《道德真經集義(二)》Vol. 5

Collected Explanations of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its De (《道德真经集义》), Volume Five, “Contamination Eight”: A Plain-Language Reading

Textual differences in the chapter title

Heshang Gong titled this chapter “Nourishing the Body.” Zhao Shian titled it “The Meaning of True Constancy, Integrating and Encompassing.”

Commentary by Emperor Xuanzong of Tang

The previous chapter discussed the “wondrous source” giving rise to things and the different perspectives on being and nonbeing. This chapter explains how, once the uncarved simplicity is dispersed, names and forms become distinct, and people chase after each particular thing and circumstance among the myriad phenomena. Chasing after circumstances leads to drifting and displacement; skillful transformation can lead one back to the root. So the chapter first points out deluded feelings such as judgments of beauty and goodness, then shows how being and nonbeing lean against one another, and finally presents the way of the sage in the hope that people will return to simplicity as soon as they can.

Du Guangting says

Living beings encounter circumstances and give rise to feelings, moving ever farther from the Dao. The sage takes pity on those who have forgotten the way back and opens this wondrous gate for them. The previous chapter clarified the difference between two perspectives and the passage from nonbeing into being; this chapter identifies six delusions and shows how things and circumstances incline against one another. Only when one understands what is wrong with chasing after circumstances and no longer follows the changes that carry one adrift can one speak of gradual cultivation through emptying the mind and filling the belly.

Zhang Chongying says

The Dao precedes the body and encompasses Heaven and Earth. When people follow this natural Dao, their Shen (spirit) remains present and their Jing (essence) stays firm. They do not chase after things, show off their abilities, or covet fame. They are wary of gain and draw near to loss; they are cautious about what is near and fearful of what is far. Then the myriad calamities quietly disappear, and the body receives its nourishment. This is why Heshang Gong placed “Nourishing the Body” after the chapter “Embodying the Dao.”

The text (Laozi, second lecture)

When everyone in the world recognizes beauty as beauty, ugliness is already there; when everyone recognizes goodness as goodness, what is not good is already there.

When everyone calls something beautiful, ugliness appears. When everyone calls something good, what is not good appears.

Being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficulty and ease complete each other; long and short take shape in relation to each other; high and low incline toward each other; notes and sounds harmonize with each other; front and back follow one another.

Being and nonbeing, difficulty and ease, long and short, high and low, notes and sounds, front and back: each arises in relation to the other, and each depends on the other.

Therefore, the sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words.

Therefore, the sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words.

The myriad things arise, and the sage does not turn them away; gives them life without claiming ownership; acts without relying on the results; and when the work is done, does not take credit.

The myriad things arise, and the sage does not turn them away; gives them life without claiming ownership; acts without relying on the results; and when the work is done, does not take credit.

Precisely because the sage does not claim credit, the achievement does not depart.

Precisely because the sage does not claim credit, the achievement does not depart.

Textual differences

The passage from “Being and nonbeing give rise to each other” through “front and back follow one another” also appears in another version as: “Being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficulty and ease complete each other; long and short take shape in relation to each other; high and low incline toward each other.”

(Continued) Sounds respond to one another, and what comes before is followed by what comes after. The myriad things arise, yet the Dao does not turn them away. It possesses nothing, yet fills the universe. The myriad things arise, yet the Dao does not claim the credit for initiating them.

When accomplishments are achieved, it does not claim them as its own. Precisely because it does not claim them, the Dao never departs—some versions read, “does not dwell.”

Heshanggong says: Everyone under Heaven knows that calling something “beautiful” is a way of praising oneself and deliberately drawing attention; beauty then becomes something to despise, and one’s own life is put in danger. Everyone knows that calling an action “good” is a way of pursuing fame and merit; this makes goodness no longer good, and instead invites others to contend for it. Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other: seeing being is what makes one understand nonbeing. Difficult and easy bring each other about: seeing what is difficult is what makes the easy achievable. Long and short set each other off: seeing what is short is what reveals what is long. High and low depend on each other: seeing what is high is what makes one understand what is low. Sounds respond to one another: when one sings above, another must answer below. What comes before is followed by what comes after: when one walks ahead, another must follow.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and governs the world through the Dao. The sage teaches without speaking, guiding others by example. The myriad things each arise and act, yet the sage neither turns them away nor obstructs them. The sage gives life to and nurtures the myriad things but does not claim them as its own. Original Qi gives life to the myriad things without claiming credit. The sage acts without relying on repayment; the Dao’s actions do not look for gratitude. Accomplishments are achieved, yet the sage takes no credit. When the work is done, the sage withdraws and does not occupy the position. Precisely because the sage takes no credit, blessing and Virtue can endure and remain with them.

This passage means that one should not blindly imitate other people’s actions or lightly trust their words. The first six lines—being and nonbeing, difficult and easy, and so on—are like a ruler opening a source from which a hundred branches then grow. The hundred changes all stir things into disorder.

Wang Bi says: Everyone under Heaven knows—continuing the preceding text on coming, going, before, after, and mutual following—that “beautiful” is what people’s hearts desire and delight in, while “ugly” is what they dislike and resent. Beauty and ugliness are like joy and anger; good and not good are like right and wrong. They share the same roots and emerge from the same gate, so neither side can be discarded. These six pairs of opposites all describe the natural order. They are not a list of categories that can be exhaustively enumerated.

Therefore, the sage handles affairs through Wuwei: nature is already complete, and forced action would only ruin it. The sage teaches without speaking: what is supreme acts without relying on itself; wisdom is already complete, and deliberate action would only make it false. Accomplishments are achieved, yet the sage takes no credit: the sage works in accord with the nature of the myriad things, and the accomplishments arise through them, so the sage does not claim them as its own. Precisely because the sage takes no credit, the accomplishments can endure. If the credit is claimed for oneself, the accomplishments will not last.

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

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang’s Commentary (General Meaning)

People everywhere think they already know what beauty and goodness are. That is precisely where the problem lies.

What people call beautiful or good often grows out of desire. Once the mind longs for something, people may call it beautiful or good even when, in objective terms, it is neither. So the scripture says that everyone takes what their own mind judges beautiful to be beauty, and what they are willing to do to be goodness.

In truth, beauty and goodness have no fixed standard. They mostly arise from the deluded activity of perception and emotion. People set opposites against each other and cling to “being and nonbeing,” “difficult and easy,” and so on, each vying with the other. The great sage carefully examines these names and distinctions, knowing that they are all illusory. That is why the text says, “they have already been rejected.”

Commentary: Explaining “People everywhere … have already been rejected”

“People everywhere” is a general term for all beings beneath the heavens.

“Beautiful” means what the mind finds pleasing and lovable; “good” means what one is willing to do or uphold in one’s conduct.

People everywhere tend to acknowledge only this: what they themselves like is called beautiful, and what they themselves are willing to do is called good.

In matters of taste, some avoid pungent flavors and favor red over plain white; people argue over which is better, and disputes over right and wrong arise. This all happens because desire stirs in the mind, and the labels “beautiful” and “ugly” are established in relation to one another.

The sage knows that beauty and ugliness have no inherent nature and no independent owner; they are products of deluded feelings. What is deluded does not endure, hence the phrase “they have already been rejected.” “Already” is a particle used for emphasis.

The commentary quotes the Zhuangzi: what one person finds beautiful seems wondrous, while what they find repulsive seems foul and decayed. The same thing appears wondrous when one clings to beauty, and foul when one clings to ugliness.

Commentary: Explaining “Being and nonbeing give rise to each other”

This explains the emptiness of the two extremes, being and nonbeing.

Being is not there from the outset; it appears as being in contrast with nonbeing. Ordinary people often think that being arises from nonbeing.

Nonbeing is not there from the outset either; it appears as nonbeing in contrast with being. Ordinary people often think that nonbeing arises from being. That is why the text says they “give rise to each other.”

In truth, being and nonbeing are opposing terms; they do not give rise to one another in their inherent nature. The notion that they “give rise to each other” exists only because people mistakenly cling to their opposition.

Beauty and ugliness, too, do not exist inherently; both are empty. The sage seeks to bring delusion and fixation to an end, and so points out, in turn, six mistaken attachments to opposites.

Commentary: Explaining “Difficult and easy complete each other”

This explains the emptiness of difficulty and ease.

Because one side is difficult, the other becomes easy; because one side is easy, the other becomes difficult.

For example, a potter may be skilled at shaping clay but find firing porcelain difficult, while a carpenter may be skilled with wood but find shaping clay difficult. That is why the text says that difficulty and ease complete each other.

If everything were equally difficult, there would be no such thing as ease; if everything were equally easy, there would be no such thing as difficulty. Difficulty and ease have no substance of their own; they are merely names set up through deluded thinking, because all things are empty.

Those who understand this forget both skill and clumsiness, and the labels “difficult” and “easy” naturally fall away—just as beauty and ugliness have no fixed standard.

Commentary: Explaining “Long and short take their form from each other”

This explains the emptiness of the opposition between long and short.

The long appears long in contrast with the short, and the short appears short in contrast with the long. That is why the text says that long and short take their form from each other.

A duck’s leg, for example, is not short in any absolute sense; it appears short because a crane’s neck is long. These are all comparisons and labels, not realities that belong independently to one side.

Therefore, when one sees a crane’s legs are long, one worries they are not long enough; when one sees a wild duck’s legs are short, one laments they are not long enough—even to the point of wanting to cut them shorter. Long and short are defined in relation to each other; beauty and ugliness are likewise compared. None of these has a fixed, unchanging standard; all are forms projected by the discriminating mind. Since form is empty, names that depend on form are equally empty.

High and low depend on each other, which shows that names such as “high” and “low” have no fixed substance. The two labels are relative: what is called high must have something lower as its reference; what is called low must have something higher as its reference. If something still higher appears, what was formerly called high is no longer high; if something still lower appears, what was formerly called low is no longer low. Various titles and ranks in the world also shift with changing relations, just as the roles of subject and concubine are not forever fixed. Thus these names have no fixed position or essence.

