《道德真經集義(二)》Vol. 6

Volume Six, Poem One: A Plain-Language Reading of the “All Under Heaven Knows” Chapter

Notes on the text

This piece is from Volume Six of Collected Interpretations of the True Classic of the Dao and De, titled “Poem One.” It was compiled by Master Ningyuan of the Yuan dynasty, Liu Weiyong, who supervised the affairs of the Mysterious Wonder Abbey in Changde Circuit, and corrected by Ding Yidong, a former Court Gentleman for Instruction, Registrar of the Court of the Imperial Treasury, and editor at the Privy Council. What follows is a collection of interpretations of Laozi’s chapter beginning, “All under heaven knows beauty as beauty.”

Shao Ruoyu’s interpretation

When everyone under heaven knows what is beautiful, ugliness appears as well. When everyone imitates and pursues beauty, beauty itself changes and reveals its opposite, ugliness.

Likewise, when everyone knows what is good, what is not good appears. When everyone imitates good deeds, goodness too can be distorted and become what is not good.

Why is this so? Being and nonbeing transform into each other; difficulty and ease complement each other; long and short set each other off; high and low depend on each other; sounds must answer one another to form a melody; and front and back follow one another in sequence.

People become attached to outward labels such as beauty and goodness, blocking their original mind—the clear awareness they were born with. They chase after whatever appears before them, believing that this is how they attain the Dao, but instead give rise to eighty-four thousand afflictions.

Thus the sage rests in “no-mind” and acts through “non-doing,” becoming one with all things rather than dividing himself from them.

The sage can even teach and transform all under heaven without speaking. All things arise together, yet the sage uses no words to distinguish high from low, good from bad, for fear that the people will develop likes and dislikes. Seeking nothing for himself and leaving the people undisturbed, he lets them settle naturally through Wuwei (non-action) and non-interference. The people then scarcely notice that a ruler is “teaching” them.

Though the sage governs all under heaven like a parent, he does not rely on his own achievements. When things are accomplished, he does not claim them as his own. Precisely because he leaves no trace and takes no pride in his accomplishments, his De (Virtue/Power) endures without being lost.

Wang Zhiran’s interpretation

From “All under heaven knows beauty as beauty” through “does not depart,” the passage concerns the relative oppositions between beauty and ugliness, goodness and what is not good—matters that people have always had to face when governing the state and cultivating themselves. Everyone under heaven understands this in truth.

But ugliness is always set against beauty, and what is not good is always set against goodness.

If I simply know where beauty and ugliness, goodness and its opposite lie, then beauty is beautiful in itself; I need not add the label “beautiful” in my mind. Ugliness is ugly in itself; I need not cling to the thought “ugly.” How much less need I distinguish goodness from what is not good?

Here, “cherishing goodness and rejecting evil” does not mean indulging desires or acting recklessly.

When a mirror is bright, dust cannot hide; when the mind is clear, goodness and evil appear naturally. The foolish do the opposite: the more they make distinctions, the more confused they become.

Zhuangzi speaks of being “sentient” and “without sentiment.” To be “sentient” means to be constantly stirred by likes and dislikes, thereby harming oneself. To be “without sentiment” means not tormenting oneself inwardly with likes and dislikes, but often following nature and avoiding needless contrivance. In this way, one does not damage the true nature of life.

Why do people so often become trapped in opposition, unable to free themselves from the limits they suffer? They cling either to “being” or to “nonbeing”; they are caught either in what has form or in what can be counted. Yet being and nonbeing, difficult and easy, long and short, high and low, sound and tone, before and after—traced to their roots, none of these arise without cause; each has its own significance. To take no single thing as one’s sole point of support is called “constant nonbeing”; to reject nothing is called “constant being.” Thus it is said that being and nonbeing give rise to one another. Yan Junping, the Han dynasty author of Laozi’s Pointers, says that without difficulty one cannot know ease, and without ease one cannot know difficulty. An ancient text says, “First comes hardship, then reward”; a commentary on the scripture says, “Where things seem too easy, there will surely be many difficulties.” Thus difficulty and ease complete one another. Without length, one cannot know shortness; without shortness, one cannot know length. The imperial commentary explains that this is like measuring with a ruler. Without height, one cannot know what is low; without what is low, one cannot know height, as with a mountain set against a marsh. Without sound, one cannot know tone; without tone, one cannot know sound. When the six pitch standards are in accord and the eight kinds of musical sound harmonize, sound and tone must be in harmony. Without what comes before, one cannot know what comes after; without what comes after, one cannot know what comes before. Spring comes first and summer follows; maturity comes first and youth follows. Before and after must likewise follow one another.

These six pairs each remain within their own place. In their outward traces they are never the same, yet viewed from the Dao, they are never different. It is better, then, for the sage to govern the world by consistently following the way of Wuwei (non-action), and so nothing remains unguided. Thus it is said: “I practice non-action, and the people transform themselves.” The sage teaches the world without words, keeps the people free of desire, and brings things to completion in stillness and silence. If one relies on learning through the ears and mouth, or on noisy argument, there will be nothing left to say. Thus it is said: “I cherish stillness, and the people set themselves right.”

The sage does not set out to act. If the sage did, the myriad things would have something to look to and something to govern them. To give life while still possessing something would mean not yet having forgotten oneself; to act while relying on something would mean having something to depend on; to claim a place after success would mean becoming bound by it. Precisely because the sage does not act on their own account, claim things as their own, rely on their own strength, or claim a place for themselves, they can roam with the Dao above the myriad things, always at ease and never departing from it.

A Collected Interpretation of the True Classic of the Dao and Its De

The General Meaning of the Classic

What pleases the eyes is valued more than what pleases the ears or the palate. When people call certain things “beautiful,” if they recognize only this one kind of beauty, might they not end up turning toward what is “ugly”?

Doing a good deed may be called good; speaking a kind word may also be called good. These things are not enough to “advance along the Dao,” but they have not yet become evil. That is why Laozi says, “This is not good.” Once everyone rushes to know about it and to proclaim it, that kind of “goodness” is no longer true goodness.

What people call beautiful is not enough to count as true beauty; what they call good is not enough to count as true goodness. So what, then, are beauty and goodness? The answer is: plainness without flavor—this is what I call beauty; dwelling in a place people dislike—this is what I call goodness. Only when we understand this can we speak of “entering the Dao.”

Being and Nonbeing Arise from One Another; Opposites Are Relative

Being and nonbeing are opposites, and so they “arise from one another”; difficulty and ease are opposites, and so they “complete one another”; long and short are opposites, and so they “define one another”; high and low are opposites, and so they “incline toward one another”; sound and tone are opposites, and so they “harmonize with one another”; front and back are opposites, and so they “follow one another.” Most things in the world are like this.

The sage lives among ordinary people. How could the sage escape these relationships between opposites? Yet the sage observes this principle: in dealing with things, “act without forcing”; in teaching, “teach without words.” In this way, the sage is not burdened by things.

When the myriad things arise, the sage does not refuse them—that is, does not turn them away or claim them as personal possessions—and so they “do not depart.” What fills the space between Heaven and Earth is nothing but “nonbeing.” Who makes things arise? Who brings them to life? Who makes them act? There must be some governing presence at work within them, turning silently.

Though the Dao has no name, we cannot help but say that it has a name; though it leaves no traces, we cannot help but say that it leaves traces. Hence the saying, “It brings things forth but does not refuse them.”

If we think that giving life means claiming credit for life, or that acting means relying on the power of our actions, then our understanding of the Dao is shallow. The sage understands this principle: having, yet not possessing; acting, yet not relying on one’s actions—what achievement could not be accomplished? “Accomplish the work, then do not claim it” means giving life without possessing and acting without relying on one’s actions. In this way, one becomes one with the Dao and can go anywhere. Why, then, leave the company of ordinary people?

Cheng Taizhi’s Commentary

Cheng Taizhi says: When “everyone under Heaven knows” something to a certain extent, “this is not good.” What the multitude admires is named beautiful; what is handled through deliberate appeasement is named good. Beauty and goodness are certainly precious, but people should not be allowed to “know and proclaim them openly,” making a show of them at every turn.

(The following passage continues with the original classic’s discussion of “beauty and goodness,” “plain and without flavor,” and “dwelling where people dislike,” which corroborates the interpretation above.)

