《雲笈七籤》Vol. 1

The Laojun Zhigui says: Among the highest principles, nothing surpasses Dao and De. Next, nothing is greater than the spirits. After that, nothing is greater than Great Harmony—the state in which all things are harmonious and interpenetrate. Next, nothing is more exalted than Heaven and Earth; nothing is more evident than Yin-Yang; and nothing is clearer than the Great Sage, a person of supreme virtue and wisdom.

Dao and De can be followed, but cannot be probed to their ultimate depths. The spirits can be nurtured within, but cannot be freely deployed. Great Harmony can be experienced, but cannot be altered by human contrivance. Heaven and Earth can be followed in their workings, but cannot be fully described in words. Yin-Yang can be put to use, but cannot be taught in its entirety. The Great Sage can be observed and emulated, but cannot be fully captured in words.

Thus, what people can reach through measurement and calculation is only limited knowledge. Knowledge understands very little and can accomplish very little. The many things cannot be counted one by one, and what is immense cannot be measured. Subtle and profound principles lie beyond the reach of knowledge; perfect accomplishment cannot be attained through human effort. Nor can the disorders and calamities of the world be overcome by dealing with particular affairs alone.

Therefore, the ineffable Dao and De are the foundation of governance. The nameless “name,” which has no fixed designation, is the source of the transformations of all things, even though it does not seek to establish achievements.

Yet once a ruler deliberately takes action, people throughout the land give rise to all kinds of desires. They abandon simplicity and sincerity in favor of ostentation; they muddy clear teachings, open people’s eyes and ears, and draw them into the pleasures of sound and sight. They use the Five Flavors to satisfy the appetite and fame and virtue to please the heart, then teach people through benevolence and righteousness and restrain them with rites and laws. The people are like those waking from sleep and leaving a darkened house: they climb a hill and gaze in every direction, seeing the stars and the sun and moon. Then teachings can be proclaimed, virtues listed, achievements recounted, and names distinguished.

From this it can be seen that when people distance themselves from the root, perversity and deception arise. When Dao and De are obscured, the spirits are cut off; calamities emerge one after another, and Great Harmony dissipates. The people of the world become anxious and bewildered, rushing about amid disputes over right and wrong and losing their measure of natural ease. Desires alter their original nature and entangle them with all things, leaving them haggard, withered, and dark of complexion, burdened with worry. They find no peace in life and take no pleasure in the life they have; they may even cut short their allotted years. All this is caused by harm and violence. As a result, ruler and ministers worry and bustle over one another, and fathers and sons remain anxiously attached to one another.

Brothers grieve for one another, their faces full of sorrow; the people are filled with fear, their bodies trembling with it. When people become entangled in one another’s feelings, death and disaster may soon follow. The deep attachment of parents and children, the grief between brothers, and even the formal exchanges of morning and evening greetings, farewells when leaving, and welcomes on returning home can all bring premature death and harm. When officials meet the ruler, their faces tense until they lose their composure. They hurry forward and bow forcefully, hunching their shoulders, tucking in their elbows, and kneeling as they knock their heads on the ground, all to display the ruler’s majesty. This, in fact, shows that ruler and subjects are not close.

Thus, the “Dao” that can be put into words is merely a set of visible moral rules, not the constant Dao that arises naturally. A name that can be proclaimed is merely an illustrious reputation, not a name that is true in itself.

The Brief Examples on the Lao Lord’s Guide (Laojun Zhigui Lüeli), a work explaining Laozi’s thought, says: The generation of all things and the accomplishment of all deeds must have their source in the formless. Form emerges from the nameless. The formless and nameless are the root of all things. They are neither warm nor cool, and belong to neither the gong nor the shang musical tone. Listen for them and you hear nothing; look for them and you see nothing; touch them and feel nothing; taste them and find no flavor. As a thing, they are undivided; as an image, they have no definite shape; as a sound, they are faint beyond hearing; as a flavor, they have no fixed expression. For this very reason, they can be the root of all things, connect Heaven and Earth, and allow all things to move through them.

If something is warm, it cannot also be cool; if it belongs to the gong tone, it cannot also belong to the shang tone. Whatever has form must have distinctions; whatever makes a sound must belong to a particular category. Therefore, an image that takes on a definite shape is not the greatest image, and a sound that makes a definite noise is not the greatest sound.