Sounds harmonize with one another. The five tones (the five notes in ancient Chinese music theory) must combine before a melody can take shape—who gathers the many sounds and makes them a tune? Things in the world likewise arise from the convergence of conditions; they therefore have no real, unchanging self-nature and are empty. To try to decide from this whether things are truly beautiful or ugly is not the speech of one who understands the way things are.

Before and after follow each other, which shows that past, present, and future are also empty. Day and night alternate; the old passes away and the new follows. As the feet keep moving, what counts as before and what counts as after is only named according to their mutual relation. Names are arbitrarily established; if one treats them as real, the mind becomes confused. Past, future, and present have no fixed substance; things constantly change, and names for beauty and ugliness have no stable standard.

The six kinds of relation are mutually opposed and take turns as names, like beauty and ugliness—they do not arise fixedly from things themselves but are established by the discriminating mind. Because nominal forms are so numerous, the sage governs through Wuwei (non-action) and takes “doing nothing” as the rule for conduct. “Doing nothing” borrows the name “affairs” to explain non-action; “teaching without words” borrows the name “teaching” to explain instruction that does not rely on speech; what is called “acting” is likewise a provisional way of speaking.

Here “therefore” connects what went before with what follows. Those who deliberately adorn cleverness and practice deceit, even if they bow with folded hands in silence, are not practicing non-action. Those who follow their original simple nature may direct affairs all day long yet remain inwardly at ease. The sage knows that the nature of all dharmas is empty, and therefore does not boast or cling. In governing the world, one should cut off hollow display and employ pure, solid virtue, so that the people are transformed and each keeps to their proper place. When the people are settled and undisturbed, that is governing through non-action. What the sage says accords with the people’s hearts; therefore even if he speaks all day, one may say he has not imposed verbal teaching—this is “teaching without words.”

When the ten thousand things rise up and become active, the sage does not interfere and does not credit their deeds to himself. “Acting” means arising and becoming active; “declining” means refusing or attributing merit to oneself. The meaning here is to let the ten thousand things each act according to their own nature without claiming their accomplishments as one’s own.

A Plain-Language Interpretation

“Declining thanks” means refusing to accept gratitude or repay a kindness. The point is that the sage is skilled at guiding the people, yet acts without interference and without striving. The people live freely and at ease, following their own nature without even realizing it, so they have no need to thank the sage. This is why the saying goes, “They beat the earth and drum on their bellies, forgetting the power of the ruler”: the people forget the kindness of the ruler (the sage). In other words, people forget the sage’s merit and virtue.

“Giving life without claiming ownership … to the point of not dwelling on achievement”: The sage gives life to the myriad things without claiming them, and completes his work without taking credit, allowing each thing to fulfill its nature. He claims nothing for himself, so each thing can do what it is meant to do without feeling indebted. Only when one is careful to this degree can the work of peace and order be considered complete. Even then, one must remain careful day after day and dare not grow complacent. (Note: “Be more careful each day” draws on the meaning of a passage in the Book of Documents.)

Commentary (explanation of the meaning): Now the myriad things are each brought to fulfillment and preserved in their life processes. The sage does not claim them as his own, but lets each thing carry on its own activity; he does not rely on his own achievements. In this way, the work of peace and order grows ever greater. One should still be as careful at the end as at the beginning, and dare not grow complacent. This is how the sage forgets his own achievements.

“Precisely because he does not dwell on his achievements, they do not go away”: Because he does not take credit, his merit and virtue endure. Because he dares not grow complacent and cultivates his virtue day by day, he forgets his achievements, yet those achievements remain. Therefore, by not dwelling on them, he ensures they do not go away.

Commentary: That sage is steadfast and upright, as fine and straight as a hair; he is as careful at the end as at the beginning, and his efforts do not falter from start to finish. He has never settled into ease or indulgence, and so his abundant virtue renews itself day after day. He forgets his achievements, yet they do not go away; his radiance fills the world, and all under Heaven is at peace. Hence the saying: “Precisely because he does not dwell on his achievements, they do not go away.”

Du Guangting says (on the chapter beginning “When everyone knows beauty as beauty”):

From “When everyone knows beauty as beauty” through “that is already not good”: Few people truly understand, while most follow conventional ways. Few know how to cultivate themselves, while most pursue external things. Everyone knows that beauty and goodness should be pursued, yet cannot put them into practice; everyone knows that what is bad and evil should be changed, yet cannot cast it off. The sage therefore sighs, saying, “that is already bad” and “that is already not good.”

To embody benevolence and uphold righteousness, embrace the Dao and remain humble, be loyal and filial to one’s parents and ruler, and be friendly and respectful toward one’s kin: these are not merely labels for “beauty” and “goodness.” Everyone knows them, yet cannot put them into practice. Likewise, everyone knows the bad actions that oppose them, yet cannot change. How much more difficult, then, is it to cultivate the Dao of Wuwei (non-action)? This is cause for lament.

“Delusion” means what is not real. When thoughts arise in response to circumstances and feelings follow external things, one fails to abide by the Dao or follow what is constant; this is delusion.

“Miraculous” and “foul and rotten” come from the Zhuangzi, in the chapter “Knowledge Roams North.” The Yellow Emperor tells Knowledge, “The myriad things are one”: what people admire they call miraculous, and what they detest they call foul and rotten. (Du Guangting draws on this to explain how worldly people cling to distinctions between beauty and ugliness, in contrast to the realization of unity associated with “Knowledge.”)

What is foul and decayed can turn back into the marvelous, and what is marvelous can turn back into the foul and decayed. Thus, it is said: Heaven and Earth are permeated by nothing more than a single Qi (vital energy). What the sage values is precisely this “One.” The passage explains that the particular biases of the marvelous, the foul and decayed, and the myriad things—and the various teachings of the many schools and their different branches—lead people to cling to right and wrong and praise or disparage one another. Whether cultivating oneself or governing the state, if one practices Wuwei (non-action), follows things as they are, and takes the One as the thread running through all, then the foul and decayed and the marvelous are naturally no different. Hence, being and nonbeing give rise to each other…

The Old Master laments that ordinary people are lost to the true Way, recklessly setting things against one another and clinging to illusory feelings. He therefore explains this principle to free them from attachment. “Clinging” means holding fast: cling to being, and one rejects nonbeing; cling to nonbeing, and one rejects being. Cling to difficulty, and one rejects ease; cling to ease, and one rejects difficulty. Cling to shortness, and one disparages length; cling to length, and one disparages shortness. Cling to highness, and one disparages lowness; cling to lowness, and one disparages highness. Cling to what comes after, and one disparages what came before; cling to what came before, and one disparages what comes after. All such one-sided attachments fall short of the ultimate. As the Jing (scripture) says, “Those who cling lose their way.” If one does not become attached to either side, one naturally accords with the Middle Way and enters the gateway to wondrous insight into the true view.

Difficulty and ease complete one another: Difficulty exists because of ease; without ease, difficulty could not be known. Ease exists because of difficulty; without difficulty, ease could not be revealed. They cycle through dependence and reversal, each serving as the other’s means. Examine this clearly: if you are not obstructed by difficulty or attached to ease, you may be said to see all things as equal and to understand the Middle Way.

Craftsmanship refers to skillful technique; pottery refers to shaping earth into vessels. For each person to exercise their own skill makes things easy; changing what someone else has made makes them difficult.

Long and short take shape in relation to each other: Things have forms that are long or short; undertakings have ways that are difficult or easy; transformation arises through changes between being and nonbeing. All of this is natural. If one is confined by ordinary views, must what is long remain long and what is short remain short? And what of being and nonbeing, difficulty and ease? To be obstructed by them is to become attached; to see through them is to become attuned to the Way. Only one who has the Way is not obstructed.

The analogy of the wild duck and the crane also comes from the “Webbed Toes” chapter of the Zhuangzi. It means that each has its own proper nature, and one should not use the nature of one to diminish or augment the other. This passage criticizes those who fail to let things follow their own nature.

High and low incline toward one another: The distinctions between high and low appear in form and circumstance, rank, natural ability, and talent or accomplishment; among the many differences in the world, there are high and low in every domain, not only in social rank. But those who are high should forget their highness, and those who are low should forget their lowness. Each should be content with their place and hold to it, taking Heaven as their standard…

One’s Status and Being Content with One’s Place

If everyone keeps to their proper place, there will be no mutual encroachment or struggle to seize positions and power.

“Subject” was originally a humble term men used to refer to themselves when addressing others, while “concubine” was a humble term used by women. These terms arose from taking a lowly position before others.

Commentary (Explanation of the Principle)

The discussion of titles and rank here is meant as a broad admonition to all. High and low each have their proper place. Only by being content with one’s place and refraining from encroachment can one preserve things from beginning to end. If one despises a lowly position and envies an honored title, or resents being beneath others and covets a higher place, one cannot be content with one’s natural lot, and disaster and ruin will follow. Thus the scripture says: “Know contentment, and you will not be disgraced; know when to stop, and you will not be in danger.” This is how one endures—can we afford not to be vigilant?

Sounds in Harmony

When Heaven and Earth exhale their breath, the myriad sounds arise; when the pitch pipes accord, all music comes into being. Once sounds begin, distinctions follow: beautiful and ugly, sorrow and joy, resentment and anger, grief and longing, and discordant tones. In the eyes of those who understand the Dao, such distinctions between good and bad can be set aside. To change with circumstances while clinging to things as truly existent is deluded emotion; to forget both beauty and ugliness is to understand the Dao. One who understands the Dao has nothing to which the heart clings, even amid the vastness of Heaven and Earth and the profusion of the myriad things.

The Record of Music says: “All sound arises in the human heart. The heart is stirred by things, and this takes form in sound. Sounds respond to one another and undergo changes; when these changes settle into patterns, they are called ‘tones.’ When the tones are arranged and performed with music, using shields and battle-axes, feathers and banners, this is called ‘music.’”

