《道德真經論》

This passage explores the core concepts of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) in the Daode Jing. Sima Qian records that Laozi composed two sections discussing Dao and De, with later generations naming the first section "Dao" and the second "De" based on their opening lines. In truth, Dao and De form an inseparable unity that cannot be artificially divided.

The text observes that the Dao which can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao, and the name which can be named is not the eternal name. Ordinary people's understanding of Dao tends to be confined to concrete phenomena, whereas Laozi maintains that while Dao is subtle, it is not ineffable—it simply differs from conventional notions. "Non-being" (wu) represents the origin of heaven and earth, while "being" (you) serves as the mother of all things. The sage maintains the state of non-being to perceive the profound mysteries, while also preserving the state of being to establish boundaries between phenomena. To pursue non-being while rejecting being would result in losing one's foundation.

Chapter Two reveals how when all people recognize beauty, ugliness emerges; when they acknowledge goodness, its opposite appears. By establishing fixed standards for beauty and virtue, we paradoxically lose their authentic expressions. All worldly phenomena—long and short, high and low, front and back—exist in relative opposition. Concrete forms inevitably create distinctions, distinctions breed comparison, comparison fosters contention, and contention leads to chaos.

The term "mystery" (xuan) mentioned here refers to the supreme state that transcends the duality of being and non-being—the gateway to all profundity. Through this dialectical thinking, Laozi unveils the fundamental principle of complementary opposites governing all phenomena.

Here Laozi expounds on the way of the sage in dealing with worldly affairs. The sage acts without forced effort, just as Yu the Great controlled floods by following nature's patterns, teaching people without words through personal example. Their upright conduct needs no commands to make all things grow naturally. With a single thought, they perceive what has not yet manifested; when situations arise, they respond without refusal. They nurture all beings without claiming possession, accomplish deeds without dwelling on achievements.

When governing the world, the sage never remains completely inactive (Wuwei), yet never claims these actions as personal merits. Precisely because they don't dwell on achievements, their accomplishments never fade. If you don't boast of your abilities, none in the world can compete with you; if you don't flaunt your merits, none can contend for credit. By not promoting "worthy talents," the people won't compete. Though all know the benefits of honoring the worthy, carried to extremes this leads to reputation-chasing chaos. Therefore Laozi corrects this tendency, urging people to value substance over empty fame.

By not treasuring rare objects, the people won't steal; by not displaying greed, hearts won't be confused. Thus the sage's governance method involves: purifying people's minds to eliminate desires, filling their bellies with sustenance, weakening competitive ambitions while strengthening their bodies. Keeping the people simple and content with basic needs, unaware of external temptations - even the clever dare not act recklessly. Governing through "non-action (Wuwei)," nothing remains ungoverned. What appears as action ultimately achieves Wuwei.

The Dao (cosmic origin) seems empty yet functions endlessly. Profound as an abyss, it resembles the source of all things. The Dao dislikes sharp edges, detests contention and chaos, scorns flashy displays, yet values humble coexistence with the mundane world. Appearing then disappearing, I know not its origin - it seems to have existed before heaven and earth.

Heaven and earth show no favoritism, treating all things as sacrificial straw dogs (ancient ritual items discarded after use). While nurturing all beings, heaven lets them perish naturally, appearing heartless. The sage likewise treats the people as straw dogs.

This scripture elucidates the core Daoist concepts of "non-action" (Wuwei) and "holding to the center" through vivid metaphors. The bellows serves as the first analogy: though hollow inside, the more it's pumped, the more wind it produces. This mirrors the nature of the Dao—seemingly empty yet containing infinite potential. The more one aligns with its natural operation, the more its efficacy manifests. Thus rather than forcing speech or action, one should maintain a state of empty stillness and centered equilibrium.

The text then explains the characteristics of the "Valley Spirit" (an epithet for the Dao): eternally present like a hollow valley yet mysteriously divine in its profundity. While heaven and earth have limits, the Dao endures forever. It resembles the subtle feminine principle (the Mysterious Feminine or Xuanpin), serving as the generative source of all things. Though the Dao appears intangible, all beings rely on it for existence while it never acts with deliberate intent.

Heaven and earth endure precisely because they don't strive for self-preservation. The sage emulates this principle—by not contending, they take the lead; by not clinging to self, they achieve preservation. Ordinary people chasing petty gains lose their root, while sages pursuing the Great Dao accomplish all things.

The highest goodness resembles water: willingly dwelling in lowly places others disdain, nurturing all without contention. Water embodies seven virtues: contentment with humility, depth of mind, nourishing all creatures, honesty without deceit, cleansing impurities, adapting to circumstances, and seizing timely moments. Precisely because it doesn't contend, it incurs no resentment.

The final admonition warns: arrogance stemming from power or talent proves inferior to maintaining humility. Sharp edges cannot long endure; halls filled with gold and jade cannot be permanently guarded. Wealth and pride inevitably invite calamity. One should emulate natural law—just as the seasons revolve in cycles, withdrawing after accomplishment aligns with the Heavenly Dao.

This passage expounds the great principles of self-cultivation and governing a nation. First regarding cultivation: one should regulate breath and nurture Qi (vital energy) with the singular softness of an infant, maintaining the unity of Shen (spirit) and form without separation. Clear distracting thoughts to contemplate the inner self, achieving flawless purity. In governing, follow nature's course without forceful intervention, allowing people to develop freely without harm.

The truly profound art of governance resembles thirty spokes converging on a single hub—precisely because the center is empty that the entire wheel can turn. Kneading clay to make vessels derives their usefulness from their hollow interiors. Carving doors and windows to build houses creates inhabitable space through emptiness. Thus while "being" (form) provides utility, "non-being" (emptiness) constitutes the true source of function.

