《道德真經集義(二)》

Collected Interpretations of the True Scripture of the Dao and De, Volume One (Excerpt): A Plain-Language Reading

Title and editors

Collected Interpretations of the True Scripture of the Dao and De, Volume One, Part Four.

Compiled by Master Ningyuan and Liu Weiyong, supervisor of the Xuánmiào Temple on Changde Road.

Edited by Ding Yidong, formerly a Grand Master for Court Audiences, registrar of the Court of the Treasury, and compiler at the Privy Council.

Editions and central ideas of the Dao De Jing

The Daoist Lord says:

“Dao” is the standard that everyone follows; “De” is the conduct that people’s hearts commonly recognize as worthy.

Those who attain the Dao do not change through the ages. Those who establish themselves through De preserve their innate nature.

Laozi lived at the end of the Zhou dynasty, when the Dao had declined and De had grown weak. He therefore wrote eighty-one chapters to explain the enduring principles of the Dao and De, calling the work a Jing (classic). Its language is concise and its meaning profound. Readers should grasp its general intent and put it deeply into practice.

Huang Maocai says:

The Dao is the path by which all things are born and nurtured; De is the nourishment that all things receive as they are born and nurtured. Heaven and Earth bring all things into being through them, and so life continues without end. The perfected person cultivates the whole self through them, and so the spirit does not perish. Though Dao and De have two names, they support one another in truth and cannot be separated.

Some people today treat the first part as devoted exclusively to the Dao and the second exclusively to De. This does not accord with Laozi’s original intention. The whole work should be called the Dao De Jing.

Shitan says:

Many people have interpreted Laozi. Confucian scholars often explain him through the Confucian understanding of the Dao. Cheng Taizhi and Lin Zhuxi, for example, take this approach. Buddhist scholars, in turn, often explain Laozi through the Buddhist understanding of “nature,” as do Su Yingbin and Benlaizi. These readings often miss Laozi’s original intent.

The Confucian “Dao” usually refers to the principles that guide everyday conduct and concrete affairs. Laozi, by contrast, takes “emptiness and naturalness” as the Dao. The two should not be forced into a single system.

The Buddhist “nature” usually means the unadorned, uncovered innate nature. The Dao in Laozi’s sense, however, is the Dao of wondrous form and spirit, and of dual cultivation of nature and life. It, too, should not be equated with the Buddhist idea of “nature.”

It is said that “there are not two Daos under Heaven, and the sages have but one heart.” Yet the benevolent see one thing and the wise another; we must distinguish what each is referring to.

What Laozi specifically means is a Dao whose substance is “emptiness” and whose function is “naturalness.” When reading the Dao De Jing, we should first clarify this point, and only then discuss how it accords with or differs from Confucianism and Buddhism.

Note: “Daoist Lord” is an honorific in the Daoist tradition for Laozi or the Most High Lord Lao. The Heshanggong edition divides the Dao De Jing into two parts, the “Dao Scripture” and the “De Scripture.” The Wang Bi edition (the edition of Yu Fusi) also divides it into upper and lower parts, but Huang Maocai argues that the whole work should be read as a single Dao De Jing.

It was said earlier that Confucians hold that the Dao beyond physical form cannot be separated from physical things; Buddhists identify true emptiness alone as one’s nature, unmixed with form and vital energy; and Laozi seeks the wondrous perfection of both body and spirit, joining with the Dao in its truth. This is where the Three Teachings differ. If each interprets the Daode Jing solely from within its own tradition, it not only departs from Laozi’s purpose but also loses sight of its own. As for Daoist commentaries, those by figures such as Bai Yuchan are certainly Daoist in character, yet their constant pursuit of the lofty and their search for shortcuts often make their wording hard to understand. They end up following a path like Guo Xiang’s commentary on the Zhuangzi. The present commentary therefore explains the text wholly from within Laozi’s own teaching, in the hope of preserving his original intent, while avoiding the lofty aspirations and obscure wording found in Yuchan and others. Students must distinguish these approaches carefully.

Chapter on “The Dao That Can Be Spoken”

Textual variants: The Heshang Gong edition calls this the “Chapter on Embodying the Dao”; Zhao Shian calls it the “Chapter on Revealing Principle and Realizing Truth.” Here we follow the edition of Emperor Ming of Tang.

Commentary by Emperor Xuanzong of Tang: This chapter explains how the wondrous source arises and where the myriad transformations originate. It begins by provisionally naming the “utmost emptiness” to show where all wonders return. Thus, “can be spoken” and “can be named” clarify substance and function; “nameless” and “having a name” clarify origin and manifestation; “without desire” and “with desire” clarify the two ways of viewing; “they emerge from the same source but have different names” clarifies how the uncarved block disperses and becomes things; “both are called mystery” clarifies how, once things have taken form, they return to the uncarved block; “mystery upon mystery” explains the forgetting of both; and “the gateway to all wonders” points people toward the path of practice and realization. This is the ladder of progress in cultivation and the broad way to embody and understand the Dao.

Du Guangting, in his Expanded Meaning of the Sacred, explains Emperor Xuanzong’s commentary: “Clarify” means to make something bright and manifest; the “wondrous source” is the Dao. Since this chapter stands at the beginning of the Jing, it clarifies where the Dao comes from. “From” means origin; “arise” means to emerge and flourish. “Myriad” is the greatest number, while “transformations” refers to responsive change. If all beings and transformations arise from the Dao, then the Dao is the source from which all transformations originate. From this chapter, the various teachings arise like streams flowing from a spring, never running dry. “Utmost emptiness” is the wondrous source; “provisional naming” refers to the Dao. The chapter begins by presenting what can be spoken as substance and what can be named as function, and concludes by returning to the uncarved block.

A Plain-Language Interpretation of the Collected Meanings of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue

“The gateway to all mysteries” is the orientation that gathers together the many phenomena and returns to their root—in other words, turning again toward the foundation of the Great Dao. This gateway can be understood in seven stages.

First, on “the Dao that can be spoken” and “the name that can be named”—substance and function

This concerns the relationship between substance and function: each depends on the other. Substance cannot remain manifest apart from function, and function cannot exist independently of substance. At times the emphasis is on nonbeing, at times on being; sometimes things are realized, sometimes provisionally adapted; sometimes they appear as forms, sometimes as emptiness; sometimes they have names, sometimes they are represented by images. Substance and function are explained in turn, each illuminating the other. Thus, “substance and function” means that each makes the other clear.

Second, on “nameless” and “named”—root and trace

This concerns how root and trace arise together: where there is a root, there can be a trace; through the trace, the root can be discerned. Without a root, no trace can appear; without a trace, the root cannot be inferred. Traces are established in relation to particular things. The root is the source, and the trace is the end. A trace is like a footprint: the footprint is not the foot itself. If you mistake the trace for the foot and then try to walk by stepping on the “trace,” you move farther from the Dao. Understand, then, that the trace is the end, not the root.

Third, two ways of contemplating through desire and through freedom from desire

Contemplation is a method of practice: one may contemplate through what one sees oneself, or through what the spirit perceives. Quiet the mind toward the outside and gather the spirit within; illuminate the single mind from within and forget the myriad forms without. This is called contemplation. Contemplative practice is a step on the path of learning the Dao and a stage in cultivating the Real. One must begin with such practice to enter the gateway to the mysteries. The Dao cannot be attained through names and concepts alone, nor sought through forms alone, so contemplation provides a path of cultivation. Contemplation “with desire” leads toward the realm of death; contemplation “without desire” accords with the realm of life. This describes different destinations and orientations toward life and death.

Fourth, they emerge together but have different names—when the uncarved becomes vessels

The great uncarved block is the Dao. The Dao disperses into the divine spirits, flows as the sun and moon, divides into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and gives birth to the myriad things. Vessels are things that have form and function. The Classic of Changes says: “What is above form is called the Dao; what is below form is called a vessel.”

Fifth, both are called mysterious—when vessels are formed and return to the uncarved block

The divine spirits, the sun and moon, the Five Phases, and the myriad things all have form and take the shape of vessels, yet in the end they are united with the Dao. This is why it is said that they “return to the uncarved block.”

Sixth, mystery upon mystery—forgetting both

When vessels are formed, they still remain within the uncarved block. After returning to the uncarved block, one must let go even of the thought of “the uncarved block.” Only then does one merge in deep accord with the Dao; hence the phrase “mystery upon mystery.” Forgetting both means forgetting vessels and the uncarved block alike.

Seventh (the original text appears to continue after “seventh,” but the passage provided ends with “vessels and the uncarved block alike are forgotten.”)

Taken as a whole, this interpretation uses the opening of the Dao De Jing—“The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name”—together with the contemplation of being and nonbeing to explain substance and function, root and trace, contemplative practice, the uncarved block and vessels, the return to the uncarved block, and mystery upon mystery. This is a familiar seven-part mode of exposition in Daoist interpretation.