“When sorrow stirs the heart, the voice is strained and subdued; when joy stirs it, the voice is broad and relaxed; when delight stirs it, the voice rises and spreads; when anger stirs it, the voice is harsh and fierce; when reverence stirs it, the voice is direct and restrained; when affection stirs it, the voice is harmonious and gentle.

“Therefore the former kings were careful about what stirred the heart: they guided the will with ritual, harmonized the heart with music, regulated conduct through government, and guarded against wrongdoing through punishment. Ritual, music, punishment, and government all rest on a single principle. The way of tones and sounds is connected with government.”

Each of the Five Tones has its own symbolic correspondence: gong represents the ruler, shang the ministers, jue the people, zhi affairs of state, and yu material things. When these five are not disordered, there are no discordant, muddled tones.

The music of a well governed age is calm and joyful, for its government is harmonious. The music of a disordered age is resentful and angry, for its government is at odds with the people. The music of a collapsing state is sorrowful and full of longing, for its people are suffering.

When gong is disordered, it sounds desolate, and the ruler is arrogant; when shang is disordered, it sounds distorted, and the officials are corrupt; when jue is disordered, it sounds mournful, and the people resentful; when zhi is disordered, it sounds sorrowful, and affairs of state are burdensome; when yu is disordered, it sounds perilous, and resources are depleted. When all five are disordered, they bring calamity upon one another in turn.

Summary

When high and low each remain in their proper place, there is no encroachment; knowing contentment and when to stop helps things endure. The human heart is stirred by things and gives rise to sound, and sound is connected with government. When the Five Tones are in harmony, government is harmonious; when they are disordered, the ruler becomes arrogant, officials are corrupted, the people resentful, public affairs burdensome, and resources depleted. That is why the former kings used ritual, music, punishment, and government to bring their foundations into harmony.

To encroach on one another and overstep one’s proper place is called “excess.” The music of the states of Zheng and Wei is music of troubled times; compared with the music from above the Pu River, it too belongs to the category of “excess” and “Sang.”

The music from above the Pu River is music of a state doomed to ruin: government orders have fallen into disarray, and the people are scattered and displaced.

• Those who know only “sounds” and not “tones” are little different from birds and beasts;
• those who know “tones” but not “music” are merely ordinary people;
• only a noble person can truly understand “music.”

One must discern “tones” by examining “sounds,” understand “music” by examining “tones,” and then understand government by examining “music.” You cannot discuss “tones” with someone who does not understand “sounds,” or “music” with someone who does not understand “tones.” Those who understand “music” are close to understanding “ritual.”

Zixia (Bu Shang, a disciple of Confucius) said to Marquis Wen of Wei: The music of Zheng is wanton and lascivious, corrupting people’s aspirations; the music of Song is weak and indulgent, corrupting people’s aspirations; the music of Wei is hurried and distracting, corrupting people’s aspirations; the music of Qi is arrogant and perverse, inflaming people’s ambition. All four harm virtue and are not correct tones.

In the Spring and Autumn Annals, Yan Zi said to Duke Jing of Qi: The former kings harmonized the five flavors to bring the five tones into balance, thereby calming the heart and bringing affairs of state to completion. Tones, too, are like flavors:

1. Qi — one must await “Qi” before movement;

2. Form — dance symbolizes civil and martial affairs;

3. Categories — these refer to the Airs, Odes, and Hymns;

4. Things — instruments are made from materials found in the four directions;

5. The five tones — gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu;

6. The six yang pitch pipes — Huangzhong, Dacong, Guxian, Ruibin, Yize, and Wushe;

7. The six yin pitch pipes — Jiazhong, Linzhong, Zhonglü, Yingzhong, Nanlü, and Dalü. The yang pipes govern Yang; the yin pipes govern Yin;

8. The seven notes — established when King Wu campaigned against Zhou; they took shape over seven days, from midday through midnight;

9. The eight winds — winds from the eight directions: Ming Shu from the east, Qing Ming from the southeast, Jing Feng from the south, Liang Feng from the southwest, Chang He from the west, Guang Mo from the north, Bu Zhou from the northwest, and Rong Feng from the northeast;

10. The nine songs — songs of the six departments and three affairs, praising the nine achievements.

Clear and turbid, large and small, short and long, fast and slow, sorrowful and joyful, hard and soft, delayed and rapid, high and low, rising and falling: all circulate, complementing and completing one another. A noble person listens to them to bring the heart into balance. When the heart is balanced and virtue is harmonious, one is then close to the Dao.

Shun composed the song “Southern Wind” for the five-stringed qin. Kui first created music and bestowed it upon the lords. The way to govern a state can be understood from music: whether a state is well governed or in disorder. Thus Jizha, the Prince of Wu, listened through the music of the Three Dynasties, ancient and contemporary, and understood their rise and decline.

A person who cultivates themself closes their eyes to sight and turns their hearing inward, listening for the sound that has no sound. Only then can one speak with them about the Dao.

Note: The sequence “sounds—tones—music—government” describes successive stages of cultivation and political judgment. Grouping the music of Zheng, Wei, and the Pu River among the sounds of troubled times and doomed states is a familiar Confucian critique of ritual and music. Yan Zi’s passage links the five tones, six yang and six yin pitch pipes, seven notes, eight winds, and nine songs into a system of ancient musical theory and political ethics.

“After” is distinguished through change. If nothing changed or moved, what could there be of before and after?

Only when things follow one another do before and after emerge. Those who understand the Dao forget all such distinctions.

The language of the world merely emphasizes differences. “Lifting a foot” means raising it to take a step. As you walk, which step comes after, and which before? Understand this, and you put an end to concern over before and after. Lao Jun, taking pity on worldly people who wander without direction and quarrel without end, lost to deluded feelings and forgetting the Middle Way, set out six matters to guide the confused.

The Middle Way is neither Yin nor Yang, and has no name that marks a partial position. Dwelling between Heaven and Earth, it stands free and at ease, finding peace with whatever it encounters. It forgets all achievements and reputation, returning to the root of the Dao. The differences between Yao and Jie, the changes of life and death, distinctions between right and wrong, differences in longevity, divisions between honor and disgrace or high and low rank, the stirrings of grief and joy, and the succession of past and present—all are forgotten. Not knowing the difference between Yao and Jie is to forget beauty and ugliness; not knowing the change between life and death is to forget being and nonbeing; not knowing the difference between right and wrong is to forget difficulty and ease; not knowing the difference in longevity is to forget long and short; not knowing the divisions of honor and disgrace or high and low rank is to forget elevation and lowness; not knowing the stirrings of grief and joy is to forget sound; not knowing the succession of past and present is to forget before and after. Dwelling in the realm of “no rightness” and standing on a path free from haste, one meets what comes without resisting it, passes through without clinging to it, harmonizes and responds with De (Virtue/Power), and responds to chance events with the Dao. When something is added, one does not add further; when something is taken away, one does not subtract further. This is the person who has awakened to the Middle Way: one who has forgotten the distinction between before and after, and the workings of change.

Therefore, the sage teaches through “the utmost.” A sage is one whose De accords with Heaven and Earth, whose clarity accords with the sun and moon, whose order accords with the four seasons, and whose dealings with fortune and misfortune accord with the spirits. Broadly speaking, there are five kinds. The first is the sage who has attained the Dao, such as the Most High Lao Jun and the great sages of the heavens. The second is the sage who holds sovereignty over the realm and has also attained immortality, such as Fuxi, the Yellow Emperor, Zhuanxu, Shaohao, Yao, and Shun. The third is the sage who holds sovereignty over the realm but has not attained immortality, such as Tang of Yin, King Wen, and King Wu; they brought order to the whole world, but are not said to have ascended to Heaven. The fourth is the learned and accomplished sage who holds no sovereignty over the realm, such as the Duke of Zhou and Confucius; they established ritual and music and set an example for successive kings, yet held no throne. The fifth… (the text continues in the next section of the original scroll).

Collected Commentaries on the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue: A Plain-Language Interpretation

The Beauty of Sharing Virtue with Heaven and Earth

Fifth point: A sage who excels in one particular art has no reputation for broad learning and abundance.

There are also sages who excel in a particular field, yet have no reputation for being broadly learned and richly endowed. They do not possess all the virtues described above.

For example:

• Bo Ya and Shi Wen—sages of the zither, masterful players
• Ziqing and Suiming—sages of the board game, masterful players
• Zhongqi and Yanzhou—sages who know music, masters at recognizing it
• Han E and Qin Qing—sages of song, masterful singers
• Gong Shu and Wenzhi—sages of penetrating wisdom
• Li Zhu and Shi Kuang—sages of sight and hearing, with extraordinary vision and hearing
• Zhang Zhi and Zhong Yao—sages of cursive calligraphy

The “illuminated one” mentioned in the scripture refers to a sage who governs the world through understanding of the Dao.

The Sage Who Governs the World: Ruling with Loosely Hanging Robes

The sage who governs the world simply lets his robes hang loosely and sits facing south with composed dignity. His robes fall naturally; he sits upright facing south. What else is there to do?

This is what is meant by “dwelling in the affairs of Wuwei (non-action)”:

• Appreciate the beauty of Heaven and Earth—follow their natural beauty.
• Understand the principles of all things—grasp the way things work.
• Move in accord with the seasons—follow the course of the four seasons.

The ruler above practices Wuwei, and the myriad things below transform of themselves. This is called “putting into practice the teaching without words.”

When a state is governed in this way, the people feel at home in their dwellings and content with their customs. They are then in harmony with the Dao.

The Myriad Things Arise, and He Does Not Turn Them Away

The sage’s way of treating the myriad things is this: they have existed of themselves since ancient times. Why would they need the sage to “make” them exist? The myriad things find life for themselves.

“Blind” here may be a variant of “sprout”; it refers to stirring into life and growth.

“They roam and take their ease” comes from the Canon of Supreme Mystery. It means that when those above practice Wuwei, those below naturally thrive and so live at ease and in freedom.

Singing While Striking the Earth: “Unaware of the Emperor’s Power”

Striking the earth: rang means earth or soil. To strike the earth is to tap the ground for pleasure.