Yet if none of the four particular forms appears, the greatest image cannot be revealed; if none of the five musical tones is heard, the greatest sound cannot be revealed. When the four forms appear but things are not confined to any particular form, the greatest image can unfold. When the five tones are heard but the human heart is not bound by any one sound, the greatest sound can be realized. Thus, when one grasps the “Great Image”—the formless image that encompasses all images—all things under Heaven will turn toward it. When one uses the “Great Sound”—the sound that is silent yet encompasses every sound—customs will change. The formless Dao moves through all under Heaven, and though people go about within it, they cannot leave it behind. Once the Dao without sound has reached its destination, customs may have changed, yet people can scarcely recognize its influence.

Heaven therefore generates five kinds of things but does not rely on any one kind as its sole function. The sage practices five kinds of teaching but does not compel people through words. For this reason, a “Dao” that can be fully described is not the constant Dao, and a “name” that can be precisely defined is not the constant name. The source of the five kinds of things is neither hot nor cold, neither soft nor hard. The source of the five kinds of teaching is neither showy nor obscure, neither biased toward favor nor given to harm. Though times differ from age to age and customs change, these roots do not change. This is what is meant by: “From ancient times to the present, its name has never disappeared.” If Heaven and Earth did not follow this root, the myriad things could not come into being.

If governance does not follow this principle, its achievements cannot be accomplished. Therefore, from ancient times to the present, the principle that runs through everything remains the same. Grasp the principles of antiquity and you can govern the present; examine the present and you can understand its beginnings in antiquity. This is what is called the “constant”: the unchanging principle.

The Dao has no visible form, bright or dark, and no signs of warmth or coolness. To understand the constant Dao is therefore called “clarity.” The growth of all things and the accomplishment of all achievements come from it, so it can be used to investigate the roots of all things.

Even lightning, however swiftly it flashes, cannot respond everywhere in an instant. Even riding the wind, however fast one travels, cannot reach a destination in the space of a single breath. True swiftness does not lie in rushing, and true arrival does not lie in running. Thus, even the grandest things that can be spoken of or seen are not sufficient to govern Heaven and Earth; even things that possess form and have reached their utmost extent cannot contain all things.

Those who praise it cannot express all its beauty; those who sing of it cannot fully convey its vastness. To name it is to give it a name that cannot properly correspond to it; to speak of it is to leave it unsaid. A name must draw distinctions, and speech must rely on something. Where distinctions are drawn, not everything can be encompassed; where speech relies on something, the whole cannot be exhausted. If it cannot encompass everything, it departs greatly from what is real; if it cannot exhaust the whole, no name can make it clear. These principles can be further explained.

“Dao” speaks of the source from which all things come. “Mysterious” speaks of the source from which hidden and obscure things emerge. “Deep” means that it can be explored but never exhausted. “Great” means that it contains all things yet has no bounds. “Far-reaching” means that it extends wide and deep, beyond all reach. “Subtle” means that it is too elusive to discern or see.

Thus, terms such as “Dao,” “mysterious,” “deep,” “great,” “wondrous,” and “far-reaching” each have their own meaning, yet none can exhaust its ultimate limit. It contains all things and has no bounds, so it cannot be called “small”; it is subtle and formless, so it cannot be called “vast.” Therefore, the scripture says to provisionally call it “Dao” or “mysterious,” without giving it a fixed name.

Seen this way, to explain it in words is to lose its constant name; to give it a fixed name is to depart from what is real. Deliberate action obstructs one’s nature; clinging possession causes one to lose the root. Therefore, the sage does not make words their master and so does not violate the constant principle; does not treat names as constant things and so does not depart from what is real; does not make deliberate action the business at hand and so does not harm one’s nature; and does not make clinging a standard and so does not lose the root.

If one insists on arguing over and probing the writings of the Old Lord, their central purpose is lost; if one insists on assigning names and pursuing categories, their original meaning is violated. Their overall intent is to discuss the Great Beginning, the source before all things began, and through this explain the nature of what is natural; to elucidate the utmost depths of the hidden and mysterious, dispelling confusion and error; and to follow along with… (the original text ends here unfinished)

To diminish things, one should not put into practice the principles one esteems. One should instead honor the root to quiet the turmoil at the branches, hold fast to the source to preserve what grows from it, and regard skillful techniques lightly. This is the most important principle. When something has not yet happened, do not blame others; first look for the cause within yourself.

