New Annotations on the Dao De Jing — Vernacular Explanation
English translation of 新注道德經白話解說（江希張）. Translated via the render pipeline.

Author's Preface
This young student has had the good fortune to be born in an age of worldly progress and invention in the study of implements. On water there are steamships. On land there are trains. Soaring aloft there are aeroplanes. Plunging beneath the waves there are submarines. Truly the five continents have become one household, and ten thousand nations one room. Moreover, everything we handle and use, everything we see and hear -- every sort of machine -- is nothing if not convenient and exquisite. What manifold good fortune! What manifold happiness! When I drink the water, I think of its source: I cannot help but admire and feel grateful toward the ancient sages who invented the study of implements. 
 And yet -- the ancient sages who invented the study of implements did so with the noble intention of enriching the nation and benefiting the people; they harbored no malice toward anyone. They could not have foreseen that people of savage cruelty and callous inhumanity would seize upon the fruits of the study of implements and forge poisoned rifles and poisoned cannons, slaughtering their fellow beings across all under Heaven. The great masters of implements-learning, for all their ingenious hands and brilliant minds, were not only helpless to prevent this -- they were themselves exploited, pressed into service manufacturing lethal implements. All those exquisite machines could not only not resist the guns and cannons; they were commandeered to transport soldiers and carry provisions, to relay intelligence. Seen in this light, good fortune has turned into calamity. Progress has become the advance of poison. Progress pressed to its extreme has driven our fellow beings straight into a forest of rifles and a rain of bullets. 
 Ha! Can this good fortune still be enjoyed? Can this progress still be called progress? 
 I venture to say that the ancient sages who invented material civilization, if their spirits could know, would not only bitterly resent those who manufacture guns and cannons -- they themselves would surely be filled with regret. For when sages educate all under Heaven, they must first teach people the knowledge of moral principle, and only then teach them the knowledge of technical skill. (Technical skill does not merely mean manufacturing -- it includes every kind of cunning stratagem and calculating mind. But cunning arises from mechanical ingenuity: "those who engage in mechanical affairs develop mechanical hearts.") When this order holds, technical skill assists moral principle, and moral principle, aided by technical skill, shines all the more brightly. When moral principle shines, all under Heaven is naturally at peace. But if people are not taught moral principle first and are instead taught technical skill first, then technical skill feeds their passions and desires, and moral principle is ruined. (In all the world, those who possess technical skill but lack moral principle invariably fall into dissolute indulgence, wanton excess, and every kind of vice -- because they grow arrogant relying on their abilities, and because money makes it possible.) When moral principle is ruined, all under Heaven naturally falls into chaos. This is the great root of the disorder that has afflicted all under Heaven these past several centuries. 
 This young student has long carried this pain hidden in his heart. I have already touched on it briefly in earlier writings, but because of the prevailing tide of opinion I did not dare speak in full, fearing that to do so would be futile and only invite ridicule. This year, in the eighth month, the weather turned mild and peaceful, and I had just finished annotating the Dao De Jing . I ascended Mount Tai to mark its completion. Reaching the summit, I gazed out in all four directions. I saw mists of sorrow and gloom -- dense, congealed -- darkening the sky and blotting out the sun. I heard cries of grief and anguish -- shaking the earth and startling the heavens. Without realizing it, my heart ached and my eyes stung. I truly could not bear to remain silent. So I asked a Daoist priest on the mountain for brush and ink, and with each word a tear, I set down the thoughts of my heart as they came -- a respectful address to my fellow beings across all under Heaven. Even if I am called deranged and delusional, I will not shrink from it. 
 Consider this analogy: tigers, leopards, rhinoceroses, elephants, and other fierce beasts -- their savage strength surpasses that of bandits a hundredfold, yet the harm they do is ten-thousandfold less. If someone were to teach them technical skill and put rifles and cannons in their hands, they would surely devour all of humankind and still not fill the abyss of their appetites. This is why people of moral principle are selective in imparting technical skill and refuse to transmit it lightly. The martial arts of Bodhidharma, the swordsmanship of the Daoist schools -- these are examples. Is this miserliness in teaching? Is this an unwillingness for people to have technical skill? It is because one must guard against future catastrophe and cannot afford to be anything but careful. 
 This is why the Great Learning says: "Things have root and branch; affairs have beginning and end. To know what comes first and what comes after -- this is to draw near to Dao." That is to say: moral principle is the root, material achievement is the branch. Moral principle should come first; material achievement should follow. (The "things" in "the investigation of things" refers to material desires, not to the principles of physics -- earlier Confucians already made this distinction clear.) 
 Were it otherwise -- consider: our nation was the first to achieve civilization. Sages emerged generation after generation -- the Yellow Emperor, Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, Kings Wen and Wu, the Duke of Zhou, Confucius, Mencius -- all persons of unfathomable, godlike capabilities. Some invented agricultural implements, musical instruments, and flood-control apparatus. Some built the armillary sphere. Some created the compass. Some were renowned for the beauty of their craftsmanship. Some were famed for the breadth of their learning. They were the progenitors of invention for the entire world. (Beyond these, there were Mozi, Lu Ban, Zhuge Liang -- in every generation there was no shortage of such figures, far too many to enumerate.) Could they not have built trains, steamships, and every kind of machine? Yet they confined themselves to speaking of moral principle and righteous conduct -- words that some dismiss as empty -- and did not pursue the practical applications of acoustics, optics, electricity, and chemistry. (The classical scriptures do in fact contain insights into acoustics, optics, electricity, and chemistry -- only expressed in condensed rather than detailed form.) The reason is precisely this: first cultivate the people's moral foundation, and only then teach them technical skill. (Those rulers after the Three Dynasties who deliberately kept the people ignorant in order to maintain their dynastic hold are a separate case.) For the time being, teach them just enough to serve their needs. This was the approach that our nation's sages, in governing all under Heaven through Dao, could not avoid. 
 Europe and America, failing to perceive this, vie with each other to mock our nation's learning as pedantic and antiquated. Our nation's learning may well be pedantic. But today the world has plunged into chaos to the utmost extreme -- I humbly invite the great masters of implements-learning to build some machine that can come to the rescue. And yet this military catastrophe is not truly the fault of the materialists. Had moral principle and material science been advanced in tandem from the start, how could we have come to this extraordinary disaster? Still, Europe and America see our decadent state and laugh at us -- and rightly so. 
 What I find truly strange is this: the divine descendants of the Yellow Emperor, the followers of the balanced and upright teachings of Confucius and Mencius -- they have stooped to scavenge the scraps of the West's doctrines of killing, to pilfer the mere trappings of the West's killing-machines, and have swept away with a single stroke the great principles and great laws by which the Two Emperors, the Three Kings, and the lineage of Confucius, Zengzi, Zisi, and Mencius governed all under Heaven -- treating them as though they were arsenic and poisoned wine. How can their delusion have reached such a pass? They do not realize that the study of Dao can not only save our own nation from poverty and weakness, but can also deliver Europe and America from their calamities. 
 This is not something empty words can accomplish. One must forge a wondrous and unfathomable implement of Dao -- only then can it withstand the lethal implements of war. 
 After this young student completed his earlier annotations on the Ceasefire Discourse , I had already set my mind on forging such an implement. But after three years of painstaking thought and arduous research, I had neither a method nor any raw material. This spring, Mr. Yang Xianting expounded the Dao of the Most High and said that the Dao-energy of the Most High had already begun to stir, and that the time was ripe to study the Dao De Jing . It also happened that Mr. Liu Liqing sent me his recently written Words of Goodness -- embodying the spirit of sharing goodness with others, in great impartiality and selflessness. Inspired by this purpose, I too took up the Dao De Jing and began to read. 
 When I reached the two phrases "the great fashioning does not sever" and "the nameless unhewn wood" -- I was suddenly and completely awakened. "The method and the raw material are all right here!" I cried. 
 Because the matter was of the utmost gravity, I followed the example of Muhammad in fasting and ritual purification, cleansing my body and mind. Then I followed the example of Christianity in offering prayers, beseeching the Lord on High. From the Analects I obtained the carpenter's square that Confucius employed at age seventy, and the ox-cleaver that Ziyou wielded at the town of Wucheng. From the Buddhist scriptures I obtained the principles of the Wisdom of Wondrous Observation and the Wisdom of Accomplished Action. (The method of "the great fashioning does not sever" -- if you forge an implement from it alone, people will not accept it. Only when you add the Buddhist Dharma does the implement become truly fit for use.) 
 Then, using the Buddhist Dharma to survey the state of all under Heaven, I ascertained that the celestial cycle had reached its zenith and the terrestrial energies had begun to open. Taking the carpenter's square of Confucius, I measured the nameless unhewn wood of Laozi. Upon measuring, I found that though this unhewn wood was a seamless whole, earlier scholars had already divided it -- using a method akin to chemistry -- into two great parts and eighty-one small sections. Moreover, over a hundred craftsmen-commentators had each worked upon it as they pleased: the great artisans fashioned great implements, the lesser workmen made lesser ones -- the quality need not be debated, for none of them suited the present age. 
 Fortunately, this unhewn wood is divine unhewn wood. Though chiseled down to smallness by every craftsman, it remains inexhaustible and unfailing, and can always return to its original substance, whole and undivided. At this I was both astonished and overjoyed, yet did not dare put my hand to it. So I stilled all idle thoughts and concentrated my vital energy. My body became like withered wood; my heart became like dead ashes. I felt the harmony of Heaven arrive; the spirit came to dwell within me. Then, meeting it with spirit rather than sight, I took up the ox-cleaver and, letting my hand follow of its own accord, began to cut -- even more wondrously, I dare say, than Cook Ding carving the ox for Lord Wenhui. 
 When the cutting was finished and I looked, it was still a seamless whole -- the implement of one who, as the noble person, "is not reduced to a single implement." Yet examined closely, it was formless yet possessed form, and was likewise divided into two great parts and eighty-one small sections. For when plying the cleaver, I had split along the great crevices and guided it through the great cavities, following the natural structure that earlier scholars had already established -- hence the same number of divisions as theirs. Only the form and the manner of use were entirely different from those of my predecessors. Though it may not match the exquisite refinement of earlier commentators, it is suited to the needs of the present day. 
 As for its form: the first half bears a striking resemblance to the blue-green ox that Laozi rode -- transforming and soaring aloft. The second half resembles the carriage upon which Confucius sat, the kind described in the Doctrine of the Mean as "running on a common gauge." The first half governs movement. The ox's strength is immense: wherever the sun and moon shine, wherever frost and dew descend, wherever ships and boats reach, wherever human effort extends -- wherever there are beings of blood and breath, it can go. The second half governs what is carried. The interior of the carriage is exceedingly spacious: the Book of Odes , the Book of Documents , the Book of Changes , the Book of Rites , the Spring and Autumn Annals , the Classic of Filial Piety , the Analects , the Great Learning , the Doctrine of the Mean , the Mencius -- all the scriptures and commentaries of the sages and worthies can be loaded aboard. On top of these I have added a measure of the Hundred Schools of thought and the Twenty-Four Histories for ready reference. 
 Yet this young student, given the exigencies of the times, has from among ten thousand volumes cast away the dregs of the Lesser Prosperity and transcribed only the essence of the Great Unity. 
 Wherever this ox-cart goes, it radiates auspicious light and harmonious energy, forming bonds of humaneness, righteous conduct, and moral principle. Nations are naturally at peace and the people joyful. What a fine and precious implement! Everyone who sees it bursts into applause and marvels. 
 Only one friend -- a rather obtuse fellow -- said: "This implement of Dao of yours is fine enough, but why not invite someone to ride in the cart and give a discourse?" I answered him: "Look at the illustration on the first page -- do you not see the person there?" 
 But after the implement was completed, I worried: with just one ox and one cart, how could they possibly travel across all under Heaven? By good fortune, Mr. Ye Xiting came to my lodgings. Seeing the implement, he was overjoyed. He raised capital and commissioned artisans in Shanghai to reproduce it -- one thousand copies, every one identical to the original. 
 But this young student has never attended a specialized academy. I have never studied the science of implements. I do not understand the principles of physics. I do not understand manufacturing. Whether what I have made is fit for use or not, I cannot be certain. I humbly dare only to present it to the nations of the world and beg the great masters of implements-learning to offer their guidance -- that would be my good fortune. 
 There is one more vital thing I must declare in advance. If the implement proves unfit for use, nothing more need be said. But if it does prove useful -- when all under Heaven is at peace at last, I shall take it back. For the nameless unhewn wood of Laozi long ago declared that "the great fashioning does not sever." This young student could not bear the world's upheaval and so took it upon himself, willfully forging it into an implement of Dao to save the age. When its work is done, I shall restore it to its original substance and return the nameless unhewn wood to Laozi. I would not dare borrow it long and never return it. One must uphold the great trust. 
 Fifteenth day of the eighth month, eighth year of the Republic of China [1919] 
 Jiang Xizhang, a youth from Licheng, Shandong

Nine Editorial Guidelines
Purpose of the annotations. The sole purpose is to illuminate moral principle, to end warfare and slaughter, to turn back the fortunes of the age, and to set the human heart aright. This has already been stated plainly in my earlier works -- the Ceasefire Discourse , the Illustrated Account of the Great Chiliocosm , the Vernacular Explanation of the Four Books , and the Vernacular Explanation of the Conveyance of Rites . The preface to the present volume explains it again in detail. 
 
 
 Word-by-word glosses. Difficult characters are singled out and explained. Any character that has already been glossed in an earlier chapter is not glossed again. 
 
 
 Chapter Explanation. The meaning of each chapter as a whole is explained, conveyed in a spoken register. 
 
 
 Chapter Discourse. Here I set forth my own views and develop the meaning of the scripture. Where a passage bears most urgently on the present state of the world and the human heart, I explain it with particular earnestness and directness. 
 
 
 Whole-work Discourse. This is a comprehensive exposition of the entire scripture taken as a single whole. In my earlier annotations on the Four Books , I included discourses for each section and for the complete work; the same was needed for the Dao De Jing . But once I had finished annotating the Upper Volume, it already ran to nearly two hundred pages. Adding three long discourses on top of that seemed excessively prolix and repetitive. Therefore I incorporated the themes of the Upper Volume into the Discourse for Chapter Thirty-Seven -- that Discourse may be read as the Upper Volume Discourse. I incorporated the themes of the Lower Volume into the Discourse for Chapter Thirty-Eight -- that Discourse may be read as the Lower Volume Discourse. And looking back at the Discourse for Chapter One, which encompasses the general meaning of the entire scripture, it may be read as the Whole-Work Discourse. 
 
 
 How to read this book. Although these annotations are written in plain and colloquial language, they are grounded in the meaning of the scripture and do not venture beyond it. As for the Discourses, these represent this young student's own views, and I am fairly confident they are not the pedantic and useless sort of commentary one might expect. When you read them, honored readers, please first set aside any contempt for traditional learning. For once contempt takes hold, not only will my words find no entry -- even the supreme philosophical truths of the ancient sages will be invisible to you. When the heart is not present, one "eats without knowing the flavor" -- how much worse when the heart actively harbors contempt! (I have tested this principle myself. This past May, my fellow student Zhou Lesan invited a blind friend, Mr. Shen Deyi, to dine with us. Because of his poor eyesight, Lesan placed the most exquisite dishes before him. I deliberately said: "This food has gone rancid." Without tasting it, Shen immediately spat it out and echoed me: "Rancid indeed!" Lesan clapped his hands and laughed: "Truly, everything depends on the mind! But you did not even taste whether it was sweet or sour before parroting a clever man's foolish words. Have you no conscience?") Therefore you must first set aside the contemptuous heart. Take up this book as you would the very newest learning. Read it calmly, with an even and open mind. Perhaps it contains some truth. If, after reading it carefully, you find it utterly without merit -- then by all means criticize and curse it. I would gladly hear it. 
 
 
 Future expansion. After these annotations are completed, I plan to have them translated into English and distributed to all nations. But my associates were eager to share the work with the world and would not wait. If any accomplished master of English should translate it into a foreign language, that would be most welcome. 
 
 
 Sources for the annotations. This book draws principally upon the Abridged Commentary on the Laozi by the late-Ming polymath Mr. Zhang Haoyan (Zhang Erqi), supplemented by my own views and rendered in the vernacular. The Discourses, however, are entirely my own thinking. Mr. Zhang's annotations are extremely concise and written in classical Chinese; beyond his explanations of the scripture, he offers no extended commentary. And besides -- if one were to rely entirely on earlier scholars, what would be the point of writing a new commentary? But since I have drawn upon Mr. Zhang's earlier interpretations, I cannot fail to acknowledge it. And I shall also tell the world something of his learning and moral stature. 
 (Mr. Zhang was a tribute student of the late Ming. His father served the Ming dynasty with great integrity. When the Qing armies reached Jiyang, his father led the townspeople in resistance and was killed. Mr. Zhang was overcome with grief and indignation. He burned all his examination essays and devoted himself entirely to the practical study of Dao, intending great things. But the Kangxi Emperor of the Qing proved enlightened and benevolent, and Heaven's mandate had clearly settled. Mr. Zhang "followed after Heaven and obeyed Heaven's timing" -- the kind of righteous uprising undertaken by King Tang and King Wu, he dared not force. Yet he never once in his life sat facing north, and he styled himself "Haoyan" -- the Wormwood Hermitage -- to signify his failure to carry on his father's will, and his unworthiness as a son. Moreover, his descendants throughout the entire Qing dynasty never once sat for the civil examinations. Even among his direct disciples, many of whom became renowned for their writings and learning, none sought official appointment. 
 At that time, the literary inquisitions in the south were just beginning. Mr. Zhang, perceiving the danger with almost supernatural prescience, concealed himself deeply. All his published works followed Zhu Xi as their touchstone, with loyalty to the sovereign and deference to authority as their overarching principle; he was especially renowned for his mastery of the Three Rites. Together with Li Erqu and Gu Yanwu, he is counted among the Three Great Confucians of the Early Qing. In truth, Mr. Zhang's learning transcended both the Han and Song scholarly traditions. He had genuinely glimpsed the profound mystery of what Confucius called "human nature and the Dao of Heaven," and had entered the ranks of Yan Hui, Zengzi, and Duanmu Ci. Had he been given a position from which to put Dao into practice, the moral stature and practical achievements of Zhuge Liang, the Marquis of Wu, and Wang Yangming would surely have been united in his person. 
 Observe how he claimed to follow Zhu Xi. He did not say directly "I follow Zhu Xi," but rather "I follow our family's tradition, which follows Zhu Xi." Family tradition means the private rules of a single household -- the law of an era when "the world belongs to families" -- and not the law of the Great Unity described in the Conveyance of Rites , when "the world belongs to all." In his Abridged Commentary on the Book of Changes , annotating the top-nine line of the hexagram Tongren (Fellowship), he writes: "The noble person's original aspiration is the Great Unity. Now, fellowship has been achieved only in the open field -- though there is nothing to regret, the aspiration for the Great Unity remains unfulfilled." This line describes Mr. Zhang himself perfectly. His devotion to the ideal of the Great Unity is plain as day between the lines. Viewed from the present, is this not what is meant by "the perfectly sincere can foreknow"? 
 Furthermore, his courtesy name was Jiruo. "Jiruo" means "like Ji" -- that is, like Houji, Lord Millet, who, when any person under Heaven went hungry, felt as though he himself were starving; who taught the people to plant and harvest; who used excellent means to benefit all under Heaven; and who assisted Yao and Shun in establishing the model of the Great Unity. Much of Mr. Zhang's writing contains great principles and subtle meanings of this kind -- far too many to enumerate. It is a pity I have not been able to read all his works. Yet from even these few examples, his concealed intent can be glimpsed. 
 Alas! That Mr. Zhang followed Zhu Xi -- everyone knows this. But his hidden aspiration for the Great Unity -- who knows it? That Mr. Zhang excelled in the Three Rites -- everyone knows this. But that he penetrated the depths of what Confucius called "human nature and the Dao of Heaven" -- who knows it? That Mr. Zhang was loyal to his sovereign and filial to his parents -- everyone knows this. But that his loyalty was to the Han people, and his filial devotion to the Yellow Emperor -- who knows it? 
 Yet now the era of "the world belongs to families" has ended, and the curtain rises on "the world belongs to all." Can Mr. Zhang remain buried in obscurity forever? This past summer, as this young student annotated the Dao De Jing , I gathered two or three commentaries from my family's collection for reference. I read through them and found none that satisfied me. Then I obtained Mr. Zhang's book, and reading it brought me great delight -- I felt he had already grasped what was in my own heart. The book was finished. I drafted these nine editorial guidelines, with no original intention of including any of this. But hidden virtue and concealed light, long suppressed, must eventually shine forth. Perhaps it was Mr. Zhang's spirit in Heaven that silently prompted this young student's heart. 
 Mr. Zhang's given name was Erqi. He was a native of Jiyang, Shandong. His works include the Abridged Commentaries on the Book of Odes, the Book of Documents, the Book of Changes, the Spring and Autumn Annals, the Three Rites, and the Four Books ; the Collected Writings of Haoyan ; Casual Conversations from the Wormwood Hermitage ; and other books. The commentaries on the Book of Odes , the Book of Documents , the Spring and Autumn Annals , and the Four Books have not yet been printed; the rest are in circulation. He is one who deserves ritual vessels in the side halls of the Confucian temple, honored alongside the sages for ten thousand generations.)

Volume One (Chapters 1–37)
Upper Volume — Chapters 1 through 37

Chapter 1
道可道，非常道。名可名，非常名。無名天地之始，有名萬物之母。故常無慾以觀其妙，常有欲以觀其徼。此兩者同出而異名，同謂之玄。玄之又玄，眾妙之門。 
 Translation 
 Dao that can be spoken is not the enduring Dao.
A name that can be named is not the enduring name.
The nameless is the origin of Heaven and Earth;
the named is the mother of the myriad beings.
In true emptiness, free of desire, one beholds its marvel;
in wondrous existence, stirred by intention, one discerns its threshold.
These two arise from the same source yet bear different names —
both may be called mysterious.
Mysterious, and again more deeply so:
the gate from which all marvels issue. 
 Word Notes 
 
 道 — "Dao" : Dao means principle. It encompasses cosmic order and the ground of all reason. 
 可道 — "can be spoken" : means it can be articulated in words. 
 常 — "constant" : means permanently abiding and indestructible. 
 名 — "name" : means name-and-form — the conceptual image that a name designates. 
 可名 — "can be named" : means it can be marked or designated. 
 妙 — "marvel" : means numinous wonder. 
 徼 — "threshold" : means the critical juncture — not "boundary" but a keyhole or pivot, the precise point where something works or opens. 
 玄 — "mysterious" : means deep and far-reaching. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Any Dao that can be articulated in words is not the permanently abiding, indestructible Dao. Any name that can be marked or designated is not the permanently abiding, indestructible name. The nameless is the origin from which Heaven and Earth are born. The named is the mother from which the myriad beings are born. Therefore, being one with Dao — abiding in constant true emptiness, free of thought and intention — one observes the marvel of Dao. Dwelling in constant wondrous existence, with thought and intention, one observes the threshold of Dao. These two — true emptiness and wondrous existence — both emerge from the unspeakable Dao, yet they bear different names. Both may be called deep and unfathomable. Deep and unfathomable, then yet more deeply unfathomable: this is the gateway from which all marvels issue. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter teaches that Dao is the original source of Heaven and Earth and the myriad beings. De is the movement and turning of Dao. What Laozi speaks of as Dao and De proceeds from the standpoint of the pre-celestial void — numinously wondrous and beyond fathoming, without sound, without scent, impossible to seize or grasp. Confucius called him "like a dragon" — this was praise for his Dao and De. Like a dragon that now lurks, now leaps, now appears, now hides, whose transformations are impossible to predict, whose presence and absence cannot be known. His way of setting down words is likewise: if you cling to the post-celestial, to principles with form and substance, how can you ever glimpse so much as a single scale or claw of this dragon? 
 Yet though Laozi's words proceed from the standpoint of the pre-celestial void, they are at once supremely empty and supremely real, supremely without and supremely with. They possess substance and function, root and branch. This is not the kind of emptiness and nothingness that is useless. 
 Take this very chapter: it says that the true and enduring Dao cannot be spoken in words — "Dao" is merely a name provisionally and forcibly assigned. Since Dao cannot be spoken, neither can a name be forcibly imposed upon it. This is emptiness and nothingness, to be sure. Yet it is precisely because there is an unspeakable Dao that all speakable daos are born from it; precisely because there is an unnameable name that all nameable names are born from it. It is the origin of Heaven and Earth, the mother of the myriad beings. This is emptiness and nothingness that is not empty and nothing. Yet although it is not empty nothingness, the Dao from which Heaven, Earth, and the myriad beings are born can still neither be seen nor heard. It remains a having that does not have — having that returns to nothing. This is why these two — having and not-having — emerge from the same source yet bear different names, and both are mysterious beyond fathoming. 
 Human beings receive the full substance of Dao. Therefore one must embody Dao's naturalness. In true emptiness, observe the marvel of Dao. In wondrous existence, observe the threshold of Dao. 
 As for the words "threshold" and "marvel" — in later ages, alchemists interpreted them as "the Mysterious Pass, the single threshold." They claimed that once one's cultivation penetrates this single threshold, one can become an undying Golden Immortal. But such interpretations see only a single claw or scale; they do not know the dragon's full form. Bai Juyi once said: "Laozi does not speak of medicines. He does not speak of elixirs. He does not speak of ascending to the blue sky in broad daylight." 
 These two words — threshold and marvel — are certainly aspects of Dao's substance and function. But everything under Heaven — states, families, body, heart, nature, destiny, every single affair and every single thing — each without exception has its own threshold and its own marvel. 
 Consider this analogy: the spring of a lock is the threshold. When the key meets the threshold, the lock opens. The principle by which it opens — that is the marvel. If you do not understand the threshold and the marvel, you can break the lock apart and still not open it. But if you understand them, it is the easiest thing in the world. 
 Therefore, in this world of human affairs, the first thing is to understand the threshold and the marvel. Cultivate yourself without knowing them, and you will harm your own nature and destiny. Govern without knowing them, and you will ruin the state. 
 Scientists who build airships and steamships, flying through the skies and sailing the ocean depths — they succeed because they understand the threshold and the marvel of matter. Emperor Shun governed by nonaction and all under Heaven was ordered. Confucius served as minister for three months and the state of Lu was well governed. Both understood the threshold and the marvel of statecraft. 
 But while every affair and every thing has its own threshold and its own marvel, one need not seek to know them — they are known of themselves. The question is: what is the threshold and the marvel of Dao itself? At this very moment, the entire world is consumed by warfare and slaughter, in a state of utter devastation. People compete for power and seize profit with no regard for human decency. Where is the threshold that will save all under Heaven? 
 I, this young student, dare to cry out at the top of my voice and present to all my fellow countrymen across the world Laozi's secret for ending the slaughter. What is this marvel? It is the Dao of emptiness and nothingness. What is this threshold? It is De that cherishes life. Without these, selfish desire fills the breast and cruelty becomes habit — how could there not be warfare and slaughter? 
 Alas! These years of warfare and slaughter — the lives lost and ruined are no small number; the fortunes destroyed are no small sum. My fellow countrymen, my fellow countrymen — can we not awaken? Let all of us practice Laozi's Dao and De, turn back this tide of killing, and bring about the shared happiness of peace and well-being for all nations under Heaven.