The Zhuangzi, in “Horses’ Hooves,” says that in the time of Emperor Hexu, people played with food in their mouths and wandered about with full bellies—they amused themselves with food in their mouths and went about patting their bellies.

“Unaware of the emperor’s power”: Wang Chong’s Balanced Discourses records that when Yao ruled, his governance was so vast and peaceful that no one could describe it. A fifty-year-old man was striking the earth by the roadside and singing with his belly full:

Dig a well and drink; till the fields and eat.
Rise with the sun and work; rest when the sun goes down.
What power has the Emperor over me?

This means that the people had forgotten the sage’s contribution—they felt that life was simply meant to be lived this way.

Giving Life Without Possessing, Acting Without Relying on One’s Effort

The sage lives among things without harming them, allowing the myriad things to fulfill their lives. As they do so, the sage claims no possession of the achievement, relies on no personal exertion, and lets nature take its course, abiding in complete accord with the natural way.

Six Terms for Achievement and Merit

The ancients used different terms for “achievement”:

It is mysterious achievement—the achievement of the Way of Heaven—that brings the myriad things into being.

Plain-Language Interpretation

“Profound” means that one’s merits and virtue reach far and their influence is subtle. Only by achieving success without claiming credit for it can one preserve the full measure of Wuwei (non-action).

“Remain as cautious at the end as at the beginning, and nothing will go wrong.” The previous passage has made the point clear: although the Sage has helped the world, he neither boasts nor relies on his achievements. He fears that even a moment’s slackness might diminish this virtue, so he becomes all the more careful and does not dare to rest at ease. (“Rest at ease” here means to relax or let one’s guard down.)

The Sage practices Wuwei and his virtue is vast. All things follow their nature and find their proper place: Heaven is clear above, Earth is peaceful below, the four seas are united, and all is calm and tranquil. This is what is meant by “Great Peace.”

The phrase “It is precisely because … that it does not depart” is an introductory construction. It means that precisely because of the Sage’s refusal to claim credit or rely on what he possesses, his aspirations do not depart. His might resounds across the four seas, yet he does not consider them his possession. His kindness reaches all things, yet he does not think he has bestowed a favor. His achievements cover the world, yet he does not claim them as his own. His virtue surpasses the four seasons, yet he does not regard himself as their ruler. He forgets himself in the highest Dao and aligns his aspirations with emptiness. Though he occupies the highest position, people do not feel burdened by him; though he leads, people do not feel harmed. All under Heaven gladly support him and never tire of doing so. Thus his aspirations never depart.

When a ruler does not give free rein to anger or delight, punishments and rewards are not handed out arbitrarily, and weapons are not wielded lightly. When he does not make excessive demands, taxes are not heavy and provisions are not requisitioned in abundance. When he does not indulge arbitrary likes and dislikes, appointments and dismissals are appropriate, and the worthy are clearly distinguished from the unworthy. When he does not favor those around him, honest people will surround him on every side. When he does not needlessly disturb the land—that is, launch unjust wars or campaigns—arms remain unused and soldiers are not made to suffer. When he does not harass the people, the world is at peace. All things receive their due; he does not rely on his own achievements, and he acts through Wuwei without taking pride in it. The benefits of this are truly trustworthy and far-reaching.

“Fine and straight as a hair” comes from “The Men of the Capital,” in the Book of Songs. It describes a refined temperament and upright conduct, as even and straight as a hair from root to tip, without rises, dips, or bends.

The Lord of the Dao, Laozi, says: When everyone under Heaven recognizes beauty as beauty, ugliness appears; when everyone recognizes goodness as goodness, what is not good appears. The Dao has no fixed appearance. Seen from the perspective of simplicity and plainness, the roots of good and evil are one. Where there is “beauty,” there is “ugliness” in opposition; hence, when everyone under Heaven recognizes beauty as beauty, ugliness comes into being. Where there is “goodness,” there is “what is not good” in opposition; hence, when everyone recognizes goodness as goodness, what is not good comes into being. What people regard as wondrous they call divine; what they despise they call foul and decayed. Yet the wondrous can turn into the foul and decayed, and the foul and decayed can turn into the wondrous. How, then, can beauty and ugliness be sharply distinguished? What was once considered right may be wrong today; what is considered right today may be wrong tomorrow. (This passage draws on the idea of “beauty and ugliness arising together” in Chapter Two of the Dao De Jing. It explains that names and values shift with changing times and should not be clung to as fixed.)

Having let go of what comes “after,” one may still make good use of what follows. Why, then, deliberately choose between beauty and ugliness, good and evil? The sage realizes true emptiness—the quiescent void at the root of things—and yet constantly manifests in the realm of being. In wondrous activity, the sage does not cling to being. Beauty and ugliness, good and evil: even when one tries to choose between them, they cannot be separated. How, then, could evil and what is not good burden the sage?

Being and nonbeing give rise to one another. Before the Great Beginning (TaYi), when Heaven and Earth had yet to divide and all was formless chaos, the myriad things shared one substance. Once the Two Modes (Yin and Yang) were divided, things became relative to one another. These six pairs—being and nonbeing, difficult and easy, long and short, high and low, sound and tone, before and after—are where the many changes converge. From them arise a hundred concerns and different paths, and most people become trapped among them, unable to break free. Movement within nonbeing gives rise to being, and being returns to nonbeing: hence, “being and nonbeing give rise to one another.” Only after encountering danger and difficulty does one know the ease of level ground: hence, “difficult and easy complete one another.” Long and short are measured against each other, like a foot and an inch; high and low incline toward each other, like a mountain and a marsh. A sound is made and an answering sound follows: hence, “sound and tone harmonize.” A form moves and its shadow follows: hence, “before and after accompany one another.”

Yin and Yang revolve, the seasons alternate, and the patterns of the myriad things come into being in an instant and vanish just as swiftly. To govern the world through being is fraught with difficulty. To find one’s ease through nonbeing is to leave a nature that is naturally long uncut and one that is naturally short unextended. Heaven is high of itself, Earth low of itself; strike the gong and the gong answers, strike the horn and the horn answers. Spring comes first and summer follows; the grown precede the young. Though the realm of opposites is everywhere inhabited by the Dao, it remains far from the Dao.

Therefore the sage establishes a teaching: to dwell in affairs through Wuwei (non-action)—as Zhuangzi says, to use non-action to govern the world—and to practice teaching without words—as the Book of Changes says, to establish a teaching through the spirit’s way, so that all under Heaven submit. Action brings success and failure; speech brings what is fitting and what is mistaken, and cannot escape entanglement. The sage alone can stand above the myriad things, transform them, and remain unburdened by them.

When the myriad things arise, the sage neither turns them away nor refuses them. As they unfold together, the sage responds to each according to what it calls forth: like a mirror facing forms, revealing each as beautiful or ugly; like a valley answering sounds, receiving each as good or bad. The sage refuses and avoids nothing. Hence, “the myriad things arise, and the sage does not refuse them.” They come into being, transform, take form, and acquire color of their own accord, each reaching its full stature and fulfilling its nature. Who could claim them as their own? Hence, “the sage gives life but does not possess.” The sage benefits the world for ages without claiming benevolence, and covers and sustains Heaven and Earth, shaping every form, without relying on these as personal achievements.

Without resorting to contrivance, he therefore “accomplishes the work but does not rely on its merit.” The four seasons turn in their cycle; when a task is complete, its maker departs. This is the pattern of Heaven’s Dao. The sage follows Heaven’s Dao: though his merit covers all under Heaven, he seems to claim nothing for himself. If he considers himself meritorious or thinks he possesses something, he has already become deluded. Thus it is said, “Accomplish the work and do not dwell on it.” The moment one intends to dwell on it, one creates distinctions between coming and going, past and present. When nothing within oneself dwells on anything, things cannot move one. When things come, respond to them; when they go, let them go. What is gained or lost? Thus it is said: precisely because he does not dwell on his merit, his merit does not depart.

Wang Anshi says: “Everyone under Heaven knows the utmost; the utmost is already not good” (this phrase may allude to the idea expressed in “When all under Heaven know beauty as beauty, ugliness arises”). Beauty is set against ugliness, and good is contrasted with not good. This is the ordinary way of things. Only the sage can be without opposites in relation to the myriad things; everything done by one who is not a sage involves opposition. Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other, difficult and easy complete each other, high and low incline toward each other, notes and tones harmonize with each other, and front and back follow each other. None can escape such oppositions. Only by forgetting all six pairs of opposites can one enter the numinous. Once one enters the numinous, one has no opposite among Heaven and Earth.

A certain commentator says: The great comes from the nonexistent—“great” is the utmost limit of being, and when being reaches its limit, it returns to nonbeing. Laozi says that being and nonbeing give rise to each other; the sage therefore uses this principle in teaching. Seeing that “being” is bound up with opposition, the sage dwells in “nonbeing” while attending to affairs, and practices teaching without words. The sage never fails to act, but his action arises from non-action; he never fails to speak, but his words arise from silence. “He gives life but does not possess,” through to “accomplish the work but do not dwell on it”: to give life without claiming ownership, to act without relying on one’s merit, and to succeed without dwelling on one’s reputation—all three arise from having no self. Only by having no self does one avoid losing oneself; and one does not merely avoid losing oneself, but also avoids losing others. Those who do not understand having no self and are always caught in having a self lose more than themselves. When one accomplishes a task and then dwells on it, dwelling creates an opposition to departure. Because the sage does not dwell on any of these three things, the Dao remains with him and does not depart.

Su Yingbin says: “Everyone under Heaven knows…” through to “front and back follow each other.” Ordinary people judge beauty and ugliness by outward forms and names. But are what they call beautiful and good truly beautiful and good? They do not understand being and nonbeing, difficulty and ease, length and shortness, high and low, notes and tones, or front and back. People under Heaven speak of beauty and ugliness through outward forms and names… (The following discussion continues the same line of thought as Wang Anshi and Su Zhe on being and nonbeing giving rise to each other: attachment to names and appearances creates opposition everywhere; the sage dwells in nonbeing and does not claim merit, and so remains with the Dao.)

