《道德真經集義(二)》Vol. 17

Collected Interpretations of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue, Volume 17, Praise 6

Editors: Compiled by Master Ningyuan and Liu Weiyong, Supervisor of the Xu妙 Abbey in Changde Circuit; collated by Ding Yidong, former Gentleman of Court Service and Registrar of the Court of the Treasury, concurrently Compiler of the Privy Council.

Chapter 30: On “Usefulness in the Unfilled”

Variant titles: The Heshang Gong version titles this chapter “The Chapter on Usefulness in the Unfilled.” The Zhaoshi’an version titles it “The Chapter on the Hidden and Manifest, the Mysteriously Revealed Principle.”

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang’s commentary (following the previous chapter): The previous chapter discussed nourishing Shen (spirit), cherishing Qi (vital energy), and keeping the heart free from contamination, so that the body remains without illness or blemish. This chapter discusses how the useful aspects of what is present are put to work, drawing on what complements them, so that their function can be realized. Using the wheel, vessels, and a dwelling as examples, it explains how the form and substance of what is present work together with the open space of what is absent. It also points out that Heaven and Earth are the pivot in which the Book of Changes (Yijing) is contained.

Du Guangting’s commentary: Cherishing Qi and nourishing Shen depend above all on clarity and stillness. What is absent brings what is present to completion, and each draws support from the other. This is what “drawing on one another” means. The wheel, vessel, and room all rely on the outer form of what is present, while using the open space within to serve their purpose: a wheel carries loads, a vessel holds things, and a room provides a place to live and rest. The heart likewise borrows what is present in the outer world and makes use of what is empty within; only then can it accomplish useful work.

The statement “Heaven and Earth are the storehouse of the Great Change” comes from the Appended Statements of the Book of Changes. It explains that the foundations established by the Book of Changes lie in Heaven and Earth. Without Heaven and Earth, the Way of Change could not arise; hence they are called the root in which the Way of Change is stored, the source and hidden treasury of the Book of Changes. The statements below, “When Heaven and Earth are arrayed, the Changes take their place between them” and “If Heaven and Earth were destroyed, there would be no way to perceive the Changes,” express the same idea.

The wheel, hub, spokes, and carriage body are cited here to explain the conditions that make use possible. If the carriage body is destroyed, there is no longer a recognizable cart. In the same way, when the people scatter, the state is endangered; when Shen departs, the body perishes. The principle of making use of things is, in truth, one of mutual support.

Zhang Chongying’s commentary: “What is absent” means the empty or open. If Qi were not empty, it could not transform and function as Shen; this is why the chapter speaks of “usefulness in the unfilled,” meaning the function that arises from emptiness.

The text of the Laozi (Heshang Gong version)

Thirty spokes join at one hub;

it is because the hub is empty that the cart is useful.

Clay is kneaded to make a vessel;

it is because the vessel is empty that it is useful.

Doors and windows are cut out to make a room;

it is because the room is empty that it is useful.

Thus what is present provides the benefit,

while what is absent makes it useful.

Heshang Gong’s commentary:

“Thirty spokes join at one hub”: In ancient carts, holes were bored into the hub—the round wooden center of the wheel through which the axle passed—and thirty spokes were inserted to connect the hub to the rim.

“It is because the hub is empty that the cart is useful”: The center of the hub is hollow, with no solid material filling it. This allows the wheel to turn and the cart to carry loads.

“Clay is kneaded to make a vessel”: Clay is worked and shaped into a vessel. Its interior is hollow, so it can hold things and serve as a vessel.

“Doors and windows are cut out to make a room”: Doors and windows are opened in a building. The interior is empty, so people can live in it and use it as a dwelling.

Thus, the visible form of what is present brings convenience, while the formless openness of what is absent enables its function.

Modern Interpretation

“The lunar number, with many spokes meeting at one hub”: This uses “the moon and numbers” and “many spokes gathered at one hub” as metaphors for governing the country and cultivating oneself. The hub—the round wooden center of a wheel through which the axle passes—is hollow, allowing all the spokes to join it.

Cultivating the person: One should dispel desires and keep the Five Organs—the heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys—empty and clear. Only then can Shen (spirit) return to its proper place and settle.

Governing the country: One should use the strength of the few and the weak to lead the many, bringing the strong into common obedience. Only when it is “without” (empty and not clinging to fullness) does it have the “use of a cart.” This does not mean a cart is useless; it means that the hub must be hollow for the wheel to turn and move forward. The carriage must be empty for people to ride in it and be carried along.

“Knead clay to make vessels”: To knead is to mix and shape; clay is earth. Mixing earth makes vessels for food and drink. Only when they are empty do they have the “use of a vessel”: the inside must be hollow for them to hold and receive things.

“Cut doors and windows to make a room”: Openings are cut for doors and windows to make a room. Only when they are open does the room have its “use”: people can enter and leave through the openings and look out; the interior must be empty for people to live there. That is its use.

“Being serves for benefit; nonbeing serves for use”: “Being” refers to the concrete forms and objects that provide practical benefit, making physical use possible. A vessel holds things, and a room houses people; one fears that the vessel will break or the house will collapse. When Shen is in the abdomen, one fears the body’s demise. “Nonbeing” refers to emptiness, which is precisely the basis that allows things to function. Emptiness can receive all things, so it is said that “emptiness and nonbeing can govern what has form.” The Dao is “empty.”

Wang Bi says: “Thirty spokes…” and so on, through “nonbeing serves for use.” Wood, earth, and walls can form wheels, vessels, and houses because they put “nonbeing”—emptiness—to use. The benefit that tangible “being” offers people depends on “nonbeing” for its function.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang says: Thirty spokes meet at one hub, showing how the “few” can gather the “many.” If the hub and the boards of the carriage body cannot fit together, there can be no cart; if the cart is not empty inside, the “being” of its boards has no use. The thirty spokes fitted into one hub show that the many depend on the few as their point of return. Only when the center is empty and clings to nothing can the cart move. This makes clear that “nonbeing” is what enables “being” to be beneficial. The Dao reaches “nonbeing” and “oneness,” and thereby sets all plants and animals in motion and encompasses the myriad kinds of beings. Though all things differ, each finds its proper place. The one that brings all this to completion is the One—the Dao.

Commentary (explanatory interpretation): Thirty spokes pass through one hub, showing that the “few” are what the “many” take as their guiding center. The center must be empty and unfilled for the cart to function. This also shows that “nonbeing” is what makes “being” beneficial.

Plain-Language Interpretation

This passage explains the meaning of the lines in the Daodejing: “Thirty spokes share one hub; it is precisely where there is nothing that the cart is useful”; “Knead clay to make a vessel; it is precisely where there is nothing that the vessel is useful”; “Cut doors and windows to make a room; it is precisely where there is nothing that the room is useful”; and “Thus, what is there provides benefit, while what is not there provides usefulness.”

Take a cart as an example: A cart has solid parts such as its shafts and body, but its center is hollow. It is precisely because of this emptiness that the wheels can turn and the cart can carry people and goods. Without the solid parts—the “what is there”—the emptiness would have no use. Conversely, if the center were not empty, the shafts, body, and other materials could not serve the function of a cart. As all things in Heaven and Earth come into being and change, and all things flow and turn, the function of the Dao becomes manifest. Laozi uses these simple, concrete examples to show the subtlety of “ultimate emptiness” and “ultimate unity.”

“Knead clay to make a vessel”: “Knead” means to mix and shape; “clay” means potter’s earth. A potter mixes the clay and forms it into a vessel. What matters is that the vessel is hollow inside, so that it can hold and contain things.

“Cut doors and windows to make a room”: In ancient times, people dug caves for shelter and made doors and windows by opening spaces in the walls. Later, the sages built houses and palaces, but these too needed open interior space for people to live in. Zhuangzi once said that if a house had no empty space, a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law might quarrel over even a little room. In the Erya, the word “palace” also refers to a “room.” So the point is: “What is there” brings benefit, and that benefit lies in its use; yet use depends on “what is not there.” Conversely, “what is not there” is useful because it depends on the form provided by “what is there.” Only when there is a form can one make use of the emptiness within it; without empty space, solid objects cannot serve their purpose.

The formless and the formed: The Appended Statements of the Book of Changes says, “What is above form is called the Dao; what is below form is called an implement.” To explain the function of the Dao, one must use concrete objects as examples. Laozi’s three examples—the cart, the vessel, and the house—all lead to one point: the subtle function lies in “what is not there,” while “what is not there” must depend on “what is there.”

Du Guangting says: When Laozi speaks of “thirty spokes converging on a single hub,” he is describing how a cart works. The hub gathers many spokes into a wheel, and the whole cart brings many parts together into a vehicle that can be used. What truly makes it useful is the empty space inside the cart: without a hollow center, the wheel and hub could not form a vehicle; and once the cart is made, it is the space within that lets it carry goods and people.

The metaphor applies to a ruler. With ministers advising within and feudal lords working together beyond the court, the ruler can preserve the realm, just as thirty spokes converge on one hub. Once the realm is secured, if the ruler can empty the mind and embody the Dao (the Way), all under Heaven will naturally flourish and live in peace, just as a cart carries things by means of its empty center.

The human body works in the same way. Its limbs and bones give it form outwardly, while the Five Qi (the vital energy of the five organs) bring it into harmony within, like spokes coming together to make a person. Once the body is formed, if one can empty the mind and embody the Dao, primordial harmony—the original, undivided Qi—will circulate unseen, offering the hope of long life. This shows how “being” and “nonbeing,” and “benefit” and “use,” complete and depend on one another.

The substance of the Dao is the True One: it has neither color nor sound, yet all kinds of beings and materials depend on it to exist. Things that move include the Five Spirits, creatures with fur, feathers, scales, or shells, and flying insects; things that grow include plants and trees. “Kinds” refers to forms, while “materials” refers to qualities. The myriad differences among moving and growing things all arise from the Dao, which nurtures and brings them into being. The Dao has only one image. When the scripture says, “Within the indistinct and elusive, there is an image,” it refers to this true essence, this pure and undivided Qi, which transforms into the myriad things. It may be called “few,” yet it is what the “many” depend on.