Note: This chapter offers a collected interpretation of Chapter Two of the Dao De Jing—“When everyone under Heaven knows beauty as beauty, this is not good”—and the lines “being and nonbeing arise from one another” and so on. It emphasizes that true beauty lies in plainness, true goodness in “dwelling where people dislike,” and that the sage becomes one with the Dao through “non-action,” “teaching without words,” “not refusing,” “not possessing,” and “not relying on one’s actions.”

A Plain-Language Interpretation

If I hold up a certain way of behaving for people to see, I am praising it, and others will surely imitate it. It is like putting a tiger skin over a sheep: the disguise only muddles what is true. So once everyone under Heaven knows “this is what counts as good, and this is what counts as beautiful,” people can easily drift toward what is not good and not beautiful.

When humility and yielding are praised in the world, some people will inevitably refuse openly while scheming in secret, using the name of humility to satisfy their greed. When frugality is praised, there will also be people who deliberately wear ragged clothes, ride in a broken-down cart, and carry their own flask and meal. They make themselves look impoverished to suit the taste of those above them, though they may not be frugal at heart. Those who understand the Dao keep their abilities hidden instead of showing them off. People benefit naturally, yet cannot say who they owe their good fortune to. It is like an age of supreme De, when people loved one another without knowing that this was called “benevolence,” and behaved with integrity without knowing that this was called “righteousness.” This is like a baby clinging to its mother or a calf following its mother: they do not know what “filial piety” means, yet they naturally embody it. That may be what true filial piety is. When Laozi speaks of “naturalness” from the standpoint of the Dao, this is probably what he means.

So “being” and “nonbeing” depend on one another. When a particular kind of beauty or goodness is fixed in place and held up for praise, hypocrisy often gets mixed in. To think and strive deliberately, accumulating merit and good deeds to build up beauty and goodness, is “difficult.” To put on an appearance by copying a model is “easy.” True beauty does not need to be called “beautiful”; once it is, ugliness arises. True goodness does not need to be called “good”; once it is, what is not good arises. Why? Sincerely and wholeheartedly accumulating good deeds is difficult, while faking goodness and passing it off as genuine is easy. So some people display beauty and goodness, hoping to lead everyone under Heaven down the “easy” path, make up for what they themselves lack, and show the world what they “understand.” The logic here is linked, one part following from another.

Short and long also press against each other. The desire to outdo others and show oneself off exists in everyone’s heart. When those in high positions make beauty and goodness conspicuous and use them to command the world, those below feel ashamed that they lack them, while knowing they cannot easily attain them. They then take the “easy” path, trying to make up for what they lack. Ashamed that their “shortness” is exposed beside someone else’s “length,” they rise on tiptoe and make themselves seem taller, trying to surpass another’s “height.” These are all sources of goodness turning into its opposite and beauty turning into ugliness.

Voices and musical tones, too, arise together. A voice is the human voice; a tone is a voice shaped into music. When a song is offered in the hall and the gourd instruments and bamboo pipes accompany it below, a musical piece is formed. This is what it means for sounds to “harmonize.” Within that harmony, however, one part often follows and chases another. Zhuangzi said, “I was showing off, and the other person followed along to watch.” In other words, one person displays something, and another imitates.

Note: “Gourd and bamboo” refers to ancient instruments made from gourds and bamboo. In Daoist usage, “naturalness” usually means being uncontrived and as things are in themselves, rather than “nature” in the modern sense of the natural world.

To extend this principle to all forms of governance is to go far beyond the mere harmonizing of tones. One passes it on to ten, ten pass it on to a hundred: it continues from one generation to the next without end. That is why those in high positions must not let everyone know the direction they pursue. This is the highest state.

Laozi’s idea of Wuwei (non-action) has a broad meaning, and what it refers to varies with the circumstances. Here, Wuwei mainly means guiding people through subtle, gradual influence. One discerns right and wrong inwardly, while outwardly leaving no trace: one has beauty within but does not display an intention to be seen as beautiful; one has goodness within but does not show signs of goodness. In carrying out one’s work, one quietly puts its purpose into practice without making a display of it. This is what it means to act through Wuwei.

Why do this? Because once intentions are revealed, people may learn to cater to them and manufacture something false.

To “abide” means to establish oneself here and dwell in it peacefully, without mixing in other concerns. As for “teaching without words,” communication between people ultimately depends on language. If this is called “teaching,” yet it uses no words to explain what is meant, what are people supposed to follow as their guide?

The point of this chapter is to condemn the practice of exalting outward appearances, which lets people give free rein to deliberate falsification. When something is held up as “beautiful” and someone is praised as “good,” with commendations and public commands urging people to imitate such beauty and goodness, what was truly beautiful and good becomes a mere pretense. Laozi therefore traces falsity to its source and seeks the right Way by turning back from it. There is still room here for subtle, gradual influence, but no outward display of rules that rank things as worthy or unworthy. Those who move within this way of life do not know what to take as the standard or what to strive for above all. Hence the saying, “When the Dao is not made manifest, the people will be led to ignorance.” This is precisely the way of teaching without words.

As for establishing ranks of teacher and disciple, and distinguishing degrees of closeness and precedence, that “teaching without words,” silent as the depths of an abyss, resounds like thunder.

All things arise and flourish, receiving this teaching. They come into being gradually; the teaching takes root in people’s hearts, and good thoughts begin to sprout. This is the meaning of “giving life.” “Acting” is where the work is done; “achievement” is to take the world as…

A Plain-Language Interpretation

Self-transformation and self-reception mean bringing the results back to oneself. The affairs of Wuwei (non-action) and the teaching without words do not mean setting up a separate set of rules in every household. They take as their model the broad order in which “Heaven and Earth are not humane,” and use one approach to nurture and govern all under Heaven, across the four seas.

All who can be moved by the teaching and respond to it are welcomed to receive it; no one is turned away. I treat the good with goodness, and I also treat the not-good with goodness. This is what “not refusing” means: as soon as a good thought arises, the teaching has already taken effect, yet one still does not presume that “this is only as it should be.” One does not claim possession or rely on it.

When acting, giving life, and doing have all reached completion, the work is accomplished, yet one sets it aside and does not claim credit, as though one had never taken part. This is already a great achievement: before an undertaking is complete, one takes responsibility for it; once it is complete, one does not claim it as one’s own accomplishment. This is why the Great Dao does not claim De (Virtue/Power) as its possession.

What has form eventually decays; what is subject to measure eventually runs out. All that is “something” tends toward “nothing”—how could its departure be forcibly prevented? If, once the work is done, one does not claim it and simply entrusts it to nonbeing, then nothing within oneself can be diminished by loss or ruined by completion. How, then, could anything depart?

Spring flowers take pride in their bright power to bring forth life, so their blossoms can be replaced. Autumn fruits take responsibility for gathering and storing, so they can fall. But if primordial Qi (vital energy) moves beyond the four seasons, giving life without itself being born and transforming without itself being transformed, enduring unchanged through all ages—then neither this remains behind nor that goes away. This is called “from ancient times to the present, its name has never departed; through it, we observe the beginnings of all things.”

Confucians lament that the people are difficult to awaken; Laozi laments that they are not ignorant enough. Thus he says: “The people are difficult to govern because they have too much knowledge”; “When the people have many sharp tools, the state grows confused.” When he speaks of how he would treat the people, he says: “The Dao does not enlighten the people, but makes them ignorant”; “Fish cannot be taken from the deep pool, and the sharp tools of the state must not be shown to the people.” From this, we can infer that the forceful criticism of sagacity, knowledge, benevolence, and righteousness, and the desire to cast away their instruments, is not directed solely at sagacity, knowledge, benevolence, and righteousness themselves. At a deeper level, it concerns the tension between having abundant knowledge, possessing sharp tools, and displaying them to the people, on the one hand, and “keeping them ignorant” and “keeping things concealed,” on the other.

A Plain-language interpretation

Great falsity is the foundation on which pretence and deceit depend. Systems of ritual and law were established gradually, beginning in the time of Yi and Yao. They were first created to remedy the shortcomings of governing by knotted cords, which was too rudimentary. Once people considered that approach too simple, those who inherited and followed it could hardly avoid making it ever more elaborate. As elaboration grew, institutions and mechanisms spread throughout the world, laid bare for all to see. Clever people among the common folk caught sight of them and began to imitate and exploit them. Those above could then use their own cleverness to guard against the people, while the people could use theirs to disrupt the laws. This is why Laozi blamed the excesses of “wisdom” for stirring up disorder, and sought to correct them through Wuwei (non-action).