Each school of thought has its own teaching. The Legalists prize uniformity, using forms and laws to regulate things. The Logicians prize establishing what is true, using names and words to set things straight. The Confucians prize putting benevolence into practice everywhere, using reputation to advance instruction. The Mohists prize frugality, using wisdom to establish their doctrines. The Eclectics prize gathering the strengths of the various schools and putting them all into practice.

Yet regulating things through forms can easily give rise to deception; judging things by names can lead to partiality in the pursuit of reason and feeling; advancing things through reputation can provoke rivalry and affectation; establishing doctrines through wisdom can invite discord; and putting many methods into practice at once can create disorder. All these approaches make use of the branches while abandoning the root. Without the root to support them, things cannot be maintained for long.

Though the schools follow different paths, they may ultimately arrive at the same destination. Their aims may agree even when their methods differ. Yet learners are often confused by where each school begins and fail to understand what it ultimately seeks to achieve. Seeing its pursuit of uniformity, they call it “Legalist”; seeing its distinction of what is true, they call it “Logician”; seeing its devotion to benevolence, they call it “Confucian”; seeing its esteem for frugality, they call it “Mohist”; seeing its freedom from constraint, they call it “Eclectic.” People name doctrines according to the features they notice, then cling to particular teachings according to their own preferences. Thus arise confused and disordered discussions, and disputes in which each side follows a different direction.

These writings also have a distinctive style. They often use the meaning at the end to confirm the beginning, moving from the root at the opening to the conclusion at the close. They set out a thread of thought without saying everything outright; they guide the reader without forcing the way. Only by following the argument does the reader gradually grasp its meaning; only by carrying it further does the reader understand its principle. The writings are adept at grounding an argument in the beginning of a matter and bringing it to a close by explaining its ultimate destination. Thus, those who follow the same direction and are stirred by particular examples often appreciate the argument at the beginning and develop it further. Those with a distinct insight, too, often appreciate the destination revealed at the end and use it to support their reasoning.

Though paths may differ, their destinations can be the same; though thoughts may be many, their results can agree. A text points out common destinations and results in order to illuminate the highest principle. Thus, when readers encounter a kind of thing and reflect on it, they are often delighted to find their own thinking in accord with the text, and feel that they have understood its meaning.

Things are often preserved by turning away from their outward forms and holding fast to the root; their effects are often achieved by not clinging to surface names. True preservation does not make “preservation” itself the aim; it never forgets the danger of possible loss. True stability does not take “stability” itself as a guarantee; it never forgets the possibility of crisis. Therefore, those who guard what they have now will eventually lose it if they forget that it may perish. Those who do not forget that it may perish can instead make it endure.

One can be secure only by remembering danger while still in danger. One can lift a feather—something exceedingly light—only by knowing how to apply strength. One can hear thunder only by knowing how to listen.

This principle runs counter to ordinary human expectations. Those who are secure are in fact secure, yet say they are not. Things that exist do exist, yet are said not to. Lords and kings are in fact noble, yet say they are not. Each of these statements contains a profound truth.

Names arise from the forms of things; titles come from people’s dealings and demands. Names do not spring from nowhere, nor do titles appear without cause. So if one clings to a name, one strays far from its original meaning; if one clings to a title, one cannot exhaust the nature of the thing itself. That is why the “mysterious” is called “mysterious upon mysterious.” And when speaking of the Dao, one says, “Within the realm are four great things” (the four great presences between Heaven and Earth).

The “Way” chapter of the Han Feizi says: “The Dao is the beginning of all things (all things are born from the Dao, so it is called their beginning) and the standard for judging right and wrong (right and wrong are made clear through the Dao, so it is called the standard).” Thus, an enlightened ruler holds fast to the root and understands the source of all things; he grasps the standard and understands the origins of success and failure.

The ruler waits in emptiness and stillness for orders to emerge on their own: the names of the orders become clear by themselves, and affairs settle of their own accord. Only with an empty mind can one understand the facts; only with a quiet heart can one see whether actions accord with the right way. Those who speak reveal their intentions; those who act reveal their tracks. When tracks and names are checked against each other and found to agree, the ruler need not personally intervene in affairs.

Therefore, when the ruler does not reveal his desires, his ministers display their true abilities. When he does not reveal his intentions, they show their individual qualities. When he sets aside likes and dislikes, they reveal their true selves. When he does not proclaim his own virtue and wisdom, they each give their best.