“The myriad openings” refers to a passage in Zhuangzi’s “Discussion on Making All Things Equal.” Nan Guo Ziqi tells Ziyou that the breath of the earth is called wind. When it lies still, all is quiet; when it rises, the myriad openings roar. The holes in great trees, a hundred spans around, resemble noses, mouths, ears, and window frames. They make sounds like a rush, a whistle, a shout, a breath, a cry, or a wail. Each gust has its own sound: a gentle wind produces soft notes, and a strong wind produces loud ones. Though the sounds of the myriad openings differ without end, only one wind sets them in motion. In observing the movements of all under Heaven, the Appended Statements to the Book of Changes says that sages use subtle insight to perceive the movements of all things. This means sages can see that all transformations receive their source from the pure, subtle, undivided Dao, and never depart from “the utmost nonbeing and the utmost unity.” This also echoes the idea that once Heaven and Earth are formed, the Book of Changes comes into being between them. It is like the sides of a cart joining with its spokes and hub to make a vehicle, whose use lies in its empty interior.

All transformations flow and circulate, each receiving its function from the Dao.

The Dao does not display its function amid the transformations of all things. It is like the wheel’s spokes and the carriage body: parts that serve the whole we call a “vehicle.” The two trigrams Qian and Kun may be said to contain the foundations of all things in the Classic of Changes. A vehicle is an object familiar to everyone. The author uses this simple, accessible example to evoke the profound Dao, which is why it is called a “rough analogy.”

Clay is kneaded and shaped into vessels. It is because the middle is empty that a vessel can be useful. The same is true of shaping earth into a vessel: its form and substance make clear the principle that “what is not” is what makes it useful. Vessels come in countless shapes and sizes—large or small, square or round, finely made or rough, common or precious—but what truly serves their purpose is the empty space inside them.

“Shaping earth” means making pottery; the phrase comes from the Book of Documents. According to legend, when Shun was of humble origins, he farmed at Mount Li and made pottery by the riverbank. The Biographies of Immortals also says that Tao Gong and his disciple Shimen were potters in ancient times, able to command the five-colored flames and ascend to heaven.

Doors and windows are cut into walls to make a dwelling. Again, it is because the middle is empty that a house can serve as a place to live. Before people built proper houses, they piled earth over the ground or dug into it to make shelters. When parents and spouses lived together, that was called a “family.” At that time there were no separate sleeping quarters, ancestral halls, or family rooms. Piling earth above ground was called a fu; digging a shelter into the ground was called a xue. Both involved shaping earth, as in pottery. “Pottery” here refers to what we would now call a kiln for roof tiles.

The Appended Statements to the Classic of Changes says that in high antiquity people lived in caves and out in the open; later, the sages built palaces and houses in their place, taking their model from the Great Strength hexagram. Palaces and houses appeared after cave and outdoor dwelling; they were not simply one kind of structure replacing another. So the text says only “high antiquity,” probably referring to the period between Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor. In the Zhuangzi, in the chapter “Robber Zhi,” Confucius says that in high antiquity people lived in trees in summer and gathered acorns in winter. He is describing this same period. Whether a tree nest or a cave, each made use of an empty space in the middle where people could live. Today’s houses likewise make use of an empty space in the middle where people can dwell. That is why Laozi says, “It is by what is not there that a room serves its purpose.”

“Mother-in-law and daughter-in-law jostle on the narrow path”: qi means a small path; bo means violent or angry. The Zhuangzi, in the chapter “External Things,” expresses a similar idea: when a house is crowded and its paths are narrow, a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law will jostle one another for passage. A daughter-in-law ought to treat her mother-in-law with gentleness and filial respect, yet here they grow angry as they compete for the path. This shows that the house is too narrow and has no open space for people to move around, leading instead to conflict between them. The point is this: when a room is cramped and has no empty space, mother-in-law and daughter-in-law fight over the path; when the mind is blocked and not open, cravings multiply and conflict never ends. The latter phrase is set against “the use of a room” in the original context and emphasizes the importance of emptiness.

Brief notes on terms

• Axle shafts and carriage body: Parts of a vehicle, used here to show how its components serve the whole.
• Kneading clay: Mixing and kneading clay.
• Shaping earth: Making pottery or forming clay.
• Great Strength: The name of a hexagram in the Zhou Changes; here it suggests the image of strength and building houses.

The Erya says that gong (palace) is also called shi (chamber), and shi is also called gong—they differ only in size and layout. In ritual usage today there are graded distinctions: the dwelling of a sage is called a palace; that of ordinary people is called a home or residence; there are further names such as house, roofed space, hall (tang), and chamber (shi). Huang Kan, commenting on the Analects, says that within a hall, partitions divide inner from outer and further carve out rooms—hence some of Confucius’s disciples could “ascend the hall” while others could “enter the chamber.” From this it is clear that tang is the broader term, while shi is space further subdivided inside the hall.

Thus the classic says: “The ‘having’ provides convenience; the ‘not-having’ performs the work.” The Dao (the Way) in itself is formless, yet it shows its efficacy through “having”; without concrete things, the Dao’s efficacy has no way to appear. Concrete things, in turn, receive their nature through the Dao—without the Dao, the myriad things cannot come to be. Things cannot grow and change apart from the Dao, and the Dao must work through things to display its efficacy. This is like carts, implements, and rooms: all illustrate how relying on “not-having” makes “having” convenient, and relying on “having” lets “not-having” function.

The Dao in its formless aspect is the root: clear, empty, Wuwei (non-action), dwelling above. The Dao in its active aspect is its functioning: it endows things with nature, gives them form, and dwells below. The Dao’s functioning appears in concrete things. Things have both shape and substance, and are therefore called qi (vessels/implements)—meaning things with physical form.

The sage emulates the Dao’s functioning and makes various implements to benefit the world: drawing trigrams to observe images and inventing writing; hollowing wood for boats and shaping wood for oars; cutting wood for pestles and digging earth for mortars; bending wood for bows and shaving wood for arrows; building palaces and halls and weaving fishing nets; domesticating oxen and horses to carry heavy loads and travel far; casting metal for weapons and raising bamboo poles for banners; shaping wood for ploughshares and bending wood for plough handles. All of these distribute the Dao’s functioning into particular tools. The Yijing “Appended Phrases” (Xici) records examples of this kind.

Dao is the name for what is without form or body; xing (form) is the functioning of what has quality and shape. The myriad things arise from non-being; many forms are established according to the Dao. The Dao is prior to form; form follows the Dao: the Dao is above form, form is below the Dao—so speaking from above form, it is called “Dao”; speaking from below form, it is called “qi” (implement). Form stands at the boundary between Dao and implement, but it belongs on the implement side, not on the side of the Dao. Once there is shape and substance, something can become an implement and serve a use—hence the saying: “What lies below form is called an implement (qi).”

The Dao is non-being; form is being. What has form reaches an end; the formless Dao endures. When people cultivate the Dao, they should outwardly protect the body and cherish the “having” of life, inwardly preserve spirit, and single-mindedly hold fast to it.

Collected Interpretations of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue (II): A Modern Reading

I. General Discussion: Taking “Nonbeing” as the Foundation

When one takes “nonbeing” as the foundation and gradually attunes to the ineffable “nonbeing,” one can become one with the Dao (the Way) and thereby attain longevity: preserving one’s nature and life over time and remaining with the Dao.

“You” refers to the Dao cultivator. To proceed from “One” to “nonbeing” is the Dao. The Dao is formless, yet it manifests through images, forms, and implements—that is, through concrete things. The scripture uses the images of a cart, a vessel, and a room to illuminate the Dao. It calls these “three turns,” or three layers of explanation. Their functions all rest on “nonbeing” and, in essence, follow the same principle.

II. Governing the State: Active Measures as the Appearance, Non-action as the Foundation

When a sage governs the world, setting up rewards and punishments, establishing laws and standards, issuing teachings and commands, and clarifying the ranks of those above and below—all these are “being”: visible, tangible institutions and measures.

If, instead, the ruler governs with composure and quietude, leads people through stillness, transforms them without speaking, and lets the myriad things order themselves, then rewards and punishments, institutions, commands, and distinctions of rank may still exist, but there is no need to rely on them at every turn. One can say that the ruler makes use of “being” while truly acting through “nonbeing.” This is the highest principle.

The same applies to self-cultivation. One may awaken to the principle through reading the scriptures, then, having awakened, let go of attachment to the words; one may understand the wondrous gateway without being bound by verbal teachings. This is the same idea.

III. The Daoist Emperor of the Song Dynasty: Being and Nonbeing as One, the Working of the Spirit

(An interpretation of the Dao De Jing passage: “Thirty spokes converge at the hub … being provides benefit; nonbeing provides use.”)

“Thirty spokes converge at the hub”—the use of a room depends on its emptiness. Being and nonbeing run through one another; benefit and use are interconnected, and there is no obstruction in coming or going. This is called the utmost spiritual efficacy. Being and nonbeing may seem different: being is the substance, while nonbeing is the function. They continue in succession like Yin-Yang; this is the principle underlying all things.

The cart is useful for travel; a vessel is useful for holding things; a room is useful because of its empty space.

Wondrous function arises from the utmost nonbeing, and transformation is concealed in what does not become entangled. A mirror has no fixed image; it reflects whatever appears before it. The Perfected Person’s mind works in this way and can always understand this principle. Thus, “being provides benefit; nonbeing provides use”: being is substantial, while nonbeing is empty. The substantial gives form to images, sounds, and colors; the empty can accommodate measureless exchanges and responses without limit.

Between Heaven and Earth, the Dao is revealed through implements, so nonbeing does not dispense with being. Implements, in turn, depend on the Dao’s wondrous workings, so being must ultimately return to nonbeing. Wood bends and water moistens; fire blazes and metal hardens; earth is leveled and spread, and crops grow from it. This is “being,” on which people rely for their benefit. Heaven extends and Earth supports; the four seasons proceed and the myriad things flourish. Who directs these processes? This is “nonbeing,” whose traces most people do not see. Thus, function is never exhausted, and being and nonbeing give rise to each other. Laozi uses the cart, vessel, and room to develop and clarify this point.

IV. Wang Jiepu (Wang Anshi): Root and Branch, and the Thirty Spokes

“Thirty spokes converge at the hub … nonbeing is what makes it useful.”

The Dao has a root and branches. The root is where the myriad things are born; the branches are what the myriad things become. The root arises naturally and does not depend on human effort or force.

(This passage continues the classical discussion of the “thirty spokes,” emphasizing that nonbeing is what makes things useful and that nature is the root. It echoes the interpretation above by the Daoist Emperor of the Song dynasty.)