Chapter 2
天下皆知美之為美，斯惡已。皆知善為之善，斯不善已。故有無相生，難易相成，長短相形，高下相傾，音聲相和，前後相隨。是以聖人處無為之事，行不言之教。萬物作焉而不辭，生而不有，為而不恃。功成而弗居。夫惟弗居，是以不去。 
 Alternate editions read: 不居. 
 Translation 
 When all under Heaven know beauty as beauty,
ugliness has already arisen.
When all know goodness as goodness,
what is not good has already arisen. 
 Therefore:
having and not-having give birth to each other,
the difficult and the easy complete each other,
the long and the short give shape to each other,
the high and the low lean into each other,
tone and voice harmonize with each other,
before and after follow upon each other. 
 Thus the Sage dwells in the work of nonaction
and practices the teaching without words.
The myriad beings arise, and he does not turn them away.
He gives them life yet does not possess them.
He acts yet does not presume upon it.
His merit is achieved, yet he does not dwell in it.
It is precisely because he does not dwell in it
that it does not depart. 
 Word Notes 
 
 美 — "beauty" : means good, fine, beautiful. 
 惡 — "ugliness" : means not good, bad. 
 善 — "goodness" : means good, virtuous. 
 形 — "give shape to" : means to make visible by contrast. 
 傾 — "lean into" : means to topple, to incline — suggesting that high and low define each other by their relative positions, each leaning toward the other. 
 和 — "harmonize" : means to blend, to adjust into accord. 
 辭 — "turn away" : means to push away, to decline. 
 恃 — "presume upon" : means to depend on, to presume upon one's own ability. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When all under Heaven know that what is beautiful counts as beauty, many begin to feign beauty — and beauty ceases to be beauty. When all know that what is good counts as goodness, many begin to falsely profess goodness — and goodness ceases to be goodness. What is not good and not beautiful arises from within the good and the beautiful themselves. Therefore, having and not-having give birth to each other. The difficult and the easy complete each other. The long and the short give shape to each other by contrast. The high and the low lean into and define each other. Tone and voice blend with each other in harmony. Before and after follow one upon the other. For this reason the Sage dwells in the work of nonaction and practices the teaching without words . All the myriad beings arise, yet he does not turn them away; without seizing or choosing, he lets them follow their nature. He gives life to the myriad beings yet does not claim them as his own. He manages all affairs yet does not presume upon his ability. When great merit is achieved, he remains placid and at ease, never dwelling in it. It is precisely because he does not dwell in merit that his merit endures for ten thousand ages and cannot be taken away. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter teaches that whenever named forms arise — these are beauty, these are goodness — they are also relative opposition. Where there is beauty, there is what is not beautiful; where there is goodness, there is what is not good. And what is not beautiful and not good is still born from beauty and goodness themselves. Therefore, post-celestial things with named forms are all insufficient to serve as the substance of Dao. 
 Yet although they are insufficient to serve as Dao's substance, to aim for the purely pre-celestial would also be without function or use. Without the post-celestial, the pre-celestial cannot be realized. The farthest reach of the post-celestial is itself the pre-celestial. Pre-celestial and post-celestial circulate in mutual alternation. Everything under Heaven that stands in relative opposition follows this same pattern. At the juncture where prior and subsequent cycle into each other, the threshold and the marvel emerge. 
 The Sage has observed this threshold and this marvel. He takes the pre-celestial as his foundation and employs the post-celestial, yet he is neither stained by nor attached to the post-celestial. Therefore, dwelling in the work of nonaction, he is naturally able to govern by composing himself. Practicing the teaching without words, he naturally achieves the effect Mencius described: "Wherever he passes, transformation follows; wherever he dwells, spirit abides." Although the myriad beings spring up in profusion, he follows their innate nature so that they naturally grow together without harming one another. Moreover, he gives life to the myriad beings yet does not regard it as De; he brings them to completion yet does not regard it as merit. He is utterly unconcerned and placid, for he considers the merit of giving life and completing things to be simply Dao's naturalness. Not only does harboring the thought of presuming upon De or dwelling in merit negate that very merit, but even having the name or concept of merit and De already falls into post-celestial traces. 
 Yet even though the Sage acts this way, Dao's naturalness is such that if one dwells in merit, the merit vanishes; if one does not dwell in merit, it endures for ten thousand ages. Why is this so? 
 Consider this analogy: suppose a person has a sum of money. If he considers it public currency circulating for the common good of the world, not his private possession, and uses it for works of public benefit, that money will endure forever. All people of all ages will surely say, "This was left by such-and-such a great figure." But if he considers it his private possession and spends it on himself, the money is instantly gone. 
 All affairs in the universe follow this pattern. 
 Later people, failing to understand Laozi's true principle, turned around and said that Laozi's purity and nonaction obstruct human progress. Little do they realize that Laozi's nonaction is not the nonaction of a clay idol or wooden puppet that does absolutely nothing. It is nonaction that leaves nothing undone. One dwells in nonaction in order to employ action — only one does not become attached to action. For if one becomes attached to action, one can only perform small deeds, never great ones; one can act in one direction but not in ten thousand; and if one acts without ceasing, one will eventually be unable to act at all. 
 Why is this so? Consider: Western scholars place the highest value on rest. Everyone under Heaven sleeps. Rest and sleep are nonaction. Yet through rest one can restore vital spirits to full vigor and undertake every kind of enterprise. Is this not nonaction that leaves nothing undone? But if one acts without rest, within seven days one will certainly die. Is this not action that turns into nonaction — and indeed, absolute nonaction? 
 Consider another analogy: the electron in the expanse of space has no particular function. That is nonaction. Yet through the processes of mixing and combining, every single thing in the universe, when traced to its original substance, has been constituted through the electron. This is nonaction that becomes great action — there is nothing it does not do. But once a particular thing has been formed, unless its temperature or pressure changes, it cannot become yet another thing. The function of that particular thing is far less than the electron's original power of combination. And if temperature and pressure do not change, action cannot lead to leaving nothing undone. Moreover, wherever there is combination there must also be decomposition. When decomposition has run its full course and nothing remains to be divided, what remains is still the electron. Action in the end is unable to act — and in the end it returns to nonaction. 
 Consider yet another analogy: a skilled engineer oversees a number of machines. He sits there, neither moving nor at rest, watching each machine run. This is nonaction — and it is also desireless observation of the marvel. When a machine falters, he sees whether it needs water, or fire, or oil, or some other adjustment. This is action — and it is also desiring observation of the threshold. Having observed the threshold, the machine runs again. And once the machine runs, he returns to sitting, neither moving nor at rest. (Not moving means he sits without stirring. Not at rest means that although he does not move, he oversees all the machines — he is not in a state of empty quiescence.) This is action, yet without clinging to it — and it returns to nonaction once more. 
 But if one clings to action: if a single machine breaks down and one devotes all one's energy to repairing it — or, having repaired it, remains anxiously watching it for fear it will break again — then all the other machines are neglected. Those that have stopped remain stopped. Those running at the wrong speed go on running wrong. Everything falls into chaos. This is clinging to action, and thus one cannot achieve nonaction that leaves nothing undone. 
 One can see that nonaction is supremely numinous and supremely wondrous. It is the substance and the mother of action. When people of the world say that Laozi's nonaction is useless and obstructs progress, they not only fail to understand Laozi and fail to understand nonaction — they do not even understand the principle of progress itself. 
 The progress of the study of implements moves from the pre-celestial into the post-celestial. This is the progress of action. When it progresses to its extreme and the material atoms are entirely expended, all people and things on the earth will be destroyed. Though it is called progress, in truth it is decline. This is not to say that the progress of the study of implements is bad — this kind of progress is also Dao's naturalness. Without it, there would be no world. I said in this chapter's discourse that if everything were purely pre-celestial, there would be no function or use — and this honors that kind of progress. However, because people of the world do not understand the underlying principle of progress and cling to a one-sided view, they recklessly disparage the ancients. Therefore I cannot help but argue from the root. 
 Let the reader examine this carefully, and not let my words obscure my meaning. 
 What Laozi teaches — dwelling in nonaction to employ action, achieving merit without dwelling in it, gathering action back into nonaction — this is the progress of the study of Dao. This is true progress. 
 In truth, what Laozi speaks of is also decline. For if Dao did not decline, the world itself could not exist, and there would be no way to articulate principles and teach them to people. Therefore, every dao that can be spoken or seen is a dao of decline. Decline carried to its extreme becomes progress; progress carried to its extreme becomes decline. Progress and decline cycle in alternation. In truth there is no such thing as progress, and no such thing as decline. It is merely that, comparing the study of Dao with the study of implements, one provisionally assigns names and calls the study of implements decline and the study of Dao progress. But the progress and decline of the study of Dao and the study of implements are themselves in mutual circulation. 
 After Laozi transmitted the five thousand words, Guan Yin, Zhuangzi, and Liezi developed many of his ideas. Though this may be called progress, it was all entrusted to empty words, laying the groundwork for what was to come, without producing visible results. When the Han dynasty arrived, right after the warfare and chaos of the Warring States, Cao Shen merely applied a portion of Laozi's Dao — and all under Heaven became pure and tranquil. Emperor Wen carried on his intent, and the realm was nearly free of punishments to impose — it had the flavor of the reigns of King Cheng and King Kang. Everyone esteemed the teachings of the Yellow Emperor and Laozi. This was the time when a portion of Laozi's Dao had progressed to its apex. 
 But when progress reaches its apex, decline must follow. As the study of Dao declined, the study of implements progressed. Europe's new learning had its origins in the Han era. And Laozi's study of Dao was transformed: first into Wei Boyang's alchemy, then into Kou Qianzhi's talismanic rites, and further into the heterodox theories of prayer, sacrifice, and occult practitioners, as well as the empty talk, vanity, and unbridled libertinism of the Jin-era literati. Things were in utter chaos. 
 And so Han Yu denounced all this as heterodoxy. The Song Confucians, failing to examine the matter, followed suit — and declared that the learning of Laozi was more poisonous than Yang Zhu and Mo Di. 
 By the present day, the study of implements among the Western nations has progressed to its apex. In military power, their green-smoke airships and lethal efficiency surpass ours ten-thousandfold. In national wealth, their ingenious manufactures and flourishing industry surpass ours ten-thousandfold. Our nation long ago lost its effective and true study of Dao, and we do not understand the study of implements either. How could we fail to be exposed by comparison, impoverished and enfeebled to the very brink of national ruin? 
 And so the zealous progressives, inflamed with the fervor of national salvation, without distinguishing right from wrong, heaped the entire blame for poverty and weakness onto Laozi. One voice was taken up by a hundred; the whole nation went mad. No one did not regard the learning of Laozi as poison. The study of Dao had truly declined to its nadir. 
 But when decline reaches its nadir, it must turn to progress. From this point forward, Laozi's true study of Dao will progress, and the Western study of implements will decline. Decline here is meant in the living sense — not extinction, but the ceasing of esteem. The study of implements will also advance alongside Dao's progress. The study of implements is a part of the study of Dao. 
 In former times, a mere portion of Laozi's Dao was sufficient to save our nation from warfare and slaughter. In the present day, the full measure of Laozi's great Dao will surely be sufficient to save the entire world from warfare and slaughter. This threshold, this marvel — I, this young student, have observed and discerned them over the course of several years. 
 I humbly wish that all people under Heaven would discuss Dao and deliberate on De, and progress together with the great Dao. If they only know how to worship competition, they will decline together with the study of implements. 
 Western scholars have illuminated the study of implements, enabling all people under Heaven to share the happiness of material civilization. I humbly wish to join with those who love Dao and illuminate the study of Dao, enabling all people under Heaven to share the happiness of Dao-civilization.

Chapter 3
不尚賢，使民不爭。不貴難得之貨，使民不為盜。不見可欲，使心不亂。是以聖人之治：虛其心，實其腹，弱其志，強其骨。常使民無知無慾，使夫知者不敢為也。為無為，則無不治。 
 Translation 
 Do not exalt the worthy,
and the people will not contend.
Do not prize goods hard to obtain,
and the people will not steal.
Do not display what stirs desire,
and the heart will not fall into chaos. 
 Thus the Sage governs:
emptying the heart,
filling the belly,
softening the will,
strengthening the bones. 
 Ever guiding the people toward innocence
and freedom from craving,
so that even the clever dare not contrive. 
 Practice nonaction,
and nothing remains ungoverned. 
 Word Notes 
 
 賢 — "the worthy" : means those of outstanding ability. 
 爭 — "contend" : means to compete and seize. 
 貨 — "goods" : means merchandise, commodities. 
 盜 — "steal" : means theft. 
 欲 — "desire" : means cravings, appetites. 
 虛 — "empty" : means to make empty, hollow. 
 實 — "fill" : means to make full, substantial. 
 弱 — "soften" : means to make gentle, yielding. 
 強 — "strengthen" : means to make firm, unyielding. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Do not exalt the worthy — this causes the people not to compete for reputation. Do not prize goods hard to obtain — this causes the people not to steal wealth. Do not display the objects of craving — this causes the people's hearts not to fall into chaos. For this reason, when the Sage governs: he empties the heart to rid it of extravagance; he fills the belly to restore it to simplicity; he softens the will to put an end to contention; he strengthens the bones to enable self-reliance. He always causes the people to be without cunning and without cravings, so that even those of talent and intelligence dare not engage in deceit or scheming. They settle peaceably into nonaction — and all under Heaven is effortlessly governed. 
 Discourse 
 The order in which Dao generates is: one gives birth to two, two gives birth to three. One is the Dao of Heaven. Two is the way of mutual opposition and alternation between yin and yang. Three is the way of humanity — composed of the first and the second, the central pivot of Dao. Therefore, Chapter One expounds the Dao of Heaven. Chapter Two expounds the way of mutual opposition and mutual alternation. This chapter expounds the way of humanity: inner sagehood and outer kingship. 
 Outer kingship must be rooted in inner sagehood. One must possess Heavenly virtue before one can exercise the kingly way. Only when one can govern one's own person can one govern all under Heaven. In ancient times, Emperor Yao harmonized the myriad states entirely through his ability to brilliantly manifest exalted virtue. Emperor Shun's doubled radiance aligned with the ancient emperors entirely through composing himself and facing south. 
 Therefore the Sage governs all under Heaven by taking self-governance as the root. When one can govern oneself — emptying the heart, filling the belly, softening the will, strengthening the bones — all under Heaven is governed through nonaction. 
 If the heart is not empty, selfish desires abound. If the belly is not full, hunger and want abound. Mencius said, "To be without this is to be starving" — and starving is precisely not full. If the will is not soft, one becomes restless and impetuous. If the bones are not strong, one becomes timid and weak. 
 To empty the heart is to make it embrace all beyond the Great Void — possessing nothing at all. To fill the belly is to fill the space between Heaven and Earth, containing everything. A softened will means yielding one's own position to follow others — the modest, modest gentleman. Strengthened bones means shouldering the universe, standing on the earth with head touching the sky. 
 Emptying the heart is the ultimate realization of Mencius's unmoved heart. If the heart is already empty and void, from where could it be moved? Filling the belly is the result of nurturing the flood-like qi to fullness. Flood-like qi can fill the space between Heaven and Earth — hence, filling the belly. "Belly" conveys the sense of containing and holding. It certainly does not mean gorging oneself on wine and meat! 
 Softening the will corresponds to Mencius's "holding the will." Strengthening the bones corresponds to Mencius's image of inner virtue overflowing to the back. 
 When the heart is empty, the will is naturally soft, for the empty heart encompasses all beyond the Great Void — there is no will left to speak of. When the belly is full, the bones are naturally strong, for the flood-like qi is supremely great and supremely firm. 
 This — emptying the heart, filling the belly, softening the will, and strengthening the bones — also corresponds to the functions of the trigrams Qian, Kun, Kan, and Li in the Book of Changes . 
 Qian is the qi of Heaven, pure and void. Kun is the image of Earth, broad and thick. Hence the pairing of empty and full. Yet though Qian is the pure, void qi of Heaven, its three lines are all unbroken — its interior is supremely full. What is full should be emptied; hence: empty the heart. Though Kun is the broad, thick image of Earth, its six lines are all broken — its interior is supremely void. What is void should be filled; hence: fill the belly. 
 Li occupies Qian's position in the Pre-celestial diagram, acting in Qian's stead. But Li is fire and tends toward restlessness; hence: soften the will. Kan occupies Kun's position in the Pre-celestial diagram, acting in Kun's stead. But Kan is water and tends toward yielding; hence: strengthen the bones. 
 The numinous wonder within this cannot be known except through actual practice and personal experience. If one has practiced and attained realization, and then gains a position to carry out Dao, one need only rectify the root and purify the source. Then those cunning spirits will naturally bow their heads and fold their ears in submission, not daring again to use deceit and scheming to stir up chaos. Governing all under Heaven would be as easy as turning over one's hand. 
 In later ages, those who led the state lacked the Sage's true Dao and De. They merely took up the surface trappings. Today they exalt the worthy; tomorrow they amass wealth. Goods hard to obtain — most commentators interpret this as rare treasures, which is fair enough. But money is also hard to obtain, and is even more prized. The result is that everyone forms factions and cliques, each group promoting its own members. It reaches the point where people spend money to purchase reputation. High and low compete for profit, plundering one another — until they have become thieves who tunnel through walls and climb over fences. 
 Alas! When things have reached such a state, why not turn back and seek the root?

Chapter 4
道衝而用之，或不盈。淵兮似萬物之宗。挫其銳，解其紛，和其光，同其塵。湛兮似若存。吾不知誰之子，象帝之先。 
 Translation 
 Dao, in its harmony, is put to use,
yet perhaps it never fills.
Fathomless — it seems the ancestor of all things.
It blunts the sharp,
unravels the tangled,
tempers its light,
mingles with the dust.
Profound and still — it seems as though it exists.
I do not know whose child it is;
it appears to precede the Lord on High. 
 Word Notes 
 
 衝 — "harmony" : Harmonious blending. 
 淵 — "fathomless" : Deep and far-reaching. 
 宗 — "ancestor" : Master, source. 
 挫 — "to blunt" : To check, to restrain. 
 銳 — "the sharp" : Keen, aggressive force; the sharp edge of competitive ambition. 
 解 — "to unravel" : To loosen, to untangle. 
 紛 — "tangles" : Confusion, disorder. 
 光 — "light" : Radiance, brilliance. 
 塵 — "dust" : The mundane world; worldly affairs. 
 湛 — "profound and still" : Clear, empty, and tranquil. 
 帝 — "the Lord on High" : Shangdi, the supreme sovereign deity. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Though Dao is utterly empty and without substance, it issues forth as a harmonious breath that is fully operative. It pervades everything within the cosmos and there is nowhere it does not fill. So profoundly deep and far-reaching that it cannot be fathomed, it seems to be the ancestor of the myriad beings. It blunts the sharp, competitive spirit; unravels the confused and tangled mind; does not display its own radiance; and mingles with the dust of the common world. Profoundly clear and empty, it seems to hold onto nothing — yet something does seem to remain. I do not know whose child it is, or where it comes from; it appears to precede even the Lord on High. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter speaks of the Sage who has "emptied the heart, filled the belly, softened the will, and strengthened the bones" — one who has attained Dao in his own person. He takes emptiness and nothingness as his substance, and harmony as his function. The character for "harmony" here is composed of "center" and "water," meaning "what flows from the center." What flows from the center is harmony; thus "Dao in its harmony" means centrality and harmony. 
 The breath of Supreme Harmony fills all of Heaven and Earth. It can give Heaven and Earth their proper place and nourish the myriad beings. Its aspect is vast and boundless, beyond description. And yet such a person does not presume upon his De, does not claim credit for his accomplishments. Gentle and supremely harmonious, he is just like an infant — serene and without desire. He tempers his own radiance — this is what Mencius calls "a sage who is great and transforming." It is the realm of "a spirit who is sagely and unfathomable." He freely mingles with the dust of the common world. This is not merely keeping oneself safe through wisdom; it is not merely avoiding startling or shocking the world. In truth, it is teaching by personal example, leading others to ever deeper understanding. 
 In the "Human World" chapter of the Zhuangzi , Qu Boyu teaches Yan He how to serve as tutor to the Crown Prince of Wei: "In outward form, nothing is better than to go along with him; in your heart, nothing is better than to be at harmony with him." This passage is precisely the footnote to "tempering one's light, mingling with the dust." When Guanyin manifests in all manner of bodily forms to teach the Dharma, the meaning is the same. 
 Most commentators interpret this as keeping oneself safe through wisdom. That is certainly correct, but it is only a one-sided explanation. Would the Sage merely preserve his own person? 
 Profoundly clear and still, beyond all scrutiny — his person seems to be above the world; his spirit truly transcends Heaven and Earth. And so the text says one does not know whose child he is, or where he comes from — it seems he precedes even the Lord on High. This is plainly Laozi recounting his own life story, speaking of his own virtue, painting his own portrait — displaying the living image of the man called "like a dragon" for all to see. And yet the text says "perhaps" and "seems" and "as if" — still soaring or leaping, now visible now hidden, now revealing a single scale, now revealing a single claw, keeping people from fathoming him. 
 The Daoist scriptures say Laozi preached the Dharma for twelve thousand days and manifested in transformation eighty-one times. Though I, this young student, understand the reasons behind this, the matter borders on the miraculous. In the secular world there is insufficient evidence to cite as proof, so I dare not insist on the point. Even if we discuss only the Laozi who served as Keeper of the Archives, some say he was a man of the Shang dynasty, others that he was a man of the Zhou dynasty. He served as a court archivist for many years yet left no notable memorial or proposal, as if he were an ordinary, unremarkable person. And yet Confucius — the greatest sage since the beginning of human history — looked up to him as a teacher and called him "like a dragon." After Laozi departed through the Hangu Pass, no one knew where he went. Is this not the very mystery of a spirit whose transformations are beyond reckoning?

Chapter 5
天地不仁，以萬物為芻狗。聖人不仁，以百姓為芻狗。天地之間，其猶橐籥乎。虛而不屈，動而愈出。多言數窮，不如守中。 
 Translation 
 Heaven and Earth are not benevolent;
they treat the myriad beings as straw dogs.
The Sage is not benevolent;
he treats the hundred families as straw dogs.
The space between Heaven and Earth —
is it not like a bellows?
Empty, yet never exhausted;
the more it moves, the more it brings forth.
Too many words hasten one's ruin;
better to guard the center. 
 Word Notes 
 
 芻狗 — "straw dogs" : Dogs woven from grass, used in sacrificial rites. During the ceremony they are treated with reverence; afterward they are trampled underfoot. 
 橐 — "bellows" : The smelter's instrument for fanning the furnace fire. It is hollow within and has no bottom. 
 籥 — "nozzle" : The mouth of the bellows. 
 屈 — "exhaustion" : Distortion, forced bending. 
 守中 — "guarding the center" : Holding to the center, the middle way. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Heaven and Earth are not benevolent — they bring to life and they kill, leaving the myriad beings to their own natural course. They treat the myriad beings as straw dogs . The Sage is not benevolent — he gives and he takes away, leaving the hundred families to their own natural course. 
 The space between Heaven and Earth is just like a bellows : empty within, yet never distorted or exhausted. The more it moves, the more breath comes forth. If one speaks too many words, one repeatedly runs into dead ends. Better to guard the center. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter is about Laozi observing the people and beings of all under Heaven. Regardless of what era, regardless of what country — there is none that does not live and die, die and live, going back and forth, turning upside down, suffering without limit. They are like a speck of dust spinning in the vast sky, unable to control their own course. Suddenly they spin upward; suddenly they spin down again. Up and down, up and down, without rest. 
 And yet if we trace the root cause of this suffering, we cannot help but lay it at the feet of Heaven and Earth. The people and myriad beings were all born of Heaven and Earth. Where there is birth, there cannot but be death. The very benevolence of Heaven and Earth in giving birth to things is, in fact, the very cruelty of Heaven and Earth in destroying them. Moreover, at the time of giving birth, no matter how wretched a thing may be, they give it life — seeming to value it greatly. At the time of destroying, no matter how fine a thing may be, they destroy it all the same — seeming to hold it in utter contempt. And so the text says they treat the myriad beings as straw dogs. 
 The Sage follows the natural course of Heaven and Earth, and does the same. But Heaven and Earth do not intentionally give birth to things or intentionally destroy them. The underlying principle of the space between Heaven and Earth is one of coming and going, of endless cycling. Heaven and Earth operate without intention: in giving birth to beings, they do not love them; in destroying beings, they do not hate them. They simply nourish what grows upright and topple what leans — leaving the myriad beings to their own natural course. If Heaven and Earth intentionally loved things, giving birth without ever destroying, then the process of transformation would reach exhaustion. 
 Therefore one must break through all names and forms, all names and words, empty the heart, and guard the center. One must transcend beyond Heaven and Earth — only then will one not be toppled and turned by the cycles of fate. 
 For Laozi foresaw that in later ages, those who study Dao would inevitably misunderstand the scriptures and become bound by them. Some would split into sects and factions. Some would drill into texts and literary niceties. Some would be obstructed by principles. Some would be fixated on doctrines. They would do nothing but mouth-level study and book-level morality — pedantic and useless, utterly without practical effect. Those of a lower sort would further degenerate into superstition, unable to rely on their own strength, depending on Heaven and Earth, looking up to sages and spirits for help. They do not realize that though Heaven and Earth are fond of giving life, they cannot protect a person; though sages and spirits are compassionate, they cannot save a person. 
 Even the words that sages, spirits, immortals, and buddhas use to instruct people — whatever can be spoken in words and pointed to by name — are all one-sided teachings, teachings with an opposite. Whatever has a good side also has a bad side. The Buddha said, "Inconceivable, inexpressible." Confucius said, "I wish to speak no more." And when Confucius spoke of the six virtues and six blindnesses — six virtues that, without learning to temper them, become six defects — he meant the same thing. 
 And so, having no choice but to argue from the root source, Laozi directly calls Heaven and Earth and the Sage "not benevolent" — this is to shatter people's superstitious dependence. When he says "too many words hasten one's ruin," this is to shatter people's fixation on doctrine. "Guard the center" is to show people where their home lies. How lofty! How consummate! How miraculous and wondrous! 
 Long ago, Shakyamuni preached the Dharma as teacher of gods and humans, and his voice was the lion's roar. Laozi speaks the truth about Heaven and Earth and the Sage, enabling people to transcend above the realm of gods and humans — is this not the dragon's call? But when the lion roars, all the mountains tremble — it is more than enough to move people. The dragon's call, however, is subtle and hard to fathom. If you are not a kindred spirit, you will find nothing of interest in hearing it. 
 And so people are still happy to study the Buddhist scriptures. Laozi is simply not ranked alongside Confucius, the Buddha, Jesus, and Muhammad. His book is even regarded as something like arsenic and poison. This is truly looking at a great sage whose spiritual transformations are beyond all reckoning — through the eyes of the mundane world.

Chapter 6
穀神不死，是謂玄牝。玄牝之門，是為天地根。綿綿若存，用之不勤。 
 Translation 
 The Valley Spirit never dies —
this is called the Mysterious Female.
The gate of the Mysterious Female
is the root of Heaven and Earth.
Continuous and subtle, as though barely there,
drawn upon, it is never spent. 
 Word Notes 
 
 穀神 — "Valley Spirit" : The true spirit of the empty valley. 
 玄 — "mysterious" : True emptiness. 
 牝 — "female" : Wondrous existence; the generative, the receptive. 
 綿綿 — "continuous" : Subtle and unceasing. 
 不勤 — "never exhausted" : Without toil or haste; its function is effortless. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The true spirit within the void does not die — this is true emptiness and wondrous existence . The gate of true emptiness and wondrous existence is the root of Heaven and Earth . To return to the origin and restore the source, one must cultivate a continuous awareness — present, yet as if not present. Its operation is without effort or haste: functioning, yet as if not functioning. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter reveals the method of guarding the center and the workings of the center itself. 
 The circle of the character for "center" is the shape of an empty valley. The upper half of this circle is Heaven; the lower half is Earth. When "Heaven and Earth" appear as a pair, this "Heaven" is the relative heaven — the one that has an opposite. The vertical stroke through the center is the true spirit. Every person possesses this spirit. It is what the Doctrine of the Mean calls "the true nature endowed by Heaven." This "Heaven" is the one and only Heaven, which enfolds all heavens and all worlds. When Confucius reverenced and stood in awe of Heaven, this is what he meant. Otherwise — since Dao gives birth to Heaven and Earth, and the Buddha is the teacher of the gods — if Confucius merely revered the physical sky, would that not be pitifully beneath his stature? And if the Confucian classics universally treat Heaven as the highest authority, would that not be degrading? 
 But in the post-celestial world, one's nature deteriorates into emotion, and emotion deteriorates into desire. Thereupon this spirit sinks downward, circulating within the circle — this is what the Buddha calls samsara, the cycle of rebirth. One must reduce desire and accord with emotion, and then gather emotion back into nature. When the vertical stroke through the center is revived, one can naturally pierce through Heaven and Earth — this is what Confucius called his "one thread." 
 One transcends into the void, indestructible through all eternity. Yet though one transcends into the void, one still pervades the space between Heaven and Earth, remaining the master and ruler of Heaven and Earth. 
 Why is this so? The left side of the character for "center" is the mysterious: when it stirs, it becomes yang; it is the beginning of Heaven and Earth. The right side is the female: when it stirs, it becomes yin; it is the mother of the myriad beings. The two sides are also like two halves of a gate. The vertical stroke is like the gate's hinge. When the hinge moves, it gives rise to the mysterious and the female; the mysterious and the female give rise to Heaven and Earth. 
 But once Heaven and Earth have been separated, this gate closes and does not open. The human being, as the full embodiment of Dao, is the same way. One must reopen this gate; only then can yin and yang resume their interchange. When yin and yang converge and merge into a single body, this vertical stroke can once again fill all of Heaven and Earth and transcend beyond them. 
 The method of reopening this gate is nonaction yet action, action yet nonaction. This is precisely what Mencius meant by "neither forget nor force." And yet later inner-alchemy practitioners clung to concrete images, claiming it refers to some specific acupoint or passage in the body. How could they have realized that Laozi's words are hardly limited to the acupoints of a single body?

Chapter 7
天長地久。天地所以能長且久者，以其不自生，故能長生。是以聖人後其身而身先，外其身而身存。非以其無私耶，故能成其私。 
 Translation 
 Heaven endures, Earth abides.
The reason Heaven and Earth can endure and abide
is that they do not live for themselves —
therefore they can live forever.
Thus the Sage places himself last, yet finds himself first;
regards himself as outside, yet his self is preserved.
Is it not because he is without self-interest
that he can truly fulfill what is his own? 
 Word Notes 
 
 私 — "self-interest" : Acting for oneself; personal gain. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Heaven endures long, Earth lasts far. The reason Heaven and Earth can endure long and last far is that they give life to the myriad beings but do not live for themselves — therefore they can live forever . For this reason, the Sage places himself last in all things, yielding to others — yet his person ends up in front. He regards himself as outside , not contending for power and advantage — yet his self is preserved. Is it not because he acts without self-interest? By acting without self-interest, he is therefore able to truly fulfill what is his own . 
 Discourse 
 This chapter says that Heaven and Earth were born of the Valley Spirit. The Valley Spirit does not die — no one has seen this. But that Heaven endures — this everyone knows. Since Heaven and Earth can endure, the Valley Spirit can be inferred. 
 The reason Heaven and Earth can endure is that they give life to the myriad beings but do not live for themselves. Giving life to all things yet not living for themselves — it would seem they should be swiftly exhausted. But the underlying principle governing the space between Heaven and Earth is cyclical. Heaven and Earth give life to the myriad beings, and after the myriad beings have come into existence, their vital energy still returns to Heaven and Earth. Moreover, the myriad beings cannot exist outside of Heaven and Earth. Thus, for Heaven and Earth to give life to the myriad beings is to give life to themselves. If Heaven and Earth did not regard the myriad beings as one body with themselves and only looked after themselves, they would become merely a single isolated thing — how could that be worthy of being called Heaven and Earth? 
 The Sage stands alongside Heaven and Earth, and he too treats all under Heaven as one family, all nations as one person. He places himself last and regards himself as outside. Yet through the cycling of Heaven and Earth, what was placed last turns around and naturally ends up first; what was regarded as outside — his self thereby grows great beyond all outer limit, enduring through all ages. 
 Were it otherwise — if one cared only for oneself and scrambled to be first, if one cared only for oneself and scrambled to survive — everyone would seek to destroy such a person. How could he come first? How could he survive?