He warned that scrutinizing the people would encourage deceit, and sought to correct this through leaving no trace. When great rivers are full, valleys are empty; when hills are flattened, abysses are filled. One rises as the other falls: once the two stand in opposition, they cannot both grow great. Thus “sage wisdom” and “benevolence and righteousness” inevitably fall among the things to be cast aside. Yet Laozi himself cannot help but rely on “sage wisdom, benevolence, and righteousness” to convey the Dao. Does this mean that he wants to reject the substance of these principles themselves? In the end, he sees through their failings and lays the blame on making “sharp tools” widely known and displaying them plainly to the people. Read these two chapters closely, and is this not perfectly clear?

“To refrain from honoring the worthy” does not mean treating the worthy and unworthy alike. It means refusing to praise the worthy openly by name. It is said that Jiche once criticized someone for building lofty, precarious viewing towers to attract people seeking a place to attach themselves and gain a reputation. “When everyone knows beauty as beauty and goodness as good,” they become defined against what is “not beautiful” and “not good.” This, too, means quietly setting things in motion without making people flock to them or seek shelter in names and appearances. As for using both teachers and students while still distinguishing higher from lower, and setting movement and stillness against one another so that feeling and impulse arise from them: though one appears outwardly inclusive, inwardly one makes distinctions. To treat the world with the impartiality of inclusion while using discernment to stir people’s minds draws on the Book of Changes’ idea of “concealing the workings.” It was not invented by Laozi; only the degree and manner of its application differ.

The Book of Changes says, “It makes benevolence manifest and conceals its workings.” “Manifest” means having something that can be shown; “concealed” refers to the source from which its workings arise, deep and difficult to fathom. Ritual, music, punishments, and government have already been fashioned into the instruments of rule. Yet one may still worry that people will merely carry them out without understanding why. Those who shape these instruments of rule according to the encompassing Dao cannot reveal everything about it, even if they wish to.

Since there is no fixed method that can be used to “demonstrate” it, the Yijing pushes “concealment” and “use” to their utmost, and so speaks of “entering the spirit.” “Spirit” means acting without haste yet arriving swiftly, and reaching one’s destination without setting out. Laozi took this as his model and called it “Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing is left undone,” merely altering the phrasing to establish his own approach. Students of the Yijing dare not use this approach to criticize the Yijing, yet they all use the same words to mock Laozi. Whether this is right, or whether there is any consistent standard for it, is highly doubtful. Still, Laozi’s arrangement differs slightly from that of the Yijing, and this cannot be entirely concealed. The Yijing seeks to manifest itself through application, but cannot do so; it therefore often laments that ordinary people are dull-witted and cannot be brought into accord with those who “see” through benevolence and wisdom. Laozi, by contrast, simply wants people to return to dullness. Only when they are “without knowledge and without desire” will “giving, taking, contracting, and expanding” all issue from “me.” This is where the two traditions differ.

As Zhan Qiupu says:

From the chapter beginning “When everyone under Heaven knows” through the chapter on “not nourishing oneself,” the opening seeks to have people forget their distinctions in a state of “not knowing and not being aware.” The conclusion then calls for “opposites completing one another”: one does not boast of one’s own greatness, and so can occupy the position of greatness under Heaven. Thus the words “When everyone under Heaven knows beauty as beauty and goodness as goodness” warn that admiration and contrariness may lead in the end to evil and wrongdoing. The words “good” and “undertaking” are simply set against each other by chance: they give rise to one another and ultimately follow one another. Again and again, things follow their own kind, bringing about growth and decline. Thus the sage “dwells in the affairs of Wuwei and practices the teaching without words”: leaving all things to themselves, the sage acts and others respond, without refusing; gives life and nurtures without claiming ownership; acts without relying on the result. Though the work is complete, the sage does not dwell on it—yet is inevitably elevated by others and cannot refuse. One who is skilled at nourishing life can live by “when the work is done, withdraw.” Then, secure and deeply rooted, how could one lose one’s “shoulders and back”—one’s foundation?

As Zhang Chongying says:

From “When everyone under Heaven knows” through “does not go,” the Great Way abhors fullness, so one must remain humble. When one’s talents become outstanding and everyone praises them, envy will eventually follow; when one’s reputation becomes good and everyone approves, contention will eventually follow. Envy harms the body, and contention harms it too. Pang Juan flaunted his talent and suffered his downfall at “beneath the tree” on the Maling road; Han Xin coveted fame and was executed at Yunmeng. None of this has anything to do with the profound Way. The sage does not rely on talents that belong to him alone, but keeps in mind both “having” and “not having.” Nor does the sage depend on achievements that are hard to attain, but always holds to “completing the work without dwelling on it.”

Plain Language Commentary

Commentary by an Anonymous Author

I often consider what seems difficult as easy: when someone appears short, I push or support them to make them seem taller. Yet their shortness will ultimately be overshadowed by “height”—that is why we say that things “take shape in relation to one another”: their relative lengths become apparent only by comparison. When someone appears high, I willingly place myself below them. Yet even height can be brought down by what is below—this is why we say that things “incline against one another”: each constrains the other, and one may topple.

One side senses, the other responds, and the sounds naturally harmonize. One goes ahead, the other follows; above and below fall naturally into order. Handle things through Wuwei (non-action), and teach without words. Cultivate the Dao (the Way) in oneself, and let one’s own person give the Dao form; only then can the heart be steady. When the myriad things arise, the heart is not disturbed; when greedy thoughts can be cut off, the myriad things come into being and transform without the heart claiming them as its own. Do what can be done without forcing or acting recklessly. When the work is complete, take no credit and claim no fame. Zhang Liang, courtesy name Zifang, could roam among the clouds with Master Red Pine, and Zhongli Quan could enter a Jade Cavern and depart; both relied on this kind of cultivation. With such cultivation, Jing (essence) is secured, Qi (vital energy) endures, and Shen (spirit) is clear. The body can attain long life, while blessings and De (Virtue/Power) remain within and do not disperse.

Bai Yuchan’s Commentary

People throughout the world pursue what they call beautiful. Once a good name is gained, a bad name often follows. They all seek what they call good, but once they cling to the name of “a good person,” they can easily become “not good.” Thus being and nonbeing give rise to one another: from nonbeing, being must emerge, and within being, nonbeing must emerge. Difficulty and ease complete one another: what is difficult may come first and ease follow, or ease may come first and difficulty follow. Long and short take shape in relation to one another—the Dao is originally formless, and only then do length and shortness appear. High and low incline against one another. Heaven turns and Earth revolves; there is no inherent high or low. Sounds harmonize with one another: when a gust of wind passes, all the myriad sounds respond. One thing follows another; ancient times are the present, and the present is ancient times.

Therefore, the sage handles things through Wuwei, valuing what comes naturally, and teaches without words, with the Dao residing in things. When the myriad things arise, the sage does not claim credit for bringing them forth. From nonbeing, being must emerge—how could there be no arising? If nothing arose at all, how could anything be said to endure forever? What arises is not claimed as one’s own; this is no empty illusion. One acts without relying on one’s actions: today, one simply does what today requires. When the work is complete, one does not claim credit—how could one mistake a dream for reality? Precisely because one does not claim credit, one forgets the self outwardly while not forgetting it inwardly; thus one “does not depart”—this “self” is what truly remains.

Liao Cuiran’s Commentary

Everyone knows to call the beautiful beautiful. Most people regard the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, sensations, and objects of thought, along with joy, anger, love, hatred, sorrow, pleasure, and desire, as powerful forms of beauty. I see it differently. Why? Because “this is already bad”: good things often invite trouble. The seven emotions attack from within, and the six thieves plunder from without; every kind of greed and desire will eventually bring harm to the body.

I often preserve simplicity and non-action, learning the Dao (the Way) and strengthening myself through attaining it. Is this not beautiful? People all know that doing good is good, and say, “Doing good brings the greatest joy.” They may perform good deeds, earn merit, help people, and benefit all things, all of which count as good. Yet I see that things are not necessarily so. Why? As the saying goes, “This is already not good.” People, after all, are not sages like Yao and Shun. Perhaps before they have firmly carried out a good deed, they are already thinking of repayment or thanks; their minds cling to profit, or they feel regret and reluctance, fearing they have not done enough good. I, by contrast, regularly settle my mind and nourish my spirit through clarity, stillness, concentration, and wisdom, thereby keeping to the Dao. To come to fulfillment in this way is supreme goodness. Is this not joyful?