If the ruler is wise but does not plan things himself, all things can find their proper place. If he acts without using his own virtue as the measure of his ministers, he can see the basis of their actions. If he is courageous but does not drive his ministers with anger, his officials can fully exercise their courage. Thus, by not displaying cleverness, the ruler can see clearly; by not claiming virtue, he can accomplish great things; by not showing off his courage, he can make the whole realm strong. His ministers each keep to their duties, his officials each follow established rules, and he appoints each person according to their abilities. This is called following the constant way.

Thus, the ruler is profound and still, without form, and does not occupy a prominent position. He is distant and without trace, so no one can assign him a definite name. This is the way of governing in which the enlightened ruler practices Wuwei (non-action) above, while the ministers below remain respectful and cautious. The enlightened ruler lets those with wisdom fully apply their thought, then uses their insights to decide affairs; in this way, he need not exhaust his own wisdom over every matter. He lets those with ability put their talents to work, then appoints them accordingly; in this way, he need not exhaust his own capacity over every matter. When accomplishments are achieved, the ruler possesses the results brought about by his worthy ministers…

When ministers err, they bear the corresponding responsibility. The ruler therefore need not investigate titles and responsibilities in every matter. In this way, even those lacking talent and virtue can become teachers to the worthy, and those lacking wisdom can correct the wise. Ministers take on the practical labor, while the ruler enjoys the success of their work. This is the enduring method by which an enlightened ruler governs a state.

The Honglie of Huainan (another name for the Huainanzi) says: The Dao (the Way) covers the sky and supports the earth, extending far and wide to the four directions and the Eight Extremities—the farthest reaches of heaven and earth. It rises beyond reach and descends beyond measure. It contains heaven and earth and gives form to the myriad things, yet has no form of its own. Its source wells forth like a spring: at first it surges, then gradually fills; at first it is turbid and chaotic, then slowly clears. When it stands upright, it fills heaven and earth; when it spreads outward, it reaches across the four seas. Its activity never ceases, and knows no distinction between morning and night. Unfolded, it covers the Six Directions—the four quarters, above, and below; gathered up, it fits within a single palm. When it contracts, it can expand; in darkness, it can become bright; in weakness, it can become strong; in softness, it can become firm. It reaches in all directions, embraces Yin-Yang, and links the cosmos, allowing the sun, moon, and stars each to shine forth.

The Dao is supremely gentle and abundant, yet exceedingly subtle. Mountains are high through it, and deep abysses are deep through it. Beasts run through it, and birds fly through it. The sun and moon shine through it, and the stars move through it. The qilin roams through it, and the phoenix soars through it. The two sovereigns of antiquity—the legendary rulers of the earliest age—grasped the essentials of the Dao. Dwelling at the center, they let spirit and transformation wander freely, and thereby brought peace to the four quarters. Thus they set heaven in motion and made the earth secure, while the myriad things revolved without end. Rivers flowed without ceasing, and all things moved in cycles. Winds rose and clouds gathered, and nothing failed to respond. Thunder sounded and rain fell; transformations followed one after another without end. Spirits appeared and vanished like lightning; dragons rose and luan birds gathered, turning in cycles and beginning again.

The myriad things are shaped and refined, yet in the end return to simplicity. They act through Wuwei (non-action) and accord with the Dao; they speak without deliberate intent, yet attain De (Virtue/Power). With a calm and joyful heart, and without boasting, they reach harmony. The myriad things take different forms, yet each follows its own nature. The spirit of the Dao resides in what is exceedingly subtle, while its vastness is equal to the whole cosmos. Its De surpasses heaven and earth, accords with Yin-Yang, regulates the seasons, and harmonizes the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). It nourishes the myriad things, moistening plants and trees and permeating metal and stone. Birds and beasts grow robust, their fur and feathers sleek, their wings strong, and their horns developing. Beasts’ young are not lost before birth, and birds’ eggs hatch successfully. Fathers need not fear losing their sons, and elder brothers need not weep for younger brothers. Children have no fear of being left helpless, and women no grief at being widowed. Rainbows do not appear, and baleful stars do not move through the heavens. All this results from the presence of the Dao’s virtuous Qi.

The highest Dao generates the myriad things but does not claim them as its own. It brings about transformation and gives rise to the myriad forms, yet… (The original text ends here.)