1. Commentary on “The Gateway to All Mysteries”

“The Gateway to All Mysteries” teaches how to become free of worldly entanglements. Only when one lays aside both the vessel and the uncarved block, clinging to neither, can one accord with the Dao and return to the source from which all things come into being. This is “the Gateway to All Mysteries.” Human beings and all things receive the same Dao. As soon as one acts with intent or gives way to private desire, one departs from the Dao and harms life. Let go of desire and preserve harmony, and one returns to the root and begins anew: this is the Dao’s most essential gateway. To become free is to leave the world and transcend worldly concerns.

2. Zhang Chongying’s Explanation

Zhang Chongying said: The Dao is the way of nature. Heaven is so high that it does not know what it covers; this is the naturalness of the Way of Heaven. Earth is so vast and thick that it does not know what it bears; this is the naturalness of the Way of Earth. Human beings stand between Heaven and Earth: their eyes can see, like the sun and moon in Heaven; their mouths can make sounds, like Heaven’s thunder. When they blow, they make wind; when they breathe out, they make mist. Spittle and cough are like rain and dew, while hearing and perception are like the spirits. The naturalness of the Way of Heaven is also present in the human body.

As for the four limbs, they are complete, like the four sacred mountains firmly rooted in place. The numinous bones crown the head, rising like Mount Song, the central peak. Blood flows and the pulses circulate like rivers winding across the land. The naturalness of the Way of Earth is also present in the human body.

If one can understand the natural way of Heaven and Earth and cultivate accordingly, the turbid can become clear, the ordinary can become immortal, and the worthy can become a sage. Thus, embodying the Dao is the central meaning of the opening chapter of the Dao De Jing.

3. Original Text of Chapter One of the Dao De Jing

The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name. The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; the named is the mother of the myriad things. Therefore, always without desire, one observes its mystery; always with desire, one observes its manifestations. These two arise from the same source but have different names. Together they are called the profound. Profound and yet more profound: the gateway to all mysteries.

(Version note: the Tang Xuanzong edition omits the word “therefore”; this text follows the Heshang Gong edition.)

4. Heshang Gong’s Commentary

“The Dao that can be spoken” refers to the Dao of canonical teachings and government; it is not the constant Dao, the natural Dao of long life.

“The constant Dao” means constantly nourishing the spirit through Wuwei (non-action) and bringing peace to the people by keeping matters undisturbed. It holds its light within and conceals its radiance, erases its traces and hides its beginnings, and cannot be expressed in words.

“The name that can be named” refers to the names of wealth, rank, honor, and lasting fame. It is not the constant name, the name that is naturally enduring.

“The constant name” is like an infant who has not yet spoken, an egg before its parts have separated, a bright pearl within an oyster, or fine jade within a stone. Though luminous within, it appears foolish and rough without.

“The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth”: “The nameless” refers to the Dao. The Dao has no form, and so it cannot be named. “Beginning” refers to the Dao’s origin.

Plain-Language Interpretation

Note: This section explains Daoist principles in the opening lines of the Dao De Jing—“The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name”—and includes Wang Bi’s commentary.

“Breathing out Qi and spreading transformation” means that the Great Dao arises from emptiness and serves as the origin of Heaven and Earth. “Having a name” refers to “the mother of the myriad things.” It means that Heaven and Earth have taken on form and position, and Yin-Yang and hardness and softness have emerged; only then can they be said to “have a name.” Calling them the mother of the myriad things means that Heaven and Earth contain Qi and bring forth all things, nurturing them as they grow and mature, as a mother nurtures her children.

Thus it says: “Always be without desire, so as to perceive its subtlety.” “Subtlety” means the essential point, the finest and most profound aspect. If people can consistently remain free of desire, they can perceive the Dao’s essential point. This “essential point” means the One. “The One emerges and spreads names”: the Dao uses names to set out meanings and distinguish right from wrong.

“Always have desire, so as to perceive its manifestations.” “Manifestations” means the destination or direction toward which things tend. Those who continually harbor desires can observe where worldly concerns lead.

“These two emerge together but have different names.” “These two” refers to having desire and being without desire. They “emerge together” because both arise from the human mind, but they “have different names” because the names assigned to them differ. The one called “being without desire” can preserve the body over time; the one called “having desire” often harms the body and undermines De. They are both called “mysterious”: “mysterious” means Heaven. This means that people with desire and those without desire alike receive Heaven’s primal Qi.

“Mystery upon mystery”: there is another Heaven within Heaven. The Qi people receive varies in fullness and purity. Those who receive balanced, nourishing Qi become worthy and sagely; those who receive disordered, turbid Qi become greedy and lustful. “The gateway to all subtlety”: to know that “there is another Heaven within Heaven” and that the Qi people receive varies in fullness and purity, and then to put aside emotions and desires and maintain balance and harmony, is to understand the gateway to the “essential point of the Dao.”

Wang Bi’s Commentary:

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name”: The “Dao” that can be expressed in words and the “name” that can be identified are not the constant, unchanging Dao and name. They are names and forms devised in relation to particular things, not eternal constants; they should not be grasped as the ultimate “constant Dao” or “constant name.”

“Nameless … having a name … the mother of the myriad things”: Everything that “is” begins in “nonbeing.” Before forms have taken shape and names have arisen, this is the beginning of the myriad things. Once forms and names exist, they nurture, bring things to completion, and bring them to maturity, like a “mother.” This means that the Dao begins without form or name and brings all things to completion, from their beginning to their fulfillment, while people do not know how this happens. This is precisely “mystery upon mystery.”

Therefore, “Always be without desire, so as to perceive its subtlety.” “Subtlety” is the utmost point of what is fine and minute. The myriad things begin in what is minute and then take shape; they begin in nonbeing and then come into being. Thus, by consistently remaining free of desire and keeping the mind empty and still, one can perceive the beginning of the myriad things and the Dao’s subtlety.

“Always have desire, so as to perceive its manifestations.” “Manifestations” means destination or end. Whatever function “being” has must rely on “nonbeing” to function. From the perspective of “desire,” one can perceive its destination and end.

The root first accords with the Dao; only then can it aid the myriad things. Thus it is often said that through “desire” one can observe the subtle boundaries at the end of the myriad things.

These two—the named and the nameless, the presence and absence of desire—are the gateway through which all wonders are reached. Both begin with the “mother.” “They emerge together” means that both emerge from the Mystery; “different names” means that their functions must not be confused.

At the beginning, it is called the “beginning”; at the end, it is called the “mother.” “Mystery” refers to the dark and silent, to what is without being. It is the source from which the beginning and the mother arise, yet it cannot be named. Thus one cannot simply say, “They share the name Mystery.” To say “it is called Mystery” means that it cannot be named, yet one has no choice but to speak of it this way. To treat this as a fixed name would lead far astray; hence the phrase “Mystery upon Mystery.” All wonders emerge from a single source, and so it is called “the gateway to all wonders.”

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang said: “‘The Dao that can be spoken’ through ‘is not the constant name’: ‘Dao’ refers to the wondrous function of the utmost emptiness, while ‘name’ refers to the designation by which each of the myriad things finds its proper place. The wondrous function can be applied to things, so it is said to be ‘speakable’; names arise from function, so they are said to be ‘nameable.’ If the wondrous function has no fixed direction, it cannot be constant as a single Dao. Since things differ and their names differ, no single name can be constant. Thus one provisionally calls it Dao, though the Dao itself is always nameless.”

Commentary: “‘Dao’ is a provisional name for the wondrous root of the utmost emptiness. The character dao can also mean ‘to teach’ or ‘a path’; here, the first word states the text’s central teaching. ‘Can be spoken of’ means that this wondrous root pervades and gives birth to the myriad things, serving as the path from which they arise; hence it can be called Dao. ‘Is not the constant Dao’ means that the transforming function of the wondrous root has no fixed direction, and no single provisional name can encompass it. Thus it may be called great, passing, distant, or returning; it is not constant as one Dao, hence the phrase ‘is not the constant Dao.’

“‘Name’ means designation. It is the name given to the function through which things receive the Dao, and the first character likewise states the central teaching. ‘Can be named’ means that names arise from function and can therefore be assigned. ‘Is not the constant name’ means that in Heaven it is called clarity, on Earth stillness, in spirits numinous power, and in valleys fullness. Though all obtain the One, their names differ according to their functions; no single name is constant, hence the phrase ‘is not the constant name.’

“‘Nameless’ through ‘mother of the myriad things’: ‘nameless’ refers to the wondrous root. The wondrous root appears as Qi at the beginning of Heaven and Earth, and Heaven and Earth draw their beginnings from it; hence it is called nameless. ‘Named’ refers to its responsive function. This function shapes, completes, nourishes, and sustains the myriad things. Since things receive its nourishment, it is called named.”

The level of “having a name”: “separating from the nameless” refers to a time before the transformations of the myriad things have begun, when nothing has yet been forcibly named.

The beginning of the wondrous source—the Dao’s root and subtle origin—originally had no name called “nameless.” Only when Qi descended from this source were Heaven and Earth brought forth. Heaven and Earth depend on one another and serve as the beginning, hence the words “the nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” It is like the Taiji in the Book of Changes giving rise to the Two Modes.