Thus being and nonbeing give rise to one another, and difficulty and ease complete one another: this is the beginning of creation. Long and short define each other: this is the measure of objects. High and low incline toward one another, allowing Heaven and Earth to transform and flow. Musical notes and sounds harmonize, and so the breath of the wind is stirred. Before and after follow one another, and so past and present arise and transform. These are all wondrous workings of the Dao, without end. “Sage” and “Supreme One” are titles for Laozi, who attained the Dao. He may also be called the Great Supreme, the Sage, a person of the Dao, a ruler, a Dao practitioner, the ruler of the heart, or a great man, depending on the occasion. Taking up affairs through Wuwei (non-action) is the foundation; teaching without words—the Supreme One says, “Silent, silent, silent without limit: from this the immortals are attained.” The myriad things arise, and he does not turn away from them; the people use them every day without knowing it. This is my Dao: bringing things to life without possessing them, giving rise to transformations without end; acting without relying on one’s deeds, bestowing kindness without hoping for repayment; completing one’s work without claiming a place in it, generating the myriad things without becoming their master. Precisely because he does not claim a place, he cherishes himself without exalting himself; therefore he does not perish, enduring through all ages, with no coming or going.

Chen Bixu says: “All under Heaven know [beauty as beauty and goodness as goodness]”; as for “this is already not good,” “all under Heaven” refers generally to everything beneath the sky. Beauty and goodness arise from deluded feelings: ordinary people call what their feelings favor beautiful and what they dislike ugly. If they indulge their deluded feelings, how could ugliness not arise? They take what they themselves approve of as good and what they disapprove of as not good. If they indulge their own judgments, where is true beauty? Zhuangzi says: “Right and wrong are what I call feelings. What I call having no feelings means that a person does not let likes and dislikes inwardly injure the self, but constantly follows what is natural and does not add to life.” This is called abiding in what is real and fitting. Surely sages do possess beauty and goodness; yet they have them without pride, making them akin to having none. Without pride, they do not… (This follows the same thread as “taking up affairs through non-action” and “not claiming a place”: a sage’s beauty and goodness are present, yet the sage does not boast of them, and so does not fall into the opposition between beauty and goodness born of deluded feelings.)

Plain Language Interpretation:

When virtue is complete and like emptiness, calamities stay far away, and goodness reaches its utmost. Yet when a ruler uses goodness to teach and transform the world, so that people know what is good, this has not yet reached the fullest goodness. Thus Confucius said that King Wu was perfectly good and virtuous, yet had not reached the fullest goodness. The scripture says: “One of high De does not display De; one of low De does not lose De’s nature.” Besides, good people are few in the world, while those who are not good are many. If you flaunt your achievements and people steal them or hold them in contempt, that becomes evil. How, then, can it be called good?

Yan Junping said: “Light does not last forever, and darkness does not continue forever. The flourishing of growth begins in mid-spring; shepherd’s purse, wheat, and other Yang things emerge on the days of the autumn equinox and winter solstice, and all things grow. On the day of the summer solstice, all things grieve.” This shows that when flourishing reaches its height, decline follows, and when goodness reaches its height, evil follows. Even Yin-Yang is subject to this, let alone human beings. This is a warning not to be proud or boast of one’s goodness.

Thus, the six statements from “Being and nonbeing give rise to one another” to “front and back follow one another” all describe how pride in goodness leads to deliberate action. Once deliberate action appears, partiality arises; partiality gives rise to mutual harm, and all things lose their true nature. The passage concludes by saying that the sage’s Wuwei (non-action) preserves De, deep as an abyss.

“Being and nonbeing give rise to one another”: By their nature, being and nonbeing do not give rise to one another. But now it is said that “being” must come from “nonbeing,” and that, when discussing “nonbeing,” one must bring forth “being.” Hence the saying that being and nonbeing give rise to one another.

“Difficult and easy complete one another”: By their nature, difficulty and ease do not complete one another. A potter, for example, can easily shape clay but finds it difficult to work with wood; a carpenter can easily work with wood but finds it difficult to shape clay. If they exchange tasks, the work becomes difficult; if each sticks to their own craft, it is easy. Hence the saying that difficult and easy complete one another.

“Long and short define one another”: By their nature, long and short do not define one another. Seeing a crane shows that a wild duck’s legs are short; looking at a wild duck reveals that a crane’s legs are long. All things can be understood through such mutual comparison. Hence the saying that long and short define one another.

“High and low lean toward one another”: By their nature, the ranks of high and low do not lean toward one another. When people feel their status is insufficient, they develop a desire to take another’s place. If those in high positions are not proud, there will be no one below them; if those in low positions are not humiliated, there will be no one above them. When people envy and compare themselves with one another, they overturn one another. Hence the saying that high and low lean toward one another.

“Tone and sound harmonize with one another”: By their nature, tone and sound do not harmonize with one another, just as...

“The breath of Heaven blows upon things in different ways, allowing each to be itself.”

The breath of Heaven stirs the myriad things in different ways, allowing each to keep to its own nature and take its own form.

“What the world calls musical tones”

What people call musical tones refers to sounds and breath combining to form songs, harmonizing and resounding together. Hence the phrase “sounds harmonize with one another.”

“Those that follow one another, before and after”

“Following one another, before and after” means that what comes before or after is not fixed in time. Day and night alternate: last night was before today, and today comes after last night. So too with the footprints of someone walking: as one foot lifts and the other lands, which comes first and which follows continually changes. They follow one another without end; hence the phrase “before and after follow one another.”

Yan Junping said:

Being makes nonbeing visible, and the formless makes the formed visible. Difficulty makes ease visible, and ease makes difficulty visible. An inch is short in relation to a foot, while a foot is long in relation to an inch. A mountain appears high because of the valley, and the valley appears deep because of the mountain. A musical note is distinguished through sound, while sound is brought to a stop by the note. What comes first is seen in relation to what follows, and what follows is made clear by what comes first.

Thus, without nonbeing, being cannot be known; without being, nonbeing cannot be known. Without difficulty, ease cannot be known; without ease, difficulty cannot be known. Without length, shortness cannot be known; without shortness, length cannot be known. Without mountains, valleys cannot be known; without valleys, mountains cannot be known. Without notes, sound cannot be known; without sound, notes cannot be known. Without what comes first, what follows cannot be known; without what follows, what comes first cannot be known.

These are confirmations from Heaven and Earth, and signs of how nature works. They are clearly laid out: right and wrong, good and evil, quick and slow, true and false follow one another. Beginning and end turn and return, inseparably linked. The spirits cannot escape this, and Yin-Yang cannot go against it. Seen in this light, the affairs of rulers cannot be carried out through deliberate action.

“Therefore, the sage practices the teaching without words.”

Therefore, the sage puts the teaching without words into practice through the highest virtue. This refers to the rulers of antiquity, who governed without action: they did not deliberately rule the world in the name of beauty and goodness, yet the world was naturally at peace.

“Therefore” explains what is above by speaking of what is below.

“Wuwei is not to sit with folded arms in silence in an empty hall.”

Wuwei (non-action) does not mean sitting idly in silence with folded arms in an empty hall. It means that the sage forgets all thoughts of beauty and goodness, quiets the emotions and returns to one’s nature, allowing things to follow their own course. The people each use their abilities, and the myriad things each rest in their proper place. There is no disturbance between those above and those below. This is called “dwelling in the affairs of non-action.”

“Practicing the teaching without words”

To “practice the teaching without words” is to set an example through one’s conduct and bring things to understanding through upright bearing; to act when the time is right and accomplish things in response to circumstances. When principle accords with things, words can be forgotten. This is called “practicing the teaching without words.”

“The myriad things arise, and he does not turn them away.”

“Arise” means to move and spring into being. The sage, in protecting the world, does nothing and takes no deliberate action. Thus the people farm for their food and weave their clothing; with food in their mouths they are content, and with full bellies they roam about, enjoying their natural lot. The myriad things arise, and the sage neither turns them away nor claims credit for them.

Plain-Language Interpretation

I. Wuwei and “Not Claiming Credit”

In every action, the sage follows the natural process of transformation, acting well without forcing things. The sage therefore accepts the Mandate of Heaven without hesitation.

The people can be led to follow, but it is difficult to make them fully understand the reasons behind it. This is the way of “the highest De does not display itself as De”: the sage nourishes all things without claiming them, and completes great works without taking credit. All things come forth and transform in their own distinctive ways, yet the sage does not treat them as private possessions. All kinds of beings follow their own natures and fulfill their capacities, yet the sage does not use personal virtue to dominate others. When achievements are complete and the realm is in order, the Dao governs things of its own accord. The sage’s mind, meanwhile, is as if wandering on Mount Gushe, the pure realm said to be home to immortals. Though governing the realm, the sage does not place himself above the people. This is the sage’s complete virtue.