The Dao does not rule over the myriad things. Whether living beings walk on tiptoe and breathe with their mouths open, or fly and creep, they are born only when the Dao gives rise to them, yet none knows this. All things depend on it for life and depend on it for death, but none can resent it on that account. Though they benefit from it, they cannot praise it; though they suffer loss because of it, they cannot blame it.

The Dao gathers all things together, yet does not thereby make them richer. It gives to and nourishes all things, yet does not thereby make them poorer. It circulates everywhere and can never be exhausted; subtle and hidden, it cannot be sought out deliberately. Pile it up, and it does not grow higher; let it fall, and it does not sink lower. Add to it, and it does not increase; take away from it, and it does not diminish. Cut it, and it does not become shallow; wound it, and it is not left incomplete. Bore through it, and it does not become deeper; bury it, and it does not become shallower.

It is indistinct and elusive, impossible to portray; yet it seems to act within that elusiveness and never runs dry. Dark and deep, it can respond to things and make itself apparent without revealing a form. Profound and far-reaching, it moves without being empty. It coils and unfurls with softness and hardness, rising and falling in change together with Yin-Yang.

Ge Xiangong’s “Preface to the Wuqianwen Jing” says: “The Lord Lao”—an honorific title for Laozi, a revered Daoist deity—has his origin in nature. He came into being before the Great Nonbeing, before form and names had appeared, and transcends every cause. He has witnessed the birth and end of Heaven and Earth, events too numerous to count in words. He exhausts the inexhaustible and reaches the limitless. He moves and transforms with the Great Dao, becoming the foundation of Heaven and Earth. He disperses Qi in the ten directions and embraces the purest nature of Dao and De. Vast and boundless, he is difficult to name; radiant and resplendent, he displays patterned splendor. Exalted and great, he established his achievements; profound and hidden, he cannot be measured. He is majestic and solemn, the ancestor of the spirits.

“The sun, moon, and stars are sustained by him, and so shine brightly. Heaven and Earth receive his Dao, and thus come into being. Heaven and Earth revolve, breathing out and taking in Jing. Though his position is exalted, he does not make the people his subjects; though he is honored, he holds no official rank. He covers and supports all things, and his function is inexhaustible. Thus, the heavens in all eight directions widely proclaim the Great Dao. Before Heaven and Earth first opened, he had already descended as a teacher to the ruler. This continued from age to age without interruption, though the people of the world had no way of knowing. He creates and transforms all things but does not speak. This is what is called profound De. Therefore, all the sages honor him together. The Dao is revered and De is precious, yet no one confers a noble title upon them. They have always followed their own nature: such is Laozi.

“In the Zhou dynasty, the Lord Lao once more took bodily form through Mother Li. Her left armpit split open, and he was born from it. He was born with white hair covering his head, and so was called ‘Laozi.’ The title ‘Laozi’ comes from the mysterious Dao. He existed long before Heaven and Earth and has no limit of old age; therefore he is called ‘Laozi.’ People of the world think that Laozi began in the Zhou dynasty, but this title had already appeared countless kalpas ago. Its origins lie in a remote and profound past that cannot be traced.

“When the Zhou royal house declined and the Great Dao could no longer be put into practice, Laozi traveled west. Yin Xi, the official guarding Hangu Pass, said: ‘Is the Great Dao about to disappear? I hope…’”

Thus, Laozi composed a scripture for me, completing the Dao De Jing in two parts, with a total of five thousand characters.

The Admonitions of Lord Lao says: Lord Lao was born in the Sacred Hall of Profound Vastness. At that time, Heaven and Earth, the sun and moon had not yet taken shape. He had nothing to hold on to and no ground beneath his feet, yet he hung suspended without falling. He wore garments woven from the radiance of the Three Lights—the sun, moon, and stars. Their brilliance illuminated the void, like the light of the sun and moon today.

The Preface to the Sacred Chronicle of the Emperor of Primordial Chaos says: Tracing the Great Dao back to its source, we find it profound and remote, rooted in Wuwei (non-action). The highest De (Virtue/Power) is balanced, harmonious, empty, and still; its principles encompass every kind of mystery. Thus, Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) gather to form the True One, whose life appears without relying on external things. Form takes shape within the Ninefold Void, without depending on anything already existing. It contains wondrous spirit, gestates at the beginning of chaos, and appears in the deep source. It is elusive and difficult to fathom, yet it existed before the emperors. Its subtlety is beyond words.