Chapter 8
上善若水。水善利萬物而不爭。處眾人之所惡，故幾於道。居善地，心善淵，與善仁，言善信，政善治，事善能，動善時。夫唯不爭，故無尤。 
 Translation 
 The highest good is like water.
Water excels at benefiting the myriad beings yet does not contend.
It settles where others disdain to dwell —
thus it draws near to the Dao.
In dwelling, excel at finding the right ground.
In heart, excel at depth.
In giving, excel at benevolence.
In speech, excel at trustworthiness.
In governance, excel at bringing order.
In affairs, excel at competence.
In action, excel at timing.
It is precisely through not contending
that one remains free of blame. 
 Word Notes 
 
 與 — "giving" : To bestow, to give to others. 
 尤 — "fault" : Error, blame. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The highest good is just like water. Water excels at benefiting the myriad beings yet does not contend with anyone. It settles in the lowest and most humble places that the multitude loathe — and therefore comes close to Dao . 
 A person of the highest good: in dwelling, excels at finding the right ground — like water, which halts wherever it finds a hollow and does not choose its terrain. In heart, excels at depth unfathomable — like water, which is empty, clear, and still. In giving, excels at benevolence — like water, which nourishes all living things. In speech, excels at trustworthiness — like water, which never fails in its nature to flow downward. In governance, excels at bringing order — like water, which washes away filth and levels high and low. In affairs, excels at competence — like water, which sets all things in motion. In action, excels at timing — like water, which is endlessly lively and responsive. Having all these excellences and still not contending with anyone — precisely because he does not contend, he is entirely without fault . 
 Discourse 
 Alas! Today the world is in ruin. War and killing rage across the globe. The dead and wounded number untold tens of thousands. The fires of war have scorched untold tens of thousands of miles. If we trace the disease to its root, it is nothing but the disaster of competition — nothing but the disaster of competing for power and profit. In competing for power and profit, they have in fact lost power and profit. It is truly a great delusion from which they cannot awaken. 
 If every nation would revere the teachings of Laozi, yield and not contend, there would naturally be harmony, well-being, and joy — a world of genial warmth and radiant ease. How could there be this catastrophe without precedent in all of history? 
 And yet, when Laozi teaches people not to contend, he is by no means telling them to be pedantic and useless, devoid of any ability, weak and dependent, sitting idle and waiting for natural selection to eliminate them. He simply teaches people not to scramble for power and profit, so as to extinguish the fires of war for ten thousand ages. Moreover, he teaches people to excel at benefiting the myriad beings — to excel at ground, at depth, at benevolence, at trustworthiness, at governance, at competence, at timing — and thereby to possess extraordinary De and extraordinary ability. This is non-contention on the outside, yet contention for substance within; non-contention for position, yet contention for spirit. It is contending through non-contention — not seeking, yet naturally obtaining. 
 This teaching has a hundred benefits and not a single harm. It is precisely the perfect prescription for the illness of our time. Why do the people of every nation not give it a try?

Chapter 9
持而盈之，不如其已。揣而銳之，不可常保。金玉滿堂，莫之能守。富貴而驕，自遺其咎。功成名遂身退，天之道。 
 Alternate editions read: 功遂身退. 
 Translation 
 Hold it and fill it to the brim —
better to have stopped in time.
Temper and sharpen it to a keen edge —
it cannot long be preserved. 
 Gold and jade may fill the hall,
yet no one can guard them.
Wealth and rank that breed arrogance
invite their own undoing. 
 When the work is done and the name established,
step back —
this is the Way of Heaven. 
 Word Notes 
 
 持 — "to hold" : To hold fast, to keep. 
 揣 — "to grasp" : To feel out, to probe; to work and shape. 
 銳 — "sharp" : Keen, sharp-edged. 
 驕 — "arrogant" : Proud, haughty. 
 咎 — "ruin" : Misfortune, calamity. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When what you hold has become full, it is better to stop than to overflow. When what you have grasped and sharpened has become keen, it cannot long be preserved. Gold and jade may fill the hall, but they cannot be guarded forever. Wealth and honor joined with arrogance bring ruin upon oneself. When the work is done and the name established, to withdraw and not remain — this is to follow the Dao of Heaven. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter says that among all things between Heaven and Earth, whatever has become full must ebb and recede; whatever has been sharpened to a fine edge must break. People of the world do not understand this principle. They know only how to scramble for power and seize profit, pursuing wealth and chasing rank. They do not realize that wealth and rank not only cannot long be preserved — they are also what everyone covets. They become the focus of universal resentment. If one relies on one's wealth and rank and grows arrogant, one only hastens one's own undoing. 
 Therefore, when the work is done and the name established, one should step back. To have and yet not possess; to be full and yet not complacent; to achieve merit and not dwell in it; to have not the slightest aggressive edge — only this accords with the natural course of the Way of Heaven. Only this can preserve oneself forever.

Chapter 10
載營魄抱一，能無離乎？
專氣至柔，能嬰兒乎？
滌除玄覽，能無疵乎？
愛民治國，能無為乎？
天門開闔，能無雌乎？
明白四達，能無知乎？
生之畜之，生而不有，
為而不恃，長而不宰，
是謂之玄德。 
 Translation 
 Carry the soul, embrace the One —
can you keep them from parting?
Concentrate the breath to utmost softness —
can you be as an infant?
Cleanse the mysterious vision —
can you leave it without flaw?
Love the people, govern the state —
can you act through nonaction?
The gates of Heaven open and close —
can you abide as the feminine?
Bright understanding reaches every direction —
can you appear as though unknowing? 
 It gives them life and nourishes them.
It gives life yet claims no possession,
acts yet takes no credit,
guides yet does not rule.
This is called the mysterious De. 
 Word Notes 
 
 營 — "soul" : The hun, the spirit-soul. JXZ glosses 營 as 魂 (hun), the spiritual aspect of the soul. 
 魄 — "spirit" : The po, the corporeal spirit. Together with 營 (hun), they form the dual soul. 
 滌 — "cleanse" : To wash, to purge. 
 覽 — "gaze" : To look, to observe. Here: the inner contemplative gaze. 
 疵 — "flaw" : Blemish, defect. 
 天門 — "the gates of Heaven" : The heart. JXZ glosses: "The heart can connect to Heaven." 
 畜 — "nurture" : To nourish, to sustain. 
 宰 — "control" : To govern, to rule over. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When the heart races outward, the hun and po separate. To carry the soul, guard the spirit, and embrace the One — can one keep them from parting? When one's breath becomes violent, the heart grows agitated. To concentrate the pre-celestial breath and bring it to utmost softness — can one be like the Supreme Harmony of an infant? To cleanse away dust and grime, and open wide the inner gaze to penetrate the mysterious — can one be free of all blemish? Once the self is cultivated, then to love the people and govern the state — can one do so through the clear stillness of nonaction? The gates of Heaven can open and can close , their transformations without limit — can one abide as the soft and receptive? To be bright in understanding, reaching in all four directions — can one appear as though unknowing? It gives life to the people of all under Heaven. It nurtures the people of all under Heaven. Yet having given them life, it does not take possession . Having acted on behalf of all under Heaven, it does not presume upon its merit . Having become the leader of all under Heaven, it does not control . This is the deep and far-reaching mysterious De, beyond all naming. 
 Discourse 
 The opening four lines of this chapter are precisely the teaching of Mencius on nourishing qi and achieving an unmoved heart. Yet instead of saying "heart," the text says 營. JXZ glosses 營 as "hun" — the spirit of the heart — and in this there is already the sense of "restlessly stirring without cease." "Parting" refers to the post-celestial heart. The infant has not lost the pre-celestial breath and is able to refrain from using the post-celestial heart. By not losing the pre-celestial breath, one can then cleanse away the dust and grime, open wide the inner gaze, and observe all things above and below, ancient and modern — penetrating the mysterious, entering the subtle, without being confined to one partiality. One is not like the narrow-minded who see no further than a bean, drowning in old learning. Nor is one like those confined to the material, taking what they can see as real and what they cannot see as nonexistent. Therefore one can love the people and govern the state, with transformations without limit, responding to the myriad affairs. One's bright understanding reaches in every direction, without being confined to fixed opinions. One gives life to all under Heaven and nourishes them, without taking it as one's own possession or one's own achievement. One serves as leader of all under Heaven yet does not presume on authority to act imperiously. Moreover, one does not use laws and regulations to bind the people, but lets them naturally roam at ease within the realm of Dao and De. Such is the mysterious De — beyond all power of praise. In our nation, only Yao and Shun, who held the empire as a public trust, and in the West, only George Washington, who founded the United States, can be said to stand worthy of it without shame.

Chapter 11
三十輻共一轂，當其無，有車之用。
埏埴以為器，當其無，有器之用。
鑿戶牖以為室，當其無，有室之用。
故有之以為利，無之以為用。 
 Translation 
 Thirty spokes converge upon a single hub —
in the hollow center, the wheel finds its turning.
Shape clay to form a vessel —
in the emptiness within, the vessel finds its holding.
Cut doors and windows to frame a room —
in the open space, the room finds its dwelling.
Thus what is present gives advantage;
what is absent gives purpose. 
 Word Notes 
 
 輻 — "spoke" : The spoke of a wheel. 
 轂 — "hub" : The hub of a wheel, where the spokes converge. 
 埏 — "knead" : To mix water with clay. 
 埴 — "clay" : To shape clay into a vessel. 
 鑿 — "cut" : To chisel open. 
 牖 — "window" : A window opening. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Thirty spokes converge upon a single hub. It is precisely where the hub is hollow that the wheel can turn, and the cart can carry people and goods to useful purpose. Clay is kneaded with water and shaped into a vessel. It is precisely where the vessel is hollow within that it can hold water and broth to useful purpose. Doors and windows are cut to make a room. It is precisely where the doors and windows open that people can dwell within to useful purpose. Therefore, having physical form is what makes something advantageous. Yet it is the emptiness within that makes it useful . 
 Discourse 
 This chapter borrows the external to illustrate the internal, borrows the visible to illustrate the invisible. Even taking visible things on their own terms, their usefulness lies entirely in what is invisible. Implements below the level of form are rooted in Dao above the level of form. The invisible cannot benefit without the visible; the visible cannot function without the invisible. Dao must borrow implements to become manifest; implements must be rooted in Dao for their function to be great. Thus Laozi not only illuminated the study of Dao but also deeply understood the study of implements. For the Sage who apprehends Dao looks up and looks down, and there is nothing among the principles of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad beings that he does not understand. He simply does not make his name through any single skill. Confucius, for example, was learned and multitalented, yet could not be defined by any one accomplishment. And as for the feathered followers of later ages — they may not have been the true orthodox heirs of Laozi. Nevertheless, when the furnace-and-fire school smelted lead and refined mercury, this was precisely the principle that modern scientists call analysis and synthesis. When the adepts and masters of the arts produced wondrous skills and extraordinary abilities, and manufactured implements of war and defense, this was precisely the function that modern scientists call invention and manufacture. Yet at the time they were hated by despotic rulers, who feared these arts might be turned against them, and so denounced them as heretical sorcery and enforced severe prohibitions. Thus the transmission was lost and could not progress. Yet this is enough to prove that the study of Dao is not useless. One who truly possesses the study of Dao will naturally understand the study of implements. But later generations failed to perceive this and went so far as to say that the teachings of Laozi were enough to destroy a nation and extinguish its people. They truly did not know the real face of Laozi!

Chapter 12
五色令人目盲，五音令人耳聾，
五味令人口爽，馳騁畋獵令人心發狂，
難得之貨令人行妨。
是以聖人為腹不為目，
故去彼取此。 
 Translation 
 The five colors blind the eye.
The five tones deafen the ear.
The five flavors dull the palate.
Racing and hunting madden the heart.
Rare goods lead one astray. 
 Therefore the Sage nourishes what is within,
not what the eye desires.
He lets go of that and holds to this. 
 Word Notes 
 
 盲 — "blind" : The eyes go blind. 
 爽 — "deaden" : Quick, sharp — here meaning the palate loses its sense of taste. 
 馳騁 — "racing" : Chasing, driving at full speed. 
 畋獵 — "hunting" : Hunting birds and beasts. 
 妨 — "lead astray" : To harm, to impede. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When the eyes are greedy for the five colors, they go blind. When the ears are greedy for the five tones, they go deaf. When the mouth is greedy for the five flavors, it loses all sense of taste. When the heart delights in racing about and hunting, it is driven to madness. Rare and precious goods lead people into harmful conduct. Therefore the Sage nourishes what is within and does not chase what the eye desires . He lets go of that outward pursuit and holds to this inward keeping. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter teaches that sounds, colors, goods, and profit are all things external to the self. Greedy, insatiable pursuit of them injures one's life and destroys one's nature. Therefore the Sage abandons the external and cultivates the internal. Confucius said: "Look not at what is contrary to propriety; listen not to what is contrary to propriety; speak not what is contrary to propriety; act not contrary to propriety." The Bodhisattva Guanyin speaks of "no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, or mind." All of these express the same meaning.

Chapter 13
寵辱若驚，貴大患若身。
何為寵辱若驚？
寵為下，得之若驚，失之若驚，
是為寵辱若驚。
何為貴大患若身？
吾所以有大患者，吾有身；
及吾無身，吾有何患？
故貴以身為天下者，可以寄天下；
愛以身為天下者，可以託天下。 
 Translation 
 Favor and disgrace alike arrive as shocks.
Hold great calamity as dearly as you hold your very self. 
 What is meant by "favor and disgrace alike arrive as shocks"?
Favor is the lowlier thing:
to receive it is a shock,
to lose it is a shock —
this is why favor and disgrace alike arrive as shocks. 
 What is meant by "hold great calamity as dearly as you hold your very self"?
The reason I suffer great calamity
is that I possess a body.
Were I without this body,
what calamity could touch me? 
 Thus, one who values his own body as he would value all under Heaven —
to such a person the world may be entrusted.
One who cherishes his own body as he would cherish all under Heaven —
to such a person the world may be consigned. 
 Word Notes 
 
 寵 — "favor" : Imperial favor, patronage. 
 辱 — "disgrace" : Shame, humiliation. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Both favor and disgrace arrive as a shock. The greatest calamity is none other than the body itself. Why do we say that favor and disgrace are like being shocked? Where there is favor, there is disgrace — disgrace springs from favor. Favor is the lowlier thing. Therefore when one receives favor, it is like being shocked — because one fears disgrace will follow. When one loses favor, it is also like being shocked — though now it is the startled relief that disgrace may be avoided. Why do we say the greatest calamity is none other than the body? The reason I have great calamity is that I have this body : with a body come desires, and from desires spring every kind of trouble. But if I do not cling to this body — having a body as though I had none — then what calamity could I have? Extending the argument: one who values his own body as dearly as he would value all under Heaven — to such a person the world may be entrusted. One who cherishes his own body as dearly as he would cherish all under Heaven — to such a person the world may be consigned. 
 Discourse 
 Among all the people of the world, there are none who do not wish to obtain favor. For once favor is won, one may enjoy the splendor of palaces, the attendance of wives and concubines, the flattery of destitute friends and relatives. And so people curry favor and rush about, maneuver and worm their way in, heedless of propriety, shameless before all scrutiny. Yet if we trace the root cause, it is not that their original nature lacks goodness — it is simply that the desires of the body do harm. They do not realize that the one who can bestow favor can just as easily bring disgrace. The glory of favor is the very wellspring of humiliation. Moreover, those who fawn and flatter in pursuit of advancement cannot escape the shame of begging among the tombs in the eastern suburb. The place of greatest honor is the very place of greatest humiliation. Therefore the person of Dao and De regards favor as no different from disgrace. Receiving favor strikes him like a shock. And he knows that this grasping for favor springs entirely from the desires of the body. So he looks upon his body as though it were nothing. Having removed the root of the disease, this may seem like not caring for the body — but in truth it is the only genuine care for the body. He does nothing that is not humane; he takes no action that is not righteous. He will not let this body suffer the slightest stain. He cherishes this body more dearly than all under Heaven. The power and profit of a single province, a single circuit, a single county, a single district — these are things for which others scramble without rest. Yet he looks upon even all under Heaven, vast as it is, with cool indifference, utterly unmoved. So transcendent, so removed from the world — he may seem useless. But understand this: it is precisely the one who does not treat all under Heaven as his personal affair who can be entrusted with all under Heaven. History proves it. Emperor Shun regarded the empire as a worn-out shoe, and Emperor Yao entrusted all under Heaven to him — and Shun was able to carry on the brilliant legacy in harmony with the will of Heaven. Yi Yin would not glance at a gift of a thousand teams of horses, and though offered the emolument of the entire empire he would not desire it. King Tang entrusted all under Heaven to him — and Yi Yin was able to exile Tai Jia to Tong without usurping the throne, and in the end brought Tai Jia to dwell in humaneness and follow righteousness. Were it otherwise — were a man burning with ambition for office and hungering for wealth and rank entrusted with all under Heaven — how could he not plunder the common people to fatten himself? The argument of Laozi in this chapter, if applied to the employment of men, works equally on the grandest scale — all under Heaven and the state — and on the smallest — a single province, a single district, down to a single affair. It is as sure as holding a written bond. Men like those who scramble for power and grasp at profit, who know nothing but their own bodies — entrust all under Heaven to them, and how could it possibly work? I, this young student, reading this chapter, am filled with boundless feeling.

Chapter 14
視之不見名曰夷，聽之不聞名曰希，
搏之不得名曰微。
此三者不可致詰，故混而為一。
其上不皦，其下不昧。
繩繩兮不可名，復歸於無物。
是為無狀之狀，無象之象，
是謂恍惚。
迎之不見其首，隨之不見其後。
執古之道，以御今之有。
能知古始，是謂道紀。 
 Translation 
 Look for it and it cannot be seen — call it the invisible.
Listen for it and it cannot be heard — call it the inaudible.
Reach for it and it cannot be caught — call it the intangible.
These three cannot be fathomed further;
they merge and become one. 
 Its rising is not bright.
Its sinking is not dark.
On and on, an unbroken thread — it cannot be named,
and returns again to nothing. 
 This is the shape without shape,
the image without image —
the elusive, the unfathomable.
Approach it and you cannot see its face.
Follow it and you cannot see its back. 
 Hold fast to the ancient Dao
to master all that the present holds.
To know the ancient beginning —
this is the guiding thread of Dao. 
 Word Notes 
 
 夷 — "the invisible" : Describing what cannot be seen. JXZ: "a term for what is beyond sight and hearing." 
 希 — "the inaudible" : Describing what cannot be heard. 
 微 — "the intangible" : Small, subtle — that which cannot be grasped. 
 詰 — "fathom" : To question, to investigate to the end. 
 皦 — "bright" : Brilliant, luminous. 
 昧 — "dark" : Dim, obscure. 
 繩繩 — "ceaselessly" : Continuing one after another, an unbroken thread. 
 恍惚 — "the elusive and obscure" : Subtle and unfathomable. 
 紀 — "thread" : The guiding thread, the organizing principle. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Look for it and you still cannot see it — its name is "the invisible." Listen for it and you still cannot hear it — its name is "the inaudible." Grasp for it and you still cannot catch it — its name is "the intangible." These three — formless, colorless, soundless — cannot be fathomed through questioning . Therefore they merge and become one . All things have light and dark, yet its upper aspect is not bright and its lower aspect is not dark . It flows on without cease amid the affairs of daily life, yet still it cannot be named . It returns again to the realm of no-thing . This is what is called the shape without shape, the image without image . This is what it means to call it the elusive and obscure — one cannot say it exists, yet one cannot say it does not exist. Approach it and you cannot see its face. Follow it and you cannot see its back. This is Dao, which has existed since antiquity. If one holds fast to the Dao of ancient times , one can thereby command and employ all that the present holds . The ability to know how Dao began in antiquity — this is the guiding thread of the one who has attained Dao. 
 Discourse 
 Today the world's civilization — sound, light, electricity, and chemical transformation — has produced all manner of things in full profusion. Yet what exists today did not spring into being only now. It has existed since antiquity. It is simply that people today have newly discovered and brought it forth. And all that exists — where ultimately does it come from? Even if we progress for tens of thousands of years beyond the present, pushing inquiry to the point where there is nothing left to inquire into, there must remain something that cannot be seen, cannot be heard, cannot be conceived, cannot be expressed in words. This invisible, inaudible something is given the provisional name of Dao. It is the original source of all that exists. Because all that exists has form and sound, all that exists is subject to change and destruction. Dao has neither form nor sound, and therefore undergoes no change and no destruction. It is eternally new across the ages. If one grasps its guiding thread and holds fast to it, then all that exists will serve one's purposes. Laozi's two lines — " hold fast to the ancient Dao to master all that the present holds " — are truly the master key, the essential secret. Those in today's world who are fond of antiquity mostly cling stubbornly to the words and deeds of the ancients. They do not realize that these are merely the discarded traces of what has already passed. They are not the Dao of antiquity. The Dao of antiquity is the Dao of today. Dao knows neither ancient nor modern. If one can truly hold fast to the ancient Dao, one can command and employ all that the present holds.

Chapter 15
古之善為士者，微妙玄通，深不可識。
夫唯不可識，故強為之容：
豫若冬涉川，猶若畏四鄰，
儼若客，渙若冰將釋，
敦兮其若樸，曠兮其若谷，
渾兮其若濁。
孰能濁以靜之徐清？
孰能安以久動之徐生？
保此道者不欲盈。
夫唯不盈，故能敝，不新成。 
 Alternate editions read: 豫焉若冬涉川. 
 Translation 
 The skilled practitioners of old —
subtle and wondrous, mysteriously penetrating,
deep beyond all reckoning. 
 Precisely because they were beyond reckoning,
we can only strain to describe them: 
 Cautious — as the yu-beast testing a winter river.
Watchful — as the you-beast wary of all its neighbors.
Grave — as a guest.
Yielding — as ice about to melt.
Solid — as unhewn wood.
Open — as a valley.
Murky — as turbid water. 
 Who can, being turbid, through stillness grow slowly clear?
Who can, being still, through long movement slowly come alive? 
 Those who preserve this Dao do not seek fullness.
Precisely because they do not seek fullness,
they can wear thin without needing to be made new. 
 Word Notes 
 
 豫 — "the yu-beast" : A beast by this name. JXZ glosses: "The yu waits until ice has frozen solid before it will cross water in winter." 
 猶 — "the you-beast" : A beast by this name. JXZ glosses: "The you climbs into trees and only comes down when it hears no sound of people." 
 儼 — "grave" : Reverent, solemn. 
 渙 — "yielding" : Dispersing, loosening. 
 敦 — "solid" : Thick, substantial. 
 樸 — "unhewn wood" : Wood that has not yet been carved into an implement. The primal, unadorned state. 
 曠 — "open" : Empty, expansive. 
 渾 — "murky" : Muddled, undifferentiated. 
 敝 — "worn" : Broken, threadbare. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The skilled practitioners of old were supremely subtle, supremely wondrous, supremely far-reaching, supremely penetrating — so profoundly deep that they could not be fathomed. Precisely because they could not be fathomed , we can only strain to describe them. They were cautious as the yu-beast testing a winter river — proceeding with the utmost care. They were watchful as the you-beast descending from a tree, wary of the presence of people — full of the deepest apprehension. Grave as a guest in their reverence, without the least impertinence. Yielding as ice about to melt , without the least rigidity. Supremely solid, like unhewn wood in its unadorned simplicity. Supremely open, like a valley that receives all things. Supremely murky, like turbid water , concealing all brightness. And yet though they seemed turbid, they were in truth supremely clear — they simply did not take sharp discrimination as wisdom. The worldly, with their cleverness and self-assurance, may seem clear, but they are in truth turbid. Who can hold to turbidity rather than grasping at apparent clarity , muddling along in honest simplicity, and wait for stillness to bring slow clarity? Who can remain at peace for a long while , not acting rashly, and wait for that stillness to reach its limit and slowly give rise to life? Those who preserve this Dao do not seek fullness . Precisely because they do not seek fullness, they can wear thin without rashly seeking to be made new . 
 Discourse 
 The preceding chapter described the mystery of Dao — how it is without sound and without scent. This chapter describes the sages of antiquity who were one body with Dao — how they too were subtle and unfathomable. Yet when we strain to fathom the unfathomable, their vigilance and apprehension, their depth and breadth, their magnanimous tolerance, their humble self-restraint — these dimly reveal the first glimmers of abundant De. But such a bearing is not something one can acquire in haste. If one seeks the gateway to entering De, one must find contentment in the plain and tranquil and take no delight in the novel and exotic. One must be humble and lowly, never seeking fullness. One must shed all entanglements, quietly nourishing clarity. One must be calm and steady, waiting for the heavenly impulse to stir of itself. Then one will naturally enter the realm of Dao. Yet when Laozi asks "Who can..." — I believe it is because the people of the world are themselves rushing and scrambling, their hearts roiled by selfish desires, not a single moment free from the turmoil of fortune's currents. And so there is, in his words, the sigh of one who finds no kindred spirit in all the world.

Chapter 16
致虛極，守靜篤。萬物並作，吾以觀其復。夫物芸芸，各歸其根。歸根曰靜，靜曰覆命。覆命曰常，知常曰明。不知常，妄作兇。知常容，容乃公，公乃王，王乃天，天乃道，道乃久，歿身不殆。 
 Translation 
 Attain the utmost emptiness;
hold fast to perfect stillness.
The myriad beings arise together —
I observe their return. 
 All things flourish in profusion,
yet each returns to its root.
Returning to the root is called stillness;
stillness is called restoring the mandate of life. 
 Restoring the mandate is called the constant;
knowing the constant is called illumination.
Not knowing the constant,
one acts blindly and invites calamity. 
 Knowing the constant, one contains all;
containing all, one becomes impartial;
impartial, one becomes sovereign;
sovereign, one aligns with Heaven;
aligned with Heaven, one aligns with the Dao;
aligned with the Dao, one endures —
the body may perish, but one is never imperiled. 
 Word Notes 
 
 篤 — "sincerity" : Utmost sincerity; wholehearted commitment. 
 復 — "return" : To go back, to return to the origin. 
 芸芸 — "profuse" : Abundant, teeming in great number. 
 殆 — "peril" : Danger, jeopardy. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 "Attain the utmost emptiness" means bringing emptiness to its extreme. "Hold fast to perfect stillness" means guarding stillness with utmost sincerity. Although the myriad beings arise together , I do not follow along with their arising — I observe their cyclical return. When the myriad beings arise, their leaves grow and flowers bloom in great profusion, yet in the end each returns to its root . Having returned to the root, this is called stillness . Stillness is called restoring the mandate of life . Restoring the mandate of life is called the constant . Knowing the constant is called illumination . Not knowing the constant , one acts blindly and invites calamity . Knowing the constant , one does not follow the transformations of things but contains all . To contain all is to be impartial and without self-interest . To be impartial and without self-interest is to be fit to serve as sovereign of all under Heaven . The sovereign aligns with Heaven . Heaven aligns with Dao . Dao endures forever . Even after the body perishes, one is never imperiled — one exists for all eternity. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter teaches that the great Dao takes emptiness as its constant state and existence as its change. Stillness is its constant state; movement is its change. What exists and moves must eventually return to non-existence and non-movement. Therefore, by holding fast to the constant Dao, even though the myriad affairs and beings of all under Heaven swirl in turmoil and confusion, I simply contain existence within emptiness and meet movement with stillness. I do not see their existence; I do not see their movement. I see only the unchanging constant Dao of all antiquity. Since I do not see their change, I am not swept along with things into change. I persist through all ages. Even though the body may perish, I still endure. Otherwise, if one follows along with the turmoil and confusion of things, one plunges into the whirlpool of fortune — how could one not be imperiled?

Chapter 17
太上，不知有之；其次，親之譽之；其次，畏之；其次，侮之。信不足，有不信。猶兮其貴言。功成事遂，百姓皆謂我自然。 
 Alternate editions read: 太上，下知有之. 
 Translation 
 The highest ruler —
the people barely know he exists.
The next, they draw near to and praise.
The next, they fear.
The next, they scorn. 
 When trust is insufficient,
distrust arises.
How careful, how sparing he was with words!
His work complete, his purposes fulfilled,
the hundred families all say: "We did this naturally, of ourselves." 
 Word Notes 
 
 譽 — "praise" : To praise, to commend. 
 侮 — "despise" : To treat with contempt, to insult. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The highest — the ruler of supreme De — causes the people to transform naturally, without their knowing or noticing. They receive his blessings in secret and do not even realize it. The next , though he cannot achieve the pure simplicity of nonaction, still bestows De upon the people, so that they love and praise him. The next , though he cannot win the people's submission through De, still upholds a clear system of laws and punishments with rewards and penalties strictly applied, so that the people know to fear him. The next is without Dao and without law, causing the people to despise him past all endurance — because he employs deception and cunning schemes, and his trust is insufficient . Even though he issues proclamations and hands down commands, saying a great deal, the people do not trust him. As for the highest ruler: he is dignified and practices nonaction, sparing and precious with his words , not issuing them lightly. When his work is accomplished and his affairs completed , the hundred families still do not realize it. They all say: " We did this naturally, of ourselves. " 
 Discourse 
 In ancient times, Emperor Yao governed all under Heaven and caused the people to live in carefree ease and radiant contentment, enjoying their days amid the light of Heaven's natural order. The people even sang: "We till the fields and eat, we dig the wells and drink — what has the emperor's power to do with us?" This was truly the scene of the highest. 
 But by the time of later generations of rulers — today they claim to be planning peace and stability for all under Heaven, tomorrow they claim to be seeking happiness for the hundred families — yet the truth is deception and fraud, nothing more than a cover for people's eyes and ears, a means to seize power and profit. Little do they know that the hundred families are not fooled by their deception. The people will inevitably rise up in opposition, look upon such rulers as enemies, and scorn them as though it were all a joke, until everything is thrown into utter chaos and the state is no longer a state. 
 Alas! The highest is no longer to be seen. If only we could see even the next-to-lowest kind of ruler — one who makes the people know to fear the law and gives them a legal order to abide by — that alone could bring a measure of temporary peace.