Note: The original text layers interpretations by commentators from different eras onto Chapter Eleven of the Dao De Jing, discussing its applications to self-cultivation and governance. Specialized terms such as gu (the hub at the center of a wheel, through which the axle passes), “three turns,” and chongjing (“emptiness and stillness”) are retained and briefly explained in context.

All things arise naturally at first, without any need for human effort. But when they reach the level of concrete objects and material forms, human labor is needed for them to be completed.

At the stage of natural growth, people could speak less and refrain from acting rashly.

Once things require human effort to be completed, even the sage can no longer remain silent or wholly inactive.

Thus the sages of old, who held positions of authority and took all under Heaven as their responsibility, relied on four methods: ritual, music, punishments, and government. These were the means by which they brought things to completion.

The sage works only to cultivate the means by which things are completed, and does not dwell on how things come into being.

For coming into being is natural; it is not something human effort can take over or replace.

Laozi alone takes a different view. He considers everything that enters the realm of concrete forms and institutions unworthy of speech or action. So, by and large, he sets aside ritual, music, punishments, and government, and speaks only of the Dao. This is the mistake of failing to understand the principle clearly and instead striving to elevate it beyond measure and make it unconventional.

What, then, does the naturalness of the Dao have to do with focusing only on concrete forms and institutions? Precisely because things take shape as objects and institutions, they necessarily depend on people’s words and actions.

The Dao De Jing says: “Thirty spokes join at one hub; it is the empty space at the center that makes the wheel useful.”

The hub and spokes are useful because of the empty space at the center. Yet when a craftsman carves and shapes the wood, he never works on “nothingness” itself. Emptiness arises naturally; human effort need not create it.

Those who build wheels today know to make the hubs and spokes, though they may never speak of “nothingness.” Still, the wheel can be completed and put to use because the hub and spokes are in place.

If someone understood only that emptiness is useful, but did not make the hub and spokes, that would be careless and impractical.

People today know that “nothingness” is useful to a wheel and useful to all under Heaven, but they do not understand how to make it useful.

The empty center makes the wheel useful because it has a hub and spokes around it. Likewise, the “non-action” of all under Heaven can function because ritual, music, punishments, and government provide concrete arrangements beneath it.

If one were to remove the hub and spokes from a wheel, or abolish ritual, music, punishments, and government throughout the land, then sit back and wait for “nothingness” to become useful, that would be foolish.

Su Yingbin (Su Zhe) says:

The passage from “Thirty spokes join at one hub” through “the usefulness of what is not” means that people use all their ingenuity and resources to make objects, yet an object’s usefulness often lies in the empty space where no material thing is present. Without what is there, what is not could not become apparent; without what is not, what is there could not be put to use.

A note: The hub is the rounded wooden center of a wheel through which the axle passes; spokes are the wooden rods extending from the hub to the rim. “Ritual, music, punishments, and government” refers to rites and regulations, moral instruction through music, penalties, and government orders—in general, the institutions and methods of governing a state. Su Yingbin was another name for Su Zhe, a Northern Song writer who, together with his elder brother Su Shi, was among the era’s renowned literati. This passage develops the ideas in chapter eleven of the Dao De Jing.

A Plain-Language Interpretation

(Continuing from the previous passage)

What is called “benefit” is why the sage always observes the mystery of the Dao through “nonbeing” and its manifestations through “being.” Only by understanding that “being” and “nonbeing” are one and cannot be separated does one reach the full extent of the teaching.

Lü Jifu’s Commentary

From “thirty spokes join at a single hub” to “it is nonbeing that makes something useful,” the same principle is being discussed.

Thirty spokes join at a single hub: it is the “empty space” at the center that makes the cart useful. The cart is what I ride in.

Clay is kneaded and shaped into a vessel: it is the “empty space” within that makes the vessel useful. The vessel is what I use to hold things.

Doors and windows are cut into a house: it is the “empty space” inside that makes the room useful. The room is where I live.

Riding a cart depends on the cart; using a vessel depends on the vessel; living in a room depends on the room. Yet their practical value always rests on “nonbeing.” The principle is not far to seek. As for the human body, however, people often do not know what enables “me” to function.

Thus, “being” brings convenience, while “nonbeing” makes genuine use possible. If “being” alone is treated as useful and “nonbeing” merely as beneficial, then the supposed “benefit” will itself be lost and fail to function. If “nonbeing” alone is treated as useful, with no “being” to provide benefit, then the supposed “use” will also be impaired and cease to be beneficial.

Therefore, inwardly, the sage does not cling to any fixed thing in the heart; this is how the wondrous function of “nonbeing” is realized. Outwardly, the sage never withdraws from concrete things; this is how the benefits of “being” are realized. Hence the saying: let the essence sink into the mysterious to attain its workings; settle those workings within oneself and thereby honor De.

Lu Nongshi’s Commentary

From “thirty spokes join at a single hub” to “nonbeing makes things useful”: being and nonbeing serve one another, and one must not cling to either side.

Without “nonbeing,” there can be no proper function; without “being,” “nonbeing” cannot be seen.

If one takes “being” as beneficial, one may sometimes be limited to what has form. If one takes “nonbeing” as useful, its function can often extend without limit.

Wang Yuanze’s Commentary

From “thirty spokes join at a single hub” to “nonbeing makes things useful”: these three things—the cart, the vessel, and the room—serve as means of transport, storage, and habitation; in each case, their function lies in “emptiness.”

“Nonbeing” stands in relation to “being,” yet within “nonbeing” there is itself wondrous being, whose function is inexhaustible. If the function of “wondrous being” is treated merely as coarse, tangible “things that exist,” it remains bound by form and substance and cannot respond to what is without limit. Thus, “being” provides benefit: “benefit” belongs to Yin, the side that has form and can be grasped.

Even so, this remains only a discussion of “being and nonbeing.” Taken to its furthest point, “nonbeing” is inseparable from “being,” and “being” is itself true “nonbeing.” Neither being nor nonbeing: this is genuine wondrous being.

Liu Zhongping’s Heading

“Thirty spokes join at a single hub … nonbeing makes things useful.” (This passage belongs to the same section discussed above; the various commentators each explain its meaning.)

Note: This entry is a collected commentary on Chapter 11 of the Dao De Jing: “Thirty spokes join at a single hub … therefore, being provides benefit, while nonbeing makes things useful,” as well as “Always regard the mystery from the perspective of nonbeing; always regard its manifestations from the perspective of being.” The commentators move from the “emptiness” of riding in a cart, using a vessel, and living in a room to the sage’s way of living and self-cultivation: not clinging inwardly, while making use of things and remaining engaged with them outwardly.

“Having what is there brings benefit; what is not there gives it use”—in governing the world, the sage first considers what benefits the things that are present can bring. Only then can the role of what is absent be understood.

Liu Jüji says: From “thirty spokes share one hub” to “what is not there gives it use”: the hub—the wooden center of a wheel through which the axle passes—allows the wheel to turn. The spokes, the wooden struts connecting the hub to the rim, radiate outward and join the parts into a wheel. The thirty spokes symbolize the days of the month. To knead and shape clay is for a potter to mix the earth, form a vessel, and fire it in a kiln. A cart, a vessel, and a room all benefit from what is present. A cart’s benefit lies in its wheel; a room’s benefit lies in its size—that is, its space; a vessel’s benefit lies in its substance. Though small or few, these things could not be made without what is present.

In general, every benefit that comes from what is present, whether great or small, comes from what is there. That is why “thirty spokes share one hub” is given as an example: its benefit is already considerable, even without counting the cover, axle, and shafts among the cart’s other parts. Thus the Rites of Zhou says, “Of the vessels that gather two groups of people, the cart gathers the most.” In ancient times, people made their homes by digging into the earth, cutting doors for entry and exit, and opening windows for ventilation. The arrangements for ruler and ministers, fathers and sons, ancestral temples and courts, sleeping and dwelling—all are implicit in a building once it is complete. The benefit that comes from what is present is therefore great.

The Book of Changes says, “Later sages changed this, building houses with beams and pillars; they took this idea from the Great Strength hexagram.” Vessels include things such as roof tiles, jars, and steamers. Within these things, some are few while others are abundant; some are round, shaped with a compass, some square, shaped with a carpenter’s square, some curved, shaped with a hook, and some straight, guided by a line. All of these are benefits of what is present. Their use, however, depends above all on emptiness.

Laozi sets out these examples to show that although what is absent relies on what is present to reveal its function, one cannot speak of the benefits of what is present while disregarding what is absent. The substance of what is present may be destroyed, but the nature of what is absent endures. The phrase “the benefit of use” can be understood in two ways. Taken together, it is one: use may bring benefit or no benefit, and making use beneficial is good. Taken separately, it is two: a cart’s benefit lies in its wheel, a vessel’s in its clay, and a room’s use in its doors and windows, while the use of each depends on emptiness. Mencius says, “The old way takes benefit as its foundation.” When Yu directed the waters, he simply followed the course that required no interference. The use of what is absent can be seen here.

Liu Ji says: The previous chapter speaks of Mysterious De, which accords with what is absent. That is why the discussion that follows turns to “thirty spokes share one hub.”

A Modern Interpretation

“The Magpie Speaks” (Commentary)

The human body is where the true Qi of the five organs gathers. Each of the five organs has six kinds of Qi, together forming a meeting of “five times six, thirty”—like the thirty spokes of a wheel. Qi circulates there without ceasing, passing through a single “pivot,” just as thirty spokes all join at one hub, the rounded wooden center through which the axle passes.

The sages understand the pivotal workings of change. Using the tangible body, they take the body as a furnace and the Three Palaces as cauldrons, working the transformations amid emptiness and obscurity. This is like the vehicle they ride, the vessels they use, and the rooms they inhabit: the body takes shape through the active “form,” while its function lies in inactive “use.” Thus what exists can bring benefit, while what does not exist can serve a purpose.

Ordinary people are unenlightened. They have heard only of the Way of “abandoning the body,” but do not understand the subtlety of “working through the body itself.” Laozi therefore explains the analogy in detail through the vehicle, vessel, and room. It is also like Heaven and Earth being set in order, with the Yi established between them: if Heaven and Earth were destroyed, the Yi would no longer be seen. If the body is destroyed, Shen (spirit) cannot be preserved. Thus what matters is the wondrous perfection of body and spirit together. The sages use the active form of the body to refine the inactive spirit, moving from existence into nonexistence and making the true through the provisional. How could the true meaning be grasped through outward forms, colors, or reputation? That is why the text next turns to the chapter on “the five colors” and related subjects.