Therefore, the true and wondrous workings of the Great Dao flow through the Golden Towers, the palaces of the Daoist heavens, where it transforms things naturally without speaking. Its grace spreads through the Jade Capital, the celestial city of Daoism, and its compassionate light shines on all things. The two forces of Heaven and Earth rely on it to shelter and nurture the myriad beings, while all living things depend on it for nourishment and flourishing. Its wondrous spirit rises above Yin-Yang, and its achievements are fulfilled through the workings of creation. It existed independently before Heaven and Earth, and remains clear through the world’s cycles of calamity.

In his preface to the Dao De Jing, Emperor Xuanzong of Tang says: In ancient times, the Primordial Sage Laozi exerted himself to write profound teachings, founding the true tradition and enlightening later generations. His surviving words are indeed preserved, but their subtle meanings have often been distorted. In organizing the work’s meaning as a whole, even Yan Zun of Shu, author of the Han dynasty’s Discourse on the Meaning of the Dao, found parts that were difficult to express fully. In excerpting its chapters and passages, even the commentaries beginning with that of Heshang Gong often leave things out. There is no need to count the other material that has gradually been lost. Must the profound and wondrous intent of Xuanyuan—the Dao of Laozi—really be lost in this way?

I know that my De is shallow, yet I have often been moved by this classic. Fortunately, I have inherited the blessings of my predecessors, and I fear that I may misunderstand the principle of Wuwei. Whenever I have leisure and quiet, I investigate its mysterious principles; when I grasp something, I write it down in a commentary. This may not amount to a distinct school of thought; I only hope to fill in what has been omitted. Now that the commentary is complete, I am willing to hear everyone’s views. If any of the nobles, ministers, or common people, or anyone in the Daoist or Buddhist traditions, can surpass me like Bu Shang, or point out my errors like Zuo Qiuming, I will gladly accept their counsel. If it truly proves beneficial, I will reward them generously.

I do not consider myself one of those ministers who presume to be wise and know only how to flatter. If someone refuses to speak frankly for fear of damaging their reputation, that is merely a lesser way. Since I do not shy away from criticism, everyone may speak plainly. Do not let later generations mock me for lacking wisdom.

The Tang author Yiyun’s Treatise on the Guiding Principle: On the Dao says: What is the Dao? The Dao is the root of emptiness, the source of creation, the foundation of the spirits, and the origin of Heaven and Earth. It is vast without limit, yet so minute that it has no inner boundary; it is boundless and empty, without a beginning, and deep and remote, without an end. It is supremely subtle and difficult to perceive, yet vast…

The Dao (the fundamental pattern of the universe) is bright and deeply still. It acts without intention, yet brings order to all things. Vast and silent, it has neither form nor sound; from it all phenomena arise, and the Five Phases (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth) take shape. The generation of all things has no end, yet when they take form, they are always subject to diminishment. Their ceaseless generation and transformation have remained unchanged from antiquity to the present. This is called the Dao.

What is De? Heaven and Earth receive their foundations from the Dao, and Yin-Yang moves through its power. The Dao connects all things through the Five Phases, orders change through the four seasons, and also works through rulers who govern and teachers who instruct. Whether in darkness or light, among animals or plants, all things thereby find what suits them, and its blessings continue without end. All things do not know to thank it for its work, and the people do not know that they rely on its power. This is called De.

The Dao runs through all things and enables them to arise; this is called the Dao. The Dao has no name of its own. The Dao nourishes all things and enables them to grow to maturity; this is called De. De, too, has no name of its own. Consider this: Heaven and Earth, people and other beings, immortals and spirits, ghosts and gods cannot be born without the Dao, nor can they come to completion without De. Things that are born do not know their beginnings, and things that reach maturity cannot see their ends. When we investigate what is profound and hidden, who can glimpse its source? Before things appear, while they remain formless, no one can discern their traces. This is called “naturalness.” Naturalness is the enduring, unchanging principle of the Dao and De, the guiding order of Heaven and Earth.

It is also said that Dao and De are the source of Heaven and Earth, Heaven and Earth are the parents of all things, and emperors and kings govern the Three Powers of Heaven, Earth, and Humanity. Since Dao and De, Heaven and Earth, and emperors and kings are connected, why do ages differ in simplicity and decadence, with clarity under Yao and chaos under Jie? Dao and De themselves neither rise nor decline, yet human affairs may flourish or fall into hardship. The way things are has not changed from ancient times to the present, yet human dispositions do change.