Chapter 18
大道廢，有仁義。智慧出，有大偽。六親不和，有孝慈。國家昏亂，有忠臣。 
 Translation 
 When the great Dao falls into disuse,
humaneness and righteousness appear.
When cunning and cleverness emerge,
great hypocrisy arises.
When the six relations lose their harmony,
filial piety and parental devotion appear.
When the nation sinks into darkness and disorder,
loyal ministers emerge. 
 Word Notes 
 
 偽 — "hypocrisy" : False, fake, pretense. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 It was only after the great Dao fell into disuse that humaneness and righteousness appeared. When the great Dao prevailed , humaneness and righteousness could not be seen — there was no contrast to make them visible. When cunning and cleverness emerged , people began to practice great hypocrisy and deception . In a state of primal simplicity and undifferentiation, there was no need for cunning and scheming. It was only when the six relations were not in harmony that filial sons and devoted parents became visible as such. When father and son are naturally harmonious, filial piety and parental devotion cannot be distinguished as such. It was only during times of darkness and disorder in the state that loyal ministers stood out. In times of good governance, loyal ministers cannot be distinguished as such. 
 Discourse 
 Mencius opens his mouth and it is always humaneness and righteousness. This chapter says humaneness and righteousness, that chapter says humaneness and righteousness — he expounds humaneness and righteousness with incisive clarity and promotes them with the greatest urgency. Yet Laozi flatly says “when the great Dao falls into disuse, humaneness and righteousness appear,” and even calls for severing humaneness and discarding righteousness. Without humaneness and righteousness, is one still a person? Not meeting even the standard of a person, what great Dao could there be? No wonder the Daoist school has been attacked and refuted by Confucian scholars of earlier ages, who went so far as to say it was worse than Yang Zhu and Mo Di. 
 Yet what they do not realize is that, viewed from the outside, Laozi and Mencius appear to oppose each other. But when examined in their inner content, they are in fact opposites that complete one another , each with his own rationale. 
 Let this young student venture a reckless explanation of the great Dao and humaneness-and-righteousness, for the study of all under Heaven and all ages to come. Originally, the great Dao was utterly vacant and empty, possessing nothing whatsoever. At this stage it was provisionally named the Ultimateless . Then, as Dao was about to give birth to Heaven, Earth, and the myriad beings, it stirred with one movement into the great Dao, and there appeared the faintest trace of an incipient sign. At this stage it was named the Supreme Ultimate . The Supreme Ultimate divided into the Two Modes . These Two Modes, in Heaven’s Dao, are named yin and yang, giving rise to the four images, the eight trigrams, the sixty-four hexagrams, and the three hundred eighty-four lines. In the human Dao, they are named humaneness and righteousness, giving rise to the four beginnings and the eight virtues , the three hundred rules of ritual and the three thousand rules of deportment . 
 When the great Dao differentiates, humaneness and righteousness appear — this too is natural. When Laozi says “when the great Dao falls into disuse, humaneness and righteousness appear,” this is the formulation of one giving rise to two. When he says “sever humaneness and discard righteousness,” this is the formulation of merging two back into one — returning to the root and restoring the source. He is by no means disparaging humaneness and righteousness. If one takes it as disparaging humaneness and righteousness, then in the Lower Volume he himself says “when Dao is lost, then comes De” — by that reading he would be disparaging even his own De. Would that not be contradicting himself? 
 It is simply that humaneness and righteousness are born from the great Dao. Laozi argues from the standpoint of Heaven’s Dao, and therefore treats humaneness and righteousness as subordinate. Since the great Dao has already transformed into humaneness and righteousness, one must pass through humaneness and righteousness to regenerate the great Dao. Mencius argues from the standpoint of the human Dao, and therefore values humaneness and righteousness. Otherwise, consider: Mencius’s overarching purpose was precisely to refute heterodox teachings and rectify the human heart. Yang Zhu and Mo Di were obstructing humaneness and righteousness, and Mencius regarded them as a flood of savage beasts. If Laozi were truly disparaging humaneness and righteousness, why did Mencius not utter a single word against him? 
 Moreover, although Mencius promoted humaneness and righteousness, he did not say outright “humaneness and righteousness” but rather “there is also humaneness and righteousness.” The word “also” already carries a sense of the extraordinary. In extraordinary times, humaneness and righteousness come to the fore. Valuing humaneness and righteousness was the remedy for the catastrophe of the Warring States. Otherwise, Confucius placed the highest value on humaneness yet spoke of righteousness only rarely. In the “Liyun” chapter’s vision of the Great Unity, he speaks only of cultivating trust and fostering harmony, and does not say “humaneness, righteousness, ritual propriety, and wisdom.” Is this not to suggest that Confucius and Mencius are also at odds? 
 In truth, what the sages said had its specific purpose in each case. Mencius spoke of humaneness and righteousness to rescue the calamity of the age of chaos and advance it toward the age of rising peace. Confucius spoke of cultivating trust and fostering harmony to advance the age of rising peace toward the Great Unity. Laozi spoke of Dao and De to advance the Great Unity toward transformation through sincerity. This is why I am planning to establish the International Society of Dao and De: first annotating Mencius, then the “Liyun” chapter, and then the Dao De Jing — precisely for this reason. 
 Some may ask: whether this explanation is right or wrong need not be debated. But since we are using humaneness and righteousness to save the present-day calamity of war, we need only promote the teachings of Mencius — why bother annotating the Dao De Jing as well? What they fail to understand is that this is speaking in terms of the broad outline. If we examine the fine points, speaking of humaneness and righteousness also involves Dao and De, and speaking of Dao and De also involves humaneness and righteousness. Within Mencius there is also the Dao De Jing , and within the Dao De Jing there is also Mencius. Humaneness and righteousness are the broad outline of Dao and De; Dao and De are the destination toward which humaneness and righteousness return. Without Dao and De there can be no humaneness and righteousness. Apart from humaneness and righteousness there can be no Dao and De. Humaneness and righteousness are certainly important — but Dao and De are also important! 
 As for this Discourse of mine: established scholars and elder masters will certainly denounce it as fabrication. Yet the ruin of learning in our country is precisely caused by clinging rigidly to the established doctrines of our forebears without daring the slightest further inquiry. This is why I brave reproach and offer this reckless interpretation.

Chapter 19
絕聖棄智，民利百倍。絕仁棄義，民復孝慈。絕巧棄利，盜賊無有。此三者以為文不足，固令有所屬。見素抱樸，少私無慾。 
 Translation 
 Sever ability, discard cunning —
the people benefit a hundredfold.
Sever humaneness, discard righteousness —
the people return to filial devotion and loving care.
Sever cleverness, discard profit —
thieves and bandits cease to exist. 
 These three, as mere refinements, are not enough.
Therefore, let the people have something to hold to:
perceive the unadorned, embrace the unhewn —
diminish self-interest, be without desire. 
 Word Notes 
 
 絕 — "sever" : To cut off absolutely, to bring to an end. 
 聖 — "ability" : Capability, skill. Not "sagehood" — the author glosses this character specifically as "ability." 
 素 — "the plain" : The original, unadorned substance. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Without recourse to ability and having discarded cunning , the people will naturally not compete through ability and cleverness — their benefit will be a hundredfold . Without recourse to humaneness and having discarded righteousness , the people will naturally not pursue the empty fame of humaneness and righteousness, and will return to filial devotion and loving care . Without recourse to cleverness and having discarded profit , the people will naturally not become greedy and deceitful, and thieves and bandits will cease to exist . These three things the Sage regarded as ornamental refinements, insufficient to transform all under Heaven. Therefore he taught the hundred families to find another allegiance — to perceive their original face, to embrace the genuine sincerity of pristine simplicity, to diminish self-interest, and to be without greedy desire. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter elaborates the meaning of the preceding chapter, teaching people to return to the pure simplicity and nonaction of high antiquity — the fine tradition of not recognizing virtue as such and not knowing the ruler's hand. 
 Yet Laozi also harbored a certain grievance. The customs of the age had grown thin and debased: everyone practiced deception and fraud, and things had reached the extreme. If a person did not resort to cunning schemes and deceitful stratagems, he could not survive in the world. It had almost come to the point where everyone in all under Heaven was the equivalent of thieves who tunnel through walls and climb over fences. If we trace this to its root cause, the blame lies with those old and deeply cunning ones who deceived people with false humaneness and counterfeit righteousness. Through mutual influence, this became the prevailing custom, flowing ever further downward, until it fermented into this wretched state of affairs. All the fine words the ancients spoke — humaneness, righteousness, sagehood, wisdom — were appropriated by deceitful schemers who used them as stock-in-trade for cheating people. 
 Laozi wished to set things right, yet he was buried away in his post as Keeper of the Archives, without political power, and could do nothing about it. Therefore he spoke from the reverse side, in order to startle the world awake. How could he truly have been disparaging sagehood, wisdom, humaneness, and righteousness?

Chapter 20
絕學無憂。唯之與阿。相去幾何。善之與惡。相去何若。人之所畏。不可不畏。荒兮其未央哉。眾人熙熙如享大牢。如登春臺。我獨泊兮其未兆。如嬰兒之未孩。乘乘兮若無所歸。眾人皆有餘。而我獨若遺。我愚人之心也哉。沌沌兮俗人昭昭。我獨若昏。俗人察察。我獨悶悶。忽兮若晦。寂兮似無所止。眾人皆有以。我獨頑似鄙。我獨異於人。而貴食母。 
 Translation 
 Abandon learning — be free of worry.
Between assent and rebuke,
how great is the distance?
Between good and evil,
what is the difference?
What others fear,
I too must not dismiss.
Vast and boundless — it stretches on without end! 
 The multitude are merry and bright,
as though feasting at a grand banquet,
as though ascending the terrace in spring.
I alone am still, giving no sign —
like an infant who has not yet learned to smile.
Adrift, unhurried, as though with nowhere to return. 
 The multitude all have more than enough;
I alone seem to have lost everything.
Mine is the heart of a fool —
muddled and dim.
The common people shine with knowing;
I alone seem lost in shadow.
The common people are sharp and sure;
I alone am dull and withdrawn.
Faint, as though dissolved in darkness;
desolate, as though with nowhere to rest. 
 The multitude all have their purpose;
I alone am stubborn and rough-hewn.
I alone differ from others —
and prize being nourished at the Source. 
 Word Notes 
 
 唯 — "assent" : A direct, straightforward response. 
 阿 — "rebuke" : A crooked, evasive response. 
 荒 — "vast" : Great, immense. 
 熙熙 — "merry and gay" : In a state of cheerful ease and delight. 
 泊 — "still" : Tranquil, without attachment. 
 乘乘 — "drifting" : In motion, moving about. 
 沌沌 — "muddled" : Undifferentiated and unaware. 
 昭昭 — "bright and knowing" : Luminously clear. 
 悶悶 — "dull and confused" : Dim and unknowing. 
 晦 — "darkness" : Not bright, obscured. 
 寂 — "desolate" : Empty and still. 
 頑 — "stubborn" : Foolish, intractable. 
 鄙 — "uncouth" : Crude, unrefined. 
 食 — "nourished" : To feed, to sustain. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Having abandoned the learning of worldly names and forms, one is free of the worry born of discrimination and calculation. Between the direct and the crooked, how great is the distance? Between good and evil, what is the difference? One simply listens and lets it pass. What others fear , I too cannot fail to fear. Yet I have transcended the cycles of Heaven and Earth — vast and boundless, without end or boundary — so what is there to fear? 
 The multitude are merry and gay , greedy for the pleasures of desire, as though feasting at a great banquet, as though ascending the terrace to enjoy fine music in spring. I alone am tranquil , showing no stirring of desire — like an infant who has not yet learned to smile , lively and free, moving as Heaven moves, without the slightest taint. The multitude all have self-satisfied hearts. I alone seem to have lost everything — empty and hollow through and through. Mine is the heart of a fool — muddled and murky! The common people draw excessively on their brightness ; I alone seem benighted , knowing nothing. The common people are excessively sharp and discerning ; I alone am dull and confused , making no distinctions. Dim , as though unknowing, shrouded in darkness . Desolate , as though with nowhere to rest . The multitude all have something to rely upon. I alone am stubborn and uncouth , as though without ability. In everything, I alone differ from others — yet I prize returning to the source, nourishing myself with the pre-celestial . 
 Discourse 
 Confucius opens his mouth and speaks of learning. From learning comes delight, then joy, then the equanimity of not taking offense. Laozi, on the other hand, says "abandon learning — be free of worry." Being free of worry and not taking offense amount to the same thing. Learning and not-learning, however, stand in utter opposition. Yet people do not realize that Confucius taught from the standpoint of the human Dao, and therefore taught the path of learning from below to reach above. Laozi spoke from the standpoint of Heaven's Dao, and therefore needed no learning at all. 
 Moreover, what Laozi would have people abandon is not the learning Confucius spoke of. It is the learning of those worldly scholars who cling obsessively to names, forms, and appearances, who sort things into categories of good and evil, straight and crooked, until they fall into attachment to words and attachment to principles and phenomena — laboring in worry their whole lives without ever seeing Dao clearly. This is why he shatters it with one stroke: "Abandon learning — be free of worry." 
 Yet there are those who, while not falling into attachment to words or attachment to principles and phenomena, shrink from difficulty and settle for comfort. They look upon cultivation of Dao as climbing to Heaven. They cling to life and fear death, fear poverty and fear lowliness. Or they are entangled in desire, craving fine flavors and chasing sensory pleasures. Or they are self-satisfied and full of themselves, unable to receive with an empty heart. Or they exhaust their cleverness, or scrutinize petty affairs, or rely on wealth and status, or pride themselves on talent and ability. All of these are enough to obstruct Dao. One must shatter every last one and return to the state before birth — unknowing, unaware, in the muddled and dim primordial Heaven. Only then can one see one's original face. With the pre-celestial emptiness as nourishment, there is a nameless and indescribable true joy, compared to which the pleasures of grand banquets and spring terraces are inferior by ten thousand upon ten thousand times. 
 In the school of Confucius, only Yan Hui shed his cleverness and cast aside his cunning, appearing foolish all day long, with precisely this kind of bearing. That is why he could remain unchanged in his joy.

Chapter 21
孔德之容。唯道是從。道之為物。唯恍唯惚。惚兮恍兮。其中有象。恍兮惚兮。其中有物。竊兮冥兮。其中有精。其精甚真。其中有信。自古及今。其名不去。以閱眾甫。吾何以知眾甫之然哉。以此。 
 Translation 
 The bearing of abundant De
follows only Dao.
Dao as a thing —
elusive and obscure.
Obscure and elusive:
within it there is image.
Elusive and obscure:
within it there is substance.
Profound and hidden:
within it there is essence.
Its essence is utterly real;
within it there is evidence.
From antiquity to the present,
its name has never departed —
through it, all origins are discerned.
How do I know the nature of all origins?
By this. 
 Word Notes 
 
 竊冥 — "profound and dark" : Deeply hidden, unfathomable. 
 閱 — "surveyed" : To pass through, to examine across time. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One whose bearing is that of abundant De follows only Dao. Dao as a thing is supremely subtle — elusive and obscure , impossible to see. Though it is impossible to see, within the elusive and obscure there is yet image . Within the elusive and obscure there is yet substance . In what is profound and dark , beyond fathoming, there is yet essence . Its essence is utterly real ; within it there is evidence that can be relied upon. This Dao, from antiquity to the present day , has never lost its name . Through it, all of Heaven, Earth, and the myriad beings are surveyed. How do I know that Heaven, Earth, and the myriad beings issue from Dao? Because Dao is elusive, obscure, profound, and dark — it cannot be destroyed or extinguished. 
 Discourse 
 One whose bearing is that of abundant De still follows only Dao — how much more must such a person nourish themselves inwardly through Dao. The divine subtlety of Dao cannot be called nonexistent, nor can it be called existent. To take it as nonexistent would be dead emptiness. To take it as existent would be to cling to form and appearance. Yet precisely within this space that is at once without and with, with and without, there is a formless image and a roughly formed substance. What are this image and this substance? If one could point to them concretely, one would already have lost their essential nature. Yet if nothing is said, people will fail to understand. Let me, then, venture to describe it: it is the pivot at the moment when the Ultimateless gives rise to the Supreme Ultimate — something inchoate and undifferentiated within. Though named image and substance, it remains profound and dark beyond fathoming. And within that profundity there is indeed true essence, with evidence that can be relied upon. If a person can embody this and put it into practice, they can unite with Dao and share in its eternity — enduring from antiquity to the present, never departing.

Chapter 22
曲則全。枉則直。窪則盈。敝則新。少則得。多則惑。是以聖人抱一為天下式。不自見故明。不自是故彰。不自伐故有功。不自矜故長。夫唯不爭。故天下莫能與之爭。古之所謂曲則全者。豈虛言哉。誠全而歸之。 
 Translation 
 The crooked shall be made whole;
the bent shall be made straight.
The hollow shall be filled;
the worn shall be made new.
With little, one gains;
with much, one goes astray. 
 Therefore the Sage embraces the One
and becomes the pattern for all under Heaven.
Not displaying himself, he is luminous.
Not asserting he is right, he becomes evident.
Not proclaiming his merit, he achieves.
Not praising himself, he endures.
Because he alone does not contend,
no one under Heaven can contend with him. 
 The ancient saying, "the crooked shall be made whole" —
how could this be empty words?
Truly, wholeness returns to him. 
 Word Notes 
 
 曲 — "crooked" : Bent to one side, partial. 
 窪 — "hollow" : Sunken low, depressed. 
 惑 — "goes astray" : Confused, led astray. 
 彰 — "distinguished" : Made manifest, celebrated. 
 伐 — "proclaiming merit" : Declaring one's own achievements. 
 矜 — "proud" : Given to self-praise. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 In all things, what is crooked can be made whole . What is bent can be made straight . What is hollow can be filled . What is worn can be made new . With little , one can gain . With much , one becomes bewildered . For this reason, the Sage holds fast to a single, undivided heart, making no distinctions whatsoever, and serves as the pattern for all under Heaven . He does not display his own brilliance , and therefore he is truly luminous . He does not insist upon being right or seek to distinguish himself, and therefore he is truly distinguished . He does not proclaim his own merit , and therefore he truly has merit . He does not boast of his own strengths , and therefore he truly endures . All of this flows from non-contention . Because he does not contend , no one under Heaven is able to contend with him . The ancients said "the crooked shall be made whole" — is this empty talk? Truly, without seeking it, wholeness comes of itself and returns to him. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter teaches that the crooked, the bent, the hollow, the worn, and the little are what the world does not want. The whole, the straight, the full, the new, and the much are what the world fights to obtain. Yet people do not realize that among all things between Heaven and Earth, fullness and emptiness, waning and waxing, cycle without ceasing. Why contend? Moreover, the crooked and the whole, the bent and the straight, and all the rest — are they not mere projections of worldly delusion? 
 Therefore the Sage rises above all names and appearances, steps beyond all dualistic opposition, and rests in pure stillness without contention. Since he does not contend with others, even those who might wish to contend with him find no ground upon which to do so. Naturally, his reality and his name arrive together — without contention, he gains all of himself.

Chapter 23
希言自然。飄風不終朝。驟雨不終日。孰為此者天地。天地尚不能久。而況於人乎。故從事於道者。道者同於道。德者同於德。失者同於失。同於道者。道亦樂得之。同於德者。德亦樂得之。同於失者。失亦樂得之。信不足有不信。 
 Translation 
 Spare words — accord with the natural. 
 A whirlwind does not last the morning;
a sudden downpour does not last the day.
Who brings these about? Heaven and Earth.
If even Heaven and Earth cannot sustain them,
how much less can human beings? 
 Therefore, one who follows the way of Dao:
in Dao, becomes one with Dao;
in De, becomes one with De;
in loss, becomes one with loss.
One with Dao — Dao gladly receives them.
One with De — De gladly receives them.
One with loss — loss gladly receives them. 
 Where trust falls short,
distrust will follow. 
 Word Notes 
 
 希 — "spare" : Few, infrequent. 
 飄風 — "whirlwind" : A fierce gale. 
 驟雨 — "sudden downpour" : A sudden, violent downpour. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Be sparing in argumentative words and follow the course of the natural . A fierce gale does not blow through an entire morning. A sudden downpour does not last an entire day. Who sends the gale and the downpour? Heaven and Earth. When Heaven and Earth act unnaturally, even they cannot sustain it . How much less so for human beings? 
 Therefore, one who devotes oneself to Dao : when meeting those who have Dao, becomes one with them in Dao . When meeting those who have De, becomes one with them in De . When meeting those who have lost the way, becomes one with them in their loss . Being one with those of Dao , Dao itself is content and at ease . Being one with those of De , De itself is content and at ease . Being one with those who have lost , loss itself is content and at ease . Otherwise, if one's trust is insufficient , no amount of forceful argument will make people believe . 
 Discourse 
 The preceding chapter taught non-contention between the crooked and the whole, the bent and the straight, and all such dualities — this was to quiet the contending of people in the world at large. This chapter teaches sparing words to accord with the natural — this is to quiet the contending of people who study and teach. 
 For among scholars and students, once there is the slightest thread of illumination, each clings rigidly to his own view. Not only do they divide into sects and factions, attacking those who differ while sheltering those who agree — the ardent look at the scrupulous and call them too rigid, while the scrupulous look at the ardent and call them too reckless. Those of the lesser vehicle do not accept the greater vehicle. Those of the greater vehicle do not accept the lesser vehicle. And toward ordinary people in the world, they are even less willing to make room. So they argue back and forth, disputing without end, their writings running on page after page, their books so numerous they make the ox sweat and fill the house to the rafters. Yet the more they argue, the more entrenched each side becomes, and Dao grows only more obscure. Scholars who come after have no way to tell which side to follow, and people of the world dare not even approach. Is this not the very harm caused by contention? 
 Therefore, the consummate sage who stands above all others practices the teaching without words. Meeting those who have Dao, he becomes one with them. Meeting those who have De, he becomes one with them. Meeting those who have lost the way, he becomes one with them too. Not only does he become one with them — self and other dissolve, and all alike forget themselves in a shared contentment. He makes them feel as though seated in a warm spring breeze — drawing close to him, growing fond of him — until without knowing it they are quietly transformed in their very nature. 
 The Doctrine of the Mean speaks of acting from one's present station and being content in any circumstance. The Bodhisattva Guanyin manifests in every manner of form to teach the Dharma. In the Zhuangzi , there is Wang Tai, the footless man of Lu — he did not teach while standing, did not deliberate while seated, yet those who followed him went empty and returned full, without outward instruction yet inwardly transformed. Confucius called him a sage. All of them used this very method. 
 Otherwise, when people do not believe, forcing the point through argument only makes an already difficult thing more difficult still.

Chapter 24
跂者不立。跨者不行。自見者不明。自是者不彰。自伐者無功。自矜者不長。其在道曰餘食贅行。物或惡之。故有道者不處。 
 Translation 
 Stand on tiptoe — you cannot hold your ground.
Stride too wide — you cannot walk.
Display yourself — you will not be luminous.
Insist you are right — you will not be distinguished.
Boast of your deeds — you will claim no merit.
Flaunt your strengths — you will not endure. 
 From the vantage of Dao, these are
leftover food and excess baggage —
even creatures find them loathsome.
Therefore one who has Dao does not dwell there. 
 Word Notes 
 
 跂 — "stand on tiptoe" : To raise oneself on the toes. 
 跨 — "stride too wide" : To lift the legs in an exaggerated step. 
 贅 — "excess" : Superfluous, redundant. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One who stands on tiptoe hoping to appear tall cannot hold his ground . One who strides too wide hoping to go far cannot walk . One who displays himself cannot be truly luminous . One who insists he is right cannot be truly distinguished . One who boasts of his deeds will have no merit . One who flaunts his strengths will not endure . Spoken in terms of Dao, these are called craving too much food and craving too great a journey — eating to excess and traveling to exhaustion. Even creatures find such behavior loathsome. Therefore one who has Dao does not do these things. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter continues to develop the meaning of non-contention from the two preceding chapters. It further warns emphatically against the great harm of overreaching and rushing ahead — that even creatures find such behavior loathsome. If a person insists on contending recklessly, he falls below even the level of creatures. 
 Yet Laozi's principle of non-contention is not the doctrine of spineless, shameless resignation. This has already been distinguished and clarified multiple times in earlier chapters. There is no need to say more here.

Chapter 25
有物渾成。先天地生。寂兮寥兮。獨立而不改。周行而不殆。可以為天下母。吾不知其名。字之曰道。強為之名曰大。大曰逝。逝曰遠。遠曰反。故道大。天大。地大。王亦大。域中有四大。而王居其一焉。人法地。地法天。天法道。道法自然。 
 Translation 
 Something there is, whole and undivided,
born before Heaven and Earth.
Silent, boundlessly open —
standing alone, it does not change.
Moving through all things, it does not falter.
It may be called the mother of all under Heaven. 
 I do not know its name.
I style it "Dao."
Forced to name it, I call it "great."
Great — it flows forth.
Flowing forth — it reaches far.
Reaching far — it returns. 
 Therefore: Dao is great.
Heaven is great.
Earth is great.
The human being, too, is great.
Within the world there are four greats,
and the human being dwells among them. 
 The human being follows Earth.
Earth follows Heaven.
Heaven follows Dao.
Dao follows what is naturally so. 
 Word Notes 
 
 寥 — "boundlessly open" : Expansive, vast. 
 逝 — "flows forth" : Goes, departs, passes onward. 
 域 — "the world" : The realm, the cosmos. 
 王 — "the human being" : JXZ reads 王 (wáng, king) as meaning 人 (rén, human being). The human being is the most numinous of the myriad beings; therefore it is called "king." 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 There is a thing, formed in a single whole , born before Heaven and Earth . It is silent and unmoving, boundlessly open and empty. It stands alone without counterpart, enduring through all ages yet never changing . It circulates through everything in all existence yet never falters . It gives birth to every being under Heaven, and may be called the mother of all. I do not know this thing's name. By way of a courtesy name, I call it Dao . Pressed to give it a proper name, I call it great . Being great, it can transform without leaving a trace — this is called flowing forth . Going far beyond all boundaries — this is called reaching far . Though it reaches far, it is right before us at this very moment — this is called returning . 
 Consider how those who voyage across the sea, upon reaching the farthest point, turn and come back — this is precisely what is meant by "reaching far, it returns." 
 Therefore, Dao is great, Heaven is great, Earth is great, and the human being, too, is great . Within the world there are four greats , and the human being holds one of them. Though the human being is but a small body, the heart's capacity extends beyond Heaven and Earth. If one is to bring this greatness to fulfillment: take Earth as one's model and bear all things without exception. Go further and take Heaven as one's model — as Heaven covers all things without exception. Further still, take Dao as one's model, which gives birth to all things without appearing to do so. And as Dao gives birth to the myriad beings as a matter of course, take the natural as one's model. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter speaks at length of the subtlety of Dao and of Dao's function. Though Dao is mysterious and unfathomable, the human being, having been born from Dao, possesses the full substance of Dao. One need only turn back and seek it, bringing forth that full substance: following Earth, which is still and of deep De, bearing all things; following Heaven, which flows ceaselessly in its creative activity, giving life to all; following Dao, which gives birth to the myriad beings without appearing to give birth to them at all — everything in accordance with what is naturally so. Then one may share its title and stand as one of the four greats, transcending Heaven and Earth. Why stop at merely standing alongside them? 
 Earth, too, is in motion. Yet Earth is a solid body: its motion follows an orbit and a fixed measure, and it moves slowly. Heaven is of the nature of qi — its movement is constant and fluid, and all that is dispersed among the myriad beings belongs to it. This is why the ancients said "Heaven moves, Earth rests." Moreover, the Sage framed his argument on the basis of what the people could see, in order to reveal principle. Could it be that the Sage, whose learning spans the human and the divine, did not know that Earth moves? 
 To follow Dao is to give birth to the myriad beings without appearing to do so. All of it accords with what is naturally so. Then one may share its name and stand as one body with Dao, transcending Heaven and Earth — not merely joining them as the fourth among four greats.

Chapter 26
重為輕根，靜為躁君。是以聖人終日行，不離輜重。雖有榮觀，燕處超然。奈何萬乘之主，而以身輕天下。輕則失根，躁則失君。 
 Translation 
 The heavy is the root of the light;
the still is the master of the restless. 
 Thus the Sage travels all day
yet never strays from his supply wagon.
Though splendid vistas rise before him,
he rests at ease, transcendent and unmoved. 
 How then can the lord of ten thousand chariots
treat his own person lightly before all under Heaven?
To be light is to lose the root;
to be restless is to lose the master. 
 Word Notes 
 
 躁 — "restless, agitated" : Impetuousness, fidgeting haste. 
 輜 — "a covered wagon for resting in" : A vehicle in which one sleeps and rests during travel. 
 重 — "baggage, provisions" : The supplies and stores loaded on the wagon. 
 燕 — "at ease, composed" : Settled, peaceful. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 In all things, the heavy is the root of the light : what has weight serves as the foundation for what is light. The still is the master of the restless : what can be quiet commands what is agitated. Thus the Sage travels from morning to evening, all day long, and never parts from the wagon bearing his provisions . Even when the most magnificent and splendid sights appear before him, he sits steadily upon his wagon, transcendent and unmoved . How is it, then, that the lord of ten thousand chariots — the king of a state fielding ten thousand war-chariots — takes his own person lightly, rushing off to chase the world's splendors? He does not realize that lightness loses the root and restlessness loses the master . 
 Discourse 
 The great earth is heavy; all the light myriad beings grow upon its surface, and it is the root of all. The sea is still; all the restless hundred rivers flow into it, and it is the master of all waters. A person who is light and frivolous cannot bear responsibility. A person who is restless and agitated cannot endure for long. Only one who is grave and composed can bear heavy burdens and reach far destinations. Therefore the Sage travels all day without clinging to stillness for its own sake — he moves through the world, yet never strays from his supply wagon, never daring to treat himself lightly. Though he be honored as the Son of Heaven, possessing all within the four seas, enjoying the utmost splendor the human world can offer — he not only regards these things as what he has always had; he looks upon them as one would a worn-out shoe. Transcendent, dwelling beyond the world, his heart utterly unmoved, he is not drawn along by outward splendor. How then is it that those of the utmost nobility — lords of ten thousand chariots, the proverbial "sons of a family worth a thousand in gold" — if we take this to mean only the sovereign of a great state, then must everyone apart from the sovereign not cherish their person? They lightly cast aside their person, abandoning themselves to passions and desires, soaring and fluttering in agitation, until they lose the root and lose the master. How truly lamentable.