Precisely because the sage does not claim credit, achievements and virtue do not depart. The sage’s work is like the transforming power of Heaven and Earth, allowing all things to find their proper place, while the sage forgets fame and self. Not claiming credit means not making rank or authority one’s own possession. The people therefore do not feel that they are being ruled, nor do they know who is guiding their transformation. In this way, the Dao is not lost and De does not depart.

II. Zifa Declines an Enfeoffment: An Example from an Ancient Text

The Honglie—an ancient text of the kind represented by the Huainanzi—records that the Chu general Zifa attacked Cai and won. King Xuan came to greet him outside the capital, granted him a hundred qing of land, and bestowed on him a gui jade tablet, a ritual object used by feudal lords when they paid court. Zifa declined, saying: “Governing the state and receiving the visits of the feudal lords are the ruler’s De. Giving orders, so that the enemy retreats before the armies even meet, is the general’s authority. Forming ranks, fighting, and winning are the people’s strength. To claim rank and rewards on the strength of the people’s achievements is contrary to the way of benevolence and righteousness.” So he declined the gifts. This is what is meant by completing a work without claiming credit: precisely because he did not claim credit, his fame and achievement did not fade.

III. Xie Tunan’s Commentary

Xie Tunan says: All under Heaven know what is supremely good. Yet when the sage governs, good policies and moral teaching take root in people’s hearts, while the people do not perceive any trace of “goodness” or “beauty.” In later generations, whenever a policy is enacted or an order issued, people offer praise; whenever a benefit is introduced or a harm removed, people applaud. There is nothing wrong with this in itself, but when such things are plainly displayed before people’s eyes and ears, they do not necessarily win their hearts. Those who do not know feel the effects deeply; those who know leave only faint traces. What runs deep is hard to fathom; what lies shallow is easy to expose. Once exposed, beauty and ugliness, goodness and its opposite, can change places in an instant.

That is why the warnings that follow about “being” and “nonbeing,” “difficulty” and “ease,” carry such deep meaning: being and nonbeing accompany one another; what is flat cannot remain without rising, and what goes out must return. How could the sage force everything to appear beautiful and good? What is nonbeing gives rise to being, and being returns again to nonbeing. What is difficult becomes easy, and what is easy can in turn become difficult.

Length and shortness, high and low, are relative to one another and depend on one another. They change and alternate, with no fixed pattern that remains unchanged. Just as a sound is struck and harmony follows, so one thing goes first and what follows naturally comes after. This is the inevitable logic of things and the way circumstances must unfold. The sage knows that the realities of the world are just so, and never remain constant. He therefore follows the natural patterns of all things, handling affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaching through the teaching that goes beyond words. In this way, who can truly define or see through what is called good and what is called beautiful?

When things should arise and be set in motion, he does not shirk his responsibility. When all things should grow and be nurtured, he does not claim their benefits for himself. Through Wuwei, he brings about what seems impossible to accomplish, yet does not rely on his own abilities. He enables all things to succeed, yet does not take credit for their success. All under Heaven settle into their own proper places, while the sage seems never to have intervened in advance. Yet though he claims no merit, where could the world turn if it were without the sage? The sage harbors no private interests in the world, yet its people naturally cannot help but rely on him and remember him. This is why antiquity was truly ancient.

I have thought about this: through all ages, the rise and decline of the world, and the waxing and waning of human affairs and the workings of things, have varied greatly. The Book of Changes had already made this plain: Peace contains Obstruction, Increase contains Decrease, Splitting Apart is followed by Return, Obstruction is followed by Deliverance, and after Already Fulfilled comes Not Yet Fulfilled. The sage understands change and the wondrous transformations it brings. He continually lets the people live without realizing they are weary and act without realizing what they are doing. Thus the Yellow Emperor, Yao, and Shun governed all under Heaven while sitting at ease, without issuing many decrees; all things transformed and came to completion of their own accord. Later generations, however, took embellishment for merit and affectation for ability. They made a show of their virtue and paraded their beauty. Such displays can certainly dazzle the eye and ear, but they are like mistaking colored cut paper for splendor, or drawing water for profound depth. If the true intent of life’s unfolding is not held within, failure is just around the corner. How could this be called perfect goodness and beauty?

Lin Yanzhai says: All under Heaven know what is supremely “right,” and so the sage “possesses it but does not dwell in it.” Where there is beauty, there is ugliness; where there is good, there is what is not good. If one is beautiful without regarding oneself as beautiful, and good without regarding oneself as good, one approaches freedom from ugliness and from what is not good. In the affairs of the world, where there is being, there is nonbeing; where there is difficulty, there is ease; where there is length, there is shortness; where there is height, there is lowness; where there is tone, there is sound; where there is what comes first, there is what comes after. The six phrases that follow, beginning with “give rise to one another and bring one another to completion,” all explain this principle.

Plain-Language Interpretation

The passage above explains how “beauty and ugliness” and “goodness and its opposite” arise in relation to one another. The sage acts through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words. This does not mean treating everything as empty and still, or avoiding work for fear of having too much to do. It means getting things done without claiming the credit. Heaven and Earth give life and nurture the myriad things. Their transformations continue without end, yet Heaven and Earth never shirk this labor. The myriad things fill the space between them, but Heaven and Earth never treat them as their own possessions. Spring brings forth life and summer nurtures it; creation takes life away and gives it, yet never boasts of its own “ability.” This is the point of Laozi’s words, “It gives life but does not possess; it acts but does not rely on its ability.” The emphasis is on accomplishing the work without dwelling on the achievement. The three sentences that follow, beginning “The myriad things arise, and it does not turn away from them,” express this same principle. “Arise” is close in meaning to the Kun hexagram in the Book of Changes, which “completes things.” It also shares the spirit of Shun and Yu possessing the realm without “treating it as their private property.” The sages of old all acted this way; Laozi was not unique in this.

Precisely because he does not dwell on his achievements, they do not leave him. Laozi says, “One who has what he has cannot keep it; one who has not what he has can keep it.” These eight characters are especially rich in meaning. The Book of Documents says, “If one claims goodness as one’s own, one loses that goodness,” which means the same thing. Sounds combine to form a melody, and so we say, “Sounds harmonize with one another.”

Fan Yingyuan, a Song-dynasty scholar, says: Everyone under Heaven knows how “the highest” and “its opposite” have already come about (here, “already” is a particle that adds emphasis). Since ancient times, sages have embodied the Dao in their dealings with things. They were therefore perfectly beautiful and wholly good, yet others did not feel that they were deliberately making things “beautiful” or “good.” This was because things are inherently as they are, each following its own proper course. The sage simply follows the natural order, acting with due measure and without praising himself or proclaiming his own beauty and goodness. If he were to praise something as beautiful and proclaim it as good, making it known to everyone under Heaven, then ugliness and its opposite would surely follow. Thus, from “being and nonbeing give rise to each other” through “long and short take shape in relation to each other,” the text explains how beauty and ugliness, and goodness and its opposite, are relative to one another.

The passage beginning “Therefore the sage” describes the sage’s teaching through his conduct. “Therefore” links what follows to what came before. “Sage” refers to one who is wholly aligned with the Dao, and also carries the sense of one who has “grown so great as to transform others”; the term can be understood this way throughout the passage. “Dwelling in the affairs of Wuwei” means embodying the Dao: the Dao is constantly inactive, yet nothing is left undone, while the sage responds to the myriad things with an open mind. “Practicing the teaching without words” means following the example of Heaven. What does Heaven say? The four seasons proceed, and the hundred kinds of things come to life. The sage, in turn, follows the natural order and benefits the myriad things.

A Plain-Language Commentary on The Collected Meanings of the True Scripture of the Dao and Its Virtue

On “Teaching Without Words” and “Not Acting as Master”

This is precisely what is meant by teaching without words: the myriad things arise, yet the Dao does not make itself their master.

The ancient editions cited by Wang Bi and Yang Fu agree with this reading. Their meaning is that the Dao is still and silent, unmoving; when something responds to it, it connects with that thing. This is the Dao. The sage embodies the Dao—taking the Dao’s state as the basis for conduct—and responds only after things in the world have stirred him. Thus he does not act as master: he does not rule over the myriad things as if they were his private possessions.

