted with caution and rarely issued commands, for they deeply understood that excessive speech easily deviates from the Dao and loses one's natural essence. When the world was at peace, the people lived contentedly, assuming this was simply how life should be, unaware of the ruler's virtuous governance working subtly upon them.

(Chapter 18) It is only when the great Dao declines that humaneness (ren) and righteousness (yi) are emphasized. In eras when the true Dao prevailed, every household had filial children and the state had loyal ministers naturally - there was no need for deliberate promotion of virtue. Only when the Dao is abandoned do we resort to teaching humaneness and righteousness. When cleverness flourishes, hypocrisy emerges in tandem. When rulers prize cunning and value ornamentation, their subjects respond with greater deceit. It is when families are discordant that filial piety needs recognition; when states fall into chaos that loyal ministers become conspicuous.

(Chapter 19) We must discard artificial sagely wisdom and return to primordial simplicity. The ritual systems created by the Five Emperors (legendary sage rulers) or the writing system invented by Cangjie (Yellow Emperor's scribe) cannot compare to the era of the Three Sovereigns (earlier sage kings) when knotting ropes sufficed for records and governance followed wuwei (non-action). Abandon cleverness, and the people benefit a hundredfold; cease preaching humaneness and righteousness, and natural filial piety returns. Eliminate crafty hypocrisy, block the gates of greed, and thieves and robbers will disappear. When rulers are impartial, the people refrain from wrongdoing. These truths cannot be conveyed through rhetoric alone - they must manifest in action: preserve primordial simplicity and reduce selfish desires.

(Chapter 20) Cast aside superficial learning, for knowledge divorced from the Dao only brings trouble. The difference between respectful response and casual reply may seem slight (yet their essence differs completely).

Worldly rulers often despise the plain essence while exalting flashy appearances. How great is the difference between good and evil? The virtuous receive praise while the wicked meet admonishment—yet how vast is the gap between them? Tragically, modern rulers detest loyal and upright men, favoring instead treacherous flatterers.

The so-called "Daoist practitioners" (cultivators of the Dao) that people revere should most revere the endless pursuit of learning. Foolish rulers cannot but fear those who feign obedience while secretly harming the worthy. Ordinary people indulge in chaotic desires, chasing empty knowledge without cease.

The masses abandon themselves to pleasure, drowning in all manner of cravings—gorging like banquet guests, insatiable as starving men craving delicacies. In spring they climb high to gaze afar; in this season of Yin-Yang interaction, as all things stir to life, their hearts run wild viewing the scenery. Only I remain serene and detached, pure as an infant who has yet to smile.

Adrift and alone, I resemble a destitute wanderer with nowhere to return. All others overflow with abundance, squandering surplus wealth in extravagance, employing excess cunning in deception. Only I seem lacking, maintaining a fool's heart—unswayed by worldly currents, steadfast in the pure unity of Dao.

Others shine with cleverness and worldly wisdom; only I appear dull and dim. All are sharp and calculating, rushing toward gain; only I remain simple and unhurried. Vast as the ocean, surging like river currents, I drift like floating catkins yet soar in divine realms. While others actively pursue, I abide in Wuwei (non-action)—seeming foolish yet closest to the great Dao.

What sets me apart is cherishing the nourishing root of all things—the Dao (cosmic origin). Those with true De (Virtue) possess emptiness that embraces all, willingly dwelling in humility. They don't follow the crowd but move only by the Dao's guidance. As the source of all, the Dao is elusive and ever-changing—indistinct yet profoundly real.

This passage describes the profound characteristics of the Dao (the cosmic origin and universal principle). The Dao appears indistinct and obscure, yet within it exists true substance; seemingly dark and formless, it contains the laws governing all things. Within the Dao resides the purest energy (Jing), this essence being supremely wondrous, where Yin and Yang converge in perfect authenticity. The Dao never proclaims itself, yet has existed eternally from ancient times, with all beings deriving their vital energy from it.

Through rhetorical questioning, Laozi explains: The reason I know the truth of all things' origins is precisely because I have comprehended these characteristics of the Dao.

Chapter Twenty-Two discusses the benefits of humility:

By yielding and conforming to others, one preserves oneself instead of insisting on one's own way; temporary bending ultimately leads to straightening; low-lying areas naturally fill with water (symbolizing how the humble become filled with De); willingly remaining worn-out leads to renewal; taking less ultimately gains more. The Dao of Heaven always assists the humble, and celestial spirits bestow blessings upon the open-hearted. Conversely, excessive wealth perplexes one about how to protect it, while excessive knowledge leads one astray.