Chapter 27
善行無轍跡，善言無瑕謫，善計不用籌策，善閉無關鍵而不可開，善結無繩約而不可解。是以聖人常善救人，故無棄人；常善救物，故無棄物。是謂襲明。故善人不善人之師，不善人善人之資。不貴其師，不愛其資，雖知大迷。是謂要妙。 
 Translation 
 One skilled in traveling leaves no ruts or tracks;
one skilled in speaking leaves no flaw to censure;
one skilled in reckoning uses no tallies or counters;
one skilled in closing uses no bolt or lock, yet what is closed cannot be opened;
one skilled in binding uses no cord or knot, yet what is bound cannot be undone. 
 Thus the Sage is ever skilled at rescuing people,
and so no person is cast aside;
ever skilled at rescuing things,
and so no thing is cast aside.
This is called making insight manifest. 
 Therefore the good person is the teacher of the not-good,
and the not-good person is the resource of the good.
Not to value one's teacher,
not to cherish one's resource —
however clever one may be, this is great delusion.
This is called the essential mystery. 
 Word Notes 
 
 轍 — "ruts" : Wheel-ruts left by a carriage. 
 瑕 — "flaw" : A defect, an imperfection. 
 謫 — "to censure" : To count up another's faults. 
 籌 — "tallies" : Counting sticks, an abacus. 
 策 — "counters" : Counting rods used for calculation. 
 關 — "bolt" : The horizontal crossbar used to bar a door. 
 鍵 — "lock" : A lock or latch. 
 約 — "knot, to bind" : To tie up with a cord. 
 襲 — "to make manifest" : To display outwardly. JXZ's reading; standard interpretations render this as "concealing" or "inheriting." 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One skilled in traveling leaves no ruts or tracks. One skilled in speaking has no flaw that can be pointed out or censured. One skilled in reckoning needs no abacus or counting rods to calculate. One skilled in closing uses no bolt or lock, yet what is closed cannot be opened. One skilled in binding uses no cord to tie a knot, yet what is bound cannot be undone. Thus the Sage is ever skilled at rescuing people , and so no person is cast aside . He is ever skilled at rescuing things , and so no thing is cast aside . This is called making one's own insight manifest . Therefore the good person is the teacher of the not-good person ; the not-good person is the resource of the good person . If the good person does not value his standing as teacher, and does not cherish those who may serve as his resource — even if he is very clever, he is in fact profoundly deluded. This is the most essential and marvelous secret. 
 Discourse 
 Mencius said: "Those who accord with the center nurture those who do not; those who have ability nurture those who lack it. If those who accord with the center were to cast away those who do not, and those with ability were to cast away those without, then the distance between worthy and unworthy would not amount to even an inch." The Buddhist scriptures say: "The Buddha ferries all beings across; all beings ferry the Buddha across." Western philosophers say: "Heroes create the times; the times create heroes." All of these illuminate the central meaning of this chapter and corroborate one another. One can see that the sages of all ages and all lands, without exception, are rescuers of people and things. Without exception, they bring all the people and things of the world to completion. And in doing so, they themselves attain great accomplishment. Therefore it is inevitable that one must borrow the people and things of the world in order to bring oneself to completion. Suppose Mencius had not encountered an age when human hearts ran wild and perverse doctrines ran rampant — he could not have become the Second Sage who championed orthodoxy and refuted heterodoxy. Suppose Shakyamuni had not encountered an age when human hearts were confused, when licentiousness, killing, greed, and violence raged — he could not have become the Buddha, the teacher of gods and humans. Suppose Washington had not encountered an age of despotic cruelty — he could not have become the foremost great man who created the United States. It is precisely because the world is in chaos and human hearts have gone bad that the perfect raw material for accomplishment is present. When the raw material appears, the person with keen eyes and quick hands seizes it first. Opportunity must never be lost. Alas! Today the entire globe is engulfed in slaughter, ruined beyond repair, in a manner unprecedented since antiquity. The world truly has reached the utmost extreme of chaos. Treacherous schemes and deceitful plots are ruthlessly inflicted upon even one's closest kin and dearest friends. Greed, violence, and cruelty treat people worse than animals. This too is unprecedented since antiquity. Human hearts truly have reached the utmost extreme of corruption. Since the corruption of the times and of human hearts is without precedent since antiquity, it follows that the raw material for accomplishing great heroes and great sages has also reached an unprecedented richness, and the circumstances for accomplishing great heroes and great sages have also reached an unprecedented ripeness. The great heroes and great sages who will emerge in the future to save the world must likewise be without precedent. And the people who assist those great heroes and great sages in saving the world will similarly be without precedent. The American President Wilson, along with England, France, and other nations, at the conclusion of the European War, established the League of Nations for Perpetual Peace to maintain lasting peace. If they can truly persevere from start to finish and hold firm to the end, they too may truly be called great sages and great heroes without precedent since antiquity. Laozi calls those who rescue people and things "good persons." I go further and honor them with the title "beautiful persons." Confucius praised the music of Shun as "perfectly beautiful and perfectly good." A beautiful person ranks higher than a good person. Laozi says: "The good person is the teacher of the not-good." I say: "The beautiful person is the teacher of the not-beautiful; the not-beautiful person is the resource of the beautiful person." The Book of Odes says: "Of whom do I think? The beautiful one in the west. That beautiful one — the one of the west!" I chant this verse three times, and cannot help but send my prayers and blessings toward the west. 
 Now, everyone under Heaven who has the slightest human feeling wants to rescue people and things. Yet countless people who wish to rescue people and things find themselves unable to rescue anyone or anything. Why is this? It is because they are not skilled at rescuing people, not skilled at rescuing things. Laozi says: "The Sage is ever skilled at rescuing people, and so no person is cast aside; ever skilled at rescuing things, and so no thing is cast aside." Those who are skilled at rescuing people and things leave no visible trace. They rescue people through Dao, not through wealth. They rescue people through humaneness, not through petty kindness. They cause all the people under Heaven — men to find their proper occupations, women to find their proper homes. Each person is settled in their own livelihood. Even the old, the young, the disabled, and the infirm can support themselves through some skill. Even the most obstinate and intractable can be gently guided and persuaded until they return to the proper path. Naturally, no one is useless or worthy of being cast aside. As for rescuing things — likewise, each thing is given its proper use. Even the most poisonous and filthy things have their uses and are not to be discarded. Only then can all species dwell together without contention, and all things grow together without harming one another. As for philanthropists who give out clothing and meals — the merit they accumulate is certainly great. But those who receive such aid often develop a habit of dependence. As for buying captive animals and releasing them — this too has great merit, but it reaches very few. I do not say these things are bad; I say only that they cannot save all under Heaven. Confucius said: "The good person does not follow in others' footsteps, yet neither does he enter the inner chamber." How then can such a person rescue all the people and things under Heaven? Consider: throughout his entire life, Confucius never engaged in any charitable enterprise. He merely edited the Odes , established the Rites , and bequeathed teachings and set down laws. Naturally he was able to fulfill the nature of all people and things. Fulfilling the nature of all people and things — causing all people and all the myriad beings to find their proper place — that is what it means to be truly skilled at rescuing people and things. These two statements of Laozi's are truly of the most profound mystery. All great educators who enlighten the people's wisdom and nurture the people's virtue; all great industrialists who benefit the people's livelihood and enrich the people's welfare — all are contained within these words. The vulgar and undiscerning say that the learning of Laozi is quietistic nonaction, purely negative, a parasite upon the world. But consider carefully: the words of this chapter contain a great and active purpose. They go so far as to directly reproach those who merely keep themselves clean and pure, who embrace a philosophy of world-weariness, calling them "greatly deluded." Is the learning of Laozi really negativism? It is simply that Laozi's mode of action is nonaction that leaves nothing undone. Though ten thousand affairs swirl about him, he remains clear and still within himself. He grasps the essential principle, follows the natural momentum of circumstances, and acts without forcing, without artifice — that is all.

Chapter 28
知其雄，守其雌，為天下溪。常德不離，復歸於嬰兒。知其白，守其黑，為天下式。常德不忒，復歸於無極。知其榮，守其辱，為天下谷。常德乃足，復歸於樸。樸散則為器，聖人用之，則為官長。故大制不割。 
 Translation 
 Know the masculine, yet hold to the feminine —
become a stream in the valley for all under Heaven.
Constant De never departs;
one returns to the innocence of the infant. 
 Know the bright, yet hold to the dark —
become a standard for all under Heaven.
Constant De never errs;
one returns to the Ultimateless. 
 Know the glorious, yet hold to the humble —
become a valley for all under Heaven.
Constant De is at last complete;
one returns to unhewn wood. 
 When unhewn wood is split, it becomes mere implements.
The Sage employs the whole, and so becomes chief among all.
Thus the great fashioner does not cut. 
 Word Notes 
 
 雄 — "masculine" : The male among birds; by extension, strength and assertiveness. 
 雌 — "feminine" : The female among birds; by extension, yielding softness. 
 溪 — "stream in the valley" : A mountain brook running through low ground. 
 式 — "the crossbar of a carriage" : The horizontal bar at the front of a carriage upon which one leans forward in a gesture of respect. In ancient times, when showing reverence from a carriage, one would bow forward and lean upon this bar. 
 忒 — "to err, to deviate" : To go wrong, to miss the mark. 
 割 — "to cut apart" : To sever, to cleave. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One knows the masculine and its strength, yet holds to the feminine , taking softness and yielding as one's guiding principle. This is like being a stream in the valley for all under Heaven , positioning oneself in the lowly place. Being a stream in the valley for all under Heaven, positioning oneself in the lowly place — the constant De never departs , and one returns to the harmonious qi of the infant . One knows the bright and its radiance, yet holds to the dark , taking obscurity as one's guiding principle. This is like being a crossbar for all under Heaven — one who always bows low. Being a crossbar for all under Heaven, always bowing low — the constant De never errs , and one returns to the emptiness of the Ultimateless . One knows the glory of honor, yet holds to the humble , taking modesty and deference as one's guiding principle. This is like being a valley for all under Heaven , receiving all things with openness. Being a valley for all under Heaven, receiving all things with openness — the constant De is at last complete , and one returns to the undivided wholeness of unhewn wood . When unhewn wood is split apart, it becomes implements — each with only a single use. But when the Sage employs this unhewn wood , he can become the chief of all who use implements — his use is not limited to a single thing. Therefore the great fashioner does not cut apart the undivided wholeness of unhewn wood. 
 Discourse 
 Confucius said: "The noble person is not an implement." This is precisely what "the great fashioner does not cut" means. For once a person has become an implement, he has only a single use and cannot serve many purposes. Moreover, he is used by others and cannot be his own master. Take machinery, for instance. If used by good people, it may revitalize industry or defend the nation and protect the people — rendering genuine merit to the world and virtue to humankind. Yet after prolonged use it eventually breaks down. Once broken, people cast it into the dung heap or the rubble pile. If used by brigands, it may destroy people's homes or take people's lives — an accessory to evil, hated by all the world through all the ages. Alas! Heaven brings forth raw talent that becomes implements for the world's use, and yet it comes to such an end as this. Is this not deeply lamentable? Is this not bitterly unjust? I, reaching this point in my words, cannot restrain myself from weeping aloud on behalf of all the talented individuals throughout all ages and all lands. Persons of brilliance and outstanding ability, people of extraordinary talent and remarkable skill — they exist in every age and every place. In truth they deserve to be called great implements, sharp implements, precious implements. Yet examine the historical record: how many of them achieved lasting merit or lasting virtue? The great majority were exploited by treacherous ministers, entrapped by ruthless strongmen, made accessories to tyranny, bringing disaster upon the nation and calamity upon the people. In their own time their reputations were ruined and their lives destroyed, hated by all. After death they left behind a stench that lingers for ten thousand years, reviled and cursed. The world hates them, curses them. I alone grieve for them, pity them. They were implements, used by others, unable to be their own masters. Only by becoming a noble person can one avoid being exploited. 
 Someone may ask: "If everyone becomes a noble person, with no one consenting to be used, and there are no more implements in the world — can things still function?" The answer is this: "The noble person is not an implement" does not mean having no use. It means holding within oneself the primal substance from which all manner of implements can be fashioned, yet not assuming a fixed implement-form. When one sees clearly that the world cannot do without a particular implement, only then does one manifest a kind of divine implement — one possessing wondrous function yet having no fixed material form — to relieve people and benefit things. Once used, it returns at once to primal substance, and one is not appropriated by others. In former times, Confucius served as an overseer of livestock and as a keeper of granaries — this was a modest display of the divine implement's function for people to see. When he served as Minister of Justice and presided at the Jiagu conference, that was because he saw that things could not go on without the divine implement, and he briefly exercised its wondrous function to rescue the state of his father and mother. Yet when Dao could not prevail, he departed at once, never completing even three years in a post — this was returning the divine implement to primal substance. Min Ziqian, though possessed of virtue, firmly refused the Ji clan's summons. He did not dare venture forth to put it to the test — this was because he lacked the ability to transform from the heart and return to primal substance at will. Ran You levied taxes for the Ji clan; Zilu was killed in the turmoil in Wei — not only could they not transform, they could not even conceal their implements. Alas! Not being an implement — how difficult it truly is! 
 The method for becoming an implement at the right moment is the compass-rule of "following one's heart's desire without overstepping the bounds." Confucius transmitted this to Zengzi. Zengzi developed from it the method of the measuring-square. Zengzi transmitted it to Zisi. Zisi said: "In hewing a handle from a handle, the model is not far off." The "model" there is the same as the compass-rule. Zisi transmitted it to Mencius. Mencius said: "The compass and square are the utmost of circles and squares; the earlier sages and the later sages — their standard is one and the same." The "standard" there is also the compass-rule. And because there was no one to carry on the transmission, and the Way of the Sages was about to perish, they had no choice but to commit to writing even the wondrous method of returning to primal substance. Thus it is written: "Great and transforming — this is called sagely. Sagely and beyond all knowing — this is called divine." After Mencius, few have understood this wondrous method. Among scholars of repute, the most they could manage was to conceal their implements and wait for the right time, preserving themselves through wisdom. Beyond these, all others — heroes, warriors, literati, strategists alike — if employed by a good person, they became fine implements; if employed by a bad person, they became lethal implements. Only Zhang Zifang obtained this method from the Daoist tradition. When Zifang attempted to assassinate the First Emperor of Qin, he was still an untempered sharp blade that could not sheathe its edge. The Old Man of the Yellow Stone transmitted the method to him, and only then could he select, employ, and conceal implements. He manifested as a wondrous implement that set the great wheel in motion. He made use of the Hegemon-King of Chu's fierce implement to destroy the mighty Qin — avenging his lord and kin. He then made use of the Founder of the Han's great implement to destroy Chu — saving the people of all under Heaven. When the work was accomplished, he made his excuse and departed, returning to his primal substance. As for the Marquis of Huaiyin, the Marquises of Jiang and Guan, Xiao He, Cao Shen, and Chen Ping — though they served as generals, chancellors, marquises, and kings — they were merely accessories attached to the great wheel, nothing more. 
 Beyond Zifang, there was also the Marquis of Wu. Because Wang Mang had falsely invoked the Duke of Zhou, and Cao Cao had falsely posed as King Wen, the reputation by which sages sustained the world had been corrupted beyond repair. The Marquis of Wu wished to rectify this tradition of legitimate succession. Moreover, he was approached by the Former Sovereign with utter sincerity. And so he revealed himself as an implement of loyalty and integrity. Yet whether leading armies abroad or governing at court, he never changed the garments and cap of his former days — he showed only half his implement-face. Even before leaving his thatched cottage at Longzhong, he already harbored the intention to withdraw. Even that half-revealed implement was one he planned from the start to return to primal substance. Regrettably, the times he encountered were unfavorable, and before he could dissolve the implement and restore the primal substance, the implement itself was shattered. From that time on, even fewer have understood this principle. 
 Today, the study of implements has been developed to its utmost. It has brought convenient transportation and advancing civilization, and I heartily welcome it. But there remains something higher: the state of not being an implement that becomes a divine implement; the divine implement that dissolves into no implement at all — the most exalted and wondrous study of Dao. I humbly wish to join with all the humane people under Heaven to arise together and investigate it. If the people of the world regard this as pedantic and refuse to inquire even once, then I still have a lesser teaching for preserving one's implement. I respectfully offer a single word of counsel: Conceal your implement and await the right moment.

Chapter 29
將欲取天下而為之，吾見其不得已。天下神器，不可為也。為者敗之，執者失之。故物或行或隨，或噓或吸，或強或羸，或載或隳。是以聖人去甚，去奢，去泰。 
 Alternate editions read: 或挫 for 或載. 
 Translation 
 Whoever would seize all under Heaven and impose upon it —
I foresee he shall not succeed.
All under Heaven is a sacred vessel:
it cannot be imposed upon.
Whoever imposes upon it shall ruin it;
whoever clings to it shall lose it.
Among all beings, some lead and some follow;
some breathe warm and some breathe cool;
some are strong and some are frail;
some rise up and some fall away.
Therefore the Sage sets aside the excessive,
sets aside the extravagant,
sets aside the extreme. 
 Word Notes 
 
 噓 — "breathe warm" : To blow softly and warmly; gentle exhalation that warms. 
 吹 — "blow cool" : To blow sharply, producing cold. 
 羸 — "frail, weak" : Debilitated, emaciated. 
 隳 — "to fall away" : To crumble, to topple. 
 奢 — "extravagant" : Wasteful luxury. 
 泰 — "extreme, excessive" : Going beyond what is fitting; overdoing. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Whoever desires to seize all under Heaven and rule it by his own autocratic authority — I foresee that he shall not succeed . For all under Heaven is a most honored and weighty implement — a sacred vessel. It cannot be ruled by one person's autocratic authority. Whoever tries to rule by autocratic authority will be defeated. Whoever clings to power will lose it. For among the myriad beings, some go ahead and some follow behind; some breathe warm and some breathe cool; some are strong and some are weak; some can bear up and some fall away — none of this is fixed or uniform. How can one person's autocratic rule possibly work? Therefore the Sage does not force things but follows the natural course of all beings. He merely sets aside what is excessive, sets aside what is extravagant, and sets aside what is extreme . 
 Discourse 
 The supreme authority over all under Heaven is the most honored and precious vessel belonging to all the people. How can it be privately possessed by a single person? To snatch even a trifling possession from one person — that person will not willingly yield it. To snatch the precious vessel of all the people under Heaven — how can the people accept it? Therefore Laozi restrains human greed, saying that the sacred vessel of all under Heaven cannot be privately possessed by one person. Whoever seizes it by force will certainly be defeated. For the sacred vessel exists to preserve order and peace, to ensure the welfare of the people. If it is appropriated for one person's private use, harm inevitably spreads among the multitude, bringing disaster to all. Even without selfish or self-serving motives, one person's wisdom and deliberation are limited, while the affairs and principles under Heaven are inexhaustible. The geography of all under Heaven differs — some regions are warm, some cool, some rich, some lean. Human temperaments differ — some strong, some frail, some clever, some simple. Customs differ — some civilized, some undeveloped. How can one person's autocratic rule possibly work? Therefore the Sage who holds all under Heaven as a public trust selects the worthy and elevates the capable, instructing them to use this vessel to govern. He himself need not toil personally. He merely ensures that they do not overexert their strength, leaving room to maneuver, keeping things easy to turn about — so that strength is not exhausted and things do not break down.

Chapter 30
以道佐人主者，不以兵強天下。其事好還。師之所處，荊棘生焉。大兵之後，必有凶年。善者果而已，不敢以取強。果而勿矜，果而勿伐，果而勿驕，果而不得已，果而勿強。物壯則老，是謂不道。不道早已。 
 Translation 
 One who assists the ruler through Dao
does not use arms to overpower all under Heaven.
Such deeds readily rebound. 
 Where armies have camped,
thorns and brambles spring up.
After a great war,
years of famine surely follow. 
 The skilled one achieves the fruit, nothing more —
never daring to seize by force.
achieve the fruit without boasting;
achieve the fruit without vaunting;
achieve the fruit without arrogance;
achieve the fruit only because there is no other way;
achieve the fruit without overpowering. 
 When things reach full vigor, they grow old:
this is called departing from Dao.
What departs from Dao comes to an early end. 
 Word Notes 
 
 荊棘 — "thorns and brambles" : Scrubby, thorny bushes that scratch. 
 果 — "fruit" : The fruit of a tree — sweet and beautiful on the outside, containing a kernel within. The outer sweetness corresponds to harmony; the inner kernel corresponds to humaneness. 
 驕 — "arrogant" : Haughty, overbearing. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One who assists the ruler through Dao does not rely on military force to overpower all under Heaven. The consequences of killing through military force readily rebound. Where armies have encamped , the people die or flee, the land goes uncultivated, and thorns and brambles spring up wild . After a great war , the grievance-qi of the dead permeates the atmosphere as pestilence, and there are sure to be years of famine and catastrophe . Therefore one who is skilled at governing carries within himself ceaseless generative humaneness that benefits all under Heaven, while outwardly appearing rounded and concordant, meeting others without contention — that is all. He does not dare to seize dominance through military force. Though he benefits all under Heaven through humaneness, still he does not boast . Though he benefits all under Heaven through humaneness, still he does not vaunt his achievements . Though he benefits all under Heaven through humaneness, still he does not grow arrogant . The generative humaneness within him, ceaselessly striving and renewing, cannot be halted — yet still he does not push toward excessive dominance . For when the myriad beings reach full vigor, they grow old . Growing old means they have departed from Dao . Having departed from Dao, they come to an early end . 
 Discourse 
 This single character "fruit" is the method of the heart that runs from beginning to end in the Daoist tradition — the method of inner sagehood and outer kingship . Its inner sagehood is humaneness . Its outer kingship is harmony . Its quality of running from beginning to end is courage . Now let us take an actual fruit as illustration. Its outer skin is lustrous in color, sweet and fragrant in smell; to see it delights the eye and gladdens the heart; to eat it pleases the palate and refreshes the spirit. It can be offered to spirits and gods; it can be presented to honored guests. Moreover, it is rounded and smooth — and of all shapes, the round rolls most easily. Is this not harmony? Is this not the great common path of all under Heaven? Is this not what the noble person does when he uses beauty and benefit to benefit all under Heaven? Within it lies hidden the kernel. Mencius said: "Humaneness is the heart of the human being." Is this not inner sagehood? From the kernel sprouts a shoot, grows leaves, flowers, and bears fruit; within the fruit a new kernel forms. From beginning to end, it generates life without ceasing. What extraordinary courage this is! 
 Now let us take the practitioners of the Daoist tradition as further proof. As a rule, their humaneness is concealed within; outwardly nothing shows. When the people of all under Heaven can be rescued, they rescue them; when they cannot, they let things take their natural course and await the appointed time of Heaven. Not only does this differ from the Confucian learning that exhausts human effort and then unites with Heaven, but it has both life-giving and life-taking aspects, differing also from Buddhism's great compassion and great mercy. When they have attained Dao, they mostly roam playfully through the human world, unconstrained by formalities, using this as a means to relieve people and benefit things. Their blending of light and mingling with the dust resembles the Buddhist approach, but differs from the Confucian way of proceeding step by step, carefully following the rules. Their outer kingship takes harmony as its operative principle. The Confucian tradition also aims at bringing about perfect equilibrium and harmony — likewise taking harmony as its operative principle. But Confucian harmony and Daoist harmony differ slightly. The Daoist, upon first entering the path of cultivation, pushes everything aside, paying no heed to human sentiments, not even sparing the body. "The reason I face great trouble is that I have a body." Yet once the body is perfected, one enters the world and establishes merit. When the work is done, one retires swiftly with the courage of one braving a torrent, leaving no attachments behind. From start to finish, courage is the ruling principle. And this courage is the same across the sages of all three teachings. Not only the three teachings — the sages of all ten thousand teachings share it. For courage is the Dao of Heaven. Heaven moves ceaselessly in its creative activity, flowing on without rest. This "Dao of Heaven" is not the heaven of the lesser fruits of the human and celestial realms — students of Buddhism should discern this carefully. It is the common ground to which the sages of all teachings return. Therefore all ten thousand teachings are one and the same. If the people of all under Heaven today could awaken together to the principle of this fruit — storing humaneness and virtue within, displaying a rounded and concordant appearance without, and persevering from start to finish with courage — not only could the disasters of war be extinguished, but a world of great De and sincere transformation could be brought into being. The topic of the disasters of war in this chapter is elaborated in the Discourse on the following chapter.

Chapter 31
夫佳兵者，不祥之器。物或惡之，故有道者不處。君子居則貴左，用兵則貴右。兵者不祥之器，非君子之器。不得已而用之，恬淡為上。勝而不美，而美之者，是樂殺人。夫樂殺人者，不可得志於天下矣。吉事尚左，凶事尚右。偏將軍居左，上將軍居右。言以喪禮處之。殺人眾多，以悲哀泣之。戰勝以喪禮處之。 
 Translation 
 Now, fine weapons
are instruments of ill omen.
All beings may despise them;
therefore one who holds to the Dao does not resort to them. 
 The noble person at home honors the left;
in taking up arms, he honors the right.
Weapons are instruments of ill omen,
not the instruments of the noble person.
Only when there is no alternative does he take them up,
and even then holds calm composure as his highest principle.
He prevails but finds no glory in it.
To find glory in it
is to take delight in killing.
One who takes delight in killing
cannot fulfill his purpose under Heaven. 
 In auspicious affairs, the left is honored;
in inauspicious affairs, the right is honored.
The lieutenant general takes his place at the left;
the supreme general takes his place at the right —
this signifies they stand in the rites of mourning. 
 When multitudes have been slain,
weep for them in grief and sorrow.
When victory is won,
receive it with the rites of mourning. 
 Word Notes 
 