“Wang Jiepu” refers to Wang Anshi, and “Su Yingbin” refers to Su Zhe; Yingbin was his literary name. “Yu shuo” may refer to the view of a certain author, and the source text may contain corrupted characters, as in “the great □ comes from nonbeing.” The vernacular interpretation follows the common reading, “the great comes from nonbeing.”

An Interpretation in Plain Language

(The preceding passage on relativity and the Way of the sage)

What is later called “giving rise to one another” and “overcoming one another” is not the true “right.” A person may just have decided that they are “tall,” but the moment they meet someone taller, they become “short.” They may just have decided they are “ahead,” but the moment someone moves ahead of them, they become “behind.” If we simply believe in and cling to what we ourselves consider “beautiful,” we will be far from the Great Dao (the Way).

The sage’s highest teaching is this: when something must be done, act while keeping the mind in a state of Wuwei (non-action); when it is right to teach through words, hold to the meaning of “not speaking.” In this way, one goes beyond the measures of “long” and “short” and leaves behind the order of “before” and “after.” Neither beautiful nor ugly, neither good nor bad—how could the people of the world truly understand this?

When the myriad things arise, the sage does not claim them as their own. The myriad things seem to work “for me,” yet the sage does not refuse them; it is as though I give them life and bring them to completion, yet I never claim them as my own or rely on them. Even when great work is accomplished, I never take credit for it. This is the teaching of Wuwei and “not speaking.” It is itself beautiful and good—how could it then follow after what is ugly and bad?

Because the sage remains in the utmost state without departing from it, they can dwell in poverty and low status without the distress of poverty, or in wealth and honor without being burdened by them. This is called “not dwelling.” If I do not even dwell in anything, what could there be for me to depart from? This is the highest form of dwelling.

Lü Jifu says:

People of the world regard certain things as “beautiful” and “good,” and want to identify what is “ugly” and “bad” so they can despise it. But from the standpoint of the Dao itself, even beauty and goodness have departed from the Dao; and from the standpoint of what comes forth from the Dao, even ugliness and badness are not outside it. In light of this, is it really an empty saying that “once there is beauty, there is ugliness; once there is goodness, there is badness”?

Thus, being and nonbeing bring each other forth; difficulty and ease, long and short, high and low all depend on one another. The things of the world “arise from being,” while “being” itself “arises from nonbeing”—this is called being and nonbeing giving rise to one another. Difficult tasks begin with what is easy; ease, too, is made what it is by difficulty. This is called difficulty and ease completing one another. Only with the crane’s long legs can we know the duck’s legs are short; only with the duck’s short legs can we know the crane’s legs are long. This is called long and short taking shape in relation to each other. If we treat “high” as the proper position, the valleys are the source of the rivers, and what is high has a tendency to slope downward. If we treat “low” as the proper position, the rivers are where the valleys flow, and what is low has a tendency to rise upward. This is called high and low inclining toward one another.

A Plain-Language Interpretation

(Continuing from the previous passage) What is meant by high and low leaning on each other? If the Yellow Bell pitch is taken as the “ruler,” the other pitches harmonize with it; if another pitch is taken as the “ruler,” the Yellow Bell harmonizes with it. This is called sounds harmonizing with one another.

Viewed from autumn and winter toward spring and summer, spring and summer come first, and autumn and winter follow. Viewed from spring and summer toward autumn and winter, autumn and winter come first, and spring and summer follow. This is called what comes before and after following one another.

Therefore, the sage takes the utmost as his teaching, guiding people toward the ultimate and the authentic Dao. The sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action): having no affairs, he has no self-centered intentions. The sage is without a mind of his own, and takes the minds of the people as his own. He practices teaching without words: when there are no words, speech itself arises from “wordlessness.” Though he acts, he leaves no trace of deliberate effort; though he teaches, he shows no intent to preach. Thus his work is accomplished and his teaching takes effect. When the myriad things arise, he does not turn them away or refuse them; when they reach their utmost, he claims no credit or fame. Though his achievements and reputation are great, how could he be burdened by the trouble of “overflowing when full” or “diminishing through possession”? In this way, he seeks to help people return from the ordinary to the uncarved simplicity, becoming companions to Heaven and Earth and friends of the transformations of creation. Precisely because the one who has reached the utmost neither departs nor claims credit, to depart or claim credit would be to set oneself in opposition. The Dao is always present in me; how could it move away and leave?

Lu Nongshi says: All under Heaven know that “the utmost” and “the unworthy” have been distinguished. Only when beauty reaches the state of “no beauty” is it the true beauty of all under Heaven; only when goodness reaches the state of “no goodness” is it the true goodness of all under Heaven. True beauty is free of the distinction expressed in “all under Heaven know beauty as beauty”; true goodness is free of attachment to the claim that “all under Heaven know goodness as goodness.” Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficult and easy complete each other; long and short take shape in relation to each other, becoming apparent through comparison; high and low lean on each other; sounds harmonize with each other; and before and after follow each other. Being and nonbeing speak of the Dao; difficult and easy speak of De (Virtue/Power); long and short speak of form; high and low speak of position; sounds speak of mutual resonance; before and after speak of beginning and end. This is the natural course of things. Therefore, the sage takes the utmost as his teaching. The sage attends to affairs through Wuwei and practices teaching without words in order to help people merge in the true goodness and mingle with the true beauty, return to the uncarved simplicity, and become friends of Heaven and Earth and of the transformations of creation. When the myriad things arise, he does not refuse the utmost and depart; when they come to rest, he enters into rest with them and does not resist; when they begin to stir, he emerges with them and does not refuse.

Wang Yuanze says: All under Heaven know that “the utmost” and “the unworthy” have been distinguished. The Dao is originally without form or substance, but things give rise to distinctions without warrant and sink into the flow of ceaseless change and circulation.

The reason people cannot free themselves is precisely this. Yet those who become immersed and cannot pull themselves out do so not because they dislike or reject these things, but because they delight in clinging to them. That is why they are called “bad” and “not good.” Beauty and goodness follow in their wake. When people find themselves amid beauty and goodness, badness and what is not good are already there too. To awaken only after circumstances change is to awaken late. Even so, the beauty and goodness spoken of by the Perfected Person are never separate from badness and what is not good; nor are badness and what is not good ever separate from beauty and goodness. The foolish people of the world cannot understand this, so the beauty and goodness spoken of by ordinary people remain entangled with badness and what is not good.

New interpretation: This passage says that beauty, ugliness, goodness, and what is not good pursue one another. Those deluded by attachment, who become immersed in beauty and goodness, would do better to acknowledge that badness and what is not good exist. Only the sage stands apart and sees far, knowing that beauty contains ugliness and goodness contains what is not good, and never becoming immersed in them. Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other, as do the six pairs of difficult and easy, long and short, high and low, sound and voice, and before and after. Once one departs from the Dao and clings to the “self,” there is a “other.” When self and other are divided, things of every kind become polarized. These six pairs are precisely why the unevenness of the myriad things, the alternations of joy, anger, sorrow, and delight, and the changes between life and death arise and recede in turn without ceasing of their own accord. All this comes from failing to merge with the root of Yin-Yang, following its peripheral currents instead, making distinctions according to one’s nature, clinging to one thing while rejecting a hundred, and taking delusion for what is constant.

This is the second chapter, resembling the “Discussion on Making All Things Equal” in the Zhuangzi. Its opening contains a preface, whose reasoning can be inferred. This is how the sage “acts” in transforming the people: the sage has no private mind and takes the people’s minds as his own. Though he acts, he leaves no trace of “acting”; though he teaches, he reveals no intent to “speak.” Thus he helps things through action and guides conduct through teaching, while remaining still and untouched, never burdened by speech or action. In this way, the world can return from inversion to simplicity. Because nothing burdens him, though he lodges his form between Yin and Yang, transformation cannot alter him. How could those six pairs disturb him?

The myriad things arise, and he does not turn away from them: The myriad things arise together, and the sage lets each fulfill its nature, refusing none, because his mind is still and makes no choices. If he held thoughts of acceptance and rejection, the forms of things would be countless and beauty and ugliness would abound; how could he refuse nothing? He gives life but does not possess; he acts but does not rely on it; when his work is complete, he does not claim it: With a self, one “claims” a place; once one claims a place, one is moved and changed. Only what is “ultimate” does not depart. Forms and names arise and all things undergo change, but the Dao alone has no form, and nothing can alter it. The sage embodies the Dao, and so fills all…

The mind does not cling to external things, yet external things still respond to it. It meets the myriad changes without moving from selfish intent. How, then, could it claim chance occurrences as its own achievements and regard them as inherent? Only in this way can one leave behind the “six pairs” of relative distinctions—such as beautiful and ugly, right and wrong—put an end to the names of beauty and ugliness, transcend the current of birth and death, and abide in the constant Way. If one engages with the world in this state of mind, what burden of pride and self-satisfaction could come even with the highest honors?

Liu Zhongping says:

If everyone in the world knows what is “supremely beautiful” and “supremely good,” then once these names for beauty and goodness are established, they cannot endure to the end. Instead, “ugliness” and “not good” arise. The sage teaches through the “supreme”: he undertakes affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and carries out the teaching without words, so that people throughout the world do not know why beauty and goodness are as they are. This is the Dao teaching people without departing from them. Because the sage does not claim credit, he does not depart; because he does not take possession, he does not depart. This statement contrasts with “bringing things to completion,” and uses “not taking possession” to put an end to that idea. “Not departing” means remaining among the six pairs without being carried away by any of them. If the people are benighted and ignorant, already swept along by the six pairs, and the sage were to cut himself off from them and refuse to respond by teaching through affairs, what could the people rely on? If he does not claim credit, then even when it is said that he “does not depart,” his skill in saving them is great. Zhuangzi says: “He follows the myriad things and does not depart.”