Therefore, the sage (one who has attained the Dao) upholds this fundamental principle of the Dao as a model for all under heaven. They achieve clarity without self-display, reveal truth without self-assertion, and accomplish merit without self-praise. When sages propagate moral teachings, they claim no credit for themselves—thus their virtue naturally becomes manifest.

Those who truly contribute to the world do not become proud or self-satisfied, so they can preserve their Virtue over time. The sage does not regard himself as especially noble or great, so he can remain safe and free from danger. Because he does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with him. This means that neither the worthy and capable nor the ordinary can contend with one who does not contend.

The ancients said, “Yield, and you will remain whole.” Could these words be empty? The wisdom handed down from ancient times tells us that knowing when to yield allows us to preserve ourselves. This is a truth beyond doubt. Those who truly understand it can preserve themselves and return to their original nature. “Sincerity” means being genuine and free of falseness. Those who know how to yield and remain whole protect their bodies from harm and, in the end, return safely to their parents’ embrace.

(Chapter Twenty-Three: Emptiness)

Speaking little accords with the natural Way. “Rare speech” means speaking with care. Those who like to talk too much go against the laws of nature. A gale cannot blow for an entire day, and a downpour cannot last through a whole night. Gales and downpours are the work of Heaven and Earth, yet even Heaven and Earth cannot sustain such extremes for long. How much less can people do so? Heaven and Earth are the most wondrous powers: even the gales and downpours they bring forth cannot last from morning to night. How, then, can people presume to achieve sudden success?

Those who pursue the Great Way should therefore model their conduct on the qualities of the Dao: remaining quiet and composed instead of acting with the haste of a gale or downpour. Those who pursue the Dao become one with it, and their conduct follows its principles. Those who cultivate Virtue become one with it, and their conduct follows its standards. Those who lose their way become one with that loss; clinging to their own views, they grow distant from others. The Dao welcomes those who become one with it; Virtue welcomes those who become one with it; and loss welcomes those who become one with loss.

If a ruler lacks trustworthiness toward the people, they will respond with distrust. This shows that things of the same kind attract one another: like sounds resonate together; clouds arise with dragons, and winds rise with tigers; water flows toward low, damp places, while fire moves toward dry things. These are all laws of nature.

(Chapter Twenty-Four: Bitter Favor)

Those who stand on tiptoe cannot remain steady; those who crave power and fame, who seek quick success and instant benefits, will ultimately fail to establish themselves in the world. Those who take oversized strides cannot go far—people who think too highly of themselves and put on airs before others will instead be rejected by the masses, unable to move even an inch forward.

Those who constantly fixate on themselves cannot see clearly. Ordinary people often believe they are handsome and virtuous, unaware that their appearance is unrefined and their conduct crude. Those who are self-righteous gain no recognition, for when a person constantly belittles others to elevate themselves, everyone will unite to obscure their light.

Those who boast have no real merit. Those who frequently flaunt their achievements will instead lose any genuine accomplishments. Those who revel in self-praise cannot endure—such behavior is as superfluous to the cultivation of the Dao as leftover food or excess fat on the body. If such arrogant and greedy individuals were to govern a country, they would impose harsh taxes, covet salaries, and earn the people’s hatred. When in power, they always seek to harm others, so none can avoid fearing and despising them. Thus, those who truly embody the Dao would never serve in such a state.

(Chapter 25) There was something that existed before the formation of heaven and earth—this is the "Dao." The Dao has no fixed form; it emerged from chaos to give birth to all things, existing even before heaven and earth. Silent and soundless, vast and formless, it is unique and unchanging. The Dao circulates endlessly, never exhausting itself, permeating yin and yang without decay, and may be called the mother of all things under heaven.

I do not know what to call it, but seeing that all things arise from it, I reluctantly name it the "Dao." Further straining to describe it, I call it "great," for it is supreme, boundless, and all-encompassing.

This scripture primarily expounds on the boundless vastness of the Dao (the Way) and the relationship among the "Four Greats" (Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the Sovereign). The Dao is the greatest—it does not remain perpetually above like Heaven nor eternally below like Earth, but constantly transforms and permeates all existence. The power of the Dao pervades Heaven and Earth, connecting all things, yet ultimately returns to humanity. Thus, the Dao is foremost, followed by Heaven, Earth, and the Sovereign. Heaven covers all things, Earth supports all things, and the Sovereign governs all things. Among the Four Greats of the cosmos, the Sovereign is one of them.