Next comes the harm of sensory desires: dazzling colors blind the eyes, cacophonous music deafens the ears, rich flavors dull the palate, obsessive hunting disturbs the mind, and rare treasures corrupt conduct. These external temptations damage inner nature. Therefore sages focus on internal cultivation rather than chasing external pleasures.

Concerning favor and disgrace: both startle the heart because people overvalue honor and shame. Ordinary people consider official ranks and salaries as glory, yet moral cultivation is the true foundation. Excessive focus on bodily pleasures—pursuing sensory delights and material gains—makes people forget to nurture their essential nature. Those who value the world more than themselves can truly shoulder its burdens. For when one honors the world, the world honors them in return; when one benefits the world, the world cherishes them in turn.

Finally, the text reveals: when rituals become traceless, music soundless, and punishments unnecessary—this embodies the wondrous function of the Dao. Just as wheels, vessels, and houses operate through "non-being," governing and self-cultivation must comprehend the principle of "the usefulness of Wuwei (non-action)."

This passage discusses the attitude of those who have attained the Dao and the essential characteristics of the Dao itself:

Though formless and without appearance, the Dao is the fundamental source of all things' birth and dissolution. It appears neither bright above nor dark below (皦 meaning brightness, 昧 meaning darkness). All things arise from the Dao yet cannot perceive it; all things perish through the Dao yet it never vanishes. This continuous, unbroken state defies description - "being" and "non-being" are but inadequate names we assign, for it ultimately returns to a state of "no-thing." This condition may be called "the form of the formless, the image of the imageless."

Those who have attained the Dao (善为士者) are unfathomably profound, and we can only describe their external manifestations: they move cautiously as if crossing a winter river, remain vigilant as if guarding against neighboring states, carry themselves with solemn dignity as guests, appear effortlessly free like melting ice, embody unadorned simplicity like uncarved wood, maintain expansive openness like mountain valleys, and embrace all things like turbid water. Who can remain still like muddy water that gradually clarifies itself? Who can maintain enduring tranquility while gradually renewing vitality? Those who preserve this Dao never seek fullness - precisely because they avoid fullness, they can renew themselves after decline (弊复成), and through humility receive benefit.

Only by reaching the ultimate state of emptiness and stillness can one observe the cyclical patterns of all things. All movement ultimately returns to stillness, just as vegetation must return to its roots. All things emerge from "non-being" and ultimately return to "non-being." This return to the root is called "stillness," and stillness means returning to one's original nature (复命). When all things are still, they follow Heaven's mandate; understanding this return to nature means comprehending the eternal Dao. Who could possibly oppose the Dao of Heaven? To understand the eternal Dao is wisdom; both action and stillness must accord with their proper timing. Those who act rashly without understanding the eternal Dao invite misfortune.

Emptiness and stillness allow complete accommodation; impartiality and selflessness (无偏无党) enable the achievement of the kingly way. Here "king" does not refer to a ruler, but to the state of comprehending the Dao of Heaven.

This passage primarily discusses the relationship between the Dao and worldly governance, as well as the importance of returning to primordial simplicity.

It first explains that when a ruler aligns with the heavenly Dao, their reign endures without peril. The state of empty stillness and wuwei (non-action) naturally avoids resistance and conflict. The ideal governance is when the people barely notice the ruler's presence; the next best is when they feel close and offer praise; lesser still is ruling through awe-inspiring authority; the worst occurs when even this authority collapses. When rulers lack sincerity, the people naturally respond with distrust. The highest achievement is when accomplishments feel utterly natural to the people—as ordinary as working at sunrise and resting at sunset.

Only when the great Dao declines does society emphasize humaneness and righteousness. True Dao inherently contains these virtues without ostentation. The emergence of cleverness breeds hypocrisy, just as filial piety becomes conspicuous only in dysfunctional families, and loyal ministers stand out only in chaotic states. In true harmony, such virtues remain unnoticed, like fish in rivers who never dwell on how they share the water's moisture.

The text then advocates discarding superficial displays of sagely wisdom, humaneness, righteousness, and clever profit-seeking. While originally well-intentioned, these concepts later became tools for personal gain. One should return to the authentic state: preserving simplicity and reducing selfish desires. Excessive pursuit of knowledge brings only trouble—if it strays from the original purpose of seeking Dao, better not to study at all. The passage concludes with a rhetorical question emphasizing how the differences between compliance and defiance, goodness and evil, aren't as absolute as people imagine, suggesting we shouldn't cling to superficial distinctions.

(Note: "Six familial relations" refers to father-son, siblings, and husband-wife bonds; "embracing simplicity and holding to purity" is a key Daoist concept meaning to maintain one's original, unadorned nature.)

What others fear, I too cannot but fear. The humble response ("wei") pleases people, while the arrogant retort ("a") invites dislike. Yet to one who comprehends the Dao, humility and arrogance, good and evil, are fundamentally indistinguishable—the difference is slight.

However, humility brings joy while arrogance provokes anger; good deeds attract blessings while wickedness summons misfortune. When anger accumulates and calamity strikes, it may endanger life itself—hence one cannot but feel fear. Since all follow this pattern, how dare I not conform? The principles of this world are vast and boundless! Humility and virtuous conduct are but minor behavioral adjustments, provisional means to avoid misfortune—not yet the true Dao.

The Dao is vast and profound, immeasurable in depth. Ordinary people rejoice with elation, as if feasting at the grand sacrifice or ascending springtime terraces, delighting in external things. Only I remain placid and still, like an infant who has not yet learned to smile—serenely unattached, as if having no fixed abode. While all others pursue abundance, busily acquiring more, only I seem deficient, clinging to nothing. Truly, mine is the heart of a fool!

The world is sharp and alert, while I alone remain muddled; others see with penetrating clarity, while I alone appear confused. Hazy as if in darkness, drifting as if without mooring. All consider me obstinate and uncouth. My difference lies in treasuring that which nourishes all things—as an infant treasures its mother's milk, I cherish the nurturing primordial Qi (Yuanqi) of heaven and earth.

(Note: "Wei" refers to a humble response; "a" to an arrogant reply. "Grand sacrifice" denotes the most solemn ancient ritual banquet. "Mother's milk" metaphorically represents the Dao nourishing all things like a mother. "Primordial harmony" refers to the fundamental Qi of the cosmos.)

This passage comes from Sima Shi's commentary on Treatise on the Dao and Its Virtue, primarily elucidating the nature of Dao (the Way) and the wisdom of conduct from the Daodejing.

On the nature of Dao: The manifested state of the Great Dao is indistinct and hazy. Within this haziness lie the embryonic forms of all phenomena (xiang), and within this indistinctness resides the essence of all things (wu). In the profound and mysterious realm (yaoming), there exists the purest subtle energy (Jing, essence), which is utterly authentic and contains verifiable principles (xin). This formless state that encompasses everything has existed eternally since ancient times, and through it, one can observe the origin of all things.

Wisdom for conduct: Those who know how to yield and adapt ultimately preserve themselves, just as a winding path eventually reaches its destination, and low-lying areas naturally fill with water. Trees pruned of their branches grow stronger, and worn-out things are renewed. Therefore, the sage upholds the fundamental principle of Dao (baoyi, embracing the One) as a model for the world. Those who do not flaunt themselves become more apparent, those who do not claim to be right become more distinguished, those who do not boast achieve merit, and those who are not arrogant maintain their position long. Precisely because they do not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with them. The ancient saying "yielding leads to wholeness" is indeed no empty words—those who truly understand and practice this principle will never face danger in their lifetime.

The way of nature: Those who truly understand Dao (the Way) need not speak much (xiyan ziran, few words accord with nature), just as a gale does not blow all day, nor does a downpour last the whole day—these are natural phenomena of heaven and earth. Even heaven and earth cannot sustain extreme states indefinitely, let alone humans? Restless people talk excessively and inevitably struggle to abide in Dao. Those who pursue Dao unite with it, those who pursue De (Virtue) unite with it, and those who deviate from Dao lose it. These are all natural correspondences. If sincerity is lacking, distrust will naturally arise—all because words are overvalued.

Warning for self-cultivation: Standing on tiptoe leads to instability; taking oversized strides prevents going far. Those who flaunt themselves lack wisdom, those who claim to be right fail to shine, those who boast achieve no merit, and those who are arrogant cannot endure. Such behaviors stem from outward chasing with inner emptiness—to cultivation, they are like spoiled leftovers and burdensome excess, detested even by spirits. Thus, those who embody Dao do not act this way. Just as the most delicious leftovers turn rancid, the greatest merit boasted becomes a burden.

(Note: "Yaoming" refers to the profound and mysterious realm; "baoyi" means upholding the fundamental principle of Dao; "xiyan ziran" denotes speaking little to accord with nature.)

This scripture primarily elucidates the inherent nature of the Dao (the Way) and how humans should emulate it in their conduct.

First, it describes the Dao as the formless chaos that existed before heaven and earth came into being—serene, empty, independent, and unchanging, yet ceaselessly cycling without exhaustion. It is the origin from which all things in the universe arise. Because it has no concrete form, it is provisionally called "Dao" or "Great." The Dao, heaven, earth, and the ruler are the four most fundamental existences in the cosmos, and a sovereign should recognize that despite their lofty position, they must not become arrogant.

Next, it discusses the principles of conduct: steadiness is the root of haste, and stillness governs agitation. A noble person acts with composure, remaining detached even amid worldly splendor. If a ruler is reckless and restless, they will lose the reverence of their subjects. Those skilled in action leave no traces; those skilled in speech make no mistakes; those skilled in calculation need no tools; those skilled in closing things use no latch yet cannot be opened; those skilled in uniting need no cord yet cannot be undone. The sage excels at saving people and things, ensuring that nothing and no one is wasted.

Finally, it presents the wisdom of "knowing the strong yet abiding in the weak": understanding strength but remaining gentle, like a stream that occupies the lowest place yet draws all to it; knowing brightness yet dwelling in obscurity, serving as a model for the world; recognizing glory yet embracing humility, as open and receptive as a valley. In this way, one preserves the constancy of De (Virtue/Power) and returns to the state of pristine simplicity. When this primal simplicity disperses, it becomes the myriad things of the world. The sage employs these principles to govern all under heaven.

This passage conveys three key layers of meaning:

First, it discusses the Dao of governance, stating that officials are like various vessels each with their purpose. The sage employs people according to their abilities, maintaining overall harmony without forced division. Those who try to forcibly control the world are destined to fail, for the world is a sacred vessel (shenqi) - coercive action disrupts natural laws. All things have their inherent nature: some advance while others follow, some are warm while others cold, some strong while others gentle. In governing, the sage rejects extremes, extravagance and excess, instead aligning with the innate nature of all things.

Next, it addresses the Dao of military strategy, emphasizing that weapons are inauspicious instruments. Those who assist rulers with the Dao do not rely on military might, as warfare brings calamity. Skilled strategists cease action once their objective is achieved, never flaunting military power. The more sophisticated the weapons, the greater the destruction - thus those who follow the Dao avoid their use. Even when compelled to employ force, one must maintain detachment. Victories should not be celebrated but rather treated with funeral rites, for mass killing is profoundly sorrowful.

Finally, it explains the essence of the Dao itself, describing it as the formless foundation (pu, "unhewn wood"). Though seemingly insignificant, it is supremely exalted. If rulers can uphold the great Dao, all things naturally return to them, and heaven-earth harmoniously bestow sweet dew. When sages attain the Dao, they establish systems and names for governance, yet know when to stop - thus avoiding peril. Here "pu" represents the Dao's most primal and authentic state, like uncarved timber in its original simplicity.

To know when to stop is to be free from danger. Even when instructing the people through various doctrines, one should strive for simplicity and clarity. Do not let teachings become overly complicated, for the Dao (the Way) exists in the world as naturally as streams return to rivers and seas.

Human-made doctrines pale in comparison to the natural Dao, yet ultimately, all must return to it. To understand others is wisdom, but to know oneself is true enlightenment; to overcome others is strength, but to master oneself is true power. Self-awareness and self-mastery are the most difficult achievements. Contentment is true wealth, and perseverance is true ambition. Only by not losing one’s roots can one endure; only by finding one’s place can one find peace. Though the body perishes, the spirit (Shen) endures—this is true longevity.

The Dao is vast and boundless, omnipresent yet never rigid. All things rely on it to grow, yet it never refuses them; it accomplishes all without claiming credit, nourishes all without seeking dominion. Because it has no selfish desires, it may seem insignificant; yet its simplicity draws all things to it, making it truly great. Thus, the sage never claims greatness, yet achieves it all the same.

Hold fast to the manifestation of the Dao (the "great image"), and the world will naturally follow. The sage who embraces the Dao becomes the ruler of all under heaven, ensuring the people live in peace and security, unharmed by external forces. Music and fine food may tempt the passing traveler, for ordinary people are often beguiled by material pleasures. Yet the Dao, when spoken, seems bland—it cannot be seen with the eyes or heard with the ears, standing apart from sensual delights. Still, its efficacy never wanes.

To contract, one must first expand; to weaken, one must first strengthen; to abolish, one must first uplift; to take, one must first give. This is the subtle and profound wisdom. Those who grasp this principle understand that gentleness overcomes hardness. Just as fish cannot leave the depths, the essential methods of governing should not be carelessly revealed.

The Dao appears to do nothing, yet nothing is left undone. If rulers abide by the principle of Wuwei (non-action), all things will transform of their own accord. When desires arise, they should be calmed by the purity of the uncarved block (the "nameless simplicity"). In this state of natural simplicity, desires fade away, and the world returns to harmony of its own accord.

Book Three of the "Discourse on the Dao and Its Virtue" (with Sima's Commentary) states:

The highest De (virtue/power) does not consciously display virtue, therefore it is true De. This refers to acting with complete sincerity without considering oneself virtuous. Lower forms of De rigidly cling to the appearance of virtue, thereby losing its essence - describing those who merely pursue the reputation of virtue or imitate its external manifestations.

Those with superior De govern through Wuwei (non-action), requiring no deliberate effort ("having no deliberate purpose" means not forcing action). When rulers refrain from forceful interference, the people naturally transform. Those with inferior De act with ulterior motives - such artificial virtue will deteriorate without constant cultivation.

People of superior benevolence act without selfish intentions, following the people's benefit. Those of superior righteousness act with clear objectives, establishing norms for governance. Those of superior ritual create ceremonies but when none respond, they forcibly drag others to comply ("rolling up sleeves to enforce" implies using coercion), establishing systems to compel obedience, resorting to punishment when the people resist.

Thus the sequence of societal decline is: losing the Dao leads to emphasizing De (the Dao is formless, De leaves no traces); losing De leads to emphasizing benevolence (like fish moistening each other with spit); losing benevolence leads to emphasizing righteousness (when kindness fails to transform, regulation intervenes); losing righteousness leads to emphasizing ritual. Ritual actually emerges when loyalty and trust weaken, becoming the beginning of disorder. Loyalty and trust form ritual's foundation - clinging to superficial forms while forgetting the root breeds hypocrisy.

So-called "foreknowledge" is merely the Dao's superficial ornamentation, the beginning of foolishness. Some people's accurate predictions make others consider them wise, but excessive speech inevitably contains errors, ultimately revealing folly. Therefore the great person stands firm in substantial simplicity, rejecting shallow ornamentation - choosing essence over appearance.

The ancients who attained the "One" (referring to the Dao): Heaven attained the One and became clear; Earth attained the One and became tranquil; spirits attained the One and became potent; river valleys attained the One and became full; all things attained the One and flourished; lords and kings attained the One and brought peace to the world. This "One" manifests the Dao and originates all things - everything depends on it for fulfillment. In concrete terms, constancy itself is the "One."

Should Heaven lose clarity it would rupture; should Earth lose tranquility it would quake; should spirits lose potency they would perish; should river valleys lose fullness they would dry; should all things lose vitality they would vanish; should lords and kings lose noble status they would fall. All these stem from abandoning the fundamental Dao. Therefore nobility takes humility as its root; height takes depth as its foundation. Hence lords and kings call themselves "orphaned," "solitary," and "unworthy" (ancient royal modest terms), precisely understanding this principle.

This scripture elucidates the fundamental principles of the Dao (the Way) and wisdom for navigating life, which can be understood through several layers of meaning:

The passage beginning with "the humble may appear deviant" suggests that even in lowly circumstances, one must never forget their roots. Like counting individual parts of a carriage until losing sight of the whole vehicle, true Dao practitioners don't seek the dazzling brilliance of jade but prefer the unadorned simplicity of ordinary stone.

It then explains the movement of the Dao: its operation always follows cyclical return (reversal is the movement of the Dao), the alternation of yin-yang manifests the Dao, while gentleness represents its application. All things under heaven emerge from "being" (you), which itself originates from "non-being" (wu).

People comprehend the Dao differently: those of superior capacity practice diligently upon hearing it; average individuals remain half-convinced; while inferior minds laugh at it. The great Dao inherently transcends ordinary understanding. Ancient sages described its paradoxical qualities: those who understand the Dao appear simple-minded; the path of cultivation seems like regression; the smooth highway appears rugged.

Through vivid metaphors, the text illustrates the Dao's nature: supreme De (virtue) resembles an empty valley; purest whiteness seems stained; abundant virtue always appears insufficient; robust virtue seems indolent; perfect straightness appears flexible. The most square has no corners; the most precious vessel is completed last; the loudest sound is nearly inaudible; the greatest form has no shape. Though subtle and nameless, the Dao skillfully nurtures all things.

Regarding cosmic generation: the Dao produces the One (primordial Qi), which divides into yin-yang energies. Their harmonious interaction creates the Three (harmonious Qi), giving birth to the myriad things. All beings contain yin-yang aspects, achieving balance through Qi harmonization.

Finally, it emphasizes the principle of softness overcoming hardness: the world's gentlest things penetrate the hardest substances (like water dripping through stone). The formless enters even seamless objects. Few truly grasp this wisdom of "teaching without words, benefiting through wuwei (non-action)." The text cautions about proper valuation: which is dearer—reputation or life? More important—possessions or vitality? Sacrificing life for excessive gain proves ultimately worthless.

Excessive pursuit of desires inevitably leads to great expenditure, and hoarding excessive wealth ultimately invites significant loss. Knowing contentment prevents disgrace; understanding moderation avoids danger—only thus can lasting peace be maintained.

The most perfect thing appears flawed, yet its function never wanes; the fullest seems empty, yet its utility is inexhaustible. For when things reach their extreme, they reverse: fullness turns to deficiency, abundance to overflow—this is the eternal law. Those who attain the Dao (the Way) remain humble even in perfection; though inwardly replete, they appear empty, thus never exhausting themselves.

The straightest virtue seems flexible; the highest skill appears clumsy; the most eloquent speech seems inarticulate. Movement dispels cold, stillness resolves heat—Wuwei (non-action) and tranquility are the true principles for governing the world. Observing all things with empty stillness reveals their essence.

When the world is at peace, warhorses retire to plow fields (symbolizing no need for war); rulers neither covet nor contend, focusing on inner cultivation. When chaos reigns, even pregnant mares are sent to battle (symbolizing frequent warfare); people become insatiable, abandoning inner cultivation for external strife.

The greatest sin is indulging desires—ordinary people are blameless until treasured possessions invite calamity (symbolizing envy). The deepest misfortune is discontent; the gravest fault is insatiability. Thus, those who know contentment are forever rich.

Without stepping outside, one comprehends the world's affairs; without peering through windows, one perceives heavenly principles. Grasping the fundamental truth, those who wander farthest know least—this is neglecting the root for the branches. Thus, sages understand without experience, discern without seeing, for fundamental truths never change—following nature ensures success.

Pursuing knowledge means daily accumulation, but cultivating the Dao means daily reduction. Shed superficial thoughts, simplify relentlessly until attaining Wuwei. Seeming inaction accomplishes all. Tiptoeing brings instability; overstriding shortens distance (symbolizing forced effort backfires)—deliberate action limits scope, thus Wuwei achieves all.

To govern the world, often refrain from disturbing the people, letting them naturally align. Forced edicts win no allegiance. Sages have no fixed selfish desires but adopt the people's will as their own, adapting to circumstances and flowing with all changes.

To the kind, I respond with kindness; to the unkind, I also respond with kindness—thus virtue is attained. To the trustworthy, I respond with trust; to the untrustworthy, I also respond with trust—thus trust is built. Though others lack kindness, my unwavering kindness preserves virtue; though others lack trust, my steadfast integrity preserves faith.

Sages move through the world with cautious awareness, merging their hearts with all people. This undifferentiated unity draws the people's attention and emulation. Sages cherish all as innocent children.

(On life and death) Humans emerge from the land of life to enter the realm of death. Creatures belonging to life's domain comprise but three-tenths (symbolizing life's small share in nature).

This scripture conveys two main teachings: the way of preserving life, and the essential nature of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power).

First, regarding the way of preserving life. Among ten people, roughly three types of situations exist: those who maintain gentleness and preserve life account for three in ten; those who are rigid and strong and meet swift death also account for three in ten; and those who desire to live but, due to excessive nurturing, bring about the opposite result also make up three in ten. Those truly skilled in nourishing life are like travelers on land who never encounter rhinos or tigers, or warriors entering battle who need no armor or weapons—because rhinos find no place to use their horns, tigers no place to extend their claws, and weapons no place to strike. Why is this? Because they understand the principle of yielding without contention, and thus never fall into danger.

The second part discusses the relationship between Dao and De. Dao is the root of all things, formless and without appearance; De is the concrete manifestation of Dao, revealed through the movement and transformation of Qi (vital energy). All things are generated, nurtured, cultivated, and brought to maturity by Dao, yet Dao never claims merit or seeks to dominate them. This quality is called "profound De" (Xuande, the deepest Virtue). All things under heaven have their origin, and this origin is Dao. Understanding this origin allows one to grasp the patterns of all things. After establishing systems of rites, music, laws, and governance, one must return to this origin—only then can one remain free from danger throughout life.

The scripture concludes with a warning: do not be misled by appearances; hold fast to the root. Closing off the pathways of sensory desire (where "dui" refers to the mouth and "men" to the ears and eyes) ensures a life without toil. Conversely, indulging in desires makes lifelong correction difficult. The ability to perceive the subtle is called wisdom; the ability to maintain gentleness is called strength. By employing the light of wisdom and returning to inner clarity, one avoids bringing disaster upon oneself—this is following the constant Dao. The great Dao is inherently level, yet people prefer shortcuts. When the court is adorned with extravagance, the fields lie barren, and the granaries stand empty, it is because they have turned away from Dao, focusing only on immediate gain while neglecting the root.

(Note: In the text, "si" refers to a rhinoceros; "Xuande" means the most profound De; "dui" in Daoism often refers to the mouth or sensory passages.)

Those who chase superficial splendor while forgetting the fundamentals may appear to govern well, yet upon closer inspection, the people live in poverty. Dressed in ornate robes, girded with sharp swords, glutted with delicacies, and hoarding unspendable riches—this resembles bandits flaunting their plunder. To possess what one shouldn't is called robbery. Those with shallow virtue (De) occupying high positions, those lacking wisdom yet scheming grandly—when calamity approaches unknowingly while they remain smug—this is the "bandit's display." Wearing robes unbefitting one's station, accumulating wealth insatiably—such ostentation fundamentally contradicts the Dao. Does this not stem from originally intending to follow the Dao yet straying from its path?

Those truly skilled at establishing foundations cannot be toppled, like deeply rooted trees that cannot be shaken. Those adept at safeguarding will not lose the people's hearts, for when citizens genuinely submit, they cannot be taken away. Thus descendants may offer perpetual sacrifices, with blessings extending endlessly. Cultivating virtue (De) begins with oneself—then it becomes genuine; extending it to family—then it becomes abundant; spreading it to the village—then it grows; applying it to the state—then it flourishes; universalizing it to the world—then it becomes vast. This is governing the branches from the root, progressing from near to far. Therefore: observe individuals to understand individuals, observe families to understand families, observe villages to understand villages, observe states to understand states, and by the same method observe the world. My understanding of cosmic patterns arises precisely through this method of discerning the great through the small.

Those with profound virtue (De) resemble infants—venomous insects won't sting them, fierce beasts won't seize them, birds of prey won't strike them. This illustrates how even the ruthless cannot bear to harm the supremely gentle. An infant's sinews are soft yet its grip is firm; knowing nothing of intercourse yet naturally aroused—this signifies abundant essence (Jing). Crying all day without hoarseness demonstrates harmonious primordial Qi. These are natural states. Understanding harmony is called "constancy"; knowing constancy is called "illumination." Benefiting life is called "auspiciousness"—auspiciousness means goodness. The state of harmony nourishes life. Using the heart-mind to regulate Qi is called "true strength," for Qi follows the heart's guidance. When the heart is disordered, Qi becomes chaotic; when Qi is chaotic, clarity is lost. If the heart cannot regulate Qi, violent actions arise. Ordinary people mistake ferocious displays for strength, but Laozi considers true strength to be the heart's mastery over Qi. When things become excessively strong, they age—this contradicts the Dao, and what contradicts the Dao perishes prematurely. Only by not contending can one endure.

Those who truly understand the Dao (Dao) speak sparingly, for realization dwells within. Those who chatter extensively don't truly know—they seek externally. Block the holes of desire, shut the gates of temptation, neither entering nor exiting arbitrarily. Blunt sharp edges, untangle knots, soften glaring lights—this is called "mysterious union."

This passage discusses the state of "Mysterious Unity" (Xuantong). "Mysterious Unity" represents the supreme state of becoming one with all things. "Mysterious" signifies profound wisdom, while "Unity" means embracing everything. Those who attain this state are no longer bound by worldly concepts like closeness or distance, benefit or harm, nobility or baseness, because they have merged with the Dao (the Way). Those who steadfastly uphold the Dao remain unshaken and thus become the most revered in the world.

To govern a state, one must follow the upright path, as the foundation of governance lies in fairness. In warfare, however, one must employ ingenious strategies, because military tactics value cunning. To govern the world well, one must adopt the method of "non-action" (Wuwei). Why is this so? Because the more prohibitions there are, the poorer the people become; the more weapons among the populace, the more chaotic the state grows; the more clever techniques people possess, the more bizarre occurrences arise; the harsher the laws, the more thieves emerge. Therefore, the sage says: "When I do not act deliberately, the people naturally transform; when I do not interfere excessively, the people naturally prosper; when I remain tranquil, the people naturally become upright; when I correct myself, all things naturally align; when I am free from desire, the people naturally return to simplicity." In such a society, even if rewards were offered for theft, no one would take part.

When governance is lenient, the people remain simple; when governance is harsh, the people become cunning. Under oppressive rule, no one remains whole. Misfortune and fortune are interdependent—who can discern their boundaries? Misfortune harbors fortune, and fortune conceals misfortune; there are no absolute misfortunes or fortunes in the world. The upright may turn into the strange, and the good may become the wicked—not only do fortune and misfortune shift, but so too do righteousness and evil, good and bad. This is because when things reach their extremes, they reverse. The people have long been confused by this, and few in the world truly understand it.

Thus, the sage is square but does not wound others, pure but not harsh ("劌" means to scrape or cut), upright but not overbearing, bright but not dazzling. All these qualities prevent extremes from arising.

This passage primarily discusses the Dao of governing the state and cultivating the self, with its core philosophy emphasizing the importance of "restraint" (frugality, conservation). It first proposes that in governing people and following the Dao of heaven, nothing surpasses the importance of understanding restraint. By restraining one's Shen (spirit), one can return sooner to their original nature, and this return constitutes a continuous accumulation of De (Virtue/Power).

Those who accumulate profound De become capable of all things. When De reaches its utmost depth, one becomes fit to govern a nation. Only by preserving the fundamental root of governance (referring to internal cultivation) can lasting peace be maintained—this is the enduring principle of "deep roots and firm foundation." Governing a large state is like cooking small fish; excessive stirring will cause them to fall apart. When the Dao is used to govern the world, even ghosts and spirits lose their power to cause harm, and all things find their proper place.

A great nation should position itself humbly like rivers and seas that flow downward, for the feminine (Yin) often overcomes the masculine (Yang) through tranquility. When a large state shows humility toward smaller states, it gains their allegiance; when small states are humble toward great ones, they gain acceptance. Both parties obtain what they need, but the greater state should particularly maintain this humble posture. Those who revere the Dao of heaven preserve their states, while those who delight in it maintain the entire world.

The Dao is the profound mystery within all things. The virtuous treasure and employ it, while even the unvirtuous rely on it for stability. Noble words earn respect, and good deeds influence others. One should not abandon even the unvirtuous, for the inherent nature of the Dao is inclusive and transformative—like how the potter's centered vessel accommodates even uncentered clay.

The text particularly emphasizes that "preserving Shen and nurturing De" is fundamental. It states that when sages govern, they harmoniously coexist with spirits and ghosts without mutual harm, allowing their Virtues to intermingle. Both common people and deities take the sage as their refuge—when sages do not harm people, the spirits likewise refrain from causing harm.

This passage expounds the core Daoist concept of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)." When rulers appoint the Three Dukes (Grand Preceptor, Grand Mentor, and Grand Guardian) to assist them, it's better to follow the principles of the Dao (the Way) than to offer precious jade disks or fine steeds as gifts. Material treasures may become exhausted, but the Dao's efficacy is inexhaustible. The ancients valued the Dao precisely because it could fulfill aspirations while absolving transgressions.

The truly wise appear to take no action (Wuwei) in their undertakings, handle affairs without deliberate effort, and experience things with a taste of blandness. They resolve grievances through Virtue (De), treat small matters with the gravity of great affairs, and cherish meager amounts as if they were abundant. Even when wronged, they bear no grudges—solving complex problems by starting with simple steps, achieving grand accomplishments through subtle beginnings. All difficult matters under heaven begin with simplicity; all great endeavors accumulate from small things. Thus the sage never seeks greatness, yet accomplishes magnificent deeds.

Governing the world requires constant vigilance, as if facing myriad changes daily—only then can one attain the state of "governing through non-action." Those who make promises lightly often break them; hence Confucius' disciple Zilu never delayed fulfilling his commitments. Underestimating difficulties invites greater challenges—ordinary people seek shortcuts first and encounter troubles later, while sages confront difficulties early and thus ultimately face none. The wise always overcome hardships first to find ease afterward.

Stability is easily maintained; plans succeed best before problems emerge; fragility is easily broken; subtlety is easily dispersed. Prepare before events occur; govern before disorder forms. Towering trees grow from tender sprouts; nine-story terraces rise from piled earth; thousand-mile journeys begin beneath one's feet. These all illustrate preventing trouble at its inception. Forced efforts disrupt nature; clinging to externals leads to loss. Therefore the sage neither forces nor fails, neither grasps nor loses.

People often fail when success seems imminent—had they maintained their initial caution till the end, they wouldn't have faltered. What sages pursue is precisely non-pursuit; they don't prize rare treasures. They study the "learning of non-learning," correct people's excesses, and assist all things' natural development without presumptuous interference. For people's excessive efforts become superfluous growths (like warts), while all beings flourish by their own nature—the sage merely assists, never forcing.

The ancient masters who truly understood the Dao (the fundamental law of the universe) never encouraged people to rely on cleverness, but guided them back to simplicity. The difficulty in governing people arises precisely from their excessive cunning and craftiness. Ruling through clever schemes brings calamity to a nation, creating mutual deception between rulers and subjects; governing without such artifice brings prosperity, allowing the true Way of Kings to flourish. To comprehend the distinction between these two approaches is to grasp the fundamental principle. One who truly understands this principle attains the state of "Mysterious Virtue" (Xuande, the profoundest expression of De).

This Mysterious Virtue is so deep and unfathomable that it appears contrary to ordinary reason, yet ultimately achieves supreme harmony. While the world universally esteems cleverness, those possessing Mysterious Virtue deliberately hold it in low regard. This seemingly paradoxical behavior actually accords perfectly with the Great Dao.

Rivers and seas become the gathering place for all streams precisely because they excel at maintaining the lowest position. Therefore, the sage who wishes to lead the people must be humble in speech; to guide from the front, one must place personal interests last. Thus positioned above, the people feel no oppression; leading from the front, they inspire no envy. All under heaven gladly support such leaders precisely because they contend with none, and consequently none can contend with them. Complacency invites loss while humility brings benefit.

People say my Dao is so vast as to be indescribable. Precisely because of its vastness, it resembles no particular thing. Were it like any specific object, it would long since have appeared insignificant. I hold three treasures: first is compassion, second is frugality, third is daring not to be at the world's forefront. Compassion makes one truly courageous (the benevolent are inevitably brave), frugality allows for abundant accumulation of virtue (restraint creates surplus), and daring not to lead enables one to become the people's true guide (the foundation of transformation). Nowadays some discard compassion yet seek courage, abandon frugality yet pursue extravagance, refuse to stay behind yet insist on leading - this is the road to ruin. With compassion, one conquers in battle and defends with stability. The benevolent receive the people's support; when heaven wishes to save someone, it protects them through compassion, for none can bear to harm the merciful.

The truly brave never flaunt their might, conquering instead through virtue; skilled warriors never give way to anger (I take up arms only to restore peace); those best at overcoming enemies achieve victory without battle (subduing opponents without conflict); those adept at employing others position themselves humbly, thereby winning genuine allegiance. This constitutes the virtue of non-contention, the art of harnessing human potential, the highest principle in accord with heaven's Dao. This virtue matches the celestial pattern - nothing has surpassed it since the dawn of humanity.

Those versed in military strategy often say: "I dare not take the initiative in war, but would rather respond defensively." "Taking the initiative" refers to launching aggressive military action, while "responding defensively" means countering only when first attacked by others. In battle, they dare not advance even an inch, preferring to retreat a foot, maintaining humility without greed. This is the principle of achieving objectives without apparent action, subduing enemies without raising arms, and attaining complete victory without actual combat. The greatest calamity lies in underestimating adversaries - such underestimation nearly costs us our most precious treasures (here referring to the "Three Treasures" of Daoism: typically compassion, frugality, and not presuming to lead the world). Thus when armies confront each other, the side harboring compassion often prevails, while those who speak with integrity and avoid contention gain public sympathy.

The truth I speak is actually simple to understand and easy to practice, yet few in the world truly comprehend or implement it. The key lies in grasping fundamental principles. Precisely because people don't understand this truth, they don't understand me. Those who truly know me are few, which ironically makes my teachings more precious. The Great Dao is supremely simple, hence its rare comprehension - like sages who outwardly wear coarse garments yet inwardly cherish precious jade (symbolizing profound inner cultivation).

To know what one doesn't know is supreme wisdom; to pretend knowledge while ignorant is a flaw. The truly wise appear unknowing, thus avoiding resentment; the ignorant pretending wisdom invite misfortune. Only by recognizing flaws as flaws can one avoid becoming flawed. Sages remain flawless precisely because they confront their flaws. When people recognize their shortcomings, these flaws cannot become severe.

When common people cease fearing authority, greater chaos will arise. Don't force people from their homes, nor destroy their livelihoods. Let them eat well and dress comfortably. Only by not oppressing the people will they not resent their rulers. Unburdened by material concerns, one won't be trapped by them either. Therefore sages possess self-awareness without self-display, remain unperturbed when misunderstood, practice self-respect without self-importance, and cultivate themselves with humility. One should abandon external vanity to pursue internal joy.

Reckless aggression invites fatal consequences, while cautious gentleness preserves life. Understanding this distinction reveals what benefits and what harms. Who truly knows what Heaven despises? Even sages find this difficult to explain. Some understand this principle and choose survival over danger - this benefits them; others comprehend it yet perish faster - this harms them. Is this not Heaven's punishment? Who truly understands Heaven's will? Therefore sages dare not speak lightly of the Heavenly Dao.

The Heavenly Dao's nature is to conquer without contention, following the natural development of all things - nothing can oppose it.

This passage primarily discusses the laws of celestial operation and the wisdom of human conduct.

Regarding the movement of the Dao (the Way): Just as when drawing a bow to shoot an arrow, what is high should be lowered slightly, and what is low should be raised slightly. What is excessive should be reduced, and what is insufficient should be supplemented. The Dao of Heaven invariably diminishes the excessive to compensate for the deficient, yet human practices are the opposite—often taking from the insufficient to serve the excessive. Only those who have attained the Dao willingly offer their surplus to the world.

On the wisdom of living:

1. The softest and weakest water can overcome the hardest substances, demonstrating that gentleness surpasses strength. Though this principle is known to all under Heaven, few can truly embody it.

2. When alive, the human body is soft and pliant, but after death, it becomes stiff. Similarly, plants are tender while growing but dry and brittle when dead. Thus, hardness belongs to the category of death, while softness belongs to the category of life. An army that is excessively strong may fail to achieve victory, just as trees that grow too tall are felled.

3. When people no longer fear death, it is because their rulers impose such heavy taxes that life becomes unbearable. If the people were prosperous and cherished life, wrongdoers could be punished effectively. However, execution should be left to the will of Heaven. For humans to presume to execute in place of Heaven is like a novice taking over a carpenter’s axe—rarely does one avoid injuring their own hand.

On the ways of sages: Sages accomplish deeds without claiming credit, withdraw after success, and refrain from flaunting their wisdom. Like water, they remain soft, humble, and willing to bear the nation’s disgrace—this is the true art of governance.

Here we discuss the highest state of governance. A true ruler should bear the misfortunes of the nation (the master of the state altar), only then can they become the sovereign of the world. Thus, profound truths often sound paradoxical—just as embracing impurity can achieve greatness.

Those who resolve deep-seated enmities will always leave residual resentment—how can this be considered perfect? Therefore, the sage (one who has attained the Dao) is like holding an IOU without demanding repayment. Those with De (Virtue) focus on the covenant itself, while those without De haggle over details. The Dao of Heaven shows no partiality, yet always favors the virtuous.

An ideal state should be small and tranquil: though the people possess fine tools, they do not use them; they value life and are reluctant to migrate. Though they have chariots and boats, they do not travel; though armed, they do not deploy troops. Let people return to the simplicity of knotting ropes for records, without deceiving one another. Content with their food, fond of their clothing, comfortable in their dwellings, and joyful in their customs—even in humble circumstances, they find satisfaction. Neighboring states may be within sight, their roosters and dogs heard across borders, yet the people grow old and die without visiting one another, free from desire.

True words are not ornate (trustworthy speech isn't embellished)—they are plain and direct; beautiful words aren't trustworthy (embellished speech lacks truth)—often being empty. The virtuous don't argue (the good don't debate), the auspicious speak little; eloquent debaters often harbor ulterior motives. A thief's honeyed words (a robber's speech seems sweet), the wise never lightly believe. True wisdom lies in grasping the essence (holding to the one thread), while broad knowledge easily leads astray (many forks make the sheep go lost).

The sage accumulates no possessions, harbors no selfishness. The more they help others, the richer they become; the more they give, the more they possess. What seems like loss is actually gain—this is the Dao of Heaven's principle: benefiting all things without harm. Like spring's growth and autumn's harvest, it benefits the world in the finest way. The sage's way of being is to act without contention, appearing to practice Wuwei (non-action), yet assisting all things without imposing.

(Note: "Knotting ropes" refers to the primitive recording method of ancient times; "state altar" signifies the nation; "sage" in Daoism denotes one who comprehends the great Dao; "Wuwei" is a core Daoist concept meaning spontaneous, non-forced action.)