Thus, when the world is about to flourish, the true essence of utmost Yang descends and takes the lead. Worthy people assist in governing, while the wicked are held in check. When the world is about to decline, the pure essence of Great Yin rises and takes the lead. The wicked receive support, while the worthy are buried from view. The movements of Heaven and Earth follow the fixed patterns of Yin-Yang, and so the world experiences both order and disorder.

The simplicity of ancient times and the decadence of the present are like the way a person is ignorant in childhood and gradually gains understanding with age. Before an infant can speak, it is like high antiquity, when people kept their unspoiled nature within. As the child gradually learns to distinguish things, it is like the middle antiquity, when people valued benevolence and righteousness. When the child grows old enough to study, it is like later ages, when people esteemed ritual and wisdom. When adulthood brings greater desires, it is like the age of decline, when people compete for empty display and deceit. Change follows its own reasons, and each age has its own customs; hence the difference between simplicity and decadence.

Examine the reasons carefully and trace matters back to their origins: people change their nature through learning and instruction, and they also lose their simplicity as the times change. Even so…

A father must educate his children, and a ruler must govern the people. To educate children, one must teach them standards grounded in what is right; to govern the people, one must rely on De (Virtue/Power). Once standards of right conduct are lost, teachers and friends can no longer transform people through instruction. Once De has decayed, ritual and music can no longer bring order to society. Even imposing punishments and increasing beatings will scarcely subdue the wicked or disobedient. Therefore, children should be taught not to lie, so that they remain loyal and trustworthy; society should be guided by a plain and unadorned way of life, so that people may be content in a natural and peaceful state. Thus, we have never heard of anyone who, without guiding the people through the Dao of De, could nevertheless understand the fundamental principles of good government.

Lu Xisheng of the Tang dynasty writes in the “Preface to His Commentary on the Daodejing”:

The Great Dao vanished from the world, instruction declined, and all under Heaven was on the verge of great disorder. At such a time, Heaven was certain to bring forth a sage. The sage, concerned that the people could not attain a stable and well-governed society, therefore devised ways to support what was in decline and rescue an age of chaos. The end of the Zhou dynasty was just such a time. Confucius then expounded the civil teachings of the Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties to support a declining age, while Laozi drew on the unadorned substance of the era of the Three Sovereigns to rescue a chaotic one. In truth, their aims were the same.

Confucius’s approach to governing placed civil instruction first, using it to guide human feelings. Laozi’s approach took unadorned substance as its foundation, using it to restore human nature. When nature and feeling reach their utmost, the sages do not differ; but the forms of refinement and substance change in different ways, and cannot remain the same through all generations.

The Book of Changes says, “It manifests in benevolence”: this refers to governing through civil instruction. The principles involved in civil instruction are evident, and so they are easy to understand. Because they are easy to understand, those who prize elegant and proper words can explain them in full. The Book of Changes also says, “It is stored in its function”: this refers to governing through unadorned substance. The principles contained in unadorned substance are subtle, and so they are profound and difficult to see through. Because they are profound and hard to understand, many people make unwarranted claims about them.

In Laozi’s way of governing, Dao is the foundation, while “names”—the distinctions and institutions assigned to things—are its means of application. It follows Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing is left undone, and thereby reaches the highest standard of government. Yang Zhu honored Laozi’s foundation but did not go far enough, with the result that he valued himself and looked down on external things. Zhuang Zhou took Laozi’s teaching further than he should have, and was determined to cast aside the sages and their wisdom. Shen Buhai and Han Fei took only Laozi’s “names,” and so fell into harshness, severity, and haste. Wang Bi and He Yan took only Laozi’s “Dao,” and so fell into emptiness, inaction, and unrestrained conduct. All six departed from Laozi’s original intent and became offenders against his Dao.

Yet people have consequently claimed that Laozi’s teaching conflicts with Confucius’s. Those who criticize Laozi’s views on names and institutions say that he destroys benevolence and righteousness and cuts off the study of ritual. Those who criticize his account of the substance of Dao say that he speaks only of quietude and emptiness, which cannot be used to govern a state. Alas!

Misunderstandings of Laozi have a long history. For centuries, he has been slandered, and his teaching on Dao and De has been unable to take effect in his own age. There are, indeed, reasons for this.