The commentary says that, according to the Erya, “quan-yu” means “beginning.” “Having a name” means that function has taken shape and things have been forcibly named: the myriad transformations have begun, and the myriad things have come into being. The wondrous source extends everywhere and provides for human use; through it, the myriad things are nurtured. That is why it is called the “mother”—for “mother” means one who nurtures.

Thus “nameless” and “having a name” are terms the sage uses to broadly describe function and traces, explaining how source and traces are alike and different. The Dao itself is not bound to “having a name” or “being nameless.”

“Ever free of desire, observe its subtlety; ever having desire, observe its boundaries.”

To be born in stillness is one’s nature; to be stirred by things is the desire of that nature. If one consistently preserves clarity and stillness, releases the heart and spirit, and turns inward to reflect on one’s true nature, one can perceive the wondrous source. But if one does not keep one’s feelings aligned with one’s nature, and instead follows desire into action, one’s nature is lost to desire and one strays from the source of the Dao. One may wish to perceive the wondrous source, yet can see only its boundaries.

“Desire” is the movement of one’s nature: it means that the mind arises in response to external circumstances. If one is consistently free of desire, keeps one’s nature upright and clear, and turns inward to reflect on the source of the Dao, one sees the wondrous source. If one consistently has desire and lets the mind arise in response to circumstances, desire unsettles one’s nature. Trying to perceive the source through desire then loses its harmony and balance, revealing only its boundaries. “Boundaries” means edges or limits.

Another interpretation takes “desire” to mean thought and contemplation—visualizing or keeping the One in mind. To be consistently free of desire means that the nature of the Dao is clear and pure, with no thoughts or contemplations fixed on words; then one perceives the Dao’s subtlety. To consistently have desire means that function arises from the source: teachings are established through words, responses to things lead to free movement, and the world is transformed. In this way, one sees where people ultimately turn. In this interpretation, “boundaries” means what people turn toward.

“These two emerge from the same source but have different names.”

Both of the above arise from the Dao, and so they are called “the same.” They move forth, respond, and function; names are assigned according to their uses, and so the names differ. This refers to the matters discussed above. “These two” means the pairs that each form two: what can be spoken and what can be named; the nameless and the named; freedom from desire and the presence of desire. They are all endowed with the wondrous source, and so are called “the same.” As they descend from the source and are named according to their functions, their names differ. What is the same is called “mysterious”—that is, profound and subtle. “Mysterious” means profound and subtle.

Viewed from the perspective of “root” and “traces,” the names differ: this is a descent from the root into phenomena. Viewed from the perspective of “sameness,” it is profound and wondrous: this is the gathering of phenomena back into the root. Returning to the root is profound and wondrous, so it is called “the Mysterious.” “The Mysterious upon the Mysterious” means “the gateway to the myriad wonders.” Because it does not arise, it is one with the mysterious and wondrous. Yet there is also concern that attachment to “the Mysterious” may become an obstruction, preventing one from forgetting both; so “again mysterious” is invoked to dispel attachment to “the Mysterious.” Understand how to reach desirelessness within desirelessness, and in this way all things can be realized; hence it is called “the gateway to the myriad wonders.” Gathering phenomena back into the root is called profound wonder. If one dwells in this wonder, however, its phenomena still remain, no different from those bearing other names. Thus “again mysterious” is invoked to dispel attachment to “the Mysterious,” so that one does not become stuck in mystery, but forgets both root and traces. This is called non-abiding; with non-abiding, realization is complete. The Commentary’s phrase “the cause of intention” is explained by the Scripture of Western Ascension, which says: “They emerge together but have different names; each form arises on its own. The cause of intention now does not arise; the cause of intention is one with the mysterious and wondrous.” “Desirelessness within desirelessness” means that, because the mind gives rise to desire, one seeks desirelessness. To seek desirelessness is already to be free of the mind of desire. Once there is no desire, there is also no desirelessness. One dispels, then dispels again: this is what is called forgetting all in right contemplation. This is what is meant by the myriad wonders. Though the wonders are many, they all emerge from this gateway; hence it is called “the gateway to the myriad wonders.”

Du Guangting’s Expansive Commentary on the Sagely Meaning: “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao.” The Dao is utterly empty and ultimate: it has neither form nor sound. It is not brought to an end by the cycles of later eons, nor does it begin with Heaven and Earth. It is perfectly encompassing, clear, and still; it has neither beginning nor end. The sage can make manifest its function in bringing life into being, and by tracing its signs, one can realize its root. Thus the sage provisionally names as the Dao its Virtue, which brings life into being. The single word that establishes the teaching points to the Dao’s essence, which is Wuwei (non-action) and formlessness. The two words “can be spoken” point to the Dao’s function of giving rise to life and transforming things. Within these three words, essence and function are established: its essence is wondrous beyond measure, while its function is vast beyond reckoning. Thus it is the wondrous root of the utmost emptiness. It disperses to become the myriad things and is not confined to any one direction; therefore, its function has no fixed direction. The teaching, however, centers on the one Dao, so it makes clear that all things depend on the Dao’s transformations; there is no need to enumerate them all. “High with nothing above it” means that it encompasses all without exception; though high with nothing above it, it does not remain fixed in the heights. “Great with nothing beyond it” means that it extends without limit; though great with nothing beyond it, it does not remain fixed outside. “Passing on” means going forth, reaching the boundless and penetrating everywhere. “Far” means emptying the mind and holding to the One, whereupon the Dao returns. “Returning” means turning back.

This passage cites Chapter 25 of the Daodejing, “There was something formed from chaos,” to support its argument. From this we may infer that the word “constant” refers to the “Dao that is not constant”—that is, the Dao that is not eternally unchanging.

“A name that can be named is not a constant name.” “Name” means a proper designation. Using a single word to mark out a central teaching is the root meaning of “name”; the words “can be named” refer to the traces left by a name. These traces are scattered throughout the myriad things, giving rise to countless distinctions. Only by returning from the traces to the root can one become one with the Dao. Thus the Dao is the root of names, while names are the Dao’s outermost branches. Root and branch generate one another, bringing transformation and nurture to completion.

Here the second chapter of the second part of the Daodejing is cited to clarify the point: when names disperse without limit, they become “not constant names.”

“The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” “Nameless” refers to the subtle root at the utmost limit of emptiness, which has not yet been established and can only be named provisionally. At the beginning of the subtle root, there is neither being nor naming. Only when traces descend from the root do Heaven and Earth come into being. They take it as their source, which is why it is said, “The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” The Great Dao breathes forth primordial Qi and spreads it through the beginnings of the void, becoming the original source of Heaven and Earth.

The one that is neither being nor naming is described in the “Tian Di” chapter of the Zhuangzi: “At the Great Beginning there was nonbeing; there was neither being nor naming.” The Great Beginning is the beginning of nonbeing. Since nonbeing has no name, one cannot question it by invoking the Dao, nor question it by invoking names. It is obscure and silent, remote, and the master of transformation and nurture. Primordial Qi depends on it as its beginning, and the mysterious processes of transformation and nurture receive their life from it. That is why it is said, “The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” Without name or form, it then sends down traces, which gradually divide and differentiate. The first signs of form arise from this; Heaven and Earth then appear, and the patterns of the cosmos are established. Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate) is where physical substance is already present. Once physical substance is present, it divides into the Two Forms; human beings arise among them, completing the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and humanity.

“The named is the mother of the myriad things.” “Myriad transformations” emphasizes their multitude; “the various things” means all things. The Dao is present throughout them all: it dwells even in the tiniest hair, and so can give rise to the Three Powers and serve as the mother of the myriad things. When the Dao abides in things, they live; when it departs, they die. It nurtures them so completely—is it not rightly called their mother? The Great Dao is neither different nor identical, and has neither root nor trace. Only when teachings are provisionally established do root and trace become apparent.

“Always without desire, observe its manifestations.” When a calculating mind is kept in the heart, one’s natural purity is no longer complete and one’s spirit and De are no longer whole; the life one sustains is no longer in harmony. This is what it means to have desire.

If one lets go of the intention to harm others, one can even tread on a tiger’s tail—how much less need one fear dealing with people? This speaks of being without desire. Those who have desires let their eyes and ears roam freely, exhausting their spirit and effort in reasoning things out. As a result, their seeing and hearing grow more confused, and their reasoning more disorderly. They see only the surface of things at the frontier. Those without desire unite spirit with emptiness and Qi with nonbeing; nothing is beyond their reach or understanding. They share in the work of Heaven and Earth and accord with the Great Dao. This is called “contemplating its subtlety.” To contemplate means to survey the world outwardly with the eyes and illuminate the subtle inwardly with spirit: the eyes discern what exists and what does not, while spirit’s illumination accords with stillness beyond description.

The Record of Music says, “Human beings are born in a state of stillness; this is their nature bestowed by Heaven.” Nature is originally clear, still, and free of desire. When things affect us and circumstances give rise to desire, what is felt from outside stirs us within. How could we fail to be careful about what we allow to affect us? Thus the sages established laws to curb evil, rites to restrain disorder, punishments to correct transgressions, and music to check excess. They used the Dao to govern desire and taught the people to honor De and devote themselves to goodness.