Liu Jiji says:

When everyone in the world knows what is “supremely beautiful” and “supremely good,” the wondrous name is established and beauty and goodness arise; when a name for what is sought is established, ugliness and what is not good arise. Once the name “beautiful” is established, ugliness arises; once the name “good” is established, what is not good arises. Both are losses of the Dao. Though the natures of good and evil are established, names and words have no ultimate end. Ordinary scholars cannot understand this. They think only what they like is beautiful, and so ugliness arises; they take something to be good, and so what is not good arises. The sage cannot wholly escape distinctions between good and evil, nor can he exist apart from them; yet he can regard beauty as ugliness and goodness as not good, just as he can regard ugliness as beauty and what is not good as good. Zhuangzi says: “What one finds beautiful is called numinous and marvelous; what one finds ugly is called stinking and rotten. What is stinking and rotten becomes numinous and marvelous again, and what is numinous and marvelous becomes stinking and rotten again.” Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other, and difficulty and ease follow one another. One who catches a deer may soon lose it; one who loses a horse may later find it again—an image of how gain and loss are never fixed.

An Explanatory Reading in Modern Language

The General Meaning of the Text

Once people call something beautiful, its opposite, ugliness, is established. Once they call something good, what is not good is marked out as well. Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficult and easy bring each other to completion; long and short reveal each other by contrast; high and low define each other’s positions; notes and tones harmonize with each other to make music; and before and after determine each other’s order. Therefore, the sage governs through Wuwei (non-action), does not arbitrarily establish names or force distinctions, and lets the myriad things grow in their own way without claiming them as his own. He acts without relying on his own strength, and when his work is done, he does not take credit for it. Precisely because he does not claim credit, his achievements endure beyond him.

Liu Ji’s Commentary (general meaning)

All under Heaven know what “beautiful” means as beautiful. This continues until “not departing”—when undifferentiated chaos has not yet divided and all phenomena are one. Once the two Qi (vital energies) divide, things become paired opposites: call something beautiful, and simplicity is already damaged, with ugliness bound to oppose it; call something good, and nature and feeling have already split apart, with what is not good bound to oppose it. Beauty can turn into ugliness, and good into not good, just as being and nonbeing give rise to each other, difficult and easy complete each other, long and short take shape in contrast, high and low lean against each other, and notes and tones harmonize.

Among the six pairs and their like: beauty and ugliness oppose each other without end; good and not good oppose each other without end; gain and loss give rise to each other without end; traveling on water without a cart and on land without a boat—skill and clumsiness complete each other without end; the darkling spirit and the morning mushroom—long and short lifespans take shape in contrast without end; lords and beggars—nobility and lowliness lean against each other without end; drinking wine in a dream and waking to weep—grief and joy harmonize with each other without end; infancy, youth, old age, and death follow one another without end. All six pairs derive their names and descriptions from good and evil; they have not yet known the utmost limit of “being.”

Only by awakening within the dark and obscure can one know; and to know is to be able to see things as equal. Thus the sage’s highest teaching is this: once good and evil are distinguished, the six pairs arise. The people should best be kept free of such knowledge—this is the greatness of the sage’s worth. Yet, sharing in the people’s troubles, the sage therefore takes action and offers instruction: acting from afar and bringing matters to completion is the work of non-action; speaking close at hand and putting instruction into practice is teaching that is not good. Action and instruction are offered only to rescue the common ways. If the sage instead goes along with them, rising and falling together with the six pairs, what would there be left to call worthy?

Zhuangzi said: The highest words leave words behind; the highest action leaves action behind. “The myriad things arise, and he does not speak of them” expands on the meaning of not speaking: he entrusts the myriad things to their own making, yet cannot speak of them; hence, they arise, and he does not speak of them. Once they arise, they come to life; once they come to life, instruction takes effect. He guides them through selflessness, and so gives life without possessing them. To use words is to direct and command the myriad things, which makes it impossible for the mouth to remain silent. Only one who does not depart from the utmost refusal to act refrains from relying on himself and does not claim credit when the work is done. This expands on the meaning of not possessing through action: when there is action, matters are brought to completion; when matters are completed, there is achievement. If one relies on one’s actions beforehand, one will claim the achievement afterward.

Liu Fu’s Commentary (general meaning)

All under Heaven know what beauty means as beautiful. This continues to “therefore” without departing: chaos has not yet been divided, and all phenomena are one; once the two Qi have divided, things become pairs of opposites. Call something beautiful, and simplicity is already damaged, with ugliness bound to oppose it; call something good, and nature and feeling have already split apart, with what is not good bound to oppose it. Beauty may become ugliness, and good may become not good, just as being and nonbeing give rise to each other, difficult and easy complete each other, long and short take shape in contrast, high and low lean against each other, notes and tones harmonize, and before and after follow one another.

The sage attends to affairs through Wuwei and teaches without words. When he does not act or speak, chaos remains undivided and good and evil are not established. The myriad things draw on him for life, yet he does not claim them; when his work is done, he does not take credit. Only by not departing from undivided chaos and not establishing beauty and goodness do the six pairs fail to arise; the people remain free of such knowledge, and the sage’s worth is great. If there is action and instruction, the six pairs arise and beauty and ugliness are distinguished. Even if this is done to rescue common ways, the sage is going along with them—how could he then be worthy? Thus Wuwei, silence, non-possession, non-reliance, and not claiming credit form a single thread; the achievement lies beyond the sage.

“Mutual resonance” and “following one another in front and behind”—can these six pairs of opposites, such as beautiful and ugly, good and evil, and front and back, depend on one another and be established through one another?

To end and begin again, and to shift repeatedly, is not the most upright or enduring condition under Heaven. What was once considered right may be judged wrong today; what is rejected today may be adopted again in the future. It is like “beautiful” being called beautiful and “good” being called good: in truth, there is no fixed, unchanging standard. The Dao De Jing says, “The proper may become strange, and the good may become monstrous.” This is what it means.

The way of the world is that action brings both achievement and loss, while speech brings both appropriateness and error. Neither is free from entanglements and attachments. Thus the Sage, a person who has attained the Dao, acts through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches through “the teaching without words,” without relying on verbal instruction. In this way, the Sage leaves things behind and steps away from human entanglements, no longer led by external things or competing with others. The Sage stands alone above the myriad things, without setting itself against them, and nothing can be compared with it. This is the state described in the Liezi as “alone in uncertainty”—alone in questioning the Dao and not following convention—and in the Zhuangzi as “alone in possession,” joined solely with the Dao.

The work of Wuwei is in fact the highest form of action: by setting aside deliberate action, one alone can discern clarity in the unseen. The teaching without words is the highest form of speech: by setting aside empty talk, one alone can hear harmony in the absence of sound. The Sage embodies the Dao, does not exhaust the mind through effort, and responds to things without fixed methods. The myriad things draw on the Sage without ever depleting it. As they all arise together, the Sage responds to each as it comes, rising with them and refusing nothing. The Sage lets the myriad things come to life without claiming them, and lets them act without relying on personal merit. The Sage nurtures all under Heaven as though not doing the nurturing, and gives to all things without making the people dependent. Therefore, the Sage completes the work without claiming credit. If the Sage claimed credit, it would one day be lost; precisely because the Sage does not claim it, the merit cannot be separated from the Sage. Does completing the work without claiming credit mean the Sage does not wish others to see their virtue and ability? This is why the next passage says, “Do not exalt the worthy”: do not honor reputation for virtue or elevate the capable.

Zhao Shian says: The preceding passage first explains how the six pairs arise. One reading says “not an inherent quality of the proper”; another says that once “all under Heaven know” this much, “not good” has already come to light. The subtlety of Laozi’s teaching on the Dao and De lies in the opening chapter: from “ever without” it moves to “ever with,” and in the indistinct there are images and things, all unfolding as one continuous thread. It then distinguishes sudden and gradual meanings through “mystery upon mystery”; its essential subtleties are all contained there. The meanings of the eighty-one chapters are connected, each with its own thread. After “things depart from the wondrous gate,” the “constant Dao” and “constant name” merge in the realm of beauty and ugliness; hence the next chapter begins, “All under Heaven know.” As the Dao descends and becomes things, “constant” is the substance of the Dao. Substance is what makes all functions available, but how could function be confined to constancy alone? Thus it is explained in accordance with things.

Nature is subject to change: The “conditions” of things—their circumstances and tendencies—change; the conditions of all things inevitably shift. What is beautiful now cannot remain beautiful forever. When conditions change, good and evil often reverse.

The Book of Odes says, “The valley wind blows gently, bringing clouds and rain,” and “Gather turnips and radishes, but do not judge them by their roots.” The conditions of Heaven and Earth cannot remain harmonious, and the nature of the myriad things cannot remain good and beautiful forever. Good and evil are neither the Dao itself nor inherent in nature; they are established by changing conditions and arise from perception and understanding. Whatever judgments we form arise from desire. The desiring mind knows only that “beauty is beautiful,” but not that when beauty becomes one-sided, it turns back into ugliness. It knows only that “goodness is good,” but not that when goodness is clung to, it turns back into what is not good. This is how we move from the constant Dao and constant names into particular things. Hence the saying, “Affairs follow on from the Dao.”

Beginning with the reversal of good and evil, this chapter goes on to six pairs of opposites. It first uses worldly affairs to make the principle clear, then releases entanglement and returns to truth. “Making the principle clear through affairs” means that the six pairs—beauty and ugliness, good and bad, and the rest—are all matters of particular things. The sage practices “the affairs of Wuwei”: through affairs, the principle becomes visible; through the dusty world, one enters awakening. Who but the sage could see this principle fully? The sage’s singular wisdom shines clearly, rising above the myriad forms. Leaving the realm of flux, the sage dwells in the ground of Wuwei. How could anything in the world, whether judged right or wrong, entangle the sage? This is releasing entanglement and returning to truth.