Humanity should emulate Earth, embodying its quiet and gentle nature. The Earth yields grain when cultivated and springs forth water when dug into, giving silently without seeking reward. Earth models itself after Heaven, Heaven models itself after the Dao, and the Dao models itself after nature (ziran). The inherent nature of the Dao is spontaneity—it does not need to emulate anything.

Chapter 26 discusses the importance of "heaviness" (weightiness) and "stillness." Heaviness is the root of lightness. If a ruler lacks dignity, they will lack authority; if self-cultivation lacks weightiness, one will lose their spirit (shen). Just as the flowers and leaves of plants, being light, wither easily, while their deep roots endure, stillness governs agitation. If a ruler is not calm, they will forfeit their authority; if self-cultivation lacks stillness, danger arises. The dragon, because of its stillness, can transform, while the tiger, due to its agitation, meets an early demise. Thus, the sage never departs from weightiness and stillness in action. Even amid wealth and glory, they remain transcendent and detached.

Alas, some rulers act with frivolity and restlessness, thereby losing the support of their subjects (lightness leads to losing followers) and forfeiting their sovereign position (agitation leads to losing rulership). The same applies to self-cultivation—frivolity and restlessness result in the loss of spirit. Chapter 27 teaches the skillful application of these principles.

The truly adept walker leaves no wheel ruts. Those skilled in cultivating the Dao focus on self-cultivation—they need not leave their halls or doorways to practice, thus leaving no external traces. The masterful speaker's words bear no flaws, for they carefully select their phrases beforehand, ensuring no one in the world can fault them. The skilled calculator needs no counting rods, for by contemplating through the Dao they grasp the root—complex calculations become unnecessary to comprehend matters.

Those adept at closing require no bolts yet none can open—this signifies using the Dao to shut desires and guard the Shen (spirit), creating a seal more secure than any physical lock. The expert knot-tier uses no cords yet none can untie—this means binding things through the Dao, fastening knots upon human hearts, making them harder to undo than rope bindings. Therefore, sages excel at saving others, preserving lives by teaching loyalty and filial piety, enabling people of all stations to find their proper place. They also skillfully rescue all beings, protecting creation from harm by following seasonal rhythms, leaving nothing discarded. Sages never despise stone while prizing jade—they regard all things equally, embodying the wisdom of inheriting the great Dao.

The virtuous serve as teachers for the unvirtuous, while the unvirtuous become material for the virtuous to reflect upon. Those who neither honor teachers nor cherish reflective material, though considering themselves wise, are profoundly deluded. To comprehend this is to grasp the subtle and mysterious essential doctrine.

Chapter twenty-eight expounds the principle of returning to original simplicity: Knowing the masculine yet abiding in the feminine, one becomes the valley of the world. Like water flowing downward, maintaining humble gentleness attracts the world's natural submission—thus eternal De (Virtue) never departs. Return to the pure innocence of an infant's state. Knowing brightness yet dwelling in obscurity, become the world's model. Though inwardly comprehending truth, outwardly maintain silent modesty.

This passage expounds on the principles of governing the world and self-cultivation. Laozi teaches that those who can serve as models for the world will maintain their De (Virtue/Power) enduringly. Such individuals never stray from the Dao (the Way) and ultimately return to its source (the Wuji, or Limitless), thereby attaining longevity.

In personal conduct, one should maintain humility amidst glory, just as deep valleys receive a hundred streams. By cultivating such valley-like emptiness, one's De becomes abundant. Returning to the simplicity of original nature resembles unhewn wood in its natural state. All things emerge from this primal simplicity - the Dao differentiates to manifest Shenming (divine illumination), the sun and moon, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Sages employ these principles to govern the world, much as the chief official oversees subordinates. Truly enlightened governance causes no harm; similarly in self-cultivation, one should regulate desires through the Great Dao without damaging the Shen (spirit).

Chapter 29 discusses the principle of Wuwei (non-action). Those who seek to govern the world through forceful action, I perceive, are destined to fail. The world is a sacred vessel that cannot be manipulated. Forcible governance leads to failure; obstinate clinging results in losing the root. Among all things of the world: where there are leaders, there will be followers; where warmth exists, cold follows; strength coexists with weakness, and stability contains potential danger.