“These two come from the same source but have different names”: One Qi divides, and the myriad lives come forth; forms and signs take shape, and the myriad things arise. Their transformations unfold separately, and each gives rise to two. They emerge from nonbeing; this is what is meant by “coming from the same source but having different names.” The Dao becomes manifest, and names are established; once names are established, desire arises. When the Dao can be spoken of and names can be given, the potential for desire begins to stir, and traces arise from their source. “Those” refers to people who gather up these traces: they abandon desire and forget names, returning to the subtle source. They forget the Dao within the Dao and forget names within names; this is called returning to the root. Those who follow their feelings chase desire and forget the root, until they sink into delusion. If they can return to the beginning of things, they may be taught the ultimate Dao.

“Both are called mysterious”: People with desire and those without it alike receive Qi from Heaven and Earth. Those endowed with balanced, harmonious, nourishing Qi become worthy and sage-like, and practice Wuwei; those endowed with turbid and disordered Qi grow dull and foolish, with many desires. If people can cleanse their minds, change their thoughts, clear away desire, and embrace emptiness, they can gather up the traces and return to the root. If everyone cultivates themselves and society becomes simple and harmonious, the spirit of returning to simplicity can reach the ancient age.

“Mysterious upon mysterious, the gateway to all subtle wonders”: Having gathered up the traces and forgotten names, one has attained the subtle. Yet one may become attached even to the subtle, so one must forget it in turn. Forget both root and traces, then forget this very forgetting, and one will accord seamlessly with the Dao. Once desire is dispelled, even freedom from desire must be forgotten. One must neither become attached to being or nonbeing nor cling to the center or the margins. This is the gateway to all subtle wonders.

The Dao is what allows people to let go of and forget every attachment. The “Gate of All Wonders” is another name for the “Heavenly Gate,” the general term for the source from which all things arise. “Nonbeing” means that the myriad things emerge from nonbeing and return to it. It is through their gathering and dispersal, concealment and manifestation, that names such as “coming forth” and “entering” arise. If there is only a name, with no actual, fixed gate, it is called the “Gate of Wuwei (non-action)”—that is, the “gateless gate.” With no gate and no sides, it opens in every direction and extends without limit; this is the wondrous Dao.

“Correct contemplation” refers to the stages by which practice gradually realizes entry into the Dao. The “seeing with the eyes” mentioned earlier is contemplation in the sense of reading and examining; “spiritual illumination” is contemplation in the sense of contemplative practice. The Dao also teaches people through the Three Vehicles, proceeding from the shallow to the profound. From the initial resolve to the ultimate realization, practitioners leave the ordinary behind and attain sagehood. Thus there are fourteen grades of contemplative practice.

The Lesser Vehicle’s initial gate has three methods of contemplation. The first is contemplation of provisional things, which concerns relative distinctions; the second is contemplation of real things, which concerns the illumination of the mind; the third is contemplation of pervasive emptiness, which enters non-action.

Contemplative practice in the Middle Vehicle has four stages: first, contemplation of impermanence; second, entering into permanence; third, entering into what is neither impermanent nor non-impermanent; and fourth, entering into what is beyond permanence.

Contemplative practice in the Great Vehicle also has four stages: first, contemplation of wondrous being; second, contemplation of wondrous nonbeing; third, contemplation of the profound within the profound; and fourth, contemplation beyond the profound within the profound.

The Gate of Sagehood has three further contemplations: first, contemplation of true emptiness; second, contemplation of true penetration; and third, contemplation of true nonbeing. By refining the mind through these contemplative practices, one proceeds from being to nonbeing, and from the coarse to the wondrous. Having attained the wondrous, one forgets the wondrous and thereby accords with the Gate of Wuwei.

Wuwei and action, the Dao that can be spoken of and the constant Dao: their relationship as essence and function is clear. Here, the Gate of Essence and Function is divided into five categories.

First, non-action is the essence and action is the function: the Dao that can be spoken of is the essence, for the Dao itself has neither form nor name; what can be named is the function, for naming already involves form and appearance.

Second, action is the essence and non-action is the function: a room, a cart, and a vessel take their tangible form as essence, while the “nothing” within them is their function—their emptiness, their absence.

Third, non-action is both essence and function: the spontaneous is the essence, and conditions and causes are the function; both ultimately return to nonbeing.

Fourth, action is both essence and function: Heaven and Earth are the essence, and the myriad things are the function; both belong to being.

Fifth, neither being nor nonbeing is the essence, and neither being nor nonbeing is the function: the Dao is the essence, and De (Virtue/Power) is the function.

The Gate of Origin and Manifestation is further divided into… (the original scroll continues below).

Plain-language interpretation

(Earlier passage)

This can be explained by comparing two perspectives. One takes Wuwei (non-action) as fundamental and Youwei (deliberate action) as its visible trace; the terms “nameless” and “named” can also be reversed, with Youwei as fundamental and Wuwei as its trace. Each side sheds light on the other. All things originally have their own existence, yet in the end they return to nonbeing.

The source of the Mysterious is clear and still; its wondrous root is deep and far beyond understanding. It cannot be grasped through words or images, nor can it be simply defined as “being” or “nonbeing.” So when we try to pursue the principle to its utmost, words often fail. Only when the Way reaches its limit is there a need to establish teachings, guide ordinary people, and show them the steps. Yet the key lies in quieting the mind to receive a response and accord with the Way. Gradual and sudden approaches depend on each person’s circumstances. One must not cling rigidly to doctrine, get bogged down in words, or become trapped in the outward forms of learning. Those who sincerely bathe in this Virtue should strive diligently.

The Dao Lord said:

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name.”

The Beginningless One said: The Dao itself cannot be spoken; once spoken, it is no longer the Dao itself. The Dao should not be given a name casually, either. If it could be spoken or named, it would be like ordinary things, changing with the seasons, rising and falling in turn; it would not be what is truly constant. The constant Dao and the constant name have their own source and root. They existed before Heaven and Earth were born and have endured since ancient times. Fuxi received it and inherited the Mother of Qi; the Queen Mother of the West received it and dwelt at Shaoguang, knowing neither its beginning nor its end.

The nameless is the time before Heaven and Earth were divided. This is also what Zhuangzi meant by saying that it gives birth to Heaven and Earth. Before Heaven and Earth existed, who could give them a name? Hence the saying, “The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” Once Heaven and Earth came to be, all things were transformed and born; hence the saying, “The named is the mother of the myriad things.”

Through constant non-desire, one can observe its subtle manifestations. Zhuangzi said: To establish oneself in “constant nonbeing” is to set up no thing at all; this is called constant nonbeing. To abolish no thing is called constant being. Constant nonbeing belongs to the higher realm of principle: it does not seek through traces and is the most refined of all under Heaven, so one observes its mystery. Constant being belongs to the lower realm of the world: it does not lose sight of change and is the most changeable of all under Heaven, so one observes its subtle manifestations.

The two realms of being and nonbeing contain the wondrous principle within them. When great wisdom sees both together, nothing is beyond its reach. Amid the indistinct and elusive, there are images and things. Lesser wisdom, acting out of self-interest, is confined to one corner; it rejects being and clings to emptiness, pursues the branches and forgets the root. Thus the Way became divided among the people of the world.

At their utmost, these two—being and nonbeing—are one; this is called the Mysterious. The Dao has no form, yet it is fully revealed in subtle manifestations and mystery. Things and self share the same root; this is called one Qi, and so both are called the Mysterious. Those confused about this abandon delusion in search of truth, often moving farther from the truth without realizing that “being a thing” is merely a difference in name.

Mysterious upon mysterious: this is the gateway to all wonders. The Suwen says: “The Mysterious gives birth to the Mysterious.”

A Discussion of “The Mysterious”

The word “mysterious” refers to the level that governs the myriad kinds of things and is too wondrous to put into words. A level deeper still: what is wondrous within the wondrous is called the dark mystery (xuan; “dark” refers to the color of the sky, a deep and shadowy hue). What can reveal visible forms is called “manifest.” But those who use visible forms to establish visible forms have never truly reached the dark mystery. The dark mystery within the dark mystery is what is meant by the principle of “forming forms.” The wondrous and mysterious principle is present in all things: how Heaven moves, how Earth rests in place, how human beings possess spirit, and how dynasties flourish across the ages all arise from the wondrous; and the wondrous, in turn, arises from the dark mystery. That is why Laozi speaks of “the gateway to all wonders.”

Confucius wrote the Classic of Changes (Yijing), but it is only in the “Discussion of the Trigrams” that he speaks of the wondrous. Laozi, by contrast, places it at the very beginning. The words of these two sages connect from beginning to end.

Wang Jiepu (Wang Anshi) says

“Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao”: the Dao that can be put into words is not the enduring Dao. “Constant” means, as Zhuangzi puts it, without ancient or present, without end or beginning. The Dao cannot be spoken of in the first place. If it can be spoken of, it leaves a trace; and where there is a trace, there is not what I call the enduring Dao.