 佳兵 — "fine weapons" : excellent weapons of war; spirited, well-trained troops and sharp blades. 
 恬 — "calm, tranquil" : inner composure, serene stillness. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 These brave and spirited troops, these keen and sharp weapons — these are instruments of ill omen . They take life and harm living beings. All creatures loathe them. Therefore one who possesses Dao does not employ them . The noble person at home honors the left; when using arms he honors the right. This shows that weapons are instruments of ill omen — they are not the instruments of the noble person . Only when there is a need to punish tyrants and rescue the people, to resist and repel external threats — only when there is no alternative — does he use them. Even then, calm composure and disciplined restraint, with no displays of military might, is his highest principle . Even if he wins the victory , he does not consider it glorious . To consider it glorious would be to delight in killing people . One who delights in killing people cannot fulfill his purpose under Heaven . Moreover, in auspicious affairs the left is honored; in inauspicious affairs the right is honored . The lieutenant general stands at the left; the supreme general stands at the right. This means they stand in the rites of mourning . This shows that weapons are indeed instruments of ill omen. When multitudes have been slain — weep for them in grief and sorrow. When the war is won — receive the occasion with the rites of mourning. Victory in battle is not considered something fine, and killing people is not considered a delight. 
 Discourse 
 Oh, how dreadful and cruel are the calamities of war since antiquity! Oh, how pitiable are those who have died or been wounded in them since antiquity! And never have they been more dreadful and pitiable than they are today. Take the ancient "Lament for the Ancient Battlefield" by Li Hua and set it beside a map of the present European war. Look at them together. What a spectacle of grief and horror! Why is today's calamity of war uniquely more terrible than those of the past? Because today's calamity was brewed and fermented from the calamities of the past. If today's calamity of war is not brought to rest, tomorrow's will be fiercer still. And it will grow ever fiercer, ever more terrible, until there is no one left in the world. This principle Laozi stated thousands of years ago: "One who assists the ruler through Dao does not use arms to overpower all under Heaven. Such deeds readily rebound. Where armies have camped, thorns and brambles spring up. After a great war, years of famine surely follow." 
 For there is a universal law in the cosmos: where there is a cause, there is an effect; where there is a sound, there is an echo; where there is an original force, there is a reactive force — and the reactive force is greater than the original force. How so? Suppose you strike a suspended object with fifty horsepower of force, tilting it to thirty degrees. If there were no air resistance, that object would swing back and forth without end. And so the oscillations go on, back and forth, without cease. When Laozi says "such deeds readily rebound," this is exactly what he means. When he says "where armies have camped, thorns and brambles spring up" — the thorns and brambles are the reactive force that comes afterward. They covertly refer to the warmongers and war-lovers who arise later. He does not call them persons — he calls them thorns and brambles. This expresses the most extreme loathing and detestation. Consider what thorns and brambles are: they grow in every direction without order, amounting to nothing of use, sprouting needles that prick people and harm living things, extending their malignant influence. Where they grow, no one can walk; flowers, grass, and grain cannot flourish. Truly they are things of the utmost poison and the utmost evil. These thorns and brambles inevitably spring up in the very places once ravaged by armies. Wherever a land has suffered the calamity of war, afterward there will inevitably emerge a warmonger and lover of killing to avenge the former wrongs. Examine the history of all ages and all lands, and it is always so — there would be no end to the telling. 
 Consider: King Wu of Zhou, leading an army of humaneness and righteousness, punished the tyrant and rescued the people. Yet Wugeng still rebelled. The Duke of Zhou campaigned eastward for three years, killing his own elder brother. He then enfeoffed Viscount Wei at Song and Viscount Ji in Korea, treating them as honored guests rather than subjects. He cultivated virtue and practiced humaneness, and only then was the malignant qi finally dispelled and all under Heaven at peace. Had the Duke of Zhou employed the strategy of pulling up the roots and cutting down to the last stump, slaughtering the descendants of the Yin wholesale, the calamity of the Warring States would have erupted immediately — one would not have had to wait until after the Eastern Zhou. Given the humaneness of King Wen and King Wu, there was still a minor upheaval. How then can those who relied on military force to annex others, who took delight in killing, possibly avoid retribution? 
 This principle was stated not only by Laozi — the sages of China and the West alike have stated it. Everyone under Heaven knows it. Even the warmongers and lovers of killing know it. Since they know it, why do they still make war and delight in killing? Because the grievance-qi of those who died in war remains unresolved. It inevitably brews itself into disaster. A single person who dies bearing a grievance can cause three years of drought. How much more so when countless people bear grievances! Therefore after a great war, years of famine surely follow — or pestilence, or terrible drought, or every kind of calamitous disaster. This too can be verified point by point in the history of all ages and all lands. Even with the humaneness of King Tang, there was still a seven-year drought. The rest may be inferred. 
 Those who die in war are certainly to be pitied. But those who die in the years of famine are also blameless. And so the grievance-qi accumulates more and more, growing more virulent with time. It permeates the human world, awaiting its opportunity to erupt. When it encounters people with hearts inclined to war and domination, it concentrates within those hearts and drives them to cruelty — using them to vent its grievances. A person infected by this qi becomes violent, brutal, and ruthlessly inventive — if he wants to devise a lethal weapon, the idea comes to him at once; if he wants to devise a stratagem for storming cities and smashing defenses, it comes to him at once. For the people of lands once ravaged by war will inevitably seek revenge in later generations. The later generation and those who died before are of one qi. Like voices respond to one another; like qi seeks its like. As a magnet draws iron, the attraction is exceedingly easy to bring about. And so it comes to the point where nearly everyone is infected by this qi, nearly everyone lusts for war, nearly everyone is driven to a kind of madness — and nothing will satisfy them but mass slaughter. And the lands where they slaughter will afterward produce the same — and worse. Alas! War follows upon war — when will it end? This is truly cause for grief. 
 Now, fortunately, the European War has concluded and the peace conference has opened. Yet though the European War has ended, war in Asia is about to begin. Many peoples may not be content. Many grievance-spirits may not rest. Though the Red Cross Society buries the remains — a deed of great merit, certainly — it dispels only the malignant qi clinging to the corpses. The grievances of the souls remain unresolved. The years of famine that lie ahead may well prove unavoidable. The calamities of war that lie beyond are cause for deep concern. 
 This is what I worry about day and night, racking my mind and exhausting my thoughts, unable to devise a solution. I humbly wish to discuss it with all the people of the world. When this matter is submitted to universal principle and tested against history, there is only one course: to promote and champion Dao and De, and thereby ensure no further disasters arise. In ancient times, after King Tang and King Wu punished the tyrants Jie and Zhou, they illuminated virtue and drew close to the people, rested the literary arts and laid down the military. And so they enjoyed peace for several hundred years. Had their descendants continued to advance, would the world not long since have become a world of Great Unity? 
 For weapons are lethal instruments. To use them is to kill. When the Sage punishes tyrants and rescues the people, he has no choice but to use them. Yet he treats the occasion with the rites of mourning. Those who kill and win battles — he still weeps over them in lamentation, not daring to honor them. And even refraining from honoring them is not sufficient to dispel the malignant qi. Nothing will serve but the cultivation of Dao and De. Dao and De are the qi of auspiciousness. They are the qi of warm, generative yang. Auspicious qi alone can dispel malignant qi. Yang qi alone can dispel yin qi. Mist and fog are formed from yin qi — when the sun shines on them, they disperse. Ice and frost are congealed from yin qi — when the warm yang breath steams upon them, they dissolve. Not only dissolve — they can even be transformed into warm currents of air. Seen in this light, the promotion and championing of Dao and De is the foremost and most wondrous remedy for saving the world today. 
 Previously, at the age of nine — it was 1915, the era of the European War's utmost ferocity — I was unable to bear sitting by while my fellow beings died and suffered in these terrible calamities. Forgetting my own meager virtue, youth, and years, I rashly undertook to establish the International Society of Dao and De , founded on the essential teachings of the sages of Confucianism, Daoism, Buddhism, Christianity, and Islam. I composed a tract called "On the Cessation of War" and had the charter printed and distributed. But because the war was then at its fiercest, the Society was never formally established. Yet my aspiration remains unfulfilled, and this heart of mine will not die. Moreover, the present state of affairs and the future dangers are just as I feared. I cannot bear to remain silent. And so, unable to do otherwise, I have once more drafted a charter, to be submitted to the governments and major institutions of all nations, in the hope that a common effort will organize the International Society of Dao and De. It would bring together the great moralists of all nations, all religions, and all fields of endeavor. Gathering the thoughts of all, extending the benefits of all, everyone would together research the methods for saving the world. Once the research is complete, the great moralists of each locality, according to local political customs and conditions, would first lecture and teach in their own regions; afterward they would exchange lectures, trade knowledge, dissolve mutual prejudices, and lay the foundation for the Great Unity. Then great educators would give people proper knowledge, and great industrialists would give people material sustenance. (This last point may apply to our own country; Europe and America may not require it.) When people possess a moral heart, knowledge, and material sustenance — naturally they will regard human life as precious and human dignity as paramount. They will no longer lust for war and killing. When people no longer carry the heart for war and killing, even if the grievance-spirits wish to drive them to evil, there will be no opening to enter. Moreover, seeing that the people of the world love one another and live in harmony, those spirits will naturally repent the sins of their former love of war and killing. They will cease to haunt the living. Not only will the calamity of war be brought to rest, but the years of famine too may be averted. With no more famine, no more war, the fellow beings of all nations will enjoy the happiness of eternal peace. What joy! 
 This is my humble and earnest aspiration. Otherwise — though I am foolish, I am not a raving lunatic, and I am not fishing for fame and reputation. How could I otherwise be heartbroken, my tongue worn raw, my tears exhausted and my ink spent, unable to contain myself? I humbly wish that the humane people of all nations will understand this heartfelt effort, and together offer their criticisms and their guidance. What good fortune that would be! What good fortune indeed!

Chapter 32
道無常名。樸雖小，天下不敢臣。侯王若能守，萬物將自賓。天地相合，以降甘露。人莫之令而自均。始制有名，名亦既有，夫亦將知止。知止，所以不始。譬道之在天下，猶川穀之於江海。 
 Translation 
 Dao has no fixed name.
The unhewn wood, though small,
none under Heaven dare treat it as a subject.
If lords and kings could hold to it,
the myriad beings would come as guests of their own accord.
Heaven and Earth would join together
and send down sweet dew —
no one commands it, yet it falls in perfect balance. 
 When the first institutions were made, names arose with them.
Once names exist,
one must know where to stop.
Knowing where to stop —
this is how one forestalls the beginning of danger. 
 Dao's presence throughout all under Heaven
is like streams and valleys flowing to the river and the sea. 
 Word Notes 
 
 露 — "dew" : Here specifically "sweet dew" (甘露), an auspicious omen signifying cosmic harmony. 
 均 — "balanced" : Even, equally distributed. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Dao is truly constant and unchanging, yet it has no name. Having no name is precisely what makes it noble. Like the unhewn wood that has not yet been fashioned into implements and thus has no name — though one might call it small, no one under Heaven dares treat it as a subordinate. If lords and kings could hold fast to this whole and undivided unhewn wood, they could govern through nonaction, and the myriad beings would each naturally find their proper place — harmonious, joyful, and reverently at ease. When such harmony calls forth a response, Heaven and Earth find their proper positions and yin and yang join together, sending down auspicious sweet dew. This sweet dew moistens all things everywhere — no one apportions it, yet it distributes itself in perfect, even balance. 
 But in the beginning, when the world had not yet reached the Great Accord, named institutions had inevitably to be established to govern all under Heaven. Once these named institutions exist and can sustain the world, one should know where to stop — one must not cling to names and forms. Knowing where to stop ensures that the unhewn wood is not exhausted, that the root source is not lost, and that one is therefore never in danger. One can then return to the root and restore the source, flowing on without ceasing. It is like Dao nurturing all things under Heaven with no discernible beginning — like rivers, streams, and mountain springs paying homage to the sea in an unending flow. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter and the Liyun chapter of the Book of Rites are outer and inner expressions of the same truth. The Liyun opens by speaking of the Great Unity; here Laozi says "the myriad beings would come as guests of their own accord." When all people under Heaven treat one another as honored guests — harmonious, warm, and intimate — with no barriers of ruler and subject, high and low, no distinctions of "this territory" and "that boundary," and moreover when they love the people and cherish all beings so that "all things flourish together without harming one another" and one can peer into the nests of birds and the burrows of beasts — is this not the very picture of the Great Unity? 
 The Liyun speaks of being free from the calamities of flood, drought, and pestilence, and of the appearance of auspicious signs of every kind. This is precisely what this chapter means by "Heaven and Earth join together and send down sweet dew" — the confirming evidence of the Great Unity. The only difference is one of detail. 
 In the Liyun , after "scheming and contrivance arose, and warfare began from this," Yu, Tang, Kings Wen and Wu, and the Duke of Zhou brought forth the various categories of ritual, music, humaneness, and righteousness to give order to all under Heaven. In the end it returns to the Great Accord. In the state of the Great Accord, people do not indulge their emotions; being without emotions means that joy, anger, sorrow, and delight have not yet arisen. At this point there are no names that can be named — the named returns to the nameless. Without name, without form, following what is natural of itself — this is Accord. Accord is the station of the Sage. Confucius's "following one's heart's desire without overstepping the bounds" is exactly this Accord. Mencius said, "Joy, and then it lives. Once it lives, how can it be stopped? And when it cannot be stopped, one does not even know that the hands begin to dance and the feet begin to tap." This is the very picture of Accord. This Great Accord is the Great Unity carried to its ultimate point of evolution — following one's Heavenly nature, not knowing what is same or different. Not only is the thought of difference absent, but even the thought of sameness is unknown. 
 This chapter, coming after "fine weapons being instruments of ill omen," speaks of "when the first institutions were made, names arose with them." This too is because in an age of warfare, the nameless Great Dao cannot suddenly be applied to governance. One must first establish the named institutions of government and moral teaching. Yet Laozi does not specify what these names are, for Laozi's Dao sets up no names or forms. Moreover, when Confucius came to inquire about the rites, Laozi had already conveyed to him everything about names. Afterward, Confucius edited the Songs and Documents , codified the rites and music, compiled the Spring and Autumn Annals , and composed the Classic of Filial Piety — defining the distinctions of names in meticulous detail. Still fearing that people would not understand, Confucius seized upon Zilu's question about governing the state of Wei to declare plainly: "What is needed first is surely the rectification of names!" Wei was a poor and weak state, one where father and son defied each other and stirred up chaos. Confucius's meaning was this: in an age of disorder, the rectification of names is indispensable. Only in an age of great peace can one remove the names that bind people. 
 People today do not observe the conditions of the times. They rashly seek to overthrow the named distinctions of human relationships — this is to lead all people under Heaven into the ways of beasts. Truly a great delusion beyond comprehension! 
 Confucius had already set the distinctions of names in good order. Confucius was the "sage for this season" — he was by no means one who clung rigidly to names. If one savors the Classics carefully, one will understand this for oneself. There is no leisure here to discuss it further. 
 Therefore Laozi had no need to establish names again, nor to compete with Confucius for the saintly title of "teacher for ten thousand generations." Laozi's denigration of humaneness, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom, his smashing of every name and form — all of this served as Confucius's rearguard. Readers should understand this. 
 Yet Laozi also feared that later generations would misunderstand, would disregard the conditions of the times and human sentiments, and would loftily preach nonaction — leading to the calamity of empty talk that ruins the state. And so he could not but say that "in the beginning there must be names." But he does not say what those names are, leaving room for Confucius. Laozi's way of framing his words reaches the height of subtlety — and the height of difficulty. 
 He then says that once names are established, one must stop — one must not cling to names, but cause the named to return to the nameless, back to the naturalness of Heaven. Then everyone follows their Heavenly nature in what they do — following to the point where there is nothing left to follow. Like Dao giving life to beings, flowing without obstruction. Like water returning to the sea, vital and never stagnant. This truly arrives at the realm where nothing can be named. Is this not the very mirror-image of the Liyun ? 
 This is why I annotated the Liyun first and the Dao De Jing afterward — proceeding from the named to the nameless. The Liyun is not solely about names; the Dao De Jing is not solely about the nameless. To say that one proceeds from the named to the nameless is to speak in terms of the predominant character of each.

Chapter 33
知人者智，自知者明。勝人者有力，自勝者強。知足者富，強行者有志。不失其所者久，死而不亡者壽。 
 Translation 
 To know others is cleverness;
to know oneself is illumination.
To overcome others takes force;
to overcome oneself is true strength.
To know contentment is wealth;
to act with perseverance is resolve.
Not to lose one's ground is to endure;
to die yet not perish is true longevity. 
 Word Notes 
 
 亡 — "perish" : To be extinguished, to vanish completely. 
 壽 — "longevity" : Living to a great age; here extended to mean life beyond physical death. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One who discerns right and wrong in others is called clever. One who perceives one's own gains and losses is called illumined. One who can prevail over others is said to have force. One who can prevail over one's own passions and desires is truly strong. One who knows contentment and does not covet is truly wealthy. One who strenuously practices Dao is a person of resolve. One who does not lose the ground on which one stands can endure long. One whose body dies yet whose spirit does not perish has true longevity. 
 Discourse 
 The general import of the preceding chapters has often included arguments against using cleverness, against using strength, and against pursuing wealth. Reading them, one feels rather ill at ease. If people go about in a fog, feeble and without any backbone — can this really work? And though wealth may not be something one can demand, surely one cannot be entirely without an occupation, living off the charity of others. No wonder the study of Laozi has been reviled by the world! 
 It is only upon reaching this chapter that one grasps Laozi’s true intent. He teaches us not to direct these qualities outward but to direct them inward. This is precisely what Confucius and Mencius meant by “turning inward and examining oneself.” 
 Otherwise — if one only seeks externally and pays no heed to what lies within — even one who knows others as shrewdly as Chao Cuo, who was hailed as “the Bag of Wisdom,” still provoked the Rebellion of the Seven Kingdoms and could not escape execution. Even one as mighty as the Hegemon-King could not, for all his raging, bring peace to all under Heaven, and died at the Wu River. Even one as rich as Deng Tong could not escape starvation. But beyond the killing of the body and the ruin of the name — these are still small matters. When one seeks only from without, one is buffeted about by external things, and the original heart is let loose and does not return. To lose the original heart — this is what truly deserves our grief. 
 One must turn the light of observation inward, gather back the heart that has been let loose, examine one’s own gains and losses, and cause the principle of Heaven to prevail over human desire. Then one accepts one’s lot and finds joy in Dao. What is not rightfully mine — not a hair of it dare I take. Only then does the heart come to rest upon the “peaceful dwelling.” Towering and immovable — wealth and rank, poverty and lowliness, might and arms — all seem as if they were nothing at all. The body may be killed, but the will cannot be seized. The body may die, but the spirit is never extinguished. 
 Stated in terms of what is hidden: this is like King Wen ascending and descending, at God’s left and right. Stated in terms of what is manifest: this is like Confucius receiving the sacrificial offerings of a thousand autumns, honored and beloved by all under Heaven. This is truly to endure without decay, to enjoy longevity without limit. 
 Ha — if a person can embody this and put it into practice, does the study of Laozi really lead people astray?

Chapter 34
大道泛兮，其可左右。萬物恃之以生而不辭，功成不名有。愛養萬物而不為主。常無慾，可名於小。萬物歸焉而不知主，可名於大。是以聖人終不為大，故能成其大。 
 Translation 
 The Great Dao flows and overflows —
it cannot be grasped as left or right.
The myriad beings depend on it for life, and it turns none away;
its work complete, it claims no credit.
It loves and nourishes all things, yet does not lord over them. 
 Ever without desire —
one might call it small.
The myriad beings return to it, yet it does not hold itself as master —
one might call it great. 
 And so the Sage never considers himself great,
and thus his greatness is fulfilled. 
 Word Notes 
 
 泛 — "overflowing" : Flowing, drifting, never stagnant; implying ubiquity without fixation. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The Great Dao flows and never stagnates. It cannot be grasped by clinging to one side, whether left or right. The myriad beings all depend on Dao to live and grow, and Dao does not refuse them. When the work of bringing beings to life is accomplished, it does not claim credit for what it has done. It loves and nourishes all things, yet does not act as their master. Ever without desire — formless, soundless — one might call it "small." After the myriad beings have been born and transformed, they all return to it, and still it does not consider itself their master. From its capacity to receive all things in its emptiness, one might call it "great." For this reason, the Sage never considers himself great — and therefore achieves a greatness that is boundless, extending beyond all limits. 
 Discourse 
 From ancient times, all who were fond of warfare relied upon nothing other than two things: cleverness and strength. With cleverness one can size up the enemy with uncanny precision; with strength one can win a hundred battles out of a hundred. What they covet is nothing more than a rich state and vast territory, lasting forever. All of this has already been demolished in the preceding chapters. This chapter further demolishes the ambition of swallowing others and aggrandizing oneself. 
 In all the universe, nothing is as great — without exterior boundary — as Dao. Dao gives life to all things and still does not lord over them. That is how it achieves its greatness. 
 In former times, the sage-rulers of our nation — Tang of Shang, Kings Wen and Wu of Zhou — learned this very method and, from small states, came to possess all under Heaven. Because they loved the people, the people were grateful. Love one person, and that person is grateful. Love all under Heaven, and all under Heaven submits — and one becomes the true king. One does not seek greatness, yet greatness comes of itself. 
 If one relies not on virtue but on military force: kill a person, and that person bitterly resents it. Kill all under Heaven, and all under Heaven gnashes its teeth — and one becomes a solitary man. Though one desires greatness, one is in truth small. 
 Our nation's First Emperor of Qin; Europe's Napoleon; and the then-present Kaiser of Germany — all stand as warnings from the past. 
 Alas! Even Dao, great as it is, having the grace of nurturing all things, still does not presume to call itself their master. How, then, can one think to annihilate other nations' territory and enslave other nations' people? Truly a great delusion beyond reckoning — hastening one's own destruction. 
 The First Emperor of Qin has already perished. Napoleon has already died. And the Kaiser was already placed under confinement. May this serve as a warning to all future First Emperors of Qin, all future Napoleons, and all future Kaisers of Germany.

Chapter 35
執大象，天下往。往而不害，安平泰。樂與餌，過客止。道之出口，淡乎其無味。視之不足見，聽之不足聞，用之不可既。 
 Translation 
 Hold the Great Image,
and all under Heaven will come —
coming without harm,
in peace, in calm, in sureness. 
 Music and fine food
draw the passing traveler to pause. 
 But Dao, when put into words,
is bland — as though it had no taste.
Look for it: nothing quite to see.
Listen for it: nothing quite to hear.
Yet use it — and it will never run dry. 
 Word Notes 
 
 泰 — "stability" : Steady, composed, weighty; carrying connotations of solidity and security. 
 餌 — "food" : Bait; here fine food or delicacies used to lure. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 If one takes hold of the formless Great Image and uses it to govern all under Heaven, the people of the world will naturally come in submission. When they come, they are not harmed but are made to be at peace, calm, and secure. 
 If instead one resorts to stratagems — setting out music and fine food as bait to lure people — even a passing traveler will stop. But when the music and food run out, the traveler departs all the same. 
 When Dao is spoken aloud, it is bland and without flavor. Look at it — it has no form, nothing to see. Listen to it — it has no sound, nothing to hear. Yet try to use it, and it proves inexhaustible. 
 Discourse 
 In Laozi's era of warfare, there must have been many unscrupulous characters traveling among the states, instigating military conflict and stealing power and profit for themselves. The rulers and ministers of that time, seeing that the rhetoric of these men was enough to stir people to action — and enough to do harm — inevitably made use of them, keeping bands of retainers to expand their influence. Yet these retainers sat idle and ate without working, draining the state's resources. They sought only their personal comfort and inevitably brought harm to all under Heaven. 
 And so Laozi could not help but expose this great evil in advance. Savor closely the six characters "music and fine food draw the passing traveler to pause" — they capture perfectly the treacherous hearts and ugly faces of those who became retainers. 
 Those who became retainers were generally men without the standing of citizens. Had they possessed the standing of citizens, they would have been called hosts, not guests. Laozi calls them "passing travelers" because they had no constancy, no love for their country — they lived only by the creed of eating and watching plays. Like the cock-crowing and dog-stealing types of Lord Mengchang's household, they wheedled a few coins here and there. Day after day they haunted the singing halls and dancing pavilions, listening to music and melodies, squandering the state's currency and treasures. Day after day they feasted on lavish banquets, devouring the fat and marrow of the people. When the state fell and the ruling house was extinguished, they slipped away with perfect composure — casting off the old coat, marrying the new groom. They found the sage-ruler Liu quite superior to "that boy from the Sima family." (When Liu Yao conquered the Western Jin and carried off its empress, he asked her: "How do I compare to that boy from the Sima family?" She replied: "Your Majesty is a sage-ruler who founded a dynasty; he was an incompetent lord of a ruined state.") People like this are just like travelers at an inn — beyond occupying their room, eating their meals, and watching their entertainment, they are utterly indifferent to the innkeeper, the inn itself, and their fellow guests. No matter how well the innkeeper treats them, they cannot be kept for long. 
 Seeing this, those who hold power and influence would do far better — rather than using music and fine food to nourish these cock-crowing and dog-stealing types so lavishly — to take Dao as their master, to cease coveting influence, to stop employing petty men, and to govern through quiet nonaction. For nonaction can accomplish everything. From nothing, it brings forth something. This is the Great Image of all under Heaven. Hold fast to this Great Image and one can bring peace to all under Heaven. All under Heaven will naturally submit, and those who submit can be made to dwell in peace and security, free from the least anxiety. 
 This Dao, though its words come out sounding bland and flavorless — though it cannot be seen or heard, and lacks the bluster of the retainers' rhetoric — yet possesses this wondrous efficacy. It is nothing like those greedy devourers of music and fine food, those passing travelers who merely talk a fine game and accomplish nothing real.

Chapter 36
將欲歙之，必固張之。將欲弱之，必固強之。將欲廢之，必固興之。將欲奪之，必固與之。是謂微明。柔勝剛，弱勝強。魚不可脫於淵，邦之利器不可以示人。 
 Translation 
 What is about to be contracted
must first be stretched open.
What is about to be weakened
must first be strengthened.
What is about to be cast aside
must first be raised up.
What is about to be seized
must first be given. 
 This is called subtle clarity. 
 The soft overcomes the hard;
the weak overcomes the strong. 
 A fish must not leave the deep —
a state's sharp instruments must not be shown to others. 
 Word Notes 
 
 歙 — "contracted" : Drawn together, compressed, diminished. 
 張 — "stretched open" : Spread out, extended, expanded. 
 脫 — "leave" : To slip away from, to separate from. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 What is about to be contracted must have already been stretched open. What is about to be weakened must have already been made strong. What is about to be cast aside must have already been raised to prosperity. What is about to be seized must have already been given. This is called a principle of the utmost subtlety yet also the utmost clarity. Therefore the soft can overcome the hard, and the weak can overcome the strong — all of this follows from the naturalness of Dao. Dao cannot be departed from, just as a fish must not leave the deep water — the moment it leaves, it dies. The state's sharp instruments must not be displayed boastfully to others. To strive for supremacy is to lose Dao. 
 Discourse 
 At the extreme of triumph comes inevitable decline. At the extreme of yang comes inevitable yin. This is the universal law of waxing and waning, fullness and emptiness, revolving in cycles throughout the cosmos. From something as large as a state under Heaven down to a single affair or a single thing — nothing escapes it. The moment of supreme strength is precisely the starting point of supreme weakness. Laozi calls this "subtle clarity." This principle is truly of the utmost subtlety and yet of the utmost obviousness. It is exactly what the Doctrine of the Mean means by: "Nothing is more visible than what is hidden; nothing is more manifest than what is subtle." 
 Only the Sage knows where the wind begins, knows that the distant is near, knows that the subtle is the manifest. The stronger one grows, the more one abides in lowliness and yielding. Since one does not position oneself in strength, there is nothing to weaken. Not only is there nothing to weaken, but one transcends entirely the realm of opposites — strong and weak, flourishing and ruined — and stands upon ground that is unchanging through ten thousand ages. This is to return to the substance of Dao. 
 But since people have never seen the substance of Dao, they will surely not believe it. Let us take the analogy Laozi offers and develop it carefully, so that all people under Heaven may see it together and know it together. 
 Dao's giving life to human beings is like water's giving life to fish — unborn and undying, mysterious and unfathomable: this is the substance of Dao. Born and dying, changing and inconstant: this is the function of Dao. Without motion and without rest, deep in an abyss that cannot be fathomed: this is the source of water. With motion and with rest, shallow and easily known: this is the current of water. 
 Human beings cannot depart from the substance of Dao; fish cannot leave the deep abyss. When a person departs from the substance of Dao, that person is trapped by the decrees of fortune. When a fish leaves the deep abyss, it is caught by the fisherman. When the fish floats to the surface, it no doubt relies on the convenience of its fins — it can swim up and down, it can catch small insects — and shows this boastfully to others. And yet, as the saying goes: "Careless storage invites theft; seductive adornment invites licentiousness." No wonder it falls into the fisherman's net. 
 Alas — within Laozi's words of warning lies a hidden compassion. May all people under Heaven embody this together. 
 There are those in the world who say this chapter teaches scheming and intrigue. Truly, "the humane see humaneness, the wise see wisdom."

Chapter 37
道常無為而無不為。侯王若能守，萬物將自化。化而欲作，吾將鎮之以無名之樸。無名之樸，亦將不欲。不欲以靜，天下將自正。 
 Translation 
 Dao abides in constant nonaction,
yet nothing is left undone.
If lords and kings could hold to this,
the myriad beings would transform of themselves.
Transformed, should desire stir,
I would still it with the nameless unhewn wood.
The nameless unhewn wood —
even this shall be free of desire.
Free of desire, resting in stillness:
all under Heaven will settle into rightness of itself. 
 Word Notes 
 
 鎮 — "still" : To settle, to calm, to stabilize; here used as a verb meaning to bring to composure. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The Great Dao abides in constant nonaction, yet from nothing it brings forth something — there is nothing it does not accomplish. If lords and kings could hold to this Dao, the myriad beings would naturally transform of their own accord. After they have naturally transformed, should any urge toward purposeful action arise, I would still it with the nameless unhewn wood. Even the nameless unhewn wood itself should be free of any desire to be used. Free of desire even for the unhewn wood, one rests in stillness. This is holding to Dao carried to its ultimate point. All under Heaven will then settle into rightness of itself. 
 Discourse 
 The vital current of the entire scripture flows continuously; the meaning runs through as a whole. Truly it is a seamless unity — the whole is one chapter, and the eighty-one chapters are one chapter. Yet the meaning of this particular chapter answers to the tone of Chapter 1. Previous scholars were not without reason in dividing the text into two volumes and individual chapters. 
 The "nameless unhewn wood" of this chapter is the "name that cannot be named" of Chapter 1. "Even the nameless unhewn wood shall be free of desire" is a return to "the Dao that cannot be spoken" of Chapter 1. "Nonaction, yet nothing is left undone" is precisely Chapter 1's "the beginning of Heaven and Earth," "the mother of the myriad beings," and "the gate of all marvels." Chapter 1 opens by speaking of the constant Dao and closes with "mysterious upon mysterious." This chapter opens with "Dao abides in constant nonaction" and closes with "the nameless unhewn wood — even this shall be free of desire." "Nameless" is the mysterious. "Even the nameless unhewn wood shall be free of desire" is the mysterious upon the mysterious. 
 Chapter 1 moves from the nameless to the named, and from the named back to the nameless. This chapter does the same. The only difference is that Chapter 1 speaks of Dao's substance and function in the abstract, encompassing everything, while this chapter speaks of Dao's substance and function as applied specifically to bringing peace to all under Heaven — slightly more concrete than Chapter 1. Because the preceding chapters have laid bare the origins and consequences of warfare under Heaven in order to cut off the source of disorder, this chapter sets forth the Great Dao for governing all under Heaven as the final destination, bringing disorder back to rectitude and serving as the summation. 
 Moreover, it ties off the Upper Volume and answers back to Chapter 1 — achieving both purposes with a single stroke. This is why the arrangement cannot be otherwise. 
 From antiquity, all disorder under Heaven has arisen from the use of implements. In ancient times, Yao and Shun governed through nonaction and employed no implements at all. By the time of the Three Dynasties, the desires of the people had gradually awakened and customs had gradually declined. Moreover, Tang and King Wu faced the chaos of Jie and Zhou. And so they had no choice but to take the nameless unhewn wood that Yao and Shun had used to bring stability to all under Heaven and fashion it into a divine implement to quell the disorder. After using it once, they wished to return to the unhewn wood. But the people had not yet reached that level, and they dared not stop using it to sustain order. Yet they set down their original intention, each composing it as a Book of Changes , to await later generations. 
 Consider: the Xia dynasty's Changes was called Lianshan , "Linked Mountains." Above and below, all was mountain. Gen is mountain. The Xia Changes held to Gen — stopping, and stopping again. Gen means to stop. This is the meaning of ceasing to use the implement. 
 The Shang dynasty's Changes was called Guicang , "Returning to Storage." This means storing it away and not using it. 
 The Zhou dynasty's Changes did not take a new name but was simply called the Zhou Changes — meaning revolving back to the beginning, returning to the source. 
 Taking the three Changes together, the trajectory is: from stopping, to storing away, to returning to the root. What a pity that the descendants of the Three Dynasties' sage-kings produced no sage to carry on their work. Not only could they not stop using the divine implement, they used it without cease until it was worn out. 
 By the Spring and Autumn period, Guan Zhong saw that the divine implement was broken. Unable to repair it, and not even knowing how it was meant to be used, he dismantled it and refashioned it into sharp implements. The Five Hegemons used them to convene the feudal lords. 
 By the Warring States, even the sharp implements were broken. Shang Yang saw that the sharp implements were ruined and conceived a cruel heart: he fashioned lethal implements. During the Spring and Autumn period, Confucius wrote out the methods for repairing the divine implement, for using it, and for not using it. During the Warring States period, too, Confucius's teachings continued to circulate. What a pity that the world did not heed him. 
 Once the lethal implements appeared, the carnage of warfare became horrific beyond description. From that time forward, some used lethal implements, some used sharp implements, but none used the divine implement. As for governing without any implements at all — that had vanished entirely. 
 When it came to the West, not only were sharp and lethal implements used, but implements of even greater sharpness and lethality were devised. Only the American president Washington, after using sharp implements in a bloody war, stored them away and did not use them again. He can truly stand shoulder to shoulder with our nation's Yao and Shun. Beyond him, most used lethal implements to slaughter people — and Napoleon and the present-day Kaiser of Germany are the worst among them. The present-day Kaiser is worse still. Of all the lethal implements in the entire world, none are more lethal than Germany's — and none have suffered consequences more devastating than Germany's. 
 Can implements still be relied upon? 
 Alas! The catastrophic consequences of using implements have today reached their utmost extreme. Yet this catastrophe was one that Laozi foresaw long ago. Unable to bear sitting idly by, he warned posterity in advance, saying: "The divine implement of all under Heaven cannot be acted upon." "The state's sharp implements must not be displayed to others." "Fine weapons are instruments of ill omen." And he pointed the way for posterity, saying: "Still it with the nameless unhewn wood. The nameless unhewn wood — even this shall be free of desire. Free of desire, resting in stillness: all under Heaven will settle into rightness of itself." 
 Seen in this light, are not Laozi's words the perfect remedy for today's disease? Are they not the true path of evolution for the age to come? 
 I humbly wish that everyone would study them carefully. 
 