This scripture primarily discusses the principles of governing a state and cultivating the self, emphasizing the need to follow the Dao (the Way) while avoiding extremes and excess.

It first points out that places that appear safe often conceal hidden dangers. Therefore, a wise ruler, whether in governing the nation or cultivating the self, must abandon three extremes: excessive pursuit of sensual pleasures (shen), extravagant clothing and food (she), and lavish palaces and towers (tai). By eliminating these excessive desires, maintaining the balanced and harmonious Dao, and practicing Wuwei (non-action), the world will naturally be transformed through virtuous influence.

The text then addresses the art of warfare. Those who truly understand how to assist a ruler do not rely on military force to dominate the world but instead follow the Dao of Heaven and implement virtuous governance. In this way, enemies will naturally submit. War brings severe consequences: fields become barren where armies are stationed, and great battles inevitably lead to years of famine. Even the weather turns harsh, disrupting the growth of crops and ultimately harming the lives of the people. Those skilled in warfare seek only to achieve a just purpose and know when to stop—they do not flaunt their military might to assert dominance. Even in victory, they remain humble, avoiding arrogance and boasting, recognizing that war is a last resort. For when things reach their peak, they inevitably decline—just as lush vegetation withers after flourishing, and people weaken after reaching the height of strength. Those who stubbornly rely on force violate the laws of the Dao and will soon face ruin.

Through examples of governance and warfare, this scripture illustrates the core Daoist principles of "holding to the center" (shou zhong) and Wuwei (non-action), warning against extremes and urging alignment with the natural order.

Weapons are instruments of ill omen. What we call "auspicious" refers to that which is fortunate and beautiful. Weapons disturb the human spirit and disrupt the harmonious Qi between heaven and earth—they are not tools meant for virtuous people. One should not adorn or glorify weapons, for all things in nature abhor them. The moment weapons are employed, harm inevitably follows, which is why those who embody the Dao (the Way) never wield them lightly.

The true gentleman of Dao, in peaceful times, honors the left (symbolizing gentleness), but in warfare reveres the right (symbolizing force). This reveals how the way of arms fundamentally differs from the way of the noble. Weapons, being inauspicious objects, should never be valued by gentlemen—they are only resorted to as a last resort during times of decline and calamity, solely to protect the people. Even in victory, one must remain detached, never celebrating triumph as something glorious. To take pleasure in victory is to delight in killing.

Those who revel in slaughter can never truly attain mastery under heaven. A ruler addicted to bloodshed violates the Dao of Heaven. Auspicious occasions honor the left (symbolizing growth), while funerary rites honor the right (where yin energy governs destruction). Thus in military formations, the lieutenant general stands to the left (though lower in rank, occupying the yang position) while the commander-in-chief stands to the right (though higher in rank, presiding over slaughter)—this is essentially treating warfare with the solemnity of mourning rites. When lives are taken in great numbers, one must grieve with profound sorrow, reflecting on one's insufficient De (Virtue/Power) that failed to transform people through the Dao, leading to innocent suffering. In ancient times, victorious generals would stand at the mourning altar, clad in plain white garments and weeping bitterly—demonstrating how true gentlemen value De above arms. Even when compelled to eliminate evil, their hearts find no joy, bearing the weight as if attending a funeral. Foreseeing the endless warfare of future generations, the sages mourned with boundless sorrow.

The Dao (the fundamental origin and principle of the universe) eternally remains nameless. It manifests both as yielding Yin and unyielding Yang, as relaxation and tension, as existence and dissolution. Precisely because the Dao has no fixed form—like uncarved wood in its primal simplicity—though appearing insignificant, nothing in heaven and earth dares disregard it.

Should rulers uphold this simple Dao, all things will naturally submit. When a ruler's actions align with celestial rhythms, auspicious signs will appear like sweet dew descending from heaven's embrace. Without issuing commands, the people will harmonize spontaneously. The nameless Dao governs all named things; the formless principle masters all formed entities. Once things acquire names, desires arise, leading to moral deviation and eventual calamity. Those who emulate the Dao's patterns and embody De (Virtue) will receive heaven's tacit protection, warding off peril. The relationship between Dao and the world resembles streams inevitably merging with rivers and seas.