“A name that can be named is not the constant name”: the Dao is originally nameless. If the Dao can be given a name, that is not the enduring name. Names arise from distinguishing “being” and “nonbeing,” hence the named and the nameless. The nameless is the mother of the myriad things; the named is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. Only once there is the beginning of “name” can one speak of the mother of the myriad things. “Mother” means that which gives birth and nurtures.

The Complete Explanation says: “nonbeing” belongs to the realm beyond physical form, extending from the Great Beginning through the Initial Beginning to the Supreme Ultimate. The Initial Beginning gives rise to Heaven and Earth; this is called “the beginning of Heaven and Earth” and belongs to the realm of physical form. After Heaven and Earth exist, the myriad things are born; this is called “the mother of the myriad things”—“mother” means that from which they are born.

Miscellaneous explanations: The nameless is the Initial Beginning, and so is the father of Heaven and Earth. The named is the Supreme Ultimate, and so is the mother of the myriad things. Heaven and Earth and the myriad things form one whole, while the myriad things and Heaven and Earth can also be seen as distinct. If one speaks of Heaven and Earth in terms of the father, the myriad things can be understood; if one speaks of the myriad things in terms of the mother, Heaven and Earth can also be understood.

“Constantly free of desire, one observes its wonders”: the source of the Dao lies in nonbeing, so one constantly holds to nonbeing in order to observe its wonders. “Constantly having desire, one observes its boundaries”: the function of the Dao continually returns to being, so one constantly abides in being in order to observe its boundaries and signs.

The “Explanation of the Characters” by Wang Yu says: “Heaven bends toward the northwest to form ‘nonbeing’”—characters may be explained by reference to up and down, east and west, north and south, left and right, or before and after. Wang Yu takes the northwest as the position of Qian, but the discussion of the myriad things… Note: The cited material brings together explanations by Wang Anshi and others of the opening chapter of the Dao De Jing, including the terms “mysterious,” “dark mystery,” and “gateway to all wonders,” and compares them with the familiar chapter text. The final passage, “Explanation of the Characters,” appears incomplete in the original; the rendering above follows only the words that survive.

A Plain-Language Interpretation

This brings us to “the source of beginnings” and “when it first began.” If we speak only of a beginning, what remains is simply “nonbeing.” Only when we develop the idea further and draw out its implications can we speak of “being.”

Thus it is said: Only by constantly holding to a mind without desire can one behold the subtle and mysterious; only by constantly keeping a mind with desire can one behold what is manifest. The subtle and the manifest ultimately belong to the same level, and both are called the mysterious. Mystery upon mystery is the gateway to all wonders. A person cannot remain forever in “nonbeing,” or they will have no way to behold its subtlety; nor can they cling forever to “being,” or they will have no way to behold what is manifest. By beholding both the subtle and the manifest, one understands that “being” and “nonbeing” arise from the same source and return to the same mystery.

The Full Meaning

The Dao is originally one whole, but explanations often divide it into two aspects: these “two” are what we call “being” and “nonbeing.” “Nonbeing” is the root of the Dao, what is called the subtle; “being” is the Dao’s outermost reach, its manifestation, what is called the manifest. The root of the Dao comes from a place of emptiness and obscurity, while its outermost reach is dispersed among forms, names, measures, and numbers. These two are originally one Dao, yet people of the world are often obscured by one side and believe the two are different. Emptiness and obscurity are commonly expressed in terms of “nonbeing,” while forms, names, measures, and numbers are commonly situated in terms of “being.” If one believes that “being” and “nonbeing” cannot coexist and that one must choose between them, one becomes obscured and cannot see the Dao in its entirety.

“Nonbeing” names the beginning of Heaven and Earth; “being” names the mother of the myriad things. They are certainly distinct in name and appearance, but they can still serve one another. “Being” and “nonbeing” stand opposed like east and west, yet neither can cancel the other. Without “being,” “nonbeing” cannot be made apparent; without “nonbeing,” “being” cannot arise. Being and nonbeing alternate and emerge in turn, never departing from the Dao. This is what the sages call the spiritual. The Book of Changes says: “Without thought or action, still and unmoving, it responds and thereby penetrates the causes of all things under Heaven.” This speaks precisely of that.

The sages of antiquity used freedom from thought and action to behold the subtle, and used their responsiveness to the causes of all things under Heaven to behold the manifest. To behold both the subtle and the manifest without favoring either—who but one of utmost spiritual power could achieve this? The sages’ way can be seen here: they beheld the subtle in order to fathom the mysterious workings, and beheld the manifest in order to understand change. Fathoming the spiritual and understanding transformation: the way of Heaven and Earth is no more than this. When the subtle and the manifest reach their utmost, they become one; this is called “the mysterious.” The substance and function of “being” and “nonbeing” both emerge from the Dao. Yet scholars in the world often treat “nonbeing” alone as mysterious, clinging to one side and failing to see the Dao from which “being” and “nonbeing” arise together.

Refinement and coarseness, action and non-action: Ordinary people often know only one side and fail to see that both actually come from the Dao. That is why Laozi says they may be called equally mysterious—both aspects, being and nonbeing, are called “mysterious.”

Here, the two arise from the same source but have different names: both emerge from Shen (the Dao’s wondrous function, its numinous and luminous aspect), but one is called being and the other nonbeing.

A sage experiences this directly and can therefore make De clear and luminous. By abiding in nonbeing, the sage can perceive the wondrous—the deep reality that cannot be named. By abiding in being, the sage can discern its manifest traces—the clear, graspable beginnings. Ultimately, the sage transcends the names and forms of both being and nonbeing.

The sage can know what lies at the root of Heaven and Earth and respond to the ordering of the myriad things. This is what the sage relies on.

The form of the character “玄” (xuan): Above is 幺, meaning small or fine; below it resembles 入, meaning to enter. When 幺 and 入 are joined, they form 玄. In “the two may be called equally mysterious,” “the two” refers to being and nonbeing.

玄 originally means black, with a tinge of red. The north is black and belongs to Yin, yet in the correspondences of direction and Yin-Yang, 玄 is also used for Yang. Thus the Book of Changes says, “On Earth, Kun is black,” and also, “Heaven is dark, and Earth is yellow.” When Shun speaks of mysterious De, he means the deep, unshowy virtue of a sage in a low position.

Su Yingbin (Su Zhe) says:

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao”—this does not mean that it is not the Dao, but that the Dao that can be put into words cannot be taken as the eternal, unchanging Dao. Only what cannot be spoken is the constant Dao.

Benevolence, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom all belong to the Dao that can be spoken. But benevolence cannot fully encompass righteousness, nor can ritual fully encompass wisdom. This shows that what can be spoken is not constant. Only what cannot be spoken is benevolence where benevolence is called for, righteousness where righteousness is called for, ritual where ritual is called for, and wisdom where wisdom is called for. These can all change, but the Dao itself remains constant and unchanging. This is why what cannot be spoken can endure.

“The name that can be named is not the constant name”—if the Dao itself cannot be spoken, how much less can it be given a fixed name? Every name belongs to the aspect that can be spoken. Once names are established, round and square, curved and straight become distinct, and they are no longer constant.

“The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth”—looking back from the manifest traces to their origins, Heaven and Earth take shape when there is no name. Only once Heaven and Earth have taken their places do names begin to be established.

“The named is the mother of the myriad things”—the myriad things unfold from what has a name. As they grow and multiply, their names become too numerous to record.

Thus, the nameless is the substance of the Dao, while the named is the function of the Dao.

The sage embodies the Dao and puts it to use for all under Heaven: entering the realm of the myriad beings while constantly abiding in nonbeing, in order to observe the wondrous; holding to the utmost nonbeing while constantly engaging with being, in order to observe its manifest traces. To act only among the manifest traces without knowing the wondrous is to be coarse.

If one does not abide in the mysterious and remains only with the “subtle,” without understanding the “bounds” (the limits and first signs), one may be refined yet fail to comprehend. These two are originally one in their ultimate reach, and together they are called the “mysterious.” To speak only in terms of appearances, dividing things into being and nonbeing, is already to separate them into two sides. How could one then know that nonbeing turns into being, and being returns to nonbeing? In truth, they have never been anything but one. Their names differ, but their source is one. To know that their source is one is to know the mysterious. Whatever extends far without reaching an ultimate limit must be dark and obscure in color; thus Laozi often uses “mysterious” to mean the ultimate. “Mystery upon mystery” is the gate of all wonders. To speak of the mysterious is already to reach the ultimate, but if the mind still clings to the thought of “the mysterious,” only “mystery upon mystery” can bring the inquiry to its end; nothing can be added beyond it. It is where all subtle principles emerge.