On “Bringing Things to Life Without Possessing Them” and “Not Departing”

Bringing things to life without possessing them means, therefore, not departing—not claiming credit or clinging to a position.

Fu Yi says that many ancient editions have the character “remain” here. The Dao gives life to the myriad things and sets them in motion, yet never claims them as its own or relies on its own power. Once its work is done, it does not take credit for its achievements. Precisely because it does not claim credit, the myriad things do not turn against it. The sage, too, embodies the Dao in this way. How could he then go on to distinguish between “evil” and “what is not good”?

Xue Yongzhai’s Commentary

From “When everyone under Heaven recognizes” through “one follows the other,” the text explains that where there is beauty, there is ugliness; where there is good, there is what is not good. Everything in the world consists of opposites—paired, relative concepts. These six lines offer only one example. Can the state Yan Hui described as “as if something stood there, lofty and distinct” still be explained through opposites?

The sage’s highest teaching is to act without acting: what he does is an act of Wuwei (non-action). He speaks without speaking: what he offers is a teaching without words. In this way, the sage steps beyond opposites. The myriad things unfold, and he does not refuse to let them do so or claim credit for their work; he reaches the point of not taking possession of a position. “Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat the myriad things as straw dogs.” The sage takes this as his model. Because he does not take possession, he does not depart; having nowhere to remain, he has nowhere to depart from.

Commentary from Xiuxiu An

From “When everyone under Heaven recognizes” through “one follows the other”: once the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and humanity—are established and the myriad things have come into being, their brilliance and fame appear in the world as opposites. People know only that the beauty of the myriad things can serve a purpose, and call this “useful beauty” beautiful. They do not recognize the grace of giving life; this becomes what is called “evil.” Even if everyone knows that the workings of creation and the bringing forth of life are good, and calls this “the goodness of generation,” they see only the virtue of the Three Powers and fail to understand the Great Dao. This, in turn, becomes what is called “what is not good.”

Alas, people turn away from the Dao and lose sight of De (Virtue/Power), chasing what is secondary and forgetting what is fundamental. The ways of the world grow ever more shallow. Human beings are the most spiritually perceptive of creatures, yet they cannot turn inward to behold their own nature, empty, clear, and wondrous. That nature already possesses great spiritual powers and can be master of the myriad forms, making wondrous use of Wuwei. Instead, people chase delusive thoughts and compete to act; they let emotional consciousness take control and become confused by the Five Desires, the Eight Winds—circumstances such as favor and adversity, slander and praise, suffering and pleasure, gain and loss—and by greed, anger, delusion, and craving. In this way, they bring “being” forth from “nonbeing.”

All things in the world arise from "wu" (the formless, imageless origin). Being (you) and non-being (wu) mutually transform in ceaseless motion. Human affairs may be difficult or easy—difficult tasks bring suffering while easy ones bring joy, yet suffering and joy, difficulty and ease are interdependent and mutually completing.

Affairs have distinctions of good and evil, principles have measures of long and short. Only through comparison can we discern length; only through contrast can we distinguish superiority. Beauty and ugliness, sounds and echoes all respond to and intermingle with each other. Right and wrong behave similarly—before one disappears, another arises. Who can awaken suddenly and return to the state of pristine simplicity?

Therefore, the sage who attains the Dao handles affairs with the attitude of "wuwei" (non-action, natural spontaneity). What we call a sage is one who comprehends the great Dao and manifests supreme De (Virtue). They sever desires, relinquish attachments, recognize their original mind, return to the source, and awaken to the dharma gate of non-action. Internally free from greed, externally free from pursuit, their mind neither deliberately seeks the Dao nor creates karmic obstructions. Without deluded thoughts, without forced cultivation, without deliberate verification, they transcend all stages of practice to reach the highest realm—this is the "Way of Non-Action."

This Dao of wuwei governs all virtues, illuminates the delusions of sentient beings, responds opportunely to save beings, supports the endangered, and possesses naturally mysterious functions. Like spring pervading all lands, like harmonious breezes filling the void. The truly enlightened do not esteem deliberate action but follow the way of wuwei, treating all things equally with natural virtue. Without verbal teaching, people are naturally transformed. Whether cultivating the self, regulating the family, governing the state, or bringing peace to the world—not for a moment can one be separated from the Dao.

Those who take the Dao as their foundation have virtue that aligns with heaven and earth. Lofty as the sky, vast as the earth, they let all things grow without refusal, nurture creation without claiming merit, serve as sovereign of all yet never presume nobility, achieve great deeds yet never boast. Precisely because they claim no merit and assert no control, they lose nothing, transcending distinctions of honor and disgrace, right and wrong.

The Daoist thinker Chu Boxiu explains: All people under heaven know to pursue external beauty and goodness, yet few investigate internal true beauty and goodness. External beauty and goodness stem from human desires and may become unbeautiful or ungood, while internal true beauty and goodness originate from heavenly principle (natural law), remaining supremely beautiful and good throughout the ages. What worldly people call beautiful/ugly, good/bad are ultimately illusory distinctions. As for right and wrong—who can truly discern them? The six paired concepts mentioned later (being/non-being, yin-yang, difficulty/ease, etc.) generate endless transformations.

Just as seeing a crane's long legs makes a duck's appear short, viewing high mountains reveals low marshes, sounds emitted allow pitch discrimination, and spring's arrival manifests all things' vitality—these relative concepts all emerge through mutual dependence and contrast.

Summer comes again, and all things give rise to and complete one another, yet even they cannot preserve what is beautiful forever. How much less can relations of opposition and mutual strife endure? The sage traces things to their source and remedies what has gone wrong. By setting an example, the sage practices Wuwei (non-action), and things come to completion of themselves; without teaching through words, the sage establishes an influence that transforms people of its own accord. The people are at ease with their customs, and all things follow their nature. Plowing, digging, and sowing are the work of things; I do not reject them. Nurturing and multiplying are the growth of things; I do not claim them as my own. Things are left to act and possess of themselves. When something has to be done, why should it depend on me? Precisely because the sage has merit yet does not claim it, that merit remains inseparable from the sage. Zhuangzi said, “I can forget the world, and it is easy to let the world forget me along with itself. But for the world to forget me is difficult.” How true!

Someone comments on this chapter: Coming right after “Dao, names, and nonbeing,” why does it suddenly turn to six elaborate pairs such as beauty and ugliness? In fact, where there is Dao, there are things; where there are things, there are names. What is called “nonbeing” is what lies hidden and does not appear. Once beauty and ugliness appear, the traces of things, names, and actions become clear, and the six pairs inevitably follow. The sage does not go against the nature of things, but lets them flow and shift according to their inherent order. When they turn away from that order, the sage sets them right—like prescribing medicine for an illness, allowing each to recover. When the illness is gone, the medicine is put aside. The sage’s mind is simply empty; how could it be confined by good and evil, or by the six pairs?

Niu Miaochuan says: When all-under-heaven knows something to the utmost, it no longer counts as “good.” “Beautiful” means pleasing, and “good” also means pleasing; “ugly” and “not good” both mean displeasing. For example, something good in the world will inevitably turn bad: misfortune lies hidden in good fortune, danger in safety, and this is where the workings of fortune and disaster lie in wait for one another. Nothing is more beautiful than serving one’s ruler, yet serving too often invites disgrace. Nothing is better than friendship, yet too close a friendship leads to distance. Ge Hong says: “The mist gathers around embroidered curtains, the gauze drapes part like clouds; in the orchid grove one plucks fragrant blossoms, and in the pond piled with pearls one plays with red flowers. Within, the eight gates gleam; without, the vermilion carriage displays its splendor.” Yet when pleasure reaches its height, sorrow gathers; when fullness is complete, decline must follow. This is how beauty and ugliness are bound together, a truth everyone under heaven knows. Thus being and nonbeing give rise to each other: being arises from what is not, and nonbeing from what is; when there is no nonbeing, being arises from nonbeing. Being and nonbeing give rise to one another and serve one another—this is the natural order. People are often confused by being and nonbeing, and so they do not understand. Moreover, when form moves, it does not produce form but shadow; when sound moves, it does not produce sound but echo. When “nonbeing” moves, then… (The text continues below, as in the original scripture.)