 Volume Two (Chapters 38–81)

Volume Two (Chapters 38–81)
Lower Volume — Chapters 38 through 81

Chapter 38
上德不德，是以有德。下德不離德，是以無德。上德無為而無以為，下德為之而有以為。上仁為之而無以為，上義為之而有以為。上禮為之而莫之應，則攘臂而仍之。故離道而後德，失德而後仁，失仁而後義，失義而後禮。夫禮者，忠信之薄，而亂之首也。前識者，道之華，而愚之始也。是以大丈夫處其厚不處其薄，居其實而不居其華。故去彼取此。 
 Translation 
 Upper De does not regard itself as De —
and so it truly possesses De.
Lower De never departs from De —
and so it lacks De. 
 Upper De practices nonaction, with nothing done for a purpose.
Lower De acts, and acts with purpose.
Upper humaneness acts, yet without purpose.
Upper righteousness acts, and acts with purpose.
Upper rites acts, and when no one responds,
it rolls up its sleeves and compels them. 
 Therefore: lose Dao, and only then comes De;
lose De, and only then comes humaneness;
lose humaneness, and only then comes righteousness;
lose righteousness, and only then come rites. 
 Now rites are but the thinning of loyalty and trust,
and the forerunner of disorder.
Foreknowledge is the flower of Dao,
and the beginning of folly. 
 So the great person dwells in the substantial, not the thin;
abides in the fruit, not the flower.
Therefore: discard that and take this. 
 Word Notes 
 
 義 — "righteousness" : Proper measure; what is fitting and due. 
 禮 — "rites" : The forms and ceremonies that regulate human affairs. 
 忠 — "loyalty" : Devoting one's whole heart. 
 信 — "trust" : True sincerity. 
 華 — "flower" : The blossom of a plant — that is, outward display, not the fruit. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 A person of upper De does not regard himself as possessing De, and therefore is able to possess De. A person of lower De strains to hold on to his De, and therefore lacks true De. A person of upper De acts without deliberate intention, simply following his nature, and so has no need for purposeful action. A person of lower De acts with deliberate intention, and so engages in purposeful action. A person of upper humaneness practices humaneness, yet without purposeful action. A person of upper righteousness practices righteousness with purposeful action. A person of upper rites practices rites, but the ceremonies are so numerous that no one responds, and so he cannot help but bare his arms and force compliance. 
 Only after losing Dao does De appear. Only after losing De does humaneness appear. Only after losing humaneness does righteousness appear. Only after losing righteousness do rites appear. Rites are the thinning of loyalty and trust, the beginning of disorder. Those who possess foreknowledge use their cleverness outwardly — this is Dao's outward show. But when brightness reaches its extreme, darkness follows: this is the beginning of folly. Therefore the great person dwells in the substantial and does not dwell in the meager. He stands upon what is real and does not stand upon what is showy. Hence he discards the empty forms of intellect and takes the solid De of loyalty and trust. 
 Discourse 
 The Upper Volume speaks broadly of the great Dao, establishing the original source for all that exists, and corresponds in structure with the Book of Changes . The Lower Volume speaks in detail of the utmost De, providing the great practical application for governing the state and bringing peace to all under Heaven, and illuminates the various classical texts in mutual correspondence. This chapter is the guiding principle of the Lower Volume. 
 What is called upper De is precisely what the Doctrine of the Mean calls "the utmost De, without sound or scent" — and it is also what the Great Learning calls "illuminating luminous De until reaching the utmost good." When luminous De has been illuminated to the point of the utmost good, there is no De left to illuminate. "Being able to illuminate lofty De" and "being able to illuminate luminous De" — these were the efforts of earlier stages. At this point one has become one body with Dao. What De remains to be named? 
 The natural order of the great Dao's cycle is as follows. Descending five stages from Dao, one arrives at rites. Dao has neither name nor form; it is only when it first stirs to move that the life-giving De appears. Yet this generative impulse lies hidden within, and only when it ceaselessly gives rise to life does it receive the name humaneness. But the creation of beings requires measure and distinction, and measure and distinction constitute righteousness. When righteousness is pressed to its extreme it necessarily becomes strict, and strictness requires ceremonies and adornment — hence rites. This too is a natural order, a progression the sages could not avoid. 
 But when rites are used to constrain people's hearts, the inevitable corruption is a fondness for empty forms at the expense of true sincerity. Moreover, rites take strictness as their guiding principle. "Heaven above, marsh below" — the distinction between high and low, noble and base, permits not the slightest transgression. When strictness becomes excessive, most people cannot bear it, and resistance arises. Every manner of stratagem and cunning is devised. When people meet one another with cunning, deceptions multiply without end, and all under Heaven grows ever worse. 
 Confucius too, in the Liyun passage on the Small Tranquility, says: "And so schemes were employed, and warfare arose from this." But in the passage on the Great Unity he speaks only of "practicing trust and cultivating harmony," without mentioning humaneness, righteousness, rites, or cunning at all. Dao moves in a cycle. From humaneness, righteousness, rites, and cunning, it must turn to trust. Trust is the root of the four sprouts. When one does not speak of humaneness, righteousness, rites, and cunning, true humaneness, righteousness, rites, and cunning are naturally present within it. Trust, moreover, is the fruit of Dao, while rites and cunning are its flower. 
 In the present age the world is full of deception and guile, and most people say that the human heart has grown too corrupt, embracing pessimism. I, this young student, alone hold to optimism, for I believe that once Dao has flowered it must bear fruit. Where there is falseness there will be sincerity. This is truly the sign that the world of the Great Unity is taking shape. 
 Laozi's disparagement of humaneness, righteousness, rites, and cunning, and his exaltation of loyalty and trust, speak precisely to the present day. If we examine the history of our nation: the sovereigns of high antiquity were utterly simple and unaffected, plain and practicing nonaction while the people transformed themselves — this was the age of Dao. When Emperor Yao illuminated his lofty De, and Emperor Shun's mysterious De ascended and was heard, and they transformed all under Heaven through De — this was the age of De. Yu the Great tamed the waters, leveled the land, and made the heavens whole, putting resources to use and enriching life — this was the age of Humaneness. Kings Tang and Wu punished tyrants and rescued the people — this was the age of Righteousness. The Duke of Zhou refined and perfected the rites and teachings, bringing culture to its fullest development — this was the age of Rites. From the Zhou dynasty onward, all who governed employed schemes and cunning — this was the age of Cunning. Today the governance and diplomacy of every nation, the arts of the scholar, the farmer, the artisan, and the merchant, have reached the very pinnacle of cunning. 
 From this day forward, the age of Cunning ends and the age of Trust opens. Once the age of Trust opens, all under Heaven attains the Great Unity. Trust is practiced and harmony is cultivated. Peace endures forever. Nations that lack trust and harmony will weaken. People who lack trust and harmony will not survive. This is the great Dao's course: from seedling to spreading branches, to leaves, to flower, to the full, round, splendid fruit — bringing all people under Heaven to share in blessedness, as a matter of natural course.

Chapter 39
昔之得一者：天得一以清，地得一以寧，神得一以靈，谷得一以盈，萬物得一以生，侯王得一以為天下貞。其致之一也。天無以清，將恐裂；地無以寧，將恐發；神無以靈，將恐歇；谷無以盈，將恐竭；萬物無以生，將恐滅；侯王無以貞而貴高，將恐蹶。故貴以賤為本，高以下為基。是以侯王自稱孤、寡、不穀。此其以賤為本耶？非乎？故致數輿無輿。不欲碌碌如玉，落落如石。 
 Translation 
 In ages past, those that attained the One:
Heaven attained the One and so was clear;
Earth attained the One and so was still;
spirits attained the One and so were luminous;
valleys attained the One and so were full;
the myriad beings attained the One and so had life;
lords and kings attained the One and so set all under Heaven right.
All of this flows from the One. 
 Were Heaven unable to be clear, it would crack;
were Earth unable to be still, it would quake;
were spirits unable to be luminous, they would cease;
were valleys unable to be full, they would run dry;
were the myriad beings unable to live, they would perish;
were lords and kings unable to set things right
yet holding themselves noble and high — they would stumble. 
 Therefore the noble has the lowly as its root;
the high has the low as its foundation.
This is why lords and kings name themselves
"the orphaned," "the bereft," "the unworthy" —
is this not taking the lowly as one's root? Is it not so? 
 Therefore: assemble carriage upon carriage, and there is no carriage.
Do not wish to gleam and glitter like jade,
nor to stand aloof and apart like stone. 
 Word Notes 
 
 寧 — "still" : Peaceful, tranquil. 
 貞 — "right" : To set right, to make correct. 
 裂 — "crack" : To split apart. 
 歇 — "cease" : To stop, to expire. 
 竭 — "dry up" : To be used up, exhausted. 
 蹶 — "stumble" : To trip and fall. 
 穀 — "worthy" : Goodness, nourishment. "The unworthy" is a royal self-deprecation. 
 輿 — "carriage" : A vehicle. 
 碌碌 — "gleaming and glittering" : Small in appearance; self-precious yet petty. 
 落落 — "aloof and apart" : Not fitting together; self-elevated yet isolated. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 In ages past, those that attained the One: Heaven attained the One and so was clear. Earth attained the One and so was tranquil. Spirits attained the One and so were numinous. Mountain valleys attained the One and so were brimming. The myriad beings attained the One and so grew and flourished. Lords and kings attained the One and so were able to set all under Heaven right. That Heaven, Earth, humans, and all beings are able to be clear, tranquil, numinous, brimming, alive, and upright — this all proceeds from the same principle. 
 Were Heaven not to attain the One, having no means to be clear, it would crack. Were Earth not to attain the One, having no means to be tranquil, it would give way. Were spirits not to attain the One, having no means to be numinous, they would fade. Were mountain valleys not to attain the One, having no means to be brimming, they would run dry. Were the myriad beings not to attain the One, having no means to live, they would perish. Were lords and kings not to attain the One, having no means to rule all under Heaven, yet still occupying the lofty seat of honor, they would stumble. 
 Therefore the noble must not consider itself noble, but take the lowly as its root. The high must not consider itself high, but take the low as its foundation. This is why lords and kings call themselves "the orphaned," "the bereft," and "the unworthy." Is this not taking the lowly as one's root? Is it not so? 
 In all affairs under Heaven, one must combine many lowly elements to form what is noble — just as a carriage must combine wheels, shafts, crossbars, and canopy to become a carriage. Try to combine several complete carriages, and you cannot form a single carriage. Therefore lords and kings must not aggrandize or elevate themselves; only then can they set all under Heaven right. One must not desire to gleam and glitter like jade — prizing oneself yet actually being petty — nor to stand aloof like stone — elevating oneself yet actually being isolated. 
 Discourse 
 Confucius said, "My Dao is threaded through by one thing." The One is the great substance of Dao, and therefore Heaven, Earth, humans, spirits, and the myriad beings cannot afford to lose it. This "One" means pure and undivided — nothing else. 
 Clear and abiding above, covering all things without exception: this is Heaven's One. Tranquil and abiding below, bearing all things without exception: this is Earth's One. Pervading all beings, leaving nothing untouched, present everywhere: this is the One of the spirits. Empty and open, receiving all things without exception: this is the One of the mountain valleys. Ceaselessly revolving in its cycles, giving rise to life without end: this is the One of the myriad beings. 
 If Heaven and Earth and the myriad beings can all attain the One, then human beings — the most luminous of the myriad beings, the very heart of Heaven and Earth — and lords and kings, the exemplars of all the people, must guard the One all the more. For lords and kings, guarding the One simply means being like Heaven in covering all things without exception, like Earth in bearing all things without exception, like spirits in being present everywhere, like valleys in receiving all things without exception, and like the myriad beings in ceaselessly giving rise to life. Pure and undivided, and nothing else. 
 But if they aggrandize and elevate themselves, looking down upon all others, making no distinction between right and wrong, crooked and straight, and only distinguishing noble from base, high from low — how could they ever set all under Heaven right?

Chapter 40
反者道之動，弱者道之用。天下之物生於有，有生於無。 
 Translation 
 Reversal is how Dao moves;
yielding is how Dao works.
All things under Heaven are born from being;
being is born from nonbeing. 
 Word Notes 
 
 反 — "reversal" : Going to the opposite; turning back. Contains both "return to the root" and "things reverse when they reach the extreme." 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 What runs contrary to Dao is precisely the impulse that sets Dao in motion. What is yielding and uncontending is precisely the way Dao functions. All things under Heaven are born from being. Being and nonbeing are opposites — yet being itself is born from nonbeing. 
 Discourse 
 Reading this chapter, I cannot help but dance for joy, crying out in wild elation: "Now at last it shall be well! The great Dao shall prevail from this day forward! All under Heaven shall have peace at last!" 
 How can I say this? For these several decades, the hearts of the people under Heaven, and the discourse of society at large, have been running almost entirely contrary to Dao. But the more they run contrary to Dao, the greater the movement of Dao. When yin reaches its extreme, yang is born; when chaos reaches its extreme, order follows. This is the universal law of the cosmos, in which all things revolve in mutual cycles. It is like the eleventh month, when the cold reaches its bitterest extreme — the very opposite of warmth. Yet at precisely that moment a single yang returns, and gradually spring comes back. The warm, harmonious breath of yang begins to stir from this moment of greatest opposition. The seasons of Heaven work this way, and the affairs of humankind work this way too. 
 Mencius said: "When Heaven is about to confer a great charge upon a person, it first makes bitter his heart and will, wearies his sinews and bones, starves his body and flesh, impoverishes his person, and confounds his every undertaking." This is precisely the going contrary spoken of here. And it is precisely because things go contrary that a person's heart is stirred, his forbearance strengthened, and he gains abilities he never had before. Were there no opposition, no rival states and external threats, the state itself would perish. 
 Seeing this, all who champion Dao and De and seek to set all under Heaven right: when you encounter resistance, you must not only refrain from vexation — you should rejoice! You must not only refrain from slackening and retreat — you should advance with vigor! Yet even as you advance with vigor, you must truly dwell in yielding and lowliness, contending with no one. Seek within, not without. Seek in nonbeing, not in being. Where there is inner reality, the outer follows. Where there is nonbeing, being arises from it. Naturally, without seeking, it is attained; without acting, it is accomplished. The great Dao can naturally prevail, and all under Heaven can naturally have peace.

Chapter 41
上士聞道，動而行之。中士聞道，若存若亡。下士聞道，大笑之。不笑不足以為道。故建言有之：明道若昧，進道若退，夷道若類；上德若谷，大白若辱，廣德若不足，建德若偷，質直若渝；大方無隅，大器晚成，大音希聲，大象無形；道隱無名。夫惟道，善貸且成。 
 Translation 
 The high scholar hears of Dao and at once lives it.
The middle scholar hears of Dao and half holds on, half lets go.
The low scholar hears of Dao and laughs out loud —
if it were not laughed at, it would not be worthy of Dao. 
 So the ancient masters had a saying: 
 The bright Dao seems dark;
the forward Dao seems to fall back;
the smooth Dao seems rough. 
 The highest De seems like a hollow valley;
great purity seems stained;
vast De seems never quite enough;
steadfast De seems easy, almost lazy;
what is true and straight seems to shift and bend. 
 The greatest square has no corners;
the greatest vessel takes longest to complete;
the greatest music has the most silence in it;
the greatest form has no shape at all. 
 Dao hides itself, without a name —
yet Dao alone is good at lending to all things
and bringing each one to completion. 
 Word Notes 
 
 亡 — "forgotten" : To be lost, to vanish. 
 建 — "established" : To set up, to found. "Established sayings" means ancient maxims. 
 偷 — "lax" : Idle, negligent, perfunctory. Not "stealing" but the classical sense of appearing indolent or easygoing. 
 渝 — "changeable" : To alter, to shift. 
 隅 — "corner" : An angle, an edge. 
 貸 — "lending" : To lend, to loan. Dao lends its qi to the myriad beings; when their life is complete, the qi returns to Dao. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The upper scholar hears of Dao and immediately puts it into practice. The middle scholar hears of Dao and sometimes practices it, sometimes does not. The lower scholar hears of Dao and bursts out laughing. If the lower scholar did not laugh, it would not be sufficient to count as Dao. 
 Those who established teachings in ancient times spoke of this: the one bright in Dao is inwardly lucid, but outwardly simple and unpolished, appearing dim. The one who advances in Dao is inwardly vigorous, but outwardly contends with no one, appearing to retreat. The most marvelous Dao, unseen to the eye, outwardly blends its light and mingles with the dust, appearing no different from ordinary people. One who possesses upper De is humble and self-abasing, like an empty valley receiving all things. One of great whiteness still emerges from the mud, appearing soiled. One of broad De does not consider himself possessed of De, appearing insufficient. One who can build De is quiescent and practices nonaction, appearing idle and negligent. One who is solid in truth follows his nature without clinging, appearing changeable and inconstant. The greatest square is square within but does not put on airs — it has no sharp edges. The greatest vessel is not made in haste, and so is completed last. The greatest music is like the sounds of nature, rare and sparse. The greatest image is like the Ultimateless, without visible form. True Dao is most hidden, without name or appearance. 
 Therefore the lower scholar, not knowing, laughs. Yet even though he laughs, only Dao is good at lending its qi to the myriad beings and bringing them to completion. The myriad beings are born by borrowing Dao's qi, and when their lives are complete, they return the qi to Dao. 
 Discourse 
 Ordinary people despise what is plain and common and marvel at what is strange and miraculous. But all that is strange and miraculous amounts to no more than technique. It cannot govern a state or bring peace to all under Heaven. Only the great Dao is utterly even and utterly ordinary, unchanged through all the ages. Though even and ordinary, it never sinks to the level of the vulgar. Therefore it is difficult to win people's belief, and harder still to move them to practice it. 
 Among Confucius's disciples, only Yan Hui diligently practiced it, "for three months never departing from humaneness." The rest were in the state of "sometimes keeping it, sometimes losing it — reaching it now and then for a day or a month, and no more." Beyond them, the people of the world either laughed at Confucius as pedantic or laughed at him as old-fashioned. Those with a smattering of understanding laughed at Confucius for not guarding his own reputation or for not reading the times. Because Confucius harbored profound depths within, those who never found the gate could not enter. They never saw the splendor and abundance of the ancestral halls and the hundred offices, and so they mocked. 
 Yet one who truly possesses Dao follows his nature and acts, heedless of whether others laugh or not. When Dao prevails, Heaven and Earth settle into their proper places and the myriad beings flourish, and all people under Heaven receive its blessings without even knowing it. Whether others laugh or do not laugh — what does it matter?

Chapter 42
道生一，一生二，二生三，三生萬物。萬物負陰而抱陽，衝氣以為和。人之所惡，惟孤、寡、不穀，而王公以為稱。故物或損之而益，或益之而損。人之所教，我亦教之：強梁者不得其死。吾將以為教父。 
 Translation 
 Dao gives birth to the One;
the One gives birth to Two;
Two gives birth to Three;
Three gives birth to the myriad beings. 
 The myriad beings carry yin on their backs
and hold yang in their arms;
the settling breath between them makes harmony. 
 What all people scorn —
"the orphaned," "the bereft," "the unworthy" —
yet these are the titles kings and lords claim for themselves. 
 So it is with all things:
diminish them, and they grow;
add to them, and they diminish. 
 What others have taught, I too teach:
"Those who are violent and overbearing
do not come to a natural end."
I take this as the sovereign principle of my teaching. 
 Word Notes 
 
 負 — "carry on the back" : To bear upon one's shoulders. 
 損 — "diminish" : To reduce, to decrease. 
 益 — "gain" : To increase, to benefit. 
 衝 — "descending" : Hanging down, settling downward. This is JXZ's non-standard gloss; standard readings interpret the character as surging or rushing together. 
 父 — "sovereign principle" : Ruler, master, governing authority. JXZ glosses this as equivalent to "sovereign." Thus "the sovereign principle of my teaching" means the ruling maxim. Standard readings take it as "father of my teaching" or "foundation." 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Dao gives birth to the single breath of primordial void. This single breath divides into two, giving birth to yin and yang. Yin and yang combine to give birth to the Three Powers — Heaven, Earth, and the Human. The Three Powers give birth to the myriad beings. The myriad beings all carry yin on their backs and hold yang in their arms. Yin and yang settle and descend, generating the breath of Supreme Harmony. 
 In all affairs, the lower serves as the higher. What people despise most — "the orphaned," "the bereft," "the unworthy" — these are the lowest terms of all, yet kings and lords take them as their own titles. Therefore: diminish something, and it may actually benefit; increase something, and it may actually suffer harm. This is the principle that humility invites benefit and self-satisfaction invites loss. 
 What the ancients used to teach, I too teach: the violent and overbearing will surely not die a natural death. I shall take this as the sovereign principle of my teaching. 
 Discourse 
 The Buddhist scriptures say: "Ignorance trembles, and suddenly there appear mountains, rivers, and the great earth." Indeed, Heaven, Earth, human beings, and all things are born from the deluded stirrings of the great Dao. Human beings, born endowed with these deluded stirrings, find that their qi easily soars upward and their natures easily incline toward ambition and the love of strength. 
 Yet when qi soars, it scatters. When one's nature runs to ambition and force, it is damaged. Therefore the teaching of the sages is to make what soars settle back down, and to make what is ambitious and forceful dwell in humility and lowliness — so that one may return to the pre-celestial. This and nothing else.

Chapter 43
天下之至柔，馳騁天下之至堅。無有入於無間。吾是以知無為之有益。不言之教，無為之益，天下希及之。 
 Translation 
 The softest thing under Heaven
rides sovereign through the hardest under Heaven.
What has no substance passes through where there is no opening.
From this I know the value of nonaction. 
 The teaching that needs no words,
the gain that comes through not-doing —
few things under Heaven can touch them. 
 Word Notes 
 
 馳騁 — "gallop through" : To drive and command; to move at will. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The softest thing under Heaven can drive and command the hardest thing under Heaven. That which has nothing at all can enter where there is no gap. From this one knows the benefit of nonaction. The teaching without words, the benefit of nonaction — few under Heaven can match them. 
 Discourse 
 The hardest things under Heaven can all be shattered. The most substantial things can all decay. Moreover, what is hard is necessarily heavy and cannot set all things in motion. What is substantial is necessarily solid and cannot accommodate all things. Only the softest thing can not only set all things in motion but overcome anything whatsoever. Only that which has no substance at all can not only accommodate all things but be present everywhere without exception. From this one can see that the benefits of softness, weakness, emptiness, and nonbeing are exceedingly great. One need only learn to be soft, weak, empty, and without substance — and that is enough.

Chapter 44
名與身孰親？身與貨孰多？得與亡孰病？是故甚愛必大費。多藏心厚亡。知足不辱。知止不殆。可以長久。 
 Translation 
 Fame or the self — which is more dear?
The self or wealth — which carries greater weight?
Getting or losing — which is the real affliction? 
 Therefore: to love too fiercely is to spend yourself dry.
To hoard without measure is to invite heavy loss. 
 Know contentment, and disgrace cannot touch you.
Know when to stop, and danger will not find you.
This is the way to last. 
 Word Notes 
 
 費 — "expenditure" : Exhaustion, depletion of energy and spirit. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 People mostly love fame. But fame and the self — which is more dear? People mostly covet wealth. But the self and wealth — which counts for more? People mostly take gaining as glory and losing as affliction. Yet they do not realize that one must first lose and only then can one gain. Gain and loss — which is truly the affliction? Therefore, one who excessively loves fame will surely deplete their spirit and energy. One who greedily hoards wealth will surely invite the resentment of many and suffer heavy loss. Only by knowing contentment and not making reckless demands can one avoid disgrace. Only by knowing when to stop and not greedily grasping can one avoid danger. Only then can one long endure. 
 Discourse 
 People in the world jostle and scramble, rushing about in toil and labor, for no purpose other than seeking fame and profit — for no purpose other than chasing great renown and fat advantage. Moreover, it is human nature to rejoice at getting fame and profit and to grieve at losing them. They do not realize that seeking fame invariably exhausts the spirit and injures the body. Seeking profit by wagering one's body to make a fortune is just the same. "Act on profit and you invite much resentment" — getting much profit inevitably brings danger. Getting great fame invites the jealousy and destruction of others — it is just the same. Fame and profit are both things external to the self. If in seeking fame and profit one damages the self, then which is more dear? Which is the real affliction? Which carries greater weight? Which less? 
 Furthermore, wherever there is getting, there is losing. Why calculate the two? Getting actually comes from losing — one must first lose before one can gain. Take even a blade of grass or a mustard seed — the very smallest of things — one must still use one's eyes to look at it, bend down, and pick it up by hand before one can obtain it. Though one gains it, one's eyesight and energy have already been spent. Take something worth a single coin — the cheapest of things — one must still spend money before one can buy it. Though one gains it, one's money has already been spent. Even for the smallest and cheapest things, one must inevitably first lose and only then gain. For great and precious things, how much more so. 
 Therefore, among all affairs between Heaven and Earth, nothing can be gained without cost. What is there to rejoice about in getting? What is there to grieve about in losing? The noble person is at ease and self-content, and thereby breaks free from getting and losing. The petty person is anxious, bitter, and tormented, precisely because of fretting over getting and losing — fretting about not getting, fretting about losing what one has. They do not know that getting does not come from seeking, and that losing cannot be averted by fretting. Only by rising above getting and losing, and fulfilling one's Heaven-given duty as a human being, will it naturally come about that one first parts with things and afterward harvests, gains without seeking to gain, and — what is more — once gained, it is gained forever and never lost through ten thousand ages. 
 Consider Confucius in his day: he harbored the aspiration of giving peace to the old, being trusted by friends, and cherishing the young — the aspiration of saving all under Heaven for ten thousand generations. He traveled through the states, and in his entire life never achieved his ambitions. Some said he was like a stray dog with no home. Some called him impractical and out of touch. Some said, "How he has declined!" Some asked, "Why is he so restlessly bustling?" His reputation had been lost. He resigned his post as Minister of Justice in Lu and departed; in every state he visited he held no office. He lived his whole life in hardship and poverty — his salary and profit were lost. 
 Yet precisely because he lost fame and profit, he gained the great name of Model for Teachers of Ten Thousand Generations, the name of one the like of whom has never existed since the birth of humankind. He gained the enduring benefit of sacrificial vessels honored for a thousand autumns, offerings enjoyed in the ancestral temple, and posterity preserving his legacy. Looking back at those rulers of the various states who in their day gained fame and gained profit — they have all, on the contrary, lost everything. 
 Confucius, of course, had no intention of seeking fame or profit. Yet where there is substance, there will be reputation. Where there is De, there will be emolument. Seeing it this way, one need only pursue substance and cultivate great De — and that is enough. Why insist on seeking fame and profit? Why insist on calculating getting and losing?

Chapter 45
大成若缺，其用不敝。大盈若衝，其用不窮。大直若屈，大巧若拙，大辯若訥。躁勝寒，靜勝熱。清靜為天下正。 
 Translation 
 Great accomplishment seems incomplete —
yet its use is never worn away.
Great fullness seems hollow —
yet its use is inexhaustible.
Great straightness seems bent.
Great skill seems clumsy.
Great eloquence seems halting.
Restlessness overcomes cold;
stillness overcomes heat.
Clarity and stillness set all under Heaven right. 
 Word Notes 
 
 缺 — "lacking" : Deficient, incomplete. 
 衝 — "empty" : Hollow, void. 
 拙 — "clumsy" : Dull, unskilled. 
 辯 — "eloquence" : Disputation, argumentation. 
 訥 — "halting" : Reticent, not speaking much. 
 躁 — "agitation" : Urgency, restlessness. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One who has great accomplishment instead seems to have deficiencies — yet the function of his work is never worn away. One who has great fullness instead seems empty — yet the function of his fullness is never exhausted. One who is greatly straight instead seems bent. One who has great skill instead seems clumsy and dull. One who has great eloquence instead seems halting. Yet what is held within will naturally prevail outwardly. Cold and heat are external weather. One who is inwardly agitated can overcome cold — though it is cold, one does not feel cold. One who is inwardly still can overcome heat — though it is hot, one does not feel hot. Therefore, clarity and stillness — nonaction — naturally set all under Heaven right of itself. 
 Discourse 
 In general, all who accomplish something truly great leave no visible trace, as though they had accomplished nothing. Consider Confucius: he gathered the great achievements of all the sages into one — this was a great accomplishment indeed. And yet he transmitted but did not originate, as though he had accomplished nothing. His De matched Heaven and Earth; his learning spanned antiquity and the present — this was fullness in the highest degree. And yet in every matter he said, "What do I really have?" — as though he were utterly empty. His meeting with Nanzi and his meeting with Yang Huo were instances of great straightness seeming bent. His being broadly learned yet claiming no specialty to make his name — this was great skill seeming clumsy. He edited the Odes and the Documents , established the Rites and the Music , and compiled the Spring and Autumn Annals . Where principle could not be explained to others, he did not argue with them. And yet a hundred generations later, without any argument, it became clear of itself. Is not the power of nonaction immeasurably great? Why do people not learn from this?