Zhao Shian says:

The text first shows how “use arises from what is useless.” It draws on the saying, “Thirty spokes share one hub; where it is empty, the cart is useful.” The Dao uses emptiness: before its function appears, its work is already manifest in what is substantial. A thing takes substance as its form: before its emptiness appears, its benefit lies in having room to receive. Form and function illuminate one another; only together can existence and nonexistence become evident. The principle of “use arising from what is useless” is plain to see, while the Dao’s subtlety of “achievement without effort” is hard to fathom. We can see that substance does not itself serve as function, while through emptiness the principle becomes clear. By revealing the hidden mechanism through three things, the text invites us to probe both sides.

“One” is the standard for the Elixir; the “moon” is its model: as the days advance and recede through thirty days, waning and return unfold naturally. “One” is the hub: it exists, yet is not put to use. The thirty spokes correspond to the measure of a month, completing its cycle. Emptiness sets what exists in motion; without the hub, the spokes would have nowhere to rest. Likewise, when the Dao governs time, the moon does not arise without the sun. The Yin body is empty and waits to receive substance, borrowing the dark and bright phases of the moon to bring forth radiance. The Yang is substantial yet contains emptiness; it nourishes the toad, in which the moon’s Yin essence takes form. This is the model followed by those who cultivate the Elixir.

Brief Notes on Specialized Terms

• Three Palaces: Usually the upper, middle, and lower Dantian (energy centers)—or the head, heart, and abdomen—which serve as the “cauldrons” in alchemical imagery.
• Waning and return: In the phases of the moon, the cycle in which Yang Qi declines and rises again.
• Toad and lunar essence: Images of the moon and Yin essence, used to describe the timing of the firing process in Neidan (internal alchemy).

The ceaseless movement of Heaven and Earth helps us understand the respective benefits of “being” and “nonbeing.” The substance of the Dao (the Way) has no fixed form, while the Elixir spoken of in Neidan (internal alchemy) takes shape naturally. Laozi uses the wheel’s hub—the hollow wooden center fitted around the axle—and its spokes, which extend from the hub to the rim, to explain the teaching about “being” and “nonbeing” in chapters five and six: only those who know how to make use of both understand the Dao. The mind must be empty to respond to the uses of all things; when it is packed full, nothing can pass through. So we must understand this: “Being brings benefit; nonbeing makes use possible.”

The spokes and hub together form a wheel. The spokes must fit into the hub, and it is the hollow space at the center that lets the wheel turn and carry loads. If the hub were solid, how could the spokes be fitted into it? The Jing (classic) also says, “The wheel has nothing there”—meaning that its center must be empty. “Where there is nothing” refers to the hollow space inside the hub. The spokes are solid, yet they can function only because of this empty space. A wheel’s usefulness is fully realized when it can carry loads continuously. Thus, “Being brings convenience; nonbeing makes it useful.”

The second example is a vessel made by mixing and shaping clay. “Where there is nothing, there is the use of a vessel.” To mix clay is to work the earth; the clay is then shaped into vessels like today’s jars and bowls. Their usefulness comes from the empty space inside, which can hold things. Only when a vessel can be used does its function become clear. Heaven and Earth give rise to the myriad things through emptiness and nonbeing; the Great Dao contains Heaven and Earth through emptiness and nonbeing. People, too, must keep an open mind to respond to the countless affairs of life. Since a vessel can hold things only because its interior is empty, we can see that the clay’s “being” provides the material, while the empty interior is the function of “nonbeing.” The meaning of the hub and spokes has already been made clear. The example of clay vessels is added to deepen our understanding: being and nonbeing, substance and function, are one whole. The workings of the Dao are profound and cannot be fully explained at once. This concerns the relationship between inherent nature and the Way of Heaven, so a third example is given.

The third example is doors and windows. A room is made by cutting openings for doors and windows: “Where there is nothing, there is the use of a room.” Walls block and divide, separating light from darkness; emptiness is what allows a room to contain things. Everything makes use of an empty space within. A doorway is formed by leaving an opening in the wall, while a window is made by fitting crossed pieces of wood into a frame. A door serves by opening and closing; a window serves by letting in light. Without doors and windows, how could one speak of a room or hall? Only by removing barriers and leaving open spaces can there be a place to live. Thus, “Doors and windows provide the convenience of being; the room provides the use of nonbeing.” The doors and windows must first be there to open; through them, the room’s function is realized. These are not the only examples: all things work in the same way, making use of emptiness. A valley can answer because it is empty; a pipe makes music because it is hollow; a vessel can contain because it has an interior space; a boat can carry people and goods because it is empty within. The Supreme One, Laozi, mentions only these three examples; the rest can be inferred.

The passage concludes by clarifying the distinct roles of being and nonbeing: “Being provides benefit; nonbeing provides use.”

Collected Explanations of the True Classic of the Dao and De (II): A Plain-Language Interpretation

General Meaning of the Classic

The Dao is made clear through objects: when it is seen within an object, it becomes understandable. Within an object, what is absent serves as its function, so that function does not depend on anything possessing a fixed, substantial existence. Yet the object itself cannot be destroyed; destroy it, and it can no longer serve its purpose. We speak by relying on things; without things, our words have nowhere to take hold.

The wheel can carry a load because its center is empty. This is like drawing on the strength of Qian (Heaven) to bring forth the myriad things. Clay is shaped into a vessel, which can hold things because it is hollow within. This is like drawing on the openness of Kun (Earth) to receive the myriad things. Doors and windows serve the room; likewise, an open heart can respond to the many affairs of life.

We can see that “emptiness” does not accomplish things out of nowhere: the Dao appears through objects. Who says that emptiness is useless? They do not understand that the uses we depend on throughout the day are found precisely in what is “empty.” If you take appearances as real, you will fail to see how appearances can obscure their own function. Zhuangzi said, “When emptiness is not destroyed, the myriad things can fulfill their true nature.”

Both sides—use and emptiness—must be understood. The Appended Statements says, “If Qian and Kun were destroyed, the Yi would no longer be visible.” Only when emptiness and substance illuminate one another can we understand the pivot, find the center of the wheel, and respond without limit.

Shao Ruoyu’s Commentary

Laozi uses the wheel, vessel, and room to explain how being and nonbeing work together.

“Thirty spokes converge on one hub; it is precisely where there is nothing that the cart is useful.” Laozi uses physical objects to explain how things work: benefit and convenience come from what is “there,” while the wondrous, inexhaustible function is found in what is “not there.”

• Cart: Today’s carts have eighteen spokes; in ancient times, thirty spokes converged on one hub to form a wheel. The wheel’s tangible form gives it practical value. Its empty center allows it to turn; this is why the cart’s function lies in “nonbeing.”
• Vessel: Clay is shaped into a vessel. Its tangible form gives it practical value; its hollow center allows it to hold things. This is why the vessel’s function lies in “nonbeing.”
• Room: In ancient times, people dug into the earth to make dwellings and cut doors and windows to look outside. This made possible the arrangement of rooms for rulers and ministers, fathers and sons, ancestral temples, sleeping quarters, and mats for sitting. A room’s tangible form gives it practical value; its empty space allows people to live in it. This is why the room’s function lies in “nonbeing.”

Thus, when we see “being,” we take it to be useful; it is “nonbeing” that makes its wondrous function possible. We gain benefit through the illusory body and make use of a mind that is free of attachment. This helps practitioners understand the principle that being arises within nonbeing and that being is also nonbeing. This is how the Dao functions.

Wang Zhiran’s Commentary

“Thirty spokes converge on one hub; it is precisely where there is nothing that the cart is useful.” Once people are alive, they lodge their bodies between Heaven and Earth. The most urgent need in daily life is to have a body.

(This comment follows Laozi’s discussion of the cart and emphasizes that the human body, too, is like the “empty” hub of a wheel: it is essential to the workings of daily life.)

Note: The quoted passage, “Thirty spokes converge on one hub … therefore being gives benefit, while nonbeing gives function,” comes from chapter 11 of the Dao De Jing. Shao’s and Wang’s commentaries develop the idea that “nonbeing serves as function,” a theme often discussed alongside Neidan (internal alchemy) and the cultivation of mind and nature.

The three things people cannot do without or go without are vehicles and horses, implements, and dwellings. They can bring benefit when we have them, yet even their absence has its own usefulness. But if they are used improperly or kept without care, they can become a grave burden on the body. That is certain. Anyone who does not understand this should first consider whether these things suit them, then decide whether they can make use of them.

Vehicles and horses are graded according to rank: the Son of Heaven has ten thousand chariots, the feudal lords a thousand, the high ministers and great officers a hundred, while commoners have only a single horse and cart. Too few are inadequate; too many exceed one’s proper station. And if one adds carved saddles and embroidered reins without thinking this improper or contrary to the established order, one has abandoned the simplicity esteemed by the ancients. Riding in a carriage, riding a horse, walking, and hurrying on foot each have their own rules of propriety. Thus, when the Master walked, he walked; when the Master ran, he ran. A gentleman does not part from his baggage train throughout the day—that is what this means. Grooming horses and oiling carriages may seem excessive; racing about without restraint departs from the sages’ plain intention of holding to antiquity as a guide for the present. And what of the folly of breaking a wheel or axle while hunting, so that in the end one cannot catch the quarry? How could such behavior be proper?

Kneading clay and shaping pottery means molding clay into forms and making vessels. The ancients used things when they were useful and put them aside when they were not. At first, they did not cherish them so dearly that they could not bear to part with them, and in the end they felt no private attachment that made them loath to let them go. The people could find contentment in the vessels they used for food and drink. Why would they concern themselves with whether their implements were beautiful or ugly? In recent times, people have prized the unusual. Though the wealthy enjoy comforts beyond compare, they treat rare goods with contempt, using them to gratify the body and satisfy the appetite without understanding what they are doing. This leads to the calamity of overreaching and collapse. Loss often begins at the mat or in the midst of food and drink; one must be watchful and not let such failings take root.