Lü Jifu says:

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao.” Whatever Dao can be spoken of in the world is indeed Dao, but if it depends on a particular time or is subject to limits, it is not the constant Dao. “The name that can be named is not the constant name.” Each nameable name belongs to the myriad things, which all return to their roots. Returning to the root is called stillness; stillness is called returning to one’s destiny; returning to one’s destiny is called constancy. When the practice of the Dao reaches constancy, the mind settles and the body is released, and self and things are both forgotten. Who, then, could fix in place “the Dao that can be spoken” or “the name that can be named”? The constant Dao cannot be spoken of, hence the saying, “to the end of one’s life, one is not in danger.” The constant name cannot be grasped, hence the saying that from ancient times to the present, its name has never departed. This never-departing, never-endangered state is called the constant Dao.

“The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” The nameless is the Dao, from which Heaven and Earth begin. At the beginning, being and nonbeing were present; there was nonbeing without nonbeing. Once there is a name, even “the One” cannot be obtained. If being and nonbeing are named, then the One arises from them: there is the One before it takes shape. Though it has no form, it already has a name. To name it “the One” makes the namer a second; the two together with the One make three, and from this the myriad things arise in profusion. Hence the saying, “the named is the mother of the myriad things.”

“Constantly without desire, one observes its subtlety.” Without desire, one cleanses and purifies the mysterious mirror, leaving it without blemish, and thereby observes its subtlety. Thus, constant absence of desire may be called “small.” “Constantly with desire, one observes its bounds.” With desire, one can see the first signs. To know constancy is called clarity; with clarity, nothing remains unseen. Thus only “constancy” makes observation possible. Observing subtlety without desire and observing bounds with desire are both methods and states of practice understood through constancy.

All things arise together and grow in profusion. Through this, one can observe the boundaries and first signs they reveal. Thus all things return somewhere, yet do not know who governs them; this may be called “great.”

“Subtle” (fine and formless) and “manifest” (evident and perceptible) are, at their furthest reaches, actually one and the same. Together they are called “mysterious.” Only by looking from the “small” can one see the subtle; only by looking from the “great” can one see the manifest. When they come to light, they are originally one, though they bear different names. Their names differ, but they have never truly been divided. Whether one follows them back to their origin through “desire” or “the absence of desire,” one cannot trace them there. This inability to trace them shows that they arise just as they do; hence the phrase, “together they are called mysterious.”

“Mysterious” originally refers to a deep black color. At the level of the One, black and red are no different; the color of Heaven is close to mysterious, and Yin and Yang are joined within the One. Sharing in the One is indeed subtle, but finding subtlety in the One is not yet finding it in the many; finding subtlety in oneself is not yet finding it in things. At “mystery within mystery,” even “sameness” can no longer be grasped. Once sameness cannot be held fast, then the One and the many, self and things, are all subtle without exception. This is the source of the subtlety of all things.

Lu Nongshi says: The Dao De Jing states, “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao; the name that can be named is not the constant name.” The “constant name” takes having no fixed form as its substance; the “constant Dao” takes having no form or substance as its function. To be without direction means to be nowhere absent; to be without substance means to be capable of doing anything. Once there is a Dao that can be spoken or a name that can be established, it is no longer what is meant by “without direction” or “without substance.”

“The nameless” is the origin of Heaven and Earth; “the named” is the mother of the myriad things. From “mother” one can know “origin” as father; from “origin” one can know “mother” as the governing source. This is the meaning of the earlier passage speaking of the origin of Heaven and Earth and the later passage speaking of the mother of the myriad things.

Only through “constant absence of desire” can one observe the subtle; only through “constant desire” can one observe the manifest. The subtle is the root of the Dao; the manifest is its outermost branch. The sage observes the subtle through constant absence, without desire; the sage observes the manifest through constant presence, with desire. The subtle lies within, at the center; the coarse lies in the manifest, on the surface. The earlier statement that one desires to observe the subtle and the later statement that one desires to observe the manifest also mirror one another.

At their furthest reaches, these two are “mysterious.” If “absence” means only an absence opposed to “presence,” then it is not “constant absence.” Constant absence is not an absence defined by opposition, nor is it opposed to “presence.”

Interpretation of the Scripture

Being and nonbeing in opposition: What is called “constant being” is not being in the sense of something that truly exists. It means “non-action”—a kind of being that is not opposed to nonbeing.

Not opposed to nonbeing: What is called “non-action, not opposed to nonbeing” is not being in the sense of something that truly exists; what is called “non-action, not opposed to being” is not nonbeing in the sense of something that truly exists. Thus “constant nonbeing” is true nonbeing, not false nonbeing; “constant being” is wondrous being, not coarse being. The two come from the same source and are both called “mystery.” Mystery is the underlying reality of the wondrous; the wondrous is the functioning of the mystery. The Dao reaches the utmost mystery and subtlety. Human beings are the gateway to all wonders, entering and emerging through it.

Zhuangzi says: “Open the Heaven of Heaven, but do not open the Heaven of man.” To open the Heaven of Heaven is to follow nature; to open the Heaven of man is to follow human contrivance. “Mystery within mystery”—what Zhuangzi calls “essence within essence” is the gateway to all wonders; what he calls “spirit within spirit” is the utmost depth of mystery.

Wang Yuanze says: “‘The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao.’ The Dao is the way by which all things come to be. In its essence, it is essence; in its function, it is function. Nameless and traceless, it is present everywhere: this is the Dao. Thus the sage’s words usually take up only one aspect. Though they address one aspect, they differ from the teachings of the various schools: they do not depart from principle and are suited to their time. The Dao that can be spoken is a Dao that changes in response to the times; as the times shift, the Dao must also adapt. The transformations of creation move unseen and never pause for an instant: what is right today may be wrong tomorrow. Yet narrow-minded scholars seize upon literary ornament and make it the root of the Dao, or mistake a thatched hut for the dwelling of a sage. Laozi sought to dispel this obscuration and inquire into the highest principle. He therefore makes his opening chapter clear: words spoken in the present are still not constant words.

“‘A name that can be named is not a constant name.’ Names arise from things as they are; things have form and number, and once form and number are established, decline follows. How, then, can they be constant? Only by recognizing what is not constant can one arrive at what is truly constant. The nameless is the root—the mother—of Heaven and Earth. Receiving its endowment from nonbeing, things take form through being; hence the phrases ‘the beginning of Heaven and Earth’ and ‘the mother of the myriad things.’ The Book of Changes says, ‘After Heaven and Earth came to be, the myriad things came to be’—this sequence accords with the Book of Changes. Since we speak of things arising within the expanse that covers and supports them, Heaven and Earth are placed first. But things and Heaven and Earth have no true priority over one another. Pushed to the furthest point, being and nonbeing share one substance; the terms ‘beginning’ and ‘mother’ are only metaphors. Moreover, though Heaven and Earth are vast, their endowment and formation remain within the realm of being and nonbeing. That Laozi speaks here specifically of ‘the mother of the myriad things’ shows what he considers most important.”

Note: The passage above discusses lines from chapter one of the Dao De Jing, including “The Dao that can be spoken is not the constant Dao” and “The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” It also cites Zhuangzi’s distinction between the Heaven of Heaven and the Heaven of man, the “gateway to all wonders,” and the Song dynasty scholar Wang Yuanze’s interpretation of “constant Dao,” “constant name,” and “beginning/mother.”

This passage discusses the concepts of “being,” “nonbeing,” “mystery,” “manifestation,” and “the dark mystery” in the Dao De Jing, and connects Laozi’s teachings with the Buddhist idea of form and emptiness. Its general meaning is as follows.

One might put it this way: simply realize one’s nature fully. By continually remaining free of desire, one can observe from “manifestation”—what appears and begins to take shape—through to a deeper level.

Laozi’s ideas of being and nonbeing and the Buddhist ideas of form and emptiness are really one and the same, though they are expressed in a particular order and at different levels. When people speak of “nonbeing,” they often set aside “being” and seek some separate nonbeing. That amounts to positing something beyond being, so how could it count as true nonbeing? When they establish “being,” then, that being is not actually fixed or substantial. Realizing this is what leads to true nonbeing. Being and nonbeing share a single underlying reality; the difference lies only in the standpoint. From the perspective of “being,” one can see only “manifestation.” To see “mystery,” one must understand that the source is nonbeing, yet the nonbeing of this original source has never been apart from being. Thus the scripture says both “constantly free of desire, observe its mystery” and “constantly have desire, observe its manifestations.” These two terms show that being and nonbeing cannot replace one another: nonbeing is true being, and being is true nonbeing.

To speak of “manifestation” is to recognize that “mystery” is deeper; to speak of “mystery” is to recognize that “manifestation” is comparatively superficial. These two ways of speaking refer to the same underlying reality, which is called “the dark mystery.” Being and nonbeing are originally one, not two unrelated terms. Beginners may feel that being is less subtle than nonbeing. But once they understand the body of the Dao, they see that both being and nonbeing are ultimate truths, originally without distinction between them. This is what “the gateway to all mysteries” points to: the Dao is one, yet speech often divides it into two aspects.