Where there is nothing, there is Wuwei and nothing more. Where there is something, affairs arise from it. Could the sage simply settle in a place of “no affairs”? The sage instead adapts to changing circumstances and sets them in order. At this point, the scripture gradually turns to the principles of governance. Any discussion of governance must include teachings for the inner realm—the Daoist practices of inner cultivation and techniques—before the principles of governing can be made clear. Thus, “level what exists and take in what is absent” may draw criticism from Confucians, but it accords with the meaning of this scripture. This is something the sage alone understands. The scripture therefore begins with the manifest signs of good and evil, then presents the six pairs to clarify their causes and conditions.

The realm of opposites

Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other; difficult and easy complete each other. The word “thus” recalls the reversal of beauty and goodness in the preceding passage, expressing wonder at how beauty and ugliness, good and bad, are so liable to turn into their opposites. The text then sets out six pairs: being and nonbeing are principles; difficult and easy are affairs; long and short are capacities; high and low are positions; sound and tone are the pitches of the musical scale; before and after are what is new and what is old. The myriad things emerge from the pivot and return to the pivot. The hundred flourishing things are born through transformation and return through transformation.

A Plain Language Interpretation

Born from earth, returning to earth—when it emerges, it is the mechanism of entry; when it enters, it is the mechanism of emergence. It comes from nothingness upon receiving its mandate, and when it returns, it goes back to nothingness. This is speaking from the perspective of nature (essence, innate character).

The flourishing of the myriad things arises from earth. They pass from form to formlessness; having come into being as things, they transform back into earth, still within the realm of “being.” This is speaking from the perspective of form (physical shape).

Being and nonbeing both emerge from the unity of the Dao (the Way): when nature emerges, it becomes being; when nature enters, it becomes nonbeing. It is like spring and summer coming first, followed by autumn and winter: beginnings are completed, endings are brought about, and each alternately conceals and reveals the other. This is the first principle within the realm of opposites. Thus, “being and nonbeing give rise to one another”—that is the meaning.

Hard and easy bring one another about: There is nothing in the world that is truly “easy.” When difficulties accumulate, things become easy. Nor is there anything truly “hard.” When easy things accumulate, they become difficult.

Comparing founding a state with preserving it: Founding a state is difficult, yet that very difficulty may make it easier. How can we see this? When one who follows the Dao attacks one who does not, the hungry readily accept food and the thirsty readily accept drink. This is what happened when Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou grieved for the people and punished the guilty.

Comparing preserving a state with founding it: Preserving a state may seem easy, yet that very ease may make it more difficult. How can we see this? A ruler preserving a state is like someone holding a full vessel. He must keep his heart settled and his will calm; he must remain still and steady it. One movement, and it overturns. This is what happens when he fails to settle his heart and calm his will, making the task harder instead. Among rulers who preserved their states, King Cheng is the clearest example.

When something is easy to understand, people feel close to it; when it is easy to follow, it brings results. One may speak only of ease and not of difficulty, but for what can be done easily, difficulty is already contained within it. Is this not how things stand in the world? Treat difficulty as easy, and it will ultimately become difficult; treat ease as difficult, and ease will be found within it. Thus, “hard and easy bring one another about”—that is the meaning.

Long and short shape one another: Things born between Heaven and Earth receive the same Qi (vital energy). Those who receive it in fullness grow tall; those who receive it weakly grow short. The ancients were often seven feet tall, while people today are no more than five. The ancients were tall and robust because the Qi descended in abundance; people today are short and frail because the Qi has gradually weakened. This is not limited to changes in the world; people too are like this. Though there are occasional differences, in general things cannot be entirely as they once were. Thus, the forms of Heaven and humanity have their fixed measures, and what is measured against them must be suited to its purpose.

Timber in the hands of a master carpenter is put to the use best suited to it; people of talent, each in their own sphere, can bring their abilities fully to bear.

The various sages each chose things as metaphors, each with its own nature and strengths, yet those strengths cannot be changed at will. Heaven gave the crane long legs—they cannot be shortened; the wild duck’s legs are short—they cannot be lengthened. Shorten long legs and the crane grieves; lengthen short legs and the duck is distressed. That is the principle of following nature.

As far as human nature is concerned, there is no ranking of long or short, better or worse—people are equal in that respect; yet outward circumstances and the places people occupy truly differ. The old books say the turtle is “longer” than the snake: “long” here does not mean bodily form but advantage in principle; that yin is not as full as yang does not mean a difference in how much qi there is but a difference in de (virtue/power). The bones of the Fangfeng clan were so large that a whole cart could barely hold them, while the people of Jiaoyao were only a chi and five cun tall—how vast the gap between them!

Though a cun is short, many cun make a chi; though a ridge beam is long, a small bracket block can support it. That is comparing the relative length and height of different materials. Heaven is high and earth is low; yang is above and yin below; mountains are high and marshes are low—these distinctions of above and below come from position and situation. Where the position is high, a high aspect naturally appears; where it is low, a low aspect appears. Yet heaven covers earth and earth bears up heaven, and the two do not press against each other; yang is above and yin below, and they do not press against each other either. Only when mountains are high and marshes are low does a relationship of high and low leaning toward each other become visible.

That mountains are high and marshes low can also be read through the flow of water: the waters of a hundred valleys gather into rivers and seas, which shows water running from high to low; conversely, rivers and seas are also the place where those waters collect—again described in terms of high and low leaning together. A high bank becomes a deep valley; a deep valley becomes hills and mounds—the same idea of high and low turning into one another. Banks were once lofty, then collapsed into valleys; low valleys, after sinking and filling, gradually level out; when flat ground rises, it becomes mounds. A thousand years from now, who can say mounds will not become high banks, or high banks will not become low ground? What is called “leaning toward each other” (xiangqing) is always about shifts in situation and form.

That sounds answer one another refers to music. The “Record of Music” (Yueji) in the Book of Rites says that rites (li) guide the heart toward the central and upright, and music (yue) guides the heart toward harmony. When plain, unadorned custom fades, people easily lose their natural disposition; without rites to restrain, there is disorder; without music to harmonize, there is harm. Music arises and sounds are produced because the human heart is stirred by external things. The Yueji says that sound is born from the human heart, and the heart is moved because things are as they are. When the heart is moved by things, that appears as sound; when sounds answer one another, change arises; when change takes on a fixed pattern, it is called yin (tone). When various tones are arranged and joined with dance regalia such as shields, axes, plumes, and banners, that is called yue (music). Music is the harmonious whole toward which sounds tend.

A Plain-Language Interpretation

1. Emotion is stirred by things; sound follows the movement of the heart

“Arising from life” refers to the feelings of the human heart. Only when the heart is stirred by things outside it do various emotions arise, and the voice changes along with them:

• Sorrow: the voice is brief and low (quick and subdued).
• Joy: the voice is broad and unhurried (open and relaxed).
• Happiness: the voice spreads outward (expansive and diffuse).
• Anger: the voice is rough and harsh (coarse and forceful).
• Reverence: the voice is upright and clear (direct and pure).
• Worry: the voice is gentle (harmonious and soft).

These six do not exist innately in our nature. Rather, things outside us stir us first; then the heart moves, and the voice changes. This is why the former kings were especially careful about what they used to move people’s hearts: they used ritual to guide aspirations, music to harmonize voices, government to unify conduct, and punishment to guard against wrongdoing. Ritual, music, punishment, and government are essentially one and the same: all serve to bring people’s hearts into accord and make the Way of governance manifest.

2. Music arises from the heart; order and disorder can be heard

All music—all musical tones and sounds—arises from the human heart. When emotion stirs within, it takes outward form as sound; when sound is given order, it is called music. Thus:

• The music of an orderly age is calm, harmonious, and joyful, and its government is also harmonious.
• The music of a disorderly age is resentful and angry, and its government is likewise perverse.
• The music of a doomed state is mournful, and its people are also suffering.

The way of sound and the affairs of government are connected.

3. The five notes, pitch standards, and the five organs

The five notes—gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu—may be compared to ruler, ministers, people, affairs, and things. When these five are in proper order, there are no muddled or jarring sounds. The lü-lü pitch standards can also be matched to the twelve months.

The five notes arise from the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth), and the Five Phases correspond in turn to the five organs:

Because each organ governs something different, each responds to sound in its own way: joy calls forth joy, and the sound is joyful; sorrow calls forth sorrow, and the sound is sorrowful. What is felt within is answered without: this is the correspondence between emotions and sound. This is why people speak of “sounds harmonizing with one another.” Here, sound and music are being discussed in terms of the pitch standards.

4. What follows what: days, months, years, and the present

Things follow one another in succession. Once a day has passed, that same day will never come again; days and months are bound to the passage of time. Once a year has passed, that same year will never come again; the seasons encompass the years.

Illusions change and shift, and those same appearances will never return; the body records this particular life. Once the present moment has passed, it cannot remain as that same moment; time succeeds itself through the present. Look back, and past and present become clear.

5. The cycle of the new and the old

Spring and summer come first, autumn and winter follow. The four seasons turn without stopping: the new becomes old, and the old becomes new again, in a cycle without end, each following the other. Good fortune and misfortune depend on one another without fail; form and shadow accompany one another without parting. Here, “before and after” refers to the cycle of the new and the old.

6. The mutual arising of being and nonbeing

Consider how being and nonbeing arise from one another:

Things undergo many changes. They may seem the same, yet in truth they return to “emptiness.” Only through emptiness can one become vast. Why, then, cling to appearing and disappearing, concealment and revelation?

Difficult and easy bring each other about. To fill a vessel to the brim is to make it overflow; better to stop when it is enough. Why add needless worry? Long and short set each other off; unevenness is the ordinary state of things. The number of formless things cannot be fully measured. Who can force them into equality, and who should preserve their differences? High and low lean on each other. One may rule as emperor above or as king below, but both embody the Dao. Nothing can dislodge them. Who is leaning, and who is not? The solid and steadfast do not lean. Sound and tone answer one another, yet better is “the great sound is rarefied”: it reaches a realm the ear cannot take in. Front and back follow one another, yet better to remain in the shade and let the shadow rest: there, footprints cannot be made out. Who could do this without embodying the Dao and standing above the myriad things? This is how we understand the sage: external things cannot bind the sage’s heart.