The scripture says, “Cut out doors and windows to make a room.” From this, we may imagine that in high antiquity people lived in nests or caves, at first simply to escape cold and heat and shelter from wind and rain. In the time of Emperor Yao, the earthen steps were only three feet high, and the thatched roof was left untrimmed. The people lived contentedly according to their customs, and the realm was well governed. How long had the Five Hegemons been separated from high antiquity? Yet by then they already had carved beams and lofty halls, with roof ridges reaching toward the clouds. They still found their homes too small and were ashamed if they were not grand enough. They spared no effort in construction or in decorating walls with red ocher. The five treasuries were emptied for this, and people remained calmly unaware—because they could not… (The original ends here, discussing how people lose themselves in material desires without knowing restraint.)

A Plain-Language Interpretation

“By observing oneself, one observes the self; by observing one’s household, one observes households; by observing one’s village, one observes villages; by observing one’s state, one observes states; by observing all under Heaven, one observes all under Heaven.”

Does this not encourage the faults of later generations? Alas, people of the world understand only the usefulness of what is useful, and not the usefulness of what seems useless.

“Being” and “nonbeing,” “emptiness” and “substance,” depend on and make use of one another. Emptiness leaves no visible trace. Once a trace appears, it is because there was first “being,” which then makes it appear as “being.” How could those who argue only from “nonbeing” know what allows a trace to become a trace?

So Laozi used three examples—the cart, the vessel, and the room—to explain “being,” “nonbeing,” and practical benefit to their fullest extent. A cart is good for carrying, a vessel for holding, and a room for sheltering things. In making these forms and objects, everything is “being.” If one clings only to “nonbeing,” they cannot be used; if one clings only to “being,” they bring no benefit. Thus “nonbeing” and “benefit,” “being” and “use”—even the great sages of antiquity took these as their models. Those who study the Dao must not blind themselves.

Cheng Taizhi said: “Thirty spokes join at a hub—the hollow wooden center of a wheel—and it is ‘in reaching emptiness’ that the wheel becomes useful. Turning and carrying are the cart’s functions; it can carry only when its spokes and hub are all in place. Without spokes and a hub, there is nowhere for its function to appear. Yet on closer examination, the part that rolls over the ground and turns around the axle lies at the outer edge of the material form’s ‘nonbeing.’ The cart’s function belongs to ‘nonbeing,’ not ‘being.’ A vessel’s capacity to hold things and a room’s capacity to shelter people work in the same way: their use does not lie in ‘being,’ but arises from ‘nonbeing.’ This is probably how Laozi used these examples to show the value of ‘nonbeing.’

“To make a cart, one must first have spokes and a hub as materials, yet expect its function to lie in the empty space where spokes and hub are absent. ‘Being’ means seeking to gather all the parts together; ‘nonbeing’ means seeking to clear away whatever obstructs their use. This is like the Daoist teaching on diminishing and increasing, which places its principle between the material form’s emptiness and substance. People suspect that Laozi’s school speaks only of ‘nonbeing’ and cannot govern the state. They do not understand that Laozi’s ‘nonbeing’ means using ‘being’ by going beyond it. It does not mean that everything, inside and out, beginning and end, is simply empty.” (For a fuller discussion, see “General Meaning.”)

Wang Anshi of Linchuan said: “Those who build carts know only to work on the spokes and hub; they never speak of ‘nonbeing.’ Yet once the spokes and hub are in place, ‘nonbeing’—the hollow at the hub’s center—must first be established for the cart to become a cart…”

This passage criticizes later readers for misunderstanding Laozi’s teaching on “the use of nonbeing.” It invokes the history of governance in the Han dynasty to show that “valuing Wuwei” does not mean literally removing a wheel’s spokes or hub, or abolishing rites, laws, punishments, and government.

Someone might say: if one wants to put something to use, yet does away with rites, music, punishments, and government in the human world as one would remove a wheel’s spokes and hub, then seeks the use of “nonbeing,” that is nearly foolish. This misunderstands Laozi’s meaning. Laozi argues that one should benefit by making use of rites and laws, while also going beyond them to bring their function into play. His “being” and “nonbeing” are like “adding” and “diminishing”: “adding” means seeking to bring into existence what is not yet there; “diminishing” means seeking to dissolve what already exists, so that its traces fade while its function remains. “Being” and “nonbeing” describe the level at which a person applies effort. But thinkers such as Wang Bi used “being” and “nonbeing” to determine success or failure outright. That is tantamount to saying Laozi did not know that a cart without wheels cannot be pushed. Laozi’s words are obscure and difficult to understand. Even Wang Bi, who cherished his writings above all, could not avoid clinging to the literal wording and losing the true meaning.

The turmoil of the Western Jin arose from this kind of misreading. Some people believed Laozi’s provocative and extreme statements, despised rites and laws, and aligned themselves with the injunction to “cut off benevolence and discard righteousness.” Hearing that Laozi valued Wuwei, they hoped a cart would move by itself without spokes or a hub. Yet they did not understand that a proper way is often concealed within provocative words, and that within Wuwei there is “nothing that is not done.” The point is to use spokes and a hub, drawing on their “nonbeing”—not to cast them aside and reject “being.”

Laozi’s teachings were first applied to governing the state in the Han dynasty. Cao Can, as chancellor of Qi, and Emperor Wen, who succeeded Emperor Gaozu, brought peace through quietude and simplicity, and achieved sincerity and integrity through silence. Though they did not entirely transform active governance into Wuwei, one may say they went beyond physical forms and gathered themselves in emptiness and stillness. Their quietude and silence did not mean handing the world over to “doing nothing at all.” The laws established by Emperor Gaozu remained in force, as did Xiao He’s institutions. The foundations on which the spokes and hub rested were already in place, enabling Cao Can and Emperor Wen to draw on their benefits: they could be still when they wished, and silent when they wished. Without Emperor Gaozu’s laws and Xiao He’s regulations, to disdain all action would not be the way of governing the state that Laozi taught.

Plain-Language Commentary on the True Classic of the Dao and Its Virtue

Huang Maocai says:

From “thirty spokes converge at a single hub” to “the usefulness of non-action,” the passage speaks of what is present within what exists, and what is present within what does not exist. What is present within nonexistence has boundless usefulness; what is present within existence brings broad benefit. Spokes joined to a hub make a wheel; clay shaped into vessels makes utensils; doors and windows opened in walls make a room. These are useful things within what exists, and the people depend on the benefits they provide. Though there is no tangible cart, there is the function of a cart; though there is no tangible vessel, there is the function of a vessel; though there is no tangible room, there is the function of a room. This is what is present within nonexistence, and the perfected person and the accomplished adept draw on it with boundless effect. The Cantong qi and the Huangting jing contain many teachings of this kind, whose source lies here.

Zhan Qiupu says:

The ancient saying, from “ten spokes share a single hub” to “the usefulness of non-action,” means that practical use exists within what seems useless. A cart is made by arranging thirty spokes around a hub. Even before there is a cart, there is already a need for its carrying function. Clay is shaped into vessels. Even before there are vessels, their indispensable use is already present. Doors and windows are cut into a room. Even before there is a room, there is already a need for shelter and a place to live. All three are made through working with earth and wood, and each has its own practical use. They arise from nonexistence into existence, not because benefit is the aim, but because benefit follows of itself. This is “the usefulness of nonexistence.”

Zhang Chongying says:

From “thirty spokes converge at a single hub” to “the usefulness of non-action”: Heaven has six Qi—Yin and Yang, wind, rain, darkness, and brightness—and Earth has the Five Phases: Water, Wood, Fire, Earth, and Metal. When Heaven and Earth first divided, Water came first, giving rise to people and shaping their bodies. Water is the foundation: it governs the kidneys and is the source of life. (In Earth’s numerical sequence, six gives rise to Wood.) Wood governs the liver and is associated with the Hun soul; (eight gives rise to Fire.) Fire governs the heart and is the chamber of Shen, the spirit; (two gives rise to Earth.) Earth governs the spleen and is associated with intention; (ten gives rise to Metal.) Metal governs the lungs and is associated with the Po soul; (four gives rise once more to Water.) The generative sequence of the Five Phases on Earth totals thirty. The Qi in the human body circulates in accordance with this sequence without disruption. Hence the saying, “thirty spokes converge at a single hub”: it uses the image of human life taking form on Earth, with the Qi of the whole body converging like spokes at a hub.

Classic: Collected Meanings of the True Scripture of the Dao and De, Part Two

Scriptural Text:

When the Five Phases follow the Earth’s number of thirty and circulate, the Six Qi flow freely. This is like making a hub from the number of thirty spokes and setting it in motion. Another explanation says that the Five Phases engender one another and the Six Qi harmonize with one another; five and six combine to make the number thirty, and the Qi then link together of their own accord. This, too, is one interpretation. Yet what matters in a hub is that it turn freely through its open center. If the center is not empty, it cannot turn. If the number thirty of the Five Phases does not engender through emptiness, where could the Six Qi flow? A hub turns freely because it is empty; the vehicle can carry things because its parts connect through the hub and make it useful. Qi circulates because of emptiness; the body can sustain life because its parts connect through Qi and make it nourishing. Thus, “Being” arises from “Nonbeing,” and Being is thereby able to serve its purpose.

As for clay becoming a vessel, unless it is shaped by kneading together water, wood, fire, and metal, and made through emptiness, it cannot hold anything. A room is made by cutting doors and opening windows; unless space is left empty for the entrance and courtyard, it cannot accommodate people. Hence the saying: “Where there is nothing, there is the use of a wheel”; “where there is nothing, there is the use of a vessel”; “where there is nothing, there is the use of a room.” “Where” means that each fulfills its own natural, inherent character.

A vehicle’s ability to carry things, a vessel’s ability to hold things, and a room’s ability to shelter people are benefits brought by Being. Yet Being can be beneficial precisely because it draws on the connected use of emptiness and Nonbeing. Such is the use of “nothing” in a vehicle, vessel, and room. How much more does this apply to people, who receive the Five Phases, circulate the Six Qi, and transform them into Shen (spirit)? In this chapter, Laozi uses an image visible in ordinary life to explain this principle.

Zhang Lingying says: In the human body, Jing (essence) is like the spokes, and Qi (vital energy) is like the hub. Qi issues from Nonbeing and sets the spokes of Jing in motion. Jing凝enses into Being and follows Qi, turning continuously without pause: when Qi rises, Jing descends; when Jing rises, Qi circulates and nourishes it in turn. Neither ever stops. Not a fraction of this Qi should be depleted, and not a fraction of this Jing should be spent. Once you grasp how Being and Nonbeing serve one another and understand the function of spokes and hub, what difficulty could there be in attaining long life? Jing is Yin and follows the Earth’s number of thirty, like the thirty spokes. Qi is Yang and follows Heaven’s number of twenty-five, like the single hub. How can spokes turn without a hub? How can Jing move without Qi? That is how their function works.