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

Being and Nonbeing, Life and Form

From nonbeing, being comes forth; from being, the appearance of existence arises. Once being has arisen, it must eventually return to nonbeing. Once something has form, it must eventually return to formlessness. To say “it does not arise” does not mean it could never have arisen in the first place; to say “it is formless” does not mean it never had form. Whatever comes into being must eventually end: this is how things work. What is due to end cannot avoid ending, just as what is due to arise cannot avoid arising. This is the way being and nonbeing bring each other forth and transform into one another.

Difficulty and Ease Complete One Another

Difficulty is the threshold to ease; ease is the source of difficulty. In the world, difficulty and ease are often found within one another and depend on one another. A task may be very difficult at first, but if you are willing to work at it, you can get it done. Hasn’t it then become easy? If you approach something with disregard and carelessness, even what was easy can become difficult. An old saying goes, “Nothing in the world is difficult for someone who applies their mind.” Another says, “Aim with purpose at a mountain, and your arrow must pierce it; aim without purpose at paper, and you may not pierce it.” Lü Dongbin wrote in a poem, “How hard, how hard—to spread ten shi of sesame seeds over a tree; how easy, how easy—like sleeping soundly with your clothes on.” Laozi says, “The difficult things under heaven must begin with what is easy; the great things under heaven must begin with what is small.” Thus, the sage still treats every task with the care due to something difficult, and as a result there is no difficulty that cannot be overcome. This is how difficulty and ease complete one another.

Long and Short Reveal Each Other

Things are naturally unequal; this is the way of the world. Without “long,” “short” would not be apparent; without “short,” “long” would not be apparent. They are distinguished by their relation to each other. A crane’s legs are long, but forcibly cutting them short would make the crane grieve. A duck’s legs are short, but forcibly lengthening them would make the duck suffer. The ancients said, “The green pine stands a hundred feet high; the green ears of grain droop only a few inches. Both grow in the vastness of the world, each with its own length and shortness.” People, too, each have their strengths and limitations. If everyone holds to their strengths and accepts their limitations, like kites soaring and fish leaping each in their proper place, there is no question of one being right or wrong for being longer or shorter. But if someone has a small strength and thinks themselves capable of anything, insisting on competing with others, the distinction between long and short immediately appears, and trouble follows. That is the point.

High and Low Lean on Each Other

The high is honored and the low is humble; the rites that distinguish the honored from the humble have their proper place. But if those in high positions are not modest, or those in low positions refuse to accept their place, each will begin to press against the other. The noble take the humble as their root, and the high take the low as their foundation. If one only seeks to rise high without being willing to keep one’s feet on the ground, one cannot remain “high.” An old saying goes, “Is the wall high? Rain wears it down and brings it tumbling. Is the pool low? Water flows toward it and gathers there.” A proverb says, “Sand on the bank.” The high bank holds the sand, while water flows down into the low pool: high and low each remain in their proper place. When the honored and the humble, the high and the low, each keep their place and serve as a foundation for the other, they will not oppress or harm one another.

Someone carrying earth comes from a household of old; the paths through the village are walked by people today, yet beneath them lie the graves of those who lived long ago. From this we can see that seas turn into mulberry fields, and mulberry fields into seas: such changes have always occurred. This is the pattern of high and low tipping into one another.

Seen in this light, a prince’s son may fall into the ranks of commoners, while a commoner’s son may become a prince. Yang Xiong, also known as Yang Ziyun, said: “In the morning, one may gain power and become a minister; by evening, one may lose one’s position and become an ordinary man.” These are all examples of high and low tipping into one another.

Sounds and echoes respond to one another: A sound rings out; when it rings, there is a tone, and every tone has a resonance. When there is resonance, there is a response. Hence sounds and echoes respond to one another. Thunder makes a sound, but if it does not stir, it cannot be heard. A bell or drum has a tone, but without being struck, it does not ring. The Book of Songs says, “The birds chirp and call, still seeking the sound of a friend”; the Book of Changes says, “The crane calls in the shade, and its young answer.” Sound and resonance follow one another just as form and shadow arise and disappear together, naturally born together and gone together. A tone does not need to depend on a sound; as soon as a sound is made, its resonance follows. Likewise, when a person speaks harshly, their Qi is coarse; when their voice is gentle, their Qi is at ease. Those who love others are often loved in return, and those who respect others are often respected in return. These things begin with what one gives out oneself, just as tone and resonance follow a ringing sound. This is simply how things work.

What comes before and after follow one another: When the body moves ahead, its shadow must follow behind. When Yang leads, Yin must respond after it. A shadow follows its form, Yin and Yang respond to one another, and what comes before is followed by what comes after: these are necessary patterns. The Kongcongzi says: “What comes before is like the past, and what comes after is like the present. Past and present continue in succession, just as what comes before is followed by what comes after, without interruption.” Chengmingzi says: “What comes first lays out the pattern; what comes last brings it to completion. We have never heard of a beginning without an end, or seen a start without a finish. What comes before and after follows one principle; beginning and end form a continuous whole. Nothing in the world reaches what comes after without passing through what came before.”

This describes the great practitioner: first, they abide in Wuwei (non-action); then acting without anything left undone necessarily follows. This is the natural Dao.

Thus it is said, “The sage attends to affairs through Wuwei.” The sage is the highest person under Heaven, so why say that they “attend to affairs through Wuwei”? Wuwei means simplicity and ease. The sage’s De (Virtue/Power) is equal to Heaven and Earth, and they take part in the principles of Qian and Kun while following simplicity and ease. How do we know this? The discussion that follows will provide the proof.

The I Ching says: The Qian hexagram is simple and easy to understand; the Kun hexagram is plain and easy to put into practice. What is simple is easy to understand, and what is plain is easy to follow. What is easy to understand inspires closeness, and what is easy to follow brings results. Closeness makes things endure; results make things flourish. Endurance is the Virtue of the worthy, and flourishing is the work of the worthy. Through simplicity, the principles of the world are grasped. This is why the sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words.

“Without words” means forgetting words. Within the forgetting of words, the highest principles remain. The principles of the world are all contained in what is left unsaid. The sage grasps their subtlety and puts them into practice in silence; this is why it is said, “teaches without words.”

Teaching without words refers to the Way of Heaven. Heaven’s Way responds well without speaking. Confucius said, “What does Heaven say? The four seasons proceed, and the myriad things come to life. What does Heaven say?” The sage observes Heaven’s Way and follows its workings; this is why it is said, “teaches without words.”

The I Ching also says: Heaven brings forth numinous things, and the sage takes them as a model; Heaven and Earth undergo transformations, and the sage follows them; Heaven displays signs that reveal good and ill fortune, and the sage takes them as images; the Yellow River yields the Diagram, and the Luo River yields the Writing, and the sage takes them as a model. Numinous things, transformations, good and ill fortune, diagrams and writings—all speak without words. Yet the sage models, follows, and images them. Is this not precisely teaching without words?

The myriad things come into being without taking pride in themselves. “Bringing forth” means that the myriad things come into being; “making no claim” means being humble and not boasting. The Doctrine of the Mean says, “Great indeed is the Way of the sage! It stretches vast and lofty, reaching up to Heaven.” The I Ching says, “When the sage acts, the myriad things come into view.” Yet no one has ever heard the sage claim to be capable. In ancient times, Confucius traced the teachings of Yao and Shun and took King Wen and King Wu as his models; above, he followed the rhythms of Heaven, and below, he adapted to the nature of the waters and earth. Like Heaven and Earth, he upheld and covered all things; like the four seasons, they followed their courses in turn; like the sun and moon, they alternated in shining. The myriad things grew together without harming one another, and the Ways proceeded side by side without conflicting. Lesser Virtue flowed like a stream; greater Virtue transformed the whole. His disciples asked, “Was our Master not a sage? How could he be so capable in so many things?” Confucius replied, “As for being a sage, I cannot claim that.” This is humility without self-conceit.

“Bringing forth without possessing”: “bringing forth” means benevolence. The I Ching says, “The ceaseless creation of life is called benevolence.” “Without possessing” means not claiming benevolence as one’s own.

Earlier Confucian scholars said: “You can let all under Heaven receive the benevolence of the sage, but you cannot make them know that it is the sage’s benevolence.”

If people receive the sage’s benevolence and also know that it comes from the sage, it is only “small benevolence”—something bounded and defined, open to discussion. If they receive the sage’s benevolence without knowing it comes from the sage, that is “great benevolence”—it leaves no trace, yet things come naturally to fruition.

This is what the Dao De Jing means by “giving life without possessing.”

“To act without relying on one’s achievements” means doing things without leaning on one’s own merits.