Laozi traced the origin of Heaven and Earth and discussed in detail the changes of past and present. He first clarified the Dao and De, then spoke of benevolence and righteousness, and finally pointed out the failings of ritual learning and the excessive severity of penal government. He explained that these problems had all developed gradually. Laozi grasped the essential principles and valued the highest cultivation of one’s nature and disposition. His teaching began with cultivating the self and nurturing the heart-mind, extended into family and state, and ultimately encompassed all under Heaven. It was complete in every respect. Yet many people remain confused and continue to dispute it. Is this not a grave slander against Laozi?

In ancient times, Fuxi, the legendary sage ruler of high antiquity, drew the Eight Trigrams (Bagua) to symbolize the myriad things, investigate the principles of nature and life, and accord with the harmony of Dao and De. Laozi, too, began with Heaven and Earth, using Yin-Yang to probe the utmost principles of nature and life and to seek the depths of Dao and De. In this respect, Laozi and Fuxi shared the same source.

King Wen of Zhou observed the changes of the nines and sixes in the Great Change (Taiyi), esteemed firmness and strength, valued change, and made centrality and correctness his guiding principles. Laozi, too, examined the enduring patterns of the sevens and eights in the Great Change, cultivated gentleness and stillness, and used broad principles to encompass the whole. In this respect, Laozi and King Wen shared the same aims.

Confucius honored the traditions of Yao and Shun, took the institutions of Kings Wen and Wu of Zhou as his standard, and taught the people through benevolence and righteousness. Laozi, too, drew on Fuxi and inherited and brought into full coherence the governing way of the Yellow Emperor, using Dao and De to transform all under Heaven. In this respect, both Laozi and Confucius adapted their teachings to the circumstances of the time.

These three gentlemen were all exemplary sages. Laozi could bring the teachings of earlier ages into accord with changing times while returning to their roots. He investigated the deepest mechanisms of change and sought the most subtle end point. It can be said that he reached a wondrous state.

Yet Wang Bi held that a sage could unite with the Dao, while Laozi had not truly embodied it. Ruan Ji also described Laozi as “a superior worthy, second only to a sage,” apparently sharing Wang Bi’s view. Was this because Laozi’s practical efforts to govern the age fell short of embodying the principles he taught? That was not the case. Alas, while sages are in the world, some leave visible traces, while others conceal their presence. When the Dao cannot be put into practice, some disregard their own safety and travel among the various states, making the world’s troubles their own concern. Others conceal their names and withdraw far from the world, showing that worldly affairs cannot bind them. Though their paths of appearing and withdrawing differ, they ultimately arrive at the same destination by different routes. These are both ways of embodying the Dao and putting its principles into practice; they are not opposed to one another.

Thus Confucius chose to serve in office, while Laozi chose to withdraw. Laozi kept silent, while Confucius spoke out. These were different extremes of yielding and advancing, concealment and manifestation. How could Wang Bi and Ruan Ji truly see through the principle at work?

In arranging the teachings of the various schools, Sima Qian placed the Dao De Jing first. One could say that he understood the order of root and branch. Ban Gu, however, ranked Laozi third in his Biographies of People from Antiquity to the Present. Even if Laozi’s status could be lowered, how could his Dao thereby be treated lightly? Alas, Laozi’s teaching has long been cast aside by the people of his age, and this is the result of their own actions.

Confucius once met Laozi in person and praised his Dao: “He must be like a dragon!” Confucius also sought Laozi’s guidance on ritual. There is truly no reason to doubt this encounter; it is recorded in the histories. Later generations failed to uncover its deeper meaning, and so all kinds of heterodox claims arose. The confusion came from those who were misled and never sought the source, as well as from critics who never grasped the essence of Laozi’s teaching.

Alas, without this work transmitting Laozi’s teaching, his purpose would almost certainly have been lost. This essay therefore seeks to explain its essential meaning, reveal what is hidden within it, make its contents clear, and show how they accord with the thought of the sages. If someone can understand Laozi’s Dao and put it to use in his name, governing the present age by following the ancient Dao, then ruling all under Heaven will be as easy as turning over one’s hand.

Since ancient times, among those who have discussed Laozi’s teaching, only Sima Qian seems to have come close to its original meaning. The one who truly understood how to govern the state by Laozi’s Dao was perhaps Emperor Wen of Han. The shallow interpretations and absurd claims made by everyone else are not worth believing.