Bai Yuchan says: The thirty spokes are like the thirty days; together they make one hub, like one month. Where there is nothing (in a month with more or fewer days), there is the use of a wheel.

A Collected Commentary on the True Classic of the Dao and De: A Plain-Language Interpretation

The Main Meaning of the Classic

Thirty spokes meet at a single hub. Though the moon is small, it still completes a full month. Clay is shaped into vessels, and the interplay of Yin and Yang brings forth creation. When the inside is empty—when there is “nothing”—neither Heaven and Earth nor the sage can accomplish everything on their own. A vessel’s function depends on its form, yet its form also has its limits; this too reveals the subtle skill of Heaven’s creation. Doors and windows are cut to make rooms, while the myriad forms of the world all return to a single Heaven. When the inside is empty, the spirit does not remain settled in its dwelling, and the sense organs lose their protection; only then can a room serve as a dwelling. Sages and fools share the same nature. What differs is whether their aspirations turn inward or outward. Thus “being” brings convenience, while “nonbeing” makes subtle use possible: we put to use the body received from our parents, while also preserving the original nature we shared at birth, a nature with no distinction between inside and outside.

Commentary by Liao Cuiran

The thirty spokes are like the sun and moon joined as one: in a month, they complete one circuit of the heavens around a single hub. The original Qi within the body also completes one such circuit in a month. Only when the center is empty and nothing occupies it, with everything guided by unity, can the wheel serve its purpose and carry me in a carriage. Shaping clay into a vessel is like using the Yellow Court (Dantian) to mold the soul and forge the spirit, refining them with Water and Fire until they take form. Only when the center is empty and nothing occupies it, with the Dao guiding it, can the vessel serve its purpose and become a great vessel for me. Cutting doors and windows to make a room, and opening a back door to let water and fire pass, is like opening windows in the body’s inch-sized dwelling to let the spirits and luminous powers communicate. Only when the inside is empty can a room serve as a dwelling and become a home for my spirit. Thus the Supreme One has already explained in detail that “being brings benefit.” As for “nonbeing makes use possible,” there is no need to labor over further commentary: the way is already laid wide open, and the matter entrusted to us.

Commentary by Chen Bixu

From “thirty spokes” to “the usefulness of a carriage,” the text shows that being and nonbeing, and function and form, depend on one another in order to exist. The Rites of Zhou, in its section “Records of the Examination of Crafts,” says of a carriage: its canopy is round, symbolizing Heaven; its carriage bed is square, symbolizing Earth; and its thirty spokes correspond to the number of days in a month. The moon hangs in the sky and moves without pause; the wheel turns endlessly across the earth. That is why ancient carriages were made to symbolize the moon. Thirty days make a month, just as thirty spokes meet at one hub. The wheel can turn because its hub is hollow; a person can ride in a carriage because its carriage bed is empty. The empty space is precisely what allows the wheel to turn and the carriage to carry its passenger. Yan Junping held that the sages of high antiquity governed the people by following what Heaven and Earth naturally do, without relying on clever contrivances. When thirsty, people drank from a gourd; when hungry, they took food by hand. All things were equal, with no distinctions of rank. But when rulers began to impose their will, levies and labor duties grew burdensome… (This continues the preceding discussion of “being brings benefit” and “nonbeing makes use possible.”)

Note: This passage brings together commentaries on Chapter Eleven of the Dao De Jing: “Thirty spokes meet at a single hub… Therefore, being brings benefit; nonbeing makes use possible.” By comparing the moon, carriage, vessel, and room, it explains how “being” and “nonbeing” support one another: material form is “being,” while empty space is “nonbeing.” Neither can be set aside.

The people were being exploited until they were utterly exhausted, yet the court continued to demand tribute and taxes. The journey was long, and men and women had to carry loads on their shoulders and backs. The burden was truly unbearable. So people of wisdom devised a solution: they invented handcarts, harnessed horses to carriages, and had oxen pull carts, allowing people and animals to carry loads over long distances and easing the people’s hardship.

In later generations, people followed their example, but their work grew ever more skillful and elaborate. They carved decorative patterns, painted the wheels red, adorned them with gold and silver, and inlaid them with jade. The cost of making a single carriage was enough to ruin a household. This is why Laozi, the founding figure of Daoism, grieved over the harm caused by “human contrivance.” The Dao De Jing also makes clear that constantly proclaiming “goodness” and indulging in elaborate artifice can instead give rise to disorder. The scripture uses three things—carriages, vessels, and houses—to show how “being,” “nonbeing,” and usefulness depend on one another, and to warn later generations.

“Clay is kneaded and shaped into vessels; it is precisely because the center is empty that the vessels can hold things.” “Kneading” means working the clay; “clay” refers to the material itself. The passage describes artisans working the clay, placing it in a mold, and firing it into vessels. Their usefulness lies in the hollow space inside, which can contain all kinds of things. Yan Junping, a Daoist scholar of the Han dynasty, explained that when the Dao and De declined, anxiety weighed on people’s hearts, Yin and Yang fell out of balance, and the people grew weak and sickly. Water and fire were used together, and the five flavors took shape, while distinctions between raw and cooked, dry and wet, were lost. People of wisdom therefore made vessels from clay to cook food and balance sour and salty flavors. But this later developed into extravagant hunting and the slaughter of living creatures: pregnant animals were cut open, and young animals killed to please rulers. People even carved pearls and jade to make plates and bowls. Alas, what began as “the dispersal of the uncarved simplicity into vessels” had come to this.

“Doors and windows are cut into a house; it is precisely because the center is empty that the house can shelter people.” “Cutting” means making openings. A door with one leaf is called a hu; a window beside a door is called a you. The terms for doors and windows are also often used interchangeably. In ancient times, people lived in caves. They dug into the earth inside the caves and made openings for doors and windows, turning them into dwellings. What mattered was the empty space within: it allowed people to live in safety, enter and leave, and come and go. Yan Junping further said that when people’s hearts changed, all things gave rise to resentment and malice: insects and snakes released their venom, and birds and beasts attacked people. Caves could no longer keep danger out, protect lives, or allow people to reach old age. People of wisdom therefore built houses, with beams above and eaves below; they made windows for looking out and sturdy doors that could be opened and shut with ease. Bees, scorpions, and poisonous insects could not get inside, and wild animals could not reach them. But this, too, eventually developed into grand palaces with lofty pavilions, like the Epang Palace, and heavily guarded passes and fortified cities. Soldiers were worn out, and countless people died. What ancient times considered “order,” later generations saw as “disorder.” This is the harm that comes from the interdependence of “being,” “nonbeing,” and usefulness.

Plain-Language Interpretation

Main idea:

“Being” brings advantage, while “nonbeing” makes things useful. Being and nonbeing depend on each other; neither can be done away with.

1. Vessels and emptiness: advantage and use each have their place

“Being brings advantage”: The advantage lies in the object. A bowl can hold food and a cart can carry people because of their tangible “being.”

“Nonbeing makes things useful”: Use depends on empty space. For a bowl to hold anything, its center must be empty; for a house to be lived in, its interior must be open.

An object takes shape on the outside, but the emptiness within makes it useful. Emptiness is vacant within, but the vessel around it makes it useful. Thus, nonbeing relies on being to show its advantage, while being relies on nonbeing to become useful.

2. Dao and vessels: what is above form has no shape; what is below form has substance

“What is above form is called the Dao”: The Dao has no form of its own and must rely on “being” to reveal its efficacy. Without “being,” the Dao’s function could not become apparent.

“What is below form is called a vessel”: A vessel has substance, but must rely on “nonbeing” to be useful. Without “nonbeing,” its use could not be realized.

Therefore, a vessel apart from the Dao cannot respond to circumstances, and the Dao apart from vessels cannot reveal its efficacy. The same is true of spokes in a hub, things in a vessel, and people in a room: in each case, being brings the advantage of nonbeing, while nonbeing makes being useful.

3. Self-cultivation: spirit and emptiness

In self-cultivation:

• Shen (spirit) is the advantage that “sustains life”: it preserves life and keeps the spirit clear.
• Emptiness is the function that “brings forth the spirit”: it allows the spirit to settle and fulfill its function.

Nonbeing makes use possible; being brings advantage to things.

• Nonbeing means emptiness and stillness, the Utmost Nonbeing.
• Being means luminous spirit, Wondrous Being.

The advantage of Wondrous Being lies in sustaining life; the function of Utmost Nonbeing lies in bringing forth the spirit. Both sustaining life and bringing forth the spirit depend on Wondrous Being and Utmost Nonbeing. Thus Laozi says: “Being brings advantage; nonbeing makes things useful.”

Xie Tunan’s commentary: “Thirty spokes share one hub”

Thirty spokes share one hub, which may symbolize the number of days in a month. A solid object can move only by relying on an empty space: the spokes are fitted into the hub, and the hub turns around its hollow center. The “being” of the solid parts alone is not enough to give the cart its function; it is “nonbeing”—the hollow at the center of the hub—that allows the cart to turn.

The following line, “Knead clay to make a vessel,” makes the same point: the vessel is made of clay, but its capacity to hold things and be useful depends on the emptiness inside it.

In sum:

The advantages of the world lie in “being”—form, vessels, and spirit. Much of the world’s usefulness lies in “nonbeing”—emptiness, void, and the hollow center of the hub. The same holds for cultivating the Dao: Wondrous Being nurtures the body, while Utmost Nonbeing nurtures the spirit. They support each other, and neither should be neglected.

Explanatory Interpretation in Modern Language

An object’s use depends on its hollow interior. So when we speak of its “presence,” we still have not seen what the vessel can do; it is its “absence”—its hollow center—that enables it to serve its purpose. Doors and windows are made in a house so that the house can be used. People live in the house and enter and leave through its doors and windows. The house can shelter people because its interior is empty; the doors and windows allow passage because they are open. Looking only at what is “present” does not show what the house is for. Its “absence” is what makes it usable as a house.

Thus, “presence” gives things their form and brings benefit, while “absence” is what lets them function and serve a purpose. Without spokes, there can be no wheel; without clay, no vessel; without doors and windows, no house. The “present” aspect provides the world with convenience, while the “absent” aspect gives it use. The solid takes things in through emptiness, and what exists functions through “absence”—that is the principle.