(The following section takes up the themes of “next, leave affliction and preserve the true” and “return constantly to reflection through oneness.”) Thus the sage acts through Wuwei (non-action). Here, “therefore” carries forward the preceding argument, which falls broadly into two parts: one concerns the inequality of the myriad things and the succession of six pairs of opposites; the other concerns how things depend on one another and thereby appear to harmonize. To force equality out of inequality is still “action”; to seek harmony by countering one thing with another is to remain attached. The sage alone can stand apart from opposition and difference and be at ease. The sage can “fulfill their nature”; when nature is fulfilled, one’s abilities and the Dao exist together. Those who cannot fulfill their nature may have the abilities of a sage without the Dao of a sage. Ability without the Dao descends into artifice, which is human contrivance; the Dao without ability veers toward raw simplicity, which cannot bring about transformation. Only when ability and the Dao are joined is this called complete De (Virtue/Power). One must respond to changing circumstances without exhaustion to understand the Dao of Wuwei, act well through Wuwei, and practice the teaching without words.

All who take bodily form in the universe are caught up in affairs. Those who occupy the highest position must not burden their hearts with toil. If the heart is entangled in affairs, one loses the principle of Wuwei; if the body is kept apart from affairs, one loses the ability to handle them well. The sage sits in the hall and meets the needs of myriad affairs. How could the sage keep distant from them? The key is simply to respond to change with an empty heart. Though the six pairs come from outside, the sage responds to them with an empty heart alone.

Note: This passage is a Song dynasty Daoist interpretation of the Dao De Jing. It develops the argument through many of the relative concepts in chapter two of the Laozi, such as difficult and easy, long and short, high and low, sound and tone, and front and back, and continues with themes such as the sage abiding in Wuwei and teaching without words. “Six pairs,” “ability and the Dao joined,” and “fulfilling one’s nature” refer respectively to six kinds of opposing relations, the joining of ability with the Great Dao, and the realization of one’s innate nature. These are familiar ideas in Neidan (internal alchemy) and cultivation of the mind and nature.

The Reality of Contemplating Principle

Contemplating principle, one finds that it is already within one’s own mind. From the mind arise feelings and events; as they join together, the circumstances we face become tangled and confused, without end. If you have not yet awakened to this, there is no need to force things to stay as they are. Let them follow their own course. Each thing has its own natural character, and I guide it in keeping with its tendencies. Each thing also has a principle that needs no words, and I remain silent alongside it. This is what is meant by “knowing without acting, seeing without looking.” When Heaven is clear through Wuwei (non-action), the principle that blesses goodness and brings calamity to excess becomes plain. When Earth is still through Wuwei, its disposition to receive Heaven’s influence and follow its example becomes evident. From this we can see: are Heaven and Earth truly doing nothing? They simply act through Wuwei.

Second: Transforming Things through Sincerity; Teaching without Words

“Teaching without words” means that the sages transform the world through sincere intent. When things are transformed through sincerity, those who witness it transform of their own accord. The influence of those above on those below is like wind moving across the earth—why use many words? This is what Zhuangzi meant by “the joining of two kinds of Wuwei.” The Book of Changes says that sages establish their teachings through the spirit. At the level of spirit, “nothing is done, yet things happen swiftly; nothing is traveled, yet one arrives.” As Mencius said, “What is sacred yet cannot be understood is called spirit.” Here, “spirit” also means that one is at one with what lies beyond oneself. Whatever I set right, nothing remains out of order. Hence the saying: “When the ruler is upright, things proceed without being ordered; when the ruler is not upright, even orders go unheeded.” These are all examples of teaching without words.

Even so, transforming things through sincerity and leading others by one’s own example are still matters of governing the world. If one speaks of teaching that is purely “without words,” any intention to instruct remains too insistent. The highest state is to seem unaware of how things come about, while they nevertheless come about; this is to attain the natural course. Who but a sage could speak of this? Thus, contemplating falls short of anticipating. The poem “Zhongnan,” which cautions Duke Xiang of Qin, says: “Brocade robes and a fox-fur coat, a face red as cinnabar—can he truly be called a ruler?”

Third: Drawing on an inexhaustible measure; The myriad things arise, and he does not refuse them

Earlier, six pairs of opposites were shown to be unequal. The sage, through unique insight and awakening, sees through illusion and returns to truth. He dwells in Wuwei and quietly brings order to confusion. Next comes “the myriad things arise, and he does not refuse them,” which reveals the function of the Dao. What does it mean to reveal its function? Wuwei means not moving. Now the myriad things arise: where do they come from? They emerge from nonbeing. Though we say that what is born comes into being of itself, and what transforms transforms of itself, the Dao has never ruled over them. So what can “does not refuse them” mean? Since it says “does not refuse”…

Plain-Language Interpretation

On “not refusing” and those who come

“Not refusing” means turning away no one who comes. All things are thus born from the Dao, and the sage takes charge of them. Does this not mean that anyone who comes to seek instruction or make contact with me is someone I can understand fully?

Considered in terms of the two meanings of “provisional” and “real,” all things are provisional—expedient and apparent—while the sage is real, the true foundation. What is real does not change, so the provisional cannot replace or reveal it. In this sense, the world belongs in principle to the sage’s care. Yet the sage has no thought of “owning the world.” To keep the world in mind would only make it a burden. With an empty, still mind, the sage illuminates all things, responding constantly while remaining still. What, then, is there to refuse?

Fourth point: Transformation and nurture arise naturally

The earlier phrase “acts without refusing” means following the way things are and letting them transform and grow naturally. Next comes “gives life without possessing”: if the sage responds to things with an empty mind, how could the sage regard “what has been brought to life” as “something I own”? The Yi Jing says that the Qian virtue is single-minded in stillness. Heaven and Earth contain Yin and Yang, and Yin and Yang give rise to the myriad things. Since the Dao does not claim the myriad things as its own, how could the sage, who simply keeps to the Dao, possess things as personal property? To “rule over things” in this possessive way would unsettle the mind. This is what Zhuangzi means when he says, “The Dao does not wish to be mixed; when mixed, it becomes many.” All of this explains the principle of Wuwei (non-action).

Fifth point: Not relying on intellect to show off one’s abilities

“To act without relying on one’s efforts”: the earlier passage discusses Wuwei; here the focus is on purposeful action. Wuwei is the root of purposeful action. The scripture says, “Practice non-action, and nothing will remain unmanaged.” Here, “to act without relying on one’s efforts” means not boasting of oneself or relying on one’s achievements to feel superior.

Earlier, “acts without refusing” meant that when things already fall within a certain sphere, the person acting cannot shirk the task. “Gives life without possessing” means guiding things into a state of emptiness and nonattachment, so that even after bringing them to life, one does not regard them as one’s own. This shows that the sage abides in Wuwei, yet has never failed to act.

Moving from purposeful action to Wuwei, the world is brought into order: officials each fulfill their duties; the relations between ruler and subject, father and son are orderly; friends are trustworthy; ritual and righteousness are clear; punishments are fair; all the tools and crafts are in place; the peoples of the four borders are brought into accord; and the people are settled. Yet amid all this, the sage takes no credit. To whom, then, does the credit belong? The sage acts without intention at the outset and remains without intention once the work is done. All worldly entanglements have no inherent nature, and the sage’s mind, too, is simply empty. This is the Way of the Great Sage.

To perform an act and then proclaim oneself benevolent, to perform another and proclaim oneself righteous, and then boast about it to others—this is merely a lesser technique, not the Way of the Great Sage described here.

A Vernacular Interpretation

This passage is about the political tactics of a hegemon. How could those compare with the way the ancient sage-kings governed the world?

The wondrous teaching does not cling to things; when the work is done, it does not claim ownership of it. The Dao (the Way) has no fixed form; it manifests its function through the myriad things. The mind, too, should not cling rigidly to a single thought, but shift with circumstances. It is like an echo, which exists only when something makes a sound; or like shape and color, which appear only in things. The hands grasp, the feet walk, dreams arise, waking thoughts follow: before one thought has faded, another has already appeared. The mind itself has no connection to the sense objects it encounters, yet it shifts with each situation. When the sage awakens to this, who is it that “dwells” there?

If someone who has completed the work “dwells in his position,” and stays there without leaving, he is stuck in deliberate action, rigid and unable to loosen his hold. How could that be the mind of one who has attained the Dao? As the saying goes: once you have something, you fear losing it; and when you fear losing it, you will do anything. How much more so for the sage who has brought order to the world? The sage is different: he embodies Heaven and acts in accord with it, like the turning of the seasons. When the work is done, he departs, and leaves without attachment. The Book of Changes speaks of riding in a boat made empty: this applies not only when one leaves; the mind should be just as empty while one holds office. Otherwise, the Dao would come and go.

What is meant by completing the work without dwelling on it is knowing when to advance and when to withdraw. The Book of Changes says that knowing advance and retreat, preservation and extinction, without losing one’s proper course is something only the sage can do. This is the meaning of the Qian hexagram’s overreaching Yang and its “Use of the Nine”; of Mencius’s “dwelling in the broad house of the world”; of Chiyi Zi’s saying, “One cannot remain long beneath a great name”; of the Buddhist teaching, “Do not establish yourself at either extreme; there is no need to settle in the middle”; and of the Perfected One’s words, “Inwardly observe the kindling of the fire; after ten months, the embryo is shed.” Who but a sage could know this?

The third reiteration brings the constant principle into view: precisely because one does not dwell, one’s name and position do not depart. Here, “depart” means losing one’s name and position. What cannot depart is the Dao, which alone endures unchanged, and the mind.

Note: “Inwardly observe the kindling of the fire; after ten months, the embryo is shed” is language from Neidan (internal alchemy) cultivation. Set alongside the discussions of governance, the Book of Changes, and Mencius, it reflects the “drawing on all three teachings” style common in Daoist scriptural commentaries from the Song and Ming periods onward. Readers focused only on the passage’s meaning for governance may set aside the alchemical wording and keep in mind the image of holding office with the emptiness of a boat and departing as soon as the work is done.