Chapter Thirty-Three expounds the wisdom of cultivating De: Understanding others demonstrates intelligence, but knowing oneself reveals true wisdom. Conquering others shows mere strength, while mastering one's desires constitutes real power. The contented are truly wealthy; those steadfast in practicing the Dao possess genuine ambition. By preserving Jing (essence) and restraining desires, one attains longevity. Guarding one's vision, hearing, and speech prevents resentment, ensuring enduring wellbeing.

Chapter Thirty-Four reveals: The Great Dao permeates all things like rivers nourishing the land. It generates without possessing, nurtures without dominating. Precisely because the Dao never claims greatness, it accomplishes true greatness.

The Dao (the Way) flows universally like water, appearing and disappearing, seemingly present yet absent. It cannot be seen with the eyes, nor can its uniqueness be fully captured in words. The Dao moves freely to the left or right, omnipresent in all things. All beings rely on it for growth ("shi" meaning dependence), yet the Dao never refuses this nurturing role. It accomplishes all things without claiming merit, nourishes all beings without asserting dominance.

Though the Dao nurtures all things like a sovereign, it does not demand repayment as human rulers do. Because it remains eternally desireless and unattached, it may be called "small"—concealing its traces, serene in wuwei (non-action). All things return to the Dao ("gui" signifying their reception of the Dao's primordial Qi), yet the Dao issues no commands like an earthly ruler. Precisely for this reason, the Dao may also be called "great," for it allows all beings complete freedom. Thus, sages (those who embody the Dao) emulate it—they do not strive for greatness yet accomplish true greatness. Leading by example without words, they transform all things naturally into harmonious order.

Chapter 35 discusses "holding the great image" (grasping the form of the Dao). When sages uphold the Dao, all people under heaven naturally return to it; when they cultivate their nature and life (xingming), celestial spirits descend to assist. Where all things return without harm, nations enjoy peace; where self-cultivation preserves the shen (spirit), the body achieves longevity. Just as fine food makes travelers pause, those who find joy in cultivating the Dao attain mental serenity. The "One" (the pure state of Dao) means emptying fullness to maintain receptivity, remaining unattached like a passing traveler. Described in words, the Dao seems bland—invisible to the eye, inaudible to the ear—yet its application is inexhaustible: governing with it enriches nations, cultivating with it extends life, never reaching depletion.

Chapter 36 explores "subtle illumination" (hidden wisdom). Through contrasting pairs, it reveals the Dao's nature: to contract, one must first expand; to weaken, one must first strengthen; to abolish, one must first establish; to take, one must first give. This is the wisdom of "subtle illumination"—where gentleness ultimately overcomes hardness. Just as fish cannot leave deep waters, rulers should not rashly display strategic maneuvers but know to conceal true power.

This scripture expounds two fundamental principles: the dialectical laws governing the development of phenomena, and the practice of Wuwei (non-action) in state governance and self-cultivation.

First, it discusses the laws of development: to contract something, one must first allow it to expand to its limit; to weaken an opponent, one must first let it grow strong enough to invite calamity; to abolish an institution, one must first let it flourish to the point of arrogance; to take something away, one must first give generously to inflate greed. These four strategies may appear subtle, yet their effects are profound. It is like how the soft and yielding can overcome the hard and rigid—what is pliable endures, while what is brittle breaks easily. A fish cannot leave the deep waters (symbolizing the importance of maintaining a yielding nature), for once it does, it loses its protection. Similarly, the strategic tools of statecraft (metaphorically called "sharp weapons") should not be recklessly revealed to subordinates, just as the methods of Daoist cultivation should not be imparted to the unworthy.

Next, it addresses the principle of Wuwei in governance and self-cultivation: the Dao (the Way) is eternally spontaneous and non-interfering, yet it accomplishes all things. If rulers abide by this principle, all beings will naturally flourish. When the people develop desires, they must be pacified with the simplicity of the Dao. The "nameless simplicity" refers to the fundamental nature of the Dao. By guiding the people with virtue (De), they can return to a state of purity and desirelessness, bringing harmony to the world. True governance does not rely on forceful control but rather on moral influence—when rulers embody the Dao, all things naturally return to the right path.

Heshang Gong (a renowned Daoist scholar of the Han dynasty) emphasizes in his commentary that the "nameless simplicity" refers both to the essence of the Dao and the innate purity of the practitioner. Rulers must lead by example, transforming the world through serene and effortless virtue rather than through coercion.