The sage is skilled in many things but never thinks himself capable; this is called “acting without relying on one’s achievements.” Once, Yangzi Ju asked Laozi, “How does the sage govern all under Heaven?” Laozi replied, “The sage governs all under Heaven: his achievements extend throughout the world, yet seem to have nothing to do with him. He transforms the myriad things, yet the people do not depend on him. He achieves merit without claiming credit, allowing the myriad things to settle into their proper places. He stands where he cannot be fathomed and moves freely in the realm of nonbeing.” This is what “acting without relying on one’s achievements” means. Is this not precisely the point?

“Having completed the work, do not dwell on it.” Here, “not dwelling” means not boasting of one’s achievements; “not departing” means that one’s reputation does not fade.

By repeatedly refusing to dwell on one’s achievements, one steps back of one’s own accord once the work is done. In turn, one’s De endures all the longer and one’s reputation shines all the brighter. This is what “not departing” means.

The Jing says, “When the work is done and one’s name established, withdraw—this is the Dao of Heaven.” This is exactly the meaning.

In ancient times, Yu the Great brought the waters and lands under control and won great merit. Shun offered him the throne, but Yu yielded it to Shun’s son Shang Jun and withdrew to Yangcheng. This is an example of completing the work without dwelling on it. Yet the people of the realm followed Yu all the more, and his reputation spread even farther. Is this not precisely the point?

Yu Qingzhong said: Everyone under Heaven knows what is “ultimate,” so the sage does not advertise his own virtue. Beauty lies in oneself, not in the eyes of others; goodness lies in one’s own conduct, not in what others say.

Today, if you accumulate a little virtue and want everyone under Heaven to know it, it is no longer true beauty. If you do a little good and want everyone under Heaven to know it, it is no longer true goodness.

In all things under Heaven, being and nonbeing stand in relation, as do difficulty and ease, long and short, high and low. They give rise to and complete one another, define and incline against one another, like an echo answering a sound and a shadow following a form.

The sage carries all things through with a mind free of intention. He acts through Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words, following the Dao of Heaven: it brings the myriad things into being without shirking the labor, serves the function of giving life without leaving traces of birth, and accomplishes what is done while forgetting the power behind the doing.

Our Master, Confucius, said, “Great indeed is Heaven alone.” This is precisely the meaning.

A Plain-Language Interpretation

“Only Yao took it as his model; how vast it was! The people could not put it into words.” The sage follows the Dao of Heaven. His achievements and De are so immense that the people cannot even say precisely what he has done.

For the sage to follow Heaven as his model means to accomplish things without claiming credit. When achievement and De reach their highest point, good deeds accumulate, reputation naturally becomes known, De shines forth, and one’s standing is honored. I do not seek a name, yet a name comes of its own accord; even if I wanted to cast it off, how could I? Yanzhai’s words, “One who possesses what he has cannot truly possess it; one who does not possess what he has can possess it,” express the principle with striking clarity. The word “cast off” should be read like “cast off benevolence” in the Analects. The early Confucians said: if one does good while deliberately avoiding recognition, then there would be nothing left for anyone in the world to do. The sage acts with the intention of doing good, but without the intention of seeking a name—yet in the end, the name cannot be cast off, just as sounds answer one another, and bodies and shadows follow one another.

Read from beginning to end, the chapter’s central thread runs throughout. The closing passage then highlights two lines: “Precisely because he does not claim credit, it is never taken from him.” These words are not only elegant writing; their lesson is also profound and clear.

Xu Liuxu says: Everyone in the world knows that “beginning” and “end” follow one another. Good fortune is the root of misfortune, and good luck the source of calamity—this is a natural principle, yet ordinary people find it hard to understand. So the sage, taking pity on people who do not see it, tells them: Everyone knows what is beautiful and what is good, and pursues and delights in them, but does not know that ugliness and what is not good arise from them. The principle is like being and nonbeing giving rise to each other, difficulty and ease completing each other, long and short defining each other, high and low inclining toward each other, musical notes harmonizing with one another, and what comes before and after following one another. From ancient times to the present, everything has its opposite, circling without end. Only the sage can stand apart, beyond opposition. Thus the sage attends to affairs through Wuwei (non-action) … and so nothing is taken from him. The sage stands alone, with nothing that can oppose him, because he attends to affairs through Wuwei and teaches without words.

Attending to affairs through Wuwei does not mean doing nothing at all. It means following things as they are, and therefore not forcing them; responding when moved, and thereby reaching through. Teaching without words does not simply mean keeping silent. It means cultivating sincerity within and putting loyalty and trustworthiness into practice outwardly. The world follows, without the need for many words. In this way, though the sage responds each day to countless affairs, he harmonizes without taking the lead. Thus he does not claim credit for his achievements, and so nothing is taken from him.

Note: This text gathers and develops interpretations of ideas in Chapter Two of the Dao De Jing and elsewhere. “Yanzhai” and “Xu Liuxu” are names used by commentators. “Attending to affairs through Wuwei” and “teaching without words” are central Daoist expressions; here, following the commentators, they mean acting in accord with nature and teaching through one’s De, rather than literally “not moving” or “not speaking.”

A Modern Interpretation of The Supreme Instructions on the Golden Flower of Taiyi

On “Yin Qi Within Qi”

There is Qi within Qi that is utterly Yin, as well as Yin Qi within Qi. There is also five Yin and one Yang, and Yin Qi below and in the middle. So what exactly does Yin Qi within Qi mean?

The Second Treasure Melody (Fanqu Baiyu Huangqianhui)

(This passage is the title of a scriptural melody or a secret phrase. Its literal meaning is difficult to grasp; it must be understood in light of the cultivation sequence presented in the full text and the teachings transmitted orally by the lineage. Here it is recorded as it stands.)

Notes

• Qi: Daoists often write this as “炁.” It refers to primordial Qi, or vital energy, and is distinct from the “气” associated with postnatal breathing.
• Five Yin and one Yang: This often refers to a Yin-Yang proportion, or to the correspondence between the body’s five Yin organs and one Yang aspect, such as the Yang of the Gate of Life or the Dantian (energy center). Commentaries differ somewhat.
• Qi that is utterly Yin / Yin Qi / Yin Qi below and in the middle: These distinctions describe successive levels and degrees of refinement of Qi in the body and mind. They are related to stages such as refining Jing (essence) into Qi and refining Qi into Shen (spirit).

Being and nonbeing, difficulty and ease, length and shortness, highness and lowness all arise in pairs. Where there is being, there is also nonbeing in relation to it; where there is difficulty, ease stands in relation to it; where there is length, there is shortness; where there is highness, there is lowness. Because they are relative in this way, they give rise to one another, complete one another, reveal one another’s form, and depend on one another.

As for sound and what comes before and after, they are not such direct opposites. Why, then, does the author include them as well? To show that relations of mutual arising, completion, appearance, and dependence are as natural as sounds answering one another and what comes before being followed by what comes after. The examples that are not so clearly opposed also throw into relief the side of things that must be opposed.

Thus the sage engages in Wuwei (non-action) and teaches without words. Wuwei and teaching without words both express the fact that the Dao (the Way) is nameless by nature.

Once something has a name, it can be acted upon and spoken of. Since the Dao is nameless, why say more or do more? The sage therefore goes beyond distinctions between beauty and ugliness, good and not good. If even beauty cannot be clearly named through Wuwei and silence, how much less can ugliness? If even goodness cannot be clearly named, how much less can what is not good?

All things arise, and the sage does not refuse them; he gives them life and nurtures them, yet does not claim them as his own. He acts, yet does not rely on his own accomplishments. When the work is done, he does not claim the credit. All things arise, and he does not obstruct them, letting them arise. He gives them life and nurtures them without treating them as “his possessions.” He acts through Wuwei, without relying on himself for having “done something.” When the work is done, he does not take the credit for himself. In this way, even if I possess beauty, people do not think I am showing off; even if I possess goodness, people do not think I am parading it.

Precisely because he does not claim credit, his merit does not depart. Once he claims credit, there will come a day when it is lost: if he claims to be beautiful, when the good name leaves him, it turns into a bad name; if he claims to be good, when the good name leaves him, he becomes not good.

Only by engaging in Wuwei and teaching without words—letting things arise without refusing them, giving life without possessing, acting without relying on oneself, and completing the work without claiming credit—can one keep one’s name from departing. “The name does not depart” refers to a name that accords with the Dao’s namelessness.

This passage further explains the meaning of “nameless” in the preceding text.