In broad terms, what is above form is called the Dao, and what is below form is called a vessel. A vessel takes shape through what is “present,” while the Dao is concealed within what is “absent.” What is “present” cannot function by itself; “absence” is what allows “presence” to work. The same is true of the human being: the movement of the limbs is like a wheel, and the chest and abdomen are like a room. With both a body and its governing principles, are we not vessels? The spirit platform—the heart-mind—is hollow, and so it can contain things within, move outward, and respond without end. This is what it is for. Otherwise, it would be no more than a lifeless object. What good would that be?

Lin Yanzhai says: “Thirty spokes join at a single hub”—it is “where there is nothing” that the wheel becomes useful. The hub is the hollow part at the center of the wheel that holds the axle; the spokes are the bars of the wheel. Only because the hub is hollow can the wheel turn. Kneading and shaping clay is the potter’s work; only because the vessel is hollow and round can it serve as a container. Doors and windows are the openings in a house that admit light and allow people to enter and leave. These three examples all illustrate the use of “emptiness” and “absence.” Hence the saying: “What is present provides benefit; what is absent provides use.” The wheel, vessel, and room are made convenient by what is “present,” but they can serve as a wheel, vessel, or room because of the emptiness within them. Using these examples to express the single word “absence” is truly ingenious.

Fan Yingyuan says: The passage runs from “thirty spokes” to “presence—there is the use of the wheel.” Spokes are the bars of a wheel. The Shuowen says that the wheel is made up of the liao—the place where the spokes gather—and that the hub is where the spokes converge. The word “absence” should be punctuated as a separate phrase. Here, concrete objects are used to explain the Dao’s empty, unobstructed functioning. The ancients made objects by following symbolic patterns: a wheel has thirty spokes, corresponding to the number of days in a month. The hub is hollow and open through its center, allowing the wheel to move. This is precisely the meaning of “thirty spokes join at a single hub; it is where there is nothing.”

Plain-Language Interpretation

The main idea of the classic text (corresponding to Chapter 11 of the Dao De Jing)

A wheel: Thirty spokes come together at a single hub. The wheel can turn because of the empty space at the hub’s center.

A vessel: Clay is kneaded and shaped (kneading and molding clay, shanzhi) into a vessel. The vessel can hold things because of the empty space within it.

A house: Doors and windows are cut out to make rooms. People can live there because of the open space inside.

Thus, it is precisely because of “nothing” (emptiness, open space) that a cart, a vessel, and a room each have their use.

Zhuangzi once said that when a room has no open space, a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law are crowded together and fall into conflict; when the mind lacks the empty stillness of “wandering in Heaven,” the six senses clash with one another. This, too, uses external things to make a point: the open, unobstructed space within our minds is where their wondrous function lies.

Thus, substantial things bring “benefit” (convenience and practical function), while insubstantial things are the foundation of “use.” Whatever has form and offers convenience depends, behind the scenes, on the functioning of formless open space. This is true of more than carts, vessels, and rooms.

How can we verify this?

Our bodies have form, yet something formless within them performs its work. This is true not only of the human body, but of all things between Heaven and Earth.

Xue Yongzhai said: From “thirty spokes come together at one hub” to “nothing is used for its function,” these three things—the cart, vessel, and room—each become useful through the mutual cooperation of being and nonbeing.

Chu Boxiu said: Spokes and a hub make a cart, but only the empty space at the center lets it carry things; clay is shaped into a vessel, but only the empty space within lets it hold things; windows are cut into a room, but only the empty space within lets people live there. This makes clear how being and nonbeing work together.

“Being” is made up of objects fashioned by human hands, and so it can come into existence and be destroyed. “Nonbeing” is the Dao, rooted in Nature, and so it is inexhaustible.

Consider the human body: the head, eyes, hands, and feet all have form, but their movement depends on something formless within. Eyes see, ears hear, hands grasp, feet walk, and speech and movement take place—all have something that “makes them happen.” Thus, the function of “nothing” is great indeed.

When life comes to an end, a person lies in the “great house” (the coffin). The head, hands, and feet are still there, but they can no longer move, like a puppet. The wondrous spirit has departed, leaving only a body like a lump of earth. Yet being and nonbeing cannot be separated: why not use an ordinary body to cultivate sagehood, and transform obstruction into emptiness?

In general, being has an end, while nonbeing is inexhaustible; this is what distinguishes their relative merits.

This chapter simply brings out the meaning of one word: “nothing.” Precisely because there is “nothing,” all that “is” in the world can be put to use, making the cart, vessel, and room effective. The closing line, “Being brings benefit; nonbeing brings function,” makes the point clear: being brings benefit, while nonbeing brings use.

Interpretations by various commentators do not stop at taking the “hub, vessel, and room” as concrete objects. Zhuangzi says, “Grasp the center of a wheel and respond to what is limitless”—a skillful use of metaphor. Some have compared the thirty spokes to the thirty days of a month, but later commentators such as Manjushri found this strained. Others take “nonbeing” to mean that, before these objects existed, the principles for using them were already present. They cite the Appended Statements of the Classic of Changes: “The benefit of boats and oars was probably derived from the hexagram Huan,” and “The yoking of oxen and riding of horses was probably derived from the hexagram Sui.” This, too, is one interpretation.

The Biography of Niu Miao says: only with thirty spokes can one speak of “the use of a cart.” A cart has thirty spokes, and a month has thirty days; the so-called cart hub may also be taken as a metaphor for the sun and moon. From the perspective of the Dao, before the Great Uncarved Simplicity was divided, before Heaven and Earth were established, and before the sun and moon gave forth light, there was originally no use for the sun and moon. From the perspective of practical implements, in high antiquity people were simple and had not yet developed their ingenuity; there was originally no use for hubs or turning wheels. Tradition says that the Yellow Emperor observed how puffball plants spun in the wind and, taking this as his model, invented the cart for carrying loads over long distances. Later generations grew extravagant, adorning cart hubs with gold, jade, and cinnabar. The Most High—Laozi—saw customs becoming increasingly extravagant and simplicity fading away. He therefore composed this chapter and lamented: it is precisely because of its “nothingness”—its hollow center, free of attachment—that a cart can be used.

“Knead clay to make a vessel; it is where there is nothing that the vessel is useful.” To knead means to mix; clay means earth. The phrase refers to shaping vessels from clay. Here, “vessel” means a cauldron; the ancients also regarded Heaven and Earth as a cauldron. From the perspective of the Dao, when the undifferentiated whole stood alone, Heaven and Earth did not yet exist—so how could there be a cauldron? From the perspective of practical implements, people in high antiquity lived within the Dao, their nature entirely simple and unadorned: they drank water from gourds and ate with their hands. Later, the sages cast metal and molded earth to make useful objects. From the Three Dynasties onward, simplicity was scattered and purity eroded; people competed in extravagance, making eating and drinking vessels from carved rhinoceros horn and jade, crafting them from gold and silver, and engraving and ornamenting them with precious stones, prizing what was rare and unusual. The Most High, saddened by the decline of the age, lamented: it is precisely where there is “nothing” that the vessel is useful.

“Cut doors and windows to make a room; it is where there is nothing that the room is useful.” To cut means to open by carving; “doors and windows” refers to doors, windows, and their frames; a “room” is a dwelling. The ancients also regarded Heaven and Earth as a spirit chamber, and the sun and moon as its doors and windows. From the perspective of the Dao, before the Supreme Ultimate had divided… (The discussion should continue by explaining that at this time Heaven and Earth did not yet exist, and therefore there could be no “use” for a room, by the same reasoning as in the previous examples.)

General Meaning of the Scripture

The sun and moon are also the Dao. Consider dwellings: in ancient times, before palaces and houses existed, people lived in nests in trees during summer and in earth caves during winter. Later, sages introduced houses, setting beams and raising roofs to shelter people from wind and rain. Since the middle period of antiquity, customs have gradually declined. People have come to favor extravagance, building palace upon palace and lofty towers, indulging their desires and carrying luxury to its extreme. The Great One, moved by the decline of the age, sighed and said: it is precisely because of the “empty” spaces within that a house is useful. Hence the saying, “What is present brings benefit; what is absent makes it useful.”

“What is present brings benefit” refers to the presence of the sun and moon, moving in their courses, and the alternation of cold and heat; to Heaven and Earth, like a cauldron that shapes and transforms the myriad things; to the world beneath Heaven, like a spirit chamber that covers and sustains all beings; to the wheel hub that bears weight and makes transport easier; to vessels and utensils provided for eating and drinking; and to houses, doors, and windows that take the place of tree nests. In all these cases, sages provide what is needed and put it to use, benefiting and aiding the world. That is why it is said, “What is present brings benefit.”

“What is absent makes it useful” means that if all things in Heaven and Earth clung to what is “present,” only the Dao would remain empty and void. It is by making use of emptiness and void that things become useful. Hence the saying, “What is absent makes it useful.”

The Resting-Repose Hermitage says (on “Thirty spokes” through “what is absent makes it useful”): To awaken to and realize the Great Dao is called grasping its “substance”; one must also grasp its “function.” To grasp the substance without the function is to be like a dead thing; to grasp the function without the substance is to be caught up in a life of restless activity. One who understands the Dao and De, with substance and function complete, is called an accomplished adept. Laozi uses the making of a cart, the shaping of vessels, and the cutting of doors and windows to form a metaphor for a house, revealing that Wuwei (non-action) has wondrous functions and benefits the world. Thus, everything a person of the Dao does brings benefit. Those in the world who lack the Dao take these things and put them to practical use. Apart from the Dao and De, how could a person be formed, or the world brought into being?

Yang Zhiren says (on “Thirty spokes” through “what is absent makes it useful,” using the wheel as a metaphor): The thirty spokes correspond to the number of days in a month, and serve as a metaphor for a mechanism in motion, turning continuously. Heaven uses the Dipper as its mechanism; people use the heart as theirs. The Original Spirit (the precelestial spirit) gathers at the central palace, while the true Qi (precelestial vital energy) circulates through the whole body. It turns and revolves the transformations of creation, gathers the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and harmonizes the Four Symbols—all these are “what the cart is used for.” The turning wheel used to knead and shape clay into pottery serves the same metaphor: without this wheel, how could a vessel be made? If a person’s inner mechanism is set in motion, then wherever its pivotal point turns, nothing remains inaccessible.