Chapter 46
天下有道，卻走馬以糞。天下無道，戎馬生於郊。罪莫大於可欲，禍莫大於不知足，咎莫大於欲得。故知足常足。 
 Translation 
 When all under Heaven walks the Dao,
war-horses are turned to the fields to haul dung.
When all under Heaven has lost the Dao,
war-horses are bred on the open frontier. 
 No crime is greater than kindling desire in others.
No calamity is greater than not knowing when enough is enough.
No fault is greater than the hunger to take. 
 Therefore: to know that enough is enough —
this is the only sufficiency that lasts. 
 Word Notes 
 
 戎 — "war" : Military, pertaining to arms. 
 郊 — "borderlands" : The open country beyond the walls, the wilds. 
 咎 — "fault" : Blame, transgression. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When all under Heaven possesses Dao and there is peace, war-horses are retired and used only to haul manure for the fields. When all under Heaven lacks Dao and there is disorder, war-horses are bred and mustered on the borderlands. Among the crimes that invite military calamity, none is greater than being unable to stand on one's own and thereby arousing the covetousness of others. Among the calamities of upheaval, none is greater than that wrought by the rapacious and greedy who do not know contentment. Among the faults that lead to war and slaughter, none is greater than the desire to seize the land and property of others. Therefore, only those who know contentment can have lasting contentment and cease to contend. 
 Discourse 
 I, this young student, once read On Evolution and encountered its doctrine that the superior triumph and the inferior fall, the strong devour the weak. I was deeply unconvinced. In my own judgment, the superior ought to educate the inferior, teaching them until they too become superior. The strong ought to protect the weak, nurturing them until they too become strong. Granted, the inferior and weak are in a position where they may be defeated and devoured. But if one takes the larger view, all people under Heaven are brethren. If a brother is inferior, shall we defeat him? If a brother is weak, shall we devour him? Is this not utterly lacking in humane principle? Is it not exceedingly cruel? 
 Moreover, the people of the world cannot possibly be all alike. Even in the world's most civilized nations, the level of their citizens cannot be uniform. Not only can the citizens of an entire nation not be uniform — even within a single school, where the students are the same age, the geography and customs are the same, and the education they receive is the same, their levels will inevitably vary in superiority and inferiority, strength and weakness. If we follow this logic, must the superior expel the inferior? Must the strong devour the weak? 
 Some will say that the citizens of civilized nations practice civic virtue and patriotism, and would never massacre one another. If they indeed practice civic virtue, then why do they still annihilate and swallow up the nations of others? To love only one's own nation is still private virtue — it cannot count as civic virtue. Even if one concedes it as civic virtue, it is only a small civic virtue, not the great civic virtue of all under Heaven. Only loving all under Heaven counts as great civic virtue. Nor does this mean abandoning one's own nation to love others — one need only extend the heart that loves one's nation to love all under Heaven, and that suffices. 
 If one truly loves all under Heaven, one will not only refrain from annihilating and devouring the inferior and weak, but will actively enlighten and protect them. The superior and strong are like the elder and the advanced student; the inferior and weak are like the junior and the beginning student. The beginning student and the younger brother enjoy the good fortune of the advanced student and the elder brother; the advanced student and the elder brother receive the support of the beginning student and the younger brother. Loving all under Heaven is precisely the way to love one's own nation. And all under Heaven can then enjoy everlasting peace. 
 If, on the contrary, one follows that evolutionary doctrine, then at first the superior and strong compete against the inferior and weak, and naturally the inferior and weak are annihilated and devoured. But after the inferior and weak have been annihilated, the superior and strong must turn to competing against each other. In this competition, new divisions of superior and inferior, strong and weak, emerge, and once again some are annihilated and devoured. The competition never ceases; the annihilation never stops. Not only will nations be unable to endure, but humanity itself will be unable to survive — the evolution will have run its course until only a single person remains. 
 My Asia, from the beginning of the Zhou dynasty to the era of powerful Qin, provides the evidence of the past. At the beginning of the Zhou, the Central Land had some eight hundred states. During the Eastern Zhou, the various states competed against one another, and the inferior and weak were swallowed up by the superior and strong, gradually declining to several dozen states, then gradually to seven, and at last to powerful Qin alone. Yet the peoples of the swallowed states would not resign themselves to their fate. They rose up together and destroyed the house of Qin. Fortunately the Founder of the Han was magnanimous and broad-minded, treated others with generosity, and made a covenant with the people in three simple articles of law, abolishing all the harsh statutes, and thereby brought the wars of all under Heaven to rest. Otherwise, had the competition continued without end, would my Central Land not have been emptied of people long ago? 
 My nation declined from the Han dynasty onward because of the dynastic system of private empire and the policy of keeping the people ignorant. This was not a consequence of failing to compete — it was a result of the abuses of autocratic governance. Therefore I have never agreed with the evolutionary theorists. 
 Now, as I annotate the Dao De Jing and come to this chapter, when I read the words "No crime is greater than kindling desire," I realize that Laozi in his day also had a theory of evolution — and moreover I come to understand that the ancient sages who originated the evolutionary theory did so to illuminate the stakes, to awaken the inferior and weak, to teach them to strive and advance, to stand strong on their own, so that they might ride abreast with the world's powers, that civilization might flourish, and that equality and freedom might prevail. This, too, was a hard-won aspiration of the evolutionary theorists. They were by no means reinforcing the arrogance of powerful nations or teaching monkeys to climb trees. Alas, the rapacious nations seized upon this doctrine. Without waiting for the inferior and weak to awaken and evolve, they swallowed them up at once. This was of course the brutality and inhumanity of the rapacious nations — but it was also because the evolutionary theorists, though well-intentioned, stated their case too partially, presenting only one side, and inevitably gave rise to great abuses. 
 The ancients said, "A single word can ruin a state." Has not this doctrine done more than ruin states? 
 Consider now how Laozi stated his case: from all four directions and all eight sides, covering every aspect without omission. He composed both a theory of evolution and a theory of heavenly principle. His theory of evolution rebukes the inferior and weak for their inability to stand on their own: having people yet not knowing to educate them, having land yet not knowing to defend it, having raw materials yet not knowing to extract and manufacture them — seductive adornment invites licentiousness, careless storage invites theft — kindling the covetousness of powerful neighbors and provoking military calamity is the gravest of crimes. His theory of heavenly principle rebukes the superior and strong for their rapacious insatiability, their ceaseless grasping and seizure, their fattening of themselves at others' expense, their destruction of the principles of justice — this is the gravest of faults. And finally he admonishes the strong nations to rid themselves of covetousness, to know when enough is enough and cease contention, so that all under Heaven may be at peace — so that soldiers need not stand perpetually on the frontier killing one another, and horses can be put to the peaceful work of hauling dung for the fields, and everyone may devote themselves to practical enterprise, and resources will naturally suffice. 
 I venture to ask the humane and worthy of the world to judge this impartially. Laozi's words are such that when pressed forward they are never excessive, and when held back they leave ample room. How supremely balanced and peaceful they are! How perfectly rounded and thorough!

Chapter 47
不出戶，知天下。不窺牖，見天道。其出彌遠，其知彌少。是以聖人不行而知，不見而名，無為而成。 
 Translation 
 Without stepping through the door,
one knows all under Heaven.
Without peering through the window,
one sees the Dao of Heaven.
The farther one ventures out,
the less one knows. 
 And so the Sage knows without journeying,
perceives without looking,
and brings all things to completion without striving. 
 Word Notes 
 
 戶 — "door" : The door of one's dwelling. 
 牖 — "window" : The window. 
 彌 — "the more... the more" : Increasingly, ever more. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Without going out the door, one can know the affairs of all under Heaven. Without peering out the window, one can perceive the Dao of Heaven. Ordinary people, the farther they venture out, the less they know. Therefore the Sage, without journeying, knows all principles. Without looking, he discerns the names of all things. Without acting, he can accomplish all things. 
 Discourse 
 Confucius said to Zigong: "Do you think of me as someone who has learned many things and memorized them all?" Zigong replied, "Yes — is that not so?" Confucius said, "No. I have one thread that runs through it all." This is because Dao gives birth to the myriad beings — it is of one root. If one grasps this one thread and knows the source of all that exists, then the myriad beings are known without seeking to know them. 
 Otherwise, if one seeks knowledge from the branches and leaves, even if one researches for ten thousand upon ten thousand years and expends an immeasurable amount of spirit and energy, one will still be unable to discover the ultimate reason of things. And inevitably, the more one researches, the less one perceives and knows. This is because one takes what one perceives and knows to be real, and what one does not perceive and know to be nonexistent. Yet the things of the world — some have form, some are formless; they shift and transform in a thousand ways, ten thousand variations, defying prediction. To cling fixedly to perception and knowledge alone — is this not exceedingly narrow? 
 In former times, Confucius knew the rites of the Yin and the rites of the Xia; he knew the events of a hundred generations to come. Yet he did not arrive at this through the study of historical records, for the states of Qi and Song lacked sufficient documents and scholars. He knew the shangyang, the one-legged rain-bird; the pingshi, the giant aquatic fruit; the Sushen arrows, flint-tipped shafts of the Sushen people; and the Fangfeng bones, the giant skeletal remains of the Fangfeng clan. Yet none of this was arrived at through the methods of physical science. 
 Mencius said: "The heavens are so high, the stars and constellations so remote — yet if one seeks the underlying principle, the solstice a thousand years hence can be calculated while sitting." Yet this, too, was not worked out through specialized astronomy or by calculation with a telescope. 
 The Buddha gazed upon the vast cosmos of three thousand great-thousand worlds as though it lay in the palm of his hand. Yet neither was this achieved through ocean voyages and expeditions, nor through the use of a telescope. 
 All of this is because the Sage has grasped the root source. The myriad beings all return to him. All that exists lies within one's own nature. What need is there to venture out and look?

Chapter 48
為學日益，為道日損。損之又損，以至於無為。無為而無不為矣。故取天下者，常以無事。及其有事，不足以取天下。 
 Translation 
 In the pursuit of learning, one gains day by day.
In the pursuit of Dao, one sheds day by day.
Shedding and shedding again,
until nothing remains to be done.
Through nothing remaining to be done, nothing is left undone.
Therefore one who would win all under Heaven
does so always through effortless engagement.
When one resorts to contrivance,
it is not enough to win all under Heaven. 
 Word Notes 
 
 See Word Notes for Chapter 40 (損, 益) and Chapter 42 (損, 益) for terms repeated here. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 In the pursuit of learning, one must daily increase one's knowledge. In the pursuit of Dao, one must daily strip away one's perceptions and preconceptions. Strip them away again and again, until one has no perceptions or preconceptions at all, becoming one body with Dao. Acting through nonaction, one is then able to leave nothing undone. Therefore, when the Sage wins all under Heaven, he constantly employs the principle of acting as though there were nothing to do. When he resorts to deliberate contrivance, on the contrary, it is not enough to win all under Heaven. 
 Discourse 
 The preceding chapter explained the wondrous function of Dao. But one may worry that people who have not yet attained that level of cultivation will simply lapse into dead emptiness and end up inert and unresponsive, utterly useless — like a clay or wooden puppet. Therefore the text follows immediately with this: in the pursuit of learning, one must daily renew and renew again, study and practice regularly, learn broadly and inquire widely. From breadth, one then returns to the essential; from the myriad particularities, one returns again to the single root. When the time comes to cultivate Dao, one can then strip away perceptions, preconceptions, names, and appearances, preserving only the primal principle. Strip away and strip away again, returning to emptiness and nonbeing. From emptiness and nonbeing, wondrous existence arises. One knows nothing, yet there is nothing one does not know. One can do nothing, yet there is nothing one cannot do. Even something as vast as all under Heaven can be taken up with a laugh and a bow, without committing a single unjust act or killing a single innocent person. If even winning all under Heaven can be accomplished this way, how much more so everything else — that goes without saying. 
 (This speaks in the most extreme terms of Dao's wondrous function. It does not mean the Sage harbors a desire to seize all under Heaven.)

Chapter 49
聖人無常心，以百姓心為心。善者吾善之，不善者吾亦善之，德善矣。信者吾信之，不信者吾亦信之，德信矣。賢人在天下惵惵，為天下渾其心。百姓皆注其耳目，聖人皆孩之。 
 Translation 
 The Sage has no fixed heart —
he takes the heart of the hundred families as his own. 
 Those who are good, I meet with goodness.
Those who are not good, I also meet with goodness.
Thus De perfects itself as goodness. 
 Those who are trustworthy, I meet with trust.
Those who are not trustworthy, I also meet with trust.
Thus De perfects itself as trust. 
 The worthy one moves through the world watchful and apprehensive,
gathering all hearts into his own.
The hundred families fix their eyes and ears upon him —
and he cherishes them all as his children. 
 Word Notes 
 
 惵惵 — "all caution and concern" : Fearful, apprehensive. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The Sage has no fixed heart — he takes the heart of the hundred families as his own heart. Among the hundred families, those who are good, he treats well, guiding them onward. Those who are not good, he also treats well, coaxing and shepherding them along. In this way, one can bring goodness to all under Heaven and perfect one's great De of goodness. Among the hundred families, those who are trustworthy, he meets with trust. Those who are not trustworthy, he also meets with trust. In this way, when those above value trust, the people will all become trustworthy, and one perfects one's great De of trust. The Sage, in the world, is all caution and apprehension, fearing that the divisions between self and other among the people run too deep for harmony. Therefore, for all the world, he merges his heart with theirs, eliminating the marks of distinction. The hundred families all fix their eyes and ears on scrutinizing who is good and who is not, who is trustworthy and who is not. But the Sage treats all the people of the world as children — no matter what, he delights in them. 
 Discourse 
 The world knows more times of strife than of peace. On the small scale, this person cannot get along with that person. On the large scale, this nation contends with that nation. If we trace this disease to its root, it is always because ego-attachment runs too deep — knowing only the self, not knowing others — so that people cannot live in harmony. At first they wage war with tongues and pens. In the end it comes to guns and cannons. And once they contend with guns and cannons, the cruelty becomes extreme. By that point, even binding them with public law and governing them with penal statutes can only treat the exterior but not the interior, and can rescue the moment but not the future. 
 Therefore the Sage resolves the matter at the root. 
 Confucius said: "No presuppositions, no certainties, no rigidities, no self." 
 The Buddha said: "No mark of person, no mark of self, no mark of being, no mark of life-span." 
 Jesus said: "Love those who are your enemies; treat with goodness those who assail you." 
 All of these share the same purport as this chapter of Laozi. 
 As for the Patriarch of Islam, who said that the Lord practices goodness and forgiveness — this too accords with the meaning of this chapter, which teaches us to cherish all people of the world as children. When children are well-behaved, of course one delights in them. When children cause mischief, one delights in them just the same. Raise them up, educate them gradually, and in time they will turn out well. When this is so, what boundary between self and other remains? Is this not all under Heaven as one family, ten thousand states as one person?

Chapter 50
出生入死。生之徒十有三死。死之徒十有三。人之生動之死地者，亦十有三。夫何故？以其生生之厚。蓋聞善攝生者，陸行不遇兕虎，人軍不避甲兵。兕無所投其角，虎無所措其爪，兵無所容其刃。夫何故？以其無死地。 
 Translation 
 Emerging into life, entering into death.
Three in ten are companions of life;
three in ten are companions of death.
Three in ten, though alive, move toward the ground of death —
drawn there by their own hand.
Why is this so?
Because they feed life too richly. 
 I have heard that one who is skilled at tending life
walks the open land without meeting rhinoceros or tiger,
passes through armies without need of shield or blade.
The rhinoceros finds no place to drive its horn,
the tiger finds no place to set its claws,
the blade finds no place to lodge its edge.
Why is this so?
Because in him there is no ground where death can reach. 
 Word Notes 
 
 徒 — "companions; category" : A class or type of people. 
 攝 — "to preserve; to maintain" : To hold together, to safeguard. 
 陸 — "overland; level ground" : Flat, open terrain. 
 兕 — "rhinoceros" : A fierce beast, paired with the tiger as an exemplar of mortal danger. 
 避 — "to avoid; to dodge" : To evade, to shy away from. 
 刃 — "blade; cutting edge" : The edge of a weapon. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Everything under Heaven that emerges into life must inevitably enter into death. Children who are in the midst of growth constitute three out of ten. The elderly who are approaching death constitute three out of ten. Those in their middle years whose vital energy still flourishes but who gradually shift toward the ground of death — they too constitute three out of ten. Why do these middle-aged people shift toward the ground of death? Because they have developed cravings and desires: savoring fine food, delighting in beautiful appearances, indulging themselves too lavishly. Moreover, in scheming for clothing, food, and shelter to nourish their lives, they exhaust and injure themselves, and so they end up in the ground of death. 
 I have always heard that one skilled at tending life, when walking the open land, does not encounter rhinoceros or tiger; when passing through armies, has no need of shield or blade. The rhinoceros finds no place to drive its horn; the tiger has no place to set its claws; weapons have no place to lodge their blades. Why is this so? Because such a person regards the body as nothing, does not cherish the flesh-self, and his true nature encompasses all that lies beyond the vastness of space — there is no ground where death can reach him. 
 Discourse 
 The reason people cling so deeply to the mark of self and fall into contention and turmoil is nothing other than this: they have this body, they have this life, and so they must eat, must dress, must have shelter. What is more, they insist on eating fine food, wearing fine clothes, and living in fine houses. They chase after the pleasures of wind, flowers, snow, and moonlight to amuse this body. They study hygiene and health in meticulous detail to make this body last forever. Little do they realize that feeding life in this way will inevitably feed them straight into the ground of death. 
 How so? Consider: a small child, when hungry, simply eats; when cold, simply puts on clothes. If there is nothing, he does not scheme to get it. If there is something, he uses it without thinking to save any. As for feeding life and guarding health, he understands none of this. By rights he ought to die. Yet on the contrary, he is able to grow. Once he has grown up and learned to scheme for clothing and food, to feed life and guard health, to chase the pleasures of longevity, on the contrary he feeds himself into old age and arrives at the ground of death. This is sufficient proof that feeding life in this way does not work. 
 Not only does this approach fail — even those who devote themselves to seated meditation and study alchemical scriptures, if they can transcend the confines of the single body, that may be acceptable; but if they only labor on the flesh-self, it still will not work. (This is discussed in detail elsewhere.) For the human body progresses from youth to prime, from prime to old age. Whatever has life must inevitably have death. Regardless of whether one lives many years or few, none can escape this. Therefore the Sage sees through this principle: he does not seek life on the level of the flesh-self but seeks life on the level of the spirit-self. He does not fear the death of the flesh-self; he fears only the death of the spirit-self. 
 As Laozi said: "If I had no body, what trouble would I have?" Confucius said: "Sacrifice one's life to accomplish humaneness." Mencius said: "Give up life to take hold of righteousness." He also said: "Whether one dies young or lives long, one does not waver" — meaning that one cultivates the self without regard to the span of one's years. These are all marvelous methods for tending life. 
 Guan Longfeng and Bi Gan died as martyrs for their states. Bo Yi and Shu Qi died treading the path of humaneness. The Buddha endured King Kalinga's dismemberment, limb by limb. Jesus gave up his body to save the world. These are all models of true life-preservation. 
 Their flesh-selves died, yet their true natures endure forever. The flesh-self has form and substance; it has a ground where death can reach it. Therefore, where there is life, there is inevitably death. The spirit-self has no body and no location; there is no ground where death can reach it. Therefore it is neither born nor destroyed. Why should anyone, for the sake of feeding a flesh-self that lasts a few decades, let the true nature that endures through all the ages die?

Chapter 51
道生之，德畜之，物行之，勢成之。是以萬物莫不尊道而貴德。道之尊，德之貴，夫莫之爵，而常自然。故道生之、畜之，長之、育之，亭之、毒之，養之、覆之。生而不有，為而不恃，長而不宰，是謂玄德。 
 Translation 
 Dao brings them to life, De tends to their keeping,
things set them in motion, and circumstance completes them.
So among the ten thousand beings, none fail
to revere Dao and hold De precious. 
 The reverence Dao commands, the worth De carries —
no title is conferred upon them,
yet always, of themselves, it is so. 
 Therefore Dao brings them to life and tends to their keeping,
rears them and fosters them,
steadies them and tempers them,
nourishes them and shelters them. 
 It gives life yet lays no claim,
it acts yet does not lean upon its works,
it rears yet does not lord over them. 
 This is called the far-reaching De. 
 Word Notes 
 
 畜 — "to nurture; to rear" : also carries the sense of generating life. 
 爵 — "rank; title of nobility" : a conferral of position or honors. 
 亭 — "to bring to stand; to establish" : the appearance of standing tall and fully formed. 
 毒 — "to bring to ripeness; to temper" : subjecting the myriad beings to frost and cold in order to mature them. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 All things in the world are generated by Dao. Yet Dao's generation of things cannot be seen. When Dao stirs, it becomes De. De endows the myriad beings with their natures and generates all the various kinds. It further borrows the qi of yin and yang to give them form. Following the natural momentum of things, they grow to completion. For this reason, the myriad beings all revere Dao and prize De . The reverence for Dao, the preciousness of De — no one has ever conferred rank or title upon them, yet naturally, of themselves, they are revered and prized. 
 Therefore Dao gives life to the myriad beings , and De nurtures them. It further rears and fosters them, brings them to stand and brings them to ripeness , sustains and shelters them. And yet Dao gives life to the myriad beings without claiming it as its own ; it acts to cultivate the myriad beings without leaning upon its works ; it rears the myriad beings without lording over them . This is called the most profoundly far-reaching De . 
 Discourse 
 The myriad beings are all generated by Dao and nurtured by De. Though human beings are the most sentient among the myriad beings, they remain but one member of that company. The life that human beings receive and are nourished by is nothing other than Dao and De. Since we are generated and nourished by Dao and De, we need only revere Dao and hold De precious — why must we cling to life alone? 
 People cling to life for no other reason than their wish to be honored in the world. But they do not realize that worldly honor is not truly honorable. What Zhao Meng ennobles, Zhao Meng can debase. How much better to revere Dao and hold De precious, bestowing De upon others, so that people naturally honor you. And though people honor you, you lay no claim to it and do not lean upon your De, so that no one can ennoble you or debase you. Only then can one be honored forever.

Chapter 52
天下有始，以為天下母。既得其母，以知其子。既知其子，復守其母，歿身不殆。塞其兌，閉其門，終身不勤。開其兌，濟其事，終身不救。見小曰明，守柔曰強。用其光，復歸其明，無遺身殃，是謂襲常。 
 Translation 
 All under Heaven has a beginning —
take it as the mother of all under Heaven.
Having found the mother,
know thereby the children.
Having known the children,
return and guard the mother:
to the end of your days, no danger. 
 Stop up the openings, close the gates —
to the end of your life, no exhaustion.
Open the openings, press on with affairs —
to the end of your life, beyond rescue. 
 To perceive the small: this is called clarity.
To guard the yielding: this is called strength.
Use its radiance,
return again to its clarity —
bring no calamity upon yourself.
This is called practicing the constant. 
 Word Notes 
 
 兌 — "openings" : the mouth; by extension, the sense-openings through which spirit and energy leak out. 
 殃 — "calamity; misfortune" : disaster, ruin. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 All things under Heaven have a beginning , a root-source that serves as the mother of all under Heaven . If a person can find this root-source — having found the mother , he can then know the children . Having known the children , he must then return and guard the mother . By returning to the root and restoring the source, even when the body perishes, there is no danger. 
 How can one guard the mother? Stop up the mouth and close the gates so that essence and spirit do not leak out. Then throughout one's entire life, there is no need for toilsome striving — success comes naturally. But if one opens the mouth and presses on to accomplish affairs , then throughout one's entire life, nothing can save him. 
 Being able to perceive the infinitely small beginning of things is called clarity . Guarding the infinitely yielding mother is called strength . Use the radiance that shines outward, then draw it back and return to the root-clarity . Do not let it flow out and never return, leaving a lifetime of calamity upon yourself. This is called practicing the true and constant Dao . 
 Discourse 
 This chapter embodies the principle stated in the Book of Changes : "To reckon what has passed is to follow the forward direction; to know what is to come is to go in reverse. Therefore the Changes reckons in reverse." 
 The pre-celestial gives birth to the post-celestial in the forward direction. Following the current downstream, one inevitably reaches exhaustion. Therefore one must reverse course and return to the pre-celestial. But since the pre-celestial has already given birth to the post-celestial, the pre-celestial on its own is spent. It is as though once the mother has given birth to the child, the mother has grown old. One must reunite child and mother in order to restore the original face. 
 This chapter says: "Having found the mother, know thereby the children" — this is tracing from the pre-celestial root-source to discover the post-celestial. "Having known the children, return and guard the mother" — this is using the post-celestial to return to the pre-celestial. "Stop up the openings, close the gates" — this is the method for returning to the pre-celestial. It is precisely what Confucius taught Yan Hui as the four prohibitions: "Do not look at what violates propriety, do not listen to what violates propriety, do not speak what violates propriety, do not act on what violates propriety." It is what the Buddhist scriptures call "no eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, or mind." Only in this way can one pass from conditioned existence back to the unconditioned — truly constant and unchanging.

Chapter 53
使我介然有知，行於大道，惟施是畏。大道甚夷，而民好徑。朝甚除，田甚蕪，倉甚虛。服文采，帶利劍，厭飲食，資貨有餘，是謂盜竽。非道哉！ 
 Translation 
 Were I to have the least scrap of knowledge,
I would walk upon the great road —
my only dread: ostentation. 
 The great road is perfectly level,
yet the people prefer the byways. 
 The court is harsh and exacting,
the fields lie overgrown and desolate,
the granaries stand utterly empty —
yet they dress in embroidered finery,
bear sharp swords at their sides,
gorge themselves on food and drink,
hoard wealth and goods beyond all need.
This is called the ringleader of thieves.
How far this is from Dao! 
 Word Notes 
 
 介 — "solitary; steadfast" : standing alone, unwavering. 
 施 — "ostentation; boasting" : showing off, self-display. 
 夷 — "level; even" : flat, smooth, without obstacles. 
 徑 — "byway; shortcut" : a strange and out-of-the-way narrow path. 
 除 — "harsh; exacting" : severe scrutiny in governance. 
 蕪 — "overgrown; desolate" : wild and uncultivated. 
 倉 — "granary" : a storehouse for grain and rice. 
 厭 — "sated; surfeited" : having eaten one's fill and more. 
 資 — "wealth; assets" : money, material goods. 
 竽 — "reed pipe" : a musical instrument made from bamboo tubes; it leads the five tones — when one plays, all harmonize. Hence "the ringleader of thieves": the one who sets the tune for thievery. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Were I to stand alone with true knowledge, I would be able to walk the great road. My only dread would be ostentation — self-aggrandizement. The great road is inherently perfectly level. Yet the people prefer to walk strange, out-of-the-way byways. 
 In the court , governance and punishment are harshly exacting. The fields are utterly overgrown and desolate. The granaries are empty and bare. Yet despite this, people still indulge in luxury: wearing embroidered finery , carrying sharp swords at their sides, indulging their appetites to gorge on food and drink , and greedily hoarding so that wealth and goods pile up in excess . This is called the ringleader of thieves . How far this is from Dao! 
 Discourse 
 The great road is inherently perfectly centered and perfectly upright, level and broad. One may walk it back and forth throughout a lifetime, peacefully and without incident. Unfortunately, people find the great road bland and without flavor — not as interesting as the strange byways, where one can find allurements of sound, beauty, and material goods, free to indulge at will. And so they abandon the proper road and turn down the crooked byways, seeking to dress in embroidered finery, gorge themselves on food and drink, amass wealth and goods, and flaunt their might. Little do they realize that the byways are places where bandits lie in wait. There is great danger ahead.

Chapter 54
善建者不拔，善抱者不脫，子孫祭祀不輟。修之於身，其德乃真；修之於家，其德乃餘；修之於鄉，其德乃長；修之於邦，其德乃豐；修之於天下，其德乃普。故以身觀身，以家觀家，以鄉觀鄉，以邦觀邦，以天下觀天下。吾何以知天下之然哉？以此。 
 Translation 
 What is skillfully established cannot be uprooted;
what is skillfully held cannot slip away.
Through this, descendants offer the rites without cease. 
 Cultivate it in oneself — De becomes true.
Cultivate it in the family — De becomes abundant.
Cultivate it in the village — De becomes enduring.
Cultivate it in the state — De becomes full.
Cultivate it in all under Heaven — De becomes universal. 
 Therefore, observe the person through the person,
observe the family through the family,
observe the village through the village,
observe the state through the state,
observe all under Heaven through all under Heaven.
How do I know all under Heaven is thus?
By this. 
 Word Notes 
 
 拔 — "to uproot; to pull out" : to wrench from the ground. 
 脫 — "to slip away; to come loose" : to fall away, to be lost. 
 輟 — "to cease; to stop" : to discontinue. 
 豐 — "full; abundant" : overflowing, replete. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 What is skillfully established is so firmly set that it cannot be uprooted . What is skillfully held is so securely kept that it can never slip away . Passed down to later generations, the descendants offer the rites without ceasing — for such a person possesses De. 
 If one truly cultivates De in one's own person , one's De becomes genuine and true . If one further cultivates it in the family , one's De overflows to spare . If one cultivates it in the village , one's De grows great and enduring . If one cultivates it in the state , one's De becomes full and replete . If one cultivates it in all under Heaven , one's De becomes universal and all-pervading . 
 Therefore, take my own person to observe another's person — if I can cultivate myself, others too can cultivate themselves. Take