At the level of the physical world, Yang is esteemed and Yin is lesser; at the level beyond the physical, Yin comes first and Yang follows. The deepest level of the Dao is called both “mystery” and “the dark mystery.” “Mystery” leans toward inner virtue; “the dark mystery” originally carries the sense of “form.” Form marks an extreme limit, yet there is still a level beyond what form can reach. Hence the phrase “dark upon dark.” Each thing has its own mystery, and all things emerge from this source; therefore it is called “the gateway to all mysteries.”

The Dao is one, yet explanations often divide it into two. What are these two? Being and nonbeing. Nonbeing is the root of the Dao, what is called “mystery”; being is the Dao’s outermost expression, what is called “manifestation.” The root of the Dao arises from emptiness and obscurity; its outermost expressions spread among names, measures, numbers, and forms. These are both one Dao, though people often regard them as separate things. The side of emptiness and obscurity is usually discussed in terms of “nonbeing”; the side of forms, names, measures, and numbers is usually discussed in terms of “being.” If one believes that being and nonbeing cannot coexist, one becomes attached to one side and fails to see the whole.

“Nonbeing is the beginning of Heaven and Earth; being is the mother of the myriad things.” There is a distinction in their names, but they have always served one another. Being and nonbeing are like opposites, yet neither can cancel out the other: without being, nonbeing cannot be made apparent; without nonbeing, being cannot arise.

The myriad changes, appearing and withdrawing, cycling back and forth, have never departed from the Great Dao. This is what the sages call “spirit” (Shen). The Book of Changes says: without thought or deliberation, without action yet bringing things to completion; still and unmoving, yet responding when touched, it penetrates the principles of all things under Heaven. This is precisely what is meant.

The sages of antiquity often contemplated the subtle “constant” through “thoughtless and actionless” stillness, and contemplated the manifest “limit” through “responding to what is felt and thereby penetrating the workings of all things under Heaven.” To grasp both the subtle and the manifest without leaning to either side—who but spirit could achieve this?

From this we can understand the sages’ way: contemplating the subtle is a means of plumbing the depths of spirit; contemplating the manifest is a means of knowing change. What in the way of Heaven and Earth could surpass plumbing the depths of spirit and knowing change? Yet contemplating the subtle is only a way to fathom spirit; it is not to “become” spirit. Spirit itself has never departed from either the subtle or the manifest, while those two names cannot fully describe it. Hence Laozi says, “The two emerge together but bear different names.” They are the same because both emerge from spirit; they differ because they bear the names “being” and “nonbeing.”

The sages understand this and use the subtle workings of spirit to make their De shine forth: resting in nonbeing allows them to perceive the subtle; resting in being allows them to know the manifest; in the end, they transcend the names “being” and “nonbeing.” Those in high positions use this to know the root of Heaven and Earth; those below use it to respond to and govern the myriad things. All depend on this approach.

Laozi’s words may be said to accord with the Book of Changes. Yet he was never placed alongside Confucius and Mencius. Why? The sages, when it came to the Dao, did not wish to say much. Whatever they did say was in response to the changes of the world, and addressed people of middling ability who had not yet awakened to the Dao. Though their way embraces both being and nonbeing, when they speak, they explain being in detail and treat nonbeing briefly. The Book of Songs, the Book of Documents, the Book of Rites, the Book of Music, and the Spring and Autumn Annals all elucidate “being.” As for “nonbeing,” only the Book of Changes discusses it. And the Book of Changes must conceal its account within the images of the lines, the judgments, and the language of good and ill fortune, regret and distress. It lets students look from the top down, see how fully it addresses things, and grasp “being”; then look from the bottom up, see how it transcends practical forms, and grasp “nonbeing.” Thus, the more the wise read, the more confident they become in their understanding; the more the foolish try to peer into it, the more unfathomable it seems.

Plain-Language Interpretation

(Earlier discussion)

This way, one will not be forced to claim some kind of “attainment” while still in doubt. People often think to themselves: “The Dao is wondrous and profound, beyond the reach of those of average intelligence. Those who can reach it will understand for themselves without being told.” If one fails to consider this and insists on explaining the subtle Dao, one will only leave students sitting there, growing more confused the longer they listen.

Laozi knew that “being” and “nonbeing” give rise to one another, and so regarded “nonbeing” as fundamental. His discussion is detailed when it comes to “nonbeing” and brief when it comes to “being.” But “nonbeing” cannot be spoken of in the first place, so how could one discuss it at length? Laozi differed from Confucius and Mencius, while Wang Bi failed to grasp Confucius’ meaning. Wang Bi took “the nameless” to mean “the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” Yet Shen (spirit) is the hardest thing in Heaven and Earth to name. Once people have called it Shen, what truly nameless thing remains? He also took “having desires” to mean “to observe its boundary.” But desire harms one’s nature: the Book of Changes says to restrain anger and curb desire, and Laozi too says that not displaying desirable things keeps the heart from becoming unsettled. If one clings to desire, one will sink into ceaseless cycles, lose oneself in chasing external things, and forget what one should hold to. How, then, could one “observe the boundary”? It is laughable to claim, without distinguishing these principles, that one understands the whole of Heaven and Earth and the broad outlook of the ancients.

Liu Zhongping says:

From “The Dao that can be spoken” to “the mother of the myriad things”: the Great Void depends on the Dao; Heaven and Earth depend on the myriad things; and the myriad things depend on Heaven and Earth. What has something on which it depends is not the so-called Dao itself, but the accumulated manifestations of the Dao.

That which is utterly free of being and nameless is the Dao. That which has left behind nonbeing and namelessness is the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji). That which has entered into being and acquired a name is Heaven and Earth. The Supreme Ultimate is obscure and still as spirit, beyond recognition by name: this is the Dao’s subtlety. Heaven and Earth appear in formed images, which can be named: this is the Dao’s boundary. Both lie beyond ordinary speech.

What is observed through “constant non-desire” is only the subtle; what is observed through “constant desire” is only the boundary. Only observation without desire can reach the mysterious.

One might say: “That is not what this means. ‘Nonbeing’ names the beginning of Heaven and Earth, while ‘being’ names the mother of the myriad things. With ‘constant nonbeing,’ one wishes to observe its subtlety; with ‘constant being,’ one wishes to observe its boundary.”

The following is a plain-language explanation of this passage from Collected Meanings of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue (Daode Zhenjing Jiyi), faithful to the meaning of the original and intended to be easy to read.

“Subtlety” and “existence” are set in relation to one another. This means that one should use “constant existence” to contemplate the Dao’s manifestations—the subtle details and discernible traces. Reading the phrase as “not so” is a misreading. One cannot say that “existence” may be called the mother of the myriad things, while “nonexistence” cannot be called the beginning of Heaven and Earth. Nor can one say that “constant existence” alone allows one to contemplate the Dao’s manifestations, while “constant nonexistence” allows one to contemplate only its subtlety and not its manifestations.

Where there is a beginning, there is an end; one cannot say that “nonexistence” has neither beginning nor end. Constant nonexistence leads to nonexistence, so one cannot say that “existence” is fixed and unchanging. Only by understanding this can one be said to know the mysterious.

“Constantly free of desire” is the gateway to the Dao. “Constant nonexistence” and “constant existence” mean that nonexistence and existence work together; one must not take only one side. Constant nonexistence is used to contemplate the Dao’s subtlety—its deep, hidden root. Constant existence is used to contemplate the Dao’s manifestations—its outer details and first signs. Subtlety lies at the root, manifestations at the extremities. One sees the Dao only by contemplating both root and extremities.

The constant name takes what has no direction or limit as its substance; the constant Dao takes what has no substance as its function. What has no direction or limit is everywhere; what has no substance can do anything. If the Dao could be spoken of in some particular way, it would not be what is meant by having no direction or limit. If it could be given some particular name, it would not be what is meant by having no substance. Hence it is said: “A Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao; a name that can be named is not the constant name.”

The Great Beginning is the state of “existence and nonexistence, nonexistence without existence or name, nonexistence without existence or name.” The Great Origin is the father of Heaven and Earth; hence it is said, “The nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” Heaven and Earth are the mother of the myriad things; hence it is said, “The named is the mother of the myriad things.” To speak of the mother is to know that the beginning is the father; to speak of the beginning is to know that the mother is what is born from it. The passage above discusses the beginning of Heaven and Earth, and the passage below the mother of the myriad things.

The principles of the world include the Dao and the constant Dao, names and constant names. The “nonexistence” of the Great Beginning is simply “nonexistence.” The phrases “nonexistence without existence” and “nonexistence without a name” refer only to the level of “name.” Existence and nonexistence are names that can be named; thus “the nameless” is only the beginning of Heaven and Earth, and beyond it lies an even more fundamental ancestor.

Subtlety is the root of the Dao; its manifestations are the extremities. The sage uses constant nonexistence to contemplate subtlety and constant existence to contemplate manifestations. Hence it is said: “Constantly free of desire, one may contemplate its subtlety; constantly having desire, one may contemplate its manifestations.” Subtlety lies within, while what is coarse lies in the manifestations. Speak of subtlety and one knows that manifestations are coarse; speak of manifestations and one knows that subtlety is within. This is the meaning of the earlier phrase “desire to contemplate its subtlety” and the later phrase “desire to contemplate its manifestations.”