Note: The discussion above links chapter eleven of the Dao De Jing—“Thirty spokes converge in one hub … when it is empty, it serves as a room”—with the history of dwellings, the theory of substance and function, and terms from Neidan (internal alchemy), such as the central palace, the Five Phases, and the Four Symbols. Brief parenthetical explanations have been provided for specialized terms at their first appearance.

Plain-Language Interpretation

Doors, Windows, the Seven Orifices, and “Being” and “Nonbeing”

A door or window is an opening in a doorway or wall. It serves as a metaphor for the world as it was when primordial chaos first began to take shape. If someone bored one opening each day, chaos would die after seven days—a point illustrated through a story told by Zhuangzi.

People also have seven orifices. Turning the gaze inward brings life; letting it roam outward without restraint brings death. This is the basis for talk of “being” and “nonbeing.” One can cultivate this principle: if one uses “nonbeing”, almost nothing is beyond one’s reach. Being arises from nonbeing—that is what it means to know how to use it.

Nonbeing arising from being is a wondrous union with the prenatal state. Clinging only to “being” or only to “nonbeing” is faulty in either case. A person who can open one eye between being and nonbeing has truly arrived: using “nonbeing” as “function.”

Zhuangzi asks: Does Heaven move? Does Earth rest in place? Do the sun and moon contend for their positions? Who directs them, who keeps them in order? Who, at leisure and without acting, sets them in motion? Is there intention, some mechanism that makes them act of necessity? Or do they turn of themselves, unable to stop?

Yu Qingzhong on the Thirty Spokes and “Where There Is Nothing”

Yu Qingzhong says that the line about thirty spokes—“where there is nothing, there is function”—expresses how things in the world often arise from “nonbeing,” rather than from “being.” Read “where there is nothing” this way:

• When the thirty spokes are being made, the benefit of a complete cart does not yet exist, but the cart’s function is already present in the mind and in its structure. Hence the phrase “the cart’s function is there.”
• When clay is being kneaded into a vessel, the benefit of the finished vessel does not yet exist, but the vessel’s function is already present within it. Hence the phrase “the vessel’s function is there.”
• When openings are cut for doors and windows, the benefit of a room does not yet exist, but the room’s function is already present within it. Hence the phrase “the room’s function is there.”

According to the Kaogong ji (“Records of the Artificers”) in the Rites of Zhou, a cart’s canopy is round, symbolizing Heaven; its carriage is square, symbolizing Earth; and its thirty spokes correspond to the number of days in a month. The hub is the part of the cart that holds the axle; the spokes come together to form the wheel. Kneading means mixing and shaping; clay is sticky earth; the potter turns a wheel to form a vessel. Cutting means making an opening. A door is one half of a double door, and a window is an opening beside the door. One interpretation says that “nonbeing” means emptiness or space.

The hollow hub allows the wheel to turn; the empty interior of the cart allows it to carry people. It is the empty space that makes turning and carrying possible. A vessel made of clay is solid on the outside and hollow within; it is the empty space inside that allows it to hold things. In ancient times, people lived in caves, digging into the earth and covering the top with soil; doors and windows were made in imitation of these openings. A room must be empty inside for people to live in it. All these examples show that “nonbeing” is not useless: it is what function depends on.

In brief, the first part uses the story of chaos and the seven orifices to discuss turning the gaze inward and the mutual arising of being and nonbeing. The second part draws on Yu Qingzhong’s interpretation of the thirty spokes, kneading clay, and doors and windows: a thing’s usefulness is already latent in “nonbeing” before it is complete; empty space is what allows turning, holding, and dwelling.

A Plain Language Interpretation

A home’s use for living in and coming and going depends on what is present; what is present is useful because of the form of things. What is absent is useful because of the empty space within them.

People rely on things in their daily lives, whether staying at home or going out. Laozi says that what is present is useful because of the form of things, while what is absent is useful because of the emptiness within them.

For an object to be useful, its form must be on the outside, and the outside depends on the empty space within to serve its purpose. For emptiness to be useful, the inside must be hollow, and the inside depends on the object’s form to accomplish its purpose. Thus what is absent relies on what is present to be useful, and what is present relies on what is absent to function.

What is absent speaks of the Dao (the Way) beyond physical form; what is present speaks of objects within the physical world. The Dao is not made manifest without objects, and objects cannot come into being without the Dao. The Dao and objects depend on each other; neither can be taken up while the other is discarded.

Another explanation: Bian Que, the ancient physician, said that the human body has five organs where true Qi (vital energy) gathers. Each of the five organs is associated with six kinds of Qi, making a total of “five times six,” or thirty, points of convergence. This is like the thirty spokes of a wheel: they turn without ceasing and all meet at a single hub, just as the thirty spokes share one hub.

The sage understands the pivotal workings of change and makes use of the body’s visible form: the body serves as the furnace, and the Three Palaces serve as the cauldron. In the indistinct realm of emptiness, the sage brings transformation about. This is like a vehicle one rides in, an object one uses, or a room one lives in: the form lies in what is present, while the function lies in what is absent. Thus what is present is useful, and what is absent serves a purpose.

This is precisely the meaning of Wei Boyang’s line in the Cantong qi: “Use what is absent to govern what is present; the vessel’s function lies in its emptiness.” The explanations offered by different schools all have merit; those who understand the principle may judge among them.

Xu Liuxu says: From “the thirty spokes share one hub” through “serves a purpose,” the sage is not speaking only about wheels, rooms, and objects. He also wants people to understand the body by contemplating things, rather than merely reading words.

Earlier writers have explained the principles of wheels, rooms, and objects in considerable detail, so I will not repeat them here. Few, however, have discussed understanding the body by contemplating things. To understand the body: the head, eyes, ears, nose, mouth, torso, hands, and feet come together as one body, each with its own function. Yet together they are still just a mass of flesh. Movement and speech, laughter and words, all belong to “me.” But if we look for the fixed referent of the word “I,” we find none. Could it be that the self without a fixed place is what makes the body with its definite parts function? This is what the scripture means by “what is present is useful, and what is absent serves a purpose.” Readers of this scripture should reflect on this carefully.

Chai Yuangao says: “The thirty spokes share one hub”—the spokes are the strips that make up the wheel, and the hub is the round piece of wood through which the axle passes.

Plain-Language Interpretation

On the spokes, hub, and their function

The spokes are attached to the hub—the wooden ring at the center of a wheel through which the axle passes. The hub is the wheel’s main structure; the spokes give it function. This is like the heart that brings all things into order. Consider the phrase, “It is the empty space within that gives a cart its use.” If there were no emptiness at the hub’s center, allowing the axle to pass through, who could make the subtle function of the hub and spokes possible? Clay is kneaded and shaped into vessels, and “it is the empty space within that gives a vessel its use.” Walls are built of mud to make a room, and “it is the empty space within that gives a room its use.” What makes these functions possible? Thus, what is present can show benefit, while what is absent can show subtle function. The heart is the substance, and benefit is its function: that is the meaning here.

Su Jingjing says:

From “thirty spokes share one hub” to “it is put to use,” the central point of this chapter of Laozi’s text is “emptiness.” The hub is the part of a cart that receives the axle; the spokes are wooden struts extending to the rim. Only because the hub is hollow can the axle pass through and turn the wheel, giving the cart its use. Kneading and shaping clay refers to the potter’s wheel, also called the turning plate. Only because the wheel is hollow in the middle and turns in a circle can it shape a vessel, giving the vessel its use. Cutting a door and opening a window makes a room bright; only because the window is open does the room have its use. The emptiness of the hub, the potter’s wheel, and the window all belong to “absence.” Each takes “absence” as its substance and thereby has a function. So there can be carts, vessels, and rooms—all arising from “absence.” This is one sense of the saying, “Being is born from nonbeing.”

The lay practitioner Benyi’an says:

From “thirty spokes” to “it is put to use,” the passage speaks of the existence of things. What enables these things to be used is “absence.” If one clings only to “what is” and uses it to make use of “what is,” one is merely using one thing to deal with another. Without “what is,” “absence” has nowhere to reside; without “absence,” “what is” has nothing to govern it. This applies not only to hubs, rooms, and vessels. For the world at large, things lie in their coarse outward traces, while the Dao lies in their subtle depths. For an individual, the body is substantial, while the heart is empty. Yet “absence” benefits from “what is,” and “what is” functions through “absence”; the two have never been separate. Thus, in the world there are no things outside the Dao, just as there is no body outside the heart. Here, “function” means practical usefulness, not “substance and function” as a philosophical concept. In terms of substance and function, “absence” is the substance and “what is” is the function.

Shitan says:

Thirty spokes come together at one hub to form the wheel’s center; yet only because the center is empty does the cart have its use. Clay is kneaded into a vessel; only because its interior is empty does the vessel have its use. A doorway is cut to make a window; only because it is open does the room have its use. Thus, “what is” provides benefit, while “absence” provides function.

The wheel: For the axle to be set firmly, the center of the hub must be hollow so the wheel can turn. If the middle were packed solid, with no empty space, what use would the hub be?

The pottery: Clay must be kneaded and shaped to make a vessel, but firing pottery also depends on “emptiness.” For example, the bellows (tuoyue) must have a hollow interior so air can flow in and out and the vessel can be made. If kneading and shaping clay did not make use of “emptiness,” how could a vessel be made?

The house: A room takes shape when doors are cut and windows opened, but it is openness and light that make it possible for people to live there. If the doors and windows were blocked and not open, what use would the house be?

That is why Laozi says: “Having” brings convenience—the tangible things that are a cart, a vessel, and a room; “nothing” is what makes them useful—they all depend on hollowness and empty space. This uses objects to make a point about people: a person must empty the mind to receive the Dao, as the saying goes, “The Dao gathers in emptiness.”

Discussion of other interpretations

Some read the passage to mean that a vessel must be hollow to hold things and a room must be empty for people to live in it, but they take “kneading and shaping clay” and “doors and windows” themselves to be the “nothing” Laozi refers to. This may depart from the meaning of the classic.

Others think that the “use of the cart, vessel, and room” already exists before the cart, vessel, or room has been made. This, too, may not have been Laozi’s intent. Laozi emphasizes that once “having” has taken shape, it still depends on the “nothing” within it to become useful. He does not mean that an abstract “use” exists separately before the thing itself has been formed.