This passage is a Song-dynasty Daoist synthesis of interpretations of the first chapter of the Laozi. It repeatedly distinguishes “nonexistence and existence,” “beginning and mother,” “subtlety and manifestations,” and “constant nonexistence and constant existence.” It follows a line of commentary associated with Heshang Gong and Wang Bi, while also emphasizing Daoist cosmological terms such as “Great Beginning” and “ancestor.”

On the Relativity of “Being” and “Nonbeing”

What is called “being” is being in relation to “nonbeing.” “Constant nonbeing” does not mean treating nonbeing as absolute nonbeing; it means not treating being as absolute being.

What is called “nonbeing” is nonbeing in relation to “being.” “Constant being” does not mean treating being as absolute being; it means not treating nonbeing as absolute nonbeing.

“Relative” means this: if you do not treat nonbeing as absolute nonbeing, it is not true being; if you do not treat being as absolute being, it is not true nonbeing.

So “constant nonbeing” means true nonbeing, not treating nonbeing as constant being; “constant being” means wondrous being, not treating being as constant nonbeing. The two come from the same source and ultimately return to mystery.

Zhuangzi said, “Establish it through constant nonbeing and being; speak of it through the Great One.” Here, “constant nonbeing and being” should be read as “constant nonbeing, constant being.” “Constant nonbeing” is established in order to observe the subtle mystery; “constant being” is established in order to observe its boundaries. Since we wish to observe the subtle mystery, we establish “constant nonbeing”; since we wish to observe the boundaries, we establish “constant being.”

When both subtle mystery and boundaries are forgotten, and we observe without desire, what is called “establishing it through constant nonbeing and being” has already merged into oneness. This is what “mystery upon mystery” means; it is more than simply saying that both are called mysterious. Mystery is the substance of the subtle; the subtle is the function of mystery, and the subtle arises from what is not mysterious.

Liu Jiji’s Commentary

“The Dao that can be spoken of is not the constant Dao”: once the Dao is expressed in words, it is only a Dao that can be spoken of, not the eternal, unchanging Dao. The “constant Dao” cannot be spoken of; this is what the earlier phrase “constant without desire” means. The “Dao” is that to which nothing is impossible; this is what the earlier phrase “constant with desire” means.

As the world’s way declined, Laozi sought to remedy it through “the One.” He accommodated all things and so did not cling to his own views, using only “constancy” to understand the changes of all things under heaven.

“The name that can be named is not the constant name”: provisionally giving it the name “Great,” that name is the name “Great,” and also the word “Dao.” The “constant name” cannot be spoken of; what cannot be spoken of is nameless. A “name” is that to which nothing is impossible; what can be named is named. Here lies the mystery within names.

“Nameless” is “the beginning of Heaven and Earth.” Here, only names are discussed, not the Dao, because one can move from a name to the written character, and so “nameless” may also be understood through what is seen. “The beginning of Heaven and Earth” is utterly open and merged in obscurity—where, then, could any so-called name be found? Once names exist, one need only accommodate all things. Things come into being through what is possible, moving from “nonbeing and being” to “being and possibility.” Thus the Dao is called “the mother of the myriad things.”

“Constant without desire” is for observing its boundaries; “constant without desire” is the “constant Dao” mentioned earlier. “Constant with desire” is the “constant with desire” mentioned earlier.

Collected Interpretations of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue: A Plain-Language Reading

The Main Meaning of the Scripture

“The Dao that can be spoken” and “constant nonbeing”

The “Dao” that can be explained clearly speaks of ordinary, constant “nonbeing”; what cannot be spoken of in that way speaks of ordinary, constant “desireful being.” The text below says “constant namelessness,” not “constant desirelessness,” and “I am without desire,” not “desire has no desire.” Even “desireful being” returns without exception to what is “constant.” To observe the subtle through “constant desirelessness” is to observe “the beginning of Heaven and Earth”; to observe the bounds through “constant desireful being” is to observe “the mother of the myriad things.”

What “observe” means

To “observe” means to have an eye in the mind; it is not merely seeing with the physical eyes.

The mysterious, desirelessness, and desireful being

Both of these aspects—desirelessness and desireful being—can be called “mysterious.” Their names differ, but in truth they both come from the Dao, because “nonbeing” and “constancy” are both aspects of the Dao. The mysterious is dark and profound; it is the Dao’s “form”—its manifestation. The Yellow Emperor said: “In Heaven it is the mysterious; in human beings it is the Dao.” The Dao cannot be seen, yet it has “form.” This is what Wang Bi means when he speaks of “observing its subtlety” and “observing its bounds.”

Both are called mysterious

Since they are said to be “the same,” they are collectively called mysterious. The mysterious and the speakable, constant Dao depend on and reveal one another. The mysterious within the mysterious is the gateway to all subtlety.

“Mysterious again” and form

“Mysterious again”: form and appearance, as well as what is without form, cannot be fully observed in any single way. The mysterious within the mysterious and the mysterious within what is mysterious again, like what is without form and what has form, depend on one another. This does not mean discarding the earlier layer of the “mysterious.”

The gateway to all subtlety

“All subtlety” refers to the subtlety of the myriad things. Each thing has its own subtlety, yet all subtlety comes from the Dao; thus the Dao is subtle within the myriad things. The text no longer discusses “bounds” on their own, because subtlety and bounds, too, cannot be discussed by setting aside the earlier layer of “bounds.”

Liu Ji’s Commentary (Main Points)

From “The Dao that can be spoken” through “the gateway to all subtlety,” the text discusses the substance, names, and workings of the Dao.

What can be spoken and named

What can be spoken and named is like the skills of various schools: each has its strengths and its uses at particular times, but none is complete or enduring, and none is the truly constant Dao.

The Dao that is truly constant

The truly constant Dao and its name are self-existent and rooted in themselves. They existed before Heaven and Earth came into being. The gods, spirits, emperors, and the birth of Heaven and Earth all come from them. Who can speak of the “Dao” as Dao or name the “name” as name? The scripture says that the Great Dao is formless and gives birth to Heaven and Earth. Before Heaven and Earth existed, who could name it? Hence the phrase “the nameless is the beginning of Heaven and Earth”: the Great Dao is nameless and nourishes all things. Once the myriad things exist, they can be named; hence the phrase “the mother of the myriad things.”

The nameless and the named

The nameless is the Dao’s subtlety: it is Wuwei (non-action) and formless, hence “constant desirelessness, through which to observe its subtlety.” The named refers to the myriad things having taken form, hence “constant desireful being, through which to observe its bounds.”

Note: This chapter offers an expanded interpretation of the first chapter of the Dao De Jing and Wang Bi’s commentary. Its central themes remain the nameless and the named, desirelessness and desireful being, subtlety and bounds, and the mysterious within the mysterious. All speak of the same Dao, approached from different perspectives. Liu Ji emphasizes that the truly constant Dao precedes Heaven and Earth and must not be confused with the arts and teachings of the many schools, which can be spoken of and named.

This passage elucidates the profound nature of the Dao (the cosmic origin and principle). When the Dao manifests in concrete phenomena ("having names"), it exhibits tangible qualities ("with genuine presence and reliability"), hence people often observe the traces of the Dao through specific manifestations ("observing its boundaries").

Practitioners should begin with tangible phenomena ("from the realm of existence"), gradually comprehending the formless Dao ("entering non-being"), progressing from surface appearances to essential nature ("from boundaries to profundity"). The beginning and end of all things share the same essence ("their origin and conclusion are fundamentally identical"), though expressed through different forms ("emerging with distinct names"). This unity is called "xuan" (the mysterious, unfathomable state). Like the color of the sky, "xuan" appears near at hand yet extends boundlessly ("distant without any ultimate limit").

Through deepening realization of this mystery ("the mystery within mystery"), one attains increasingly wondrous and profound states ("the divine within divinity, the depth within depth"), entering the gate of infinity ("passing through the gate of the limitless"), roaming the wilderness of the boundless ("wandering the fields of the ultimate"), and uniting with the Dao's emptiness ("sharing the function of emptiness"). All marvelous transformations in creation ("the wonders of the myriad things") originate here—thus called "the gate of all wonders," which serves as the foundation of all existence ("that upon which all things depend") and the basis of all transformation ("that which awaits every transformation").

Just as people must pass through doors to enter or exit ("who can exit without using a door?"), all things follow the Dao's principles ("why would anything not follow this Way?"). Ordinary people may follow the Dao's path ("the people can be made to follow it"), yet cannot fully grasp its profundity ("but cannot be made to understand it"). For knowledge of the Dao has degrees: superficial understanding merely skims the surface ("knowing it shallowly"), while deep comprehension touches the core ("not knowing it deeply"); external knowledge perceives appearances ("knowing it outwardly"), whereas internal knowledge apprehends essence ("not knowing it inwardly"). Therefore, we shall next discuss what "all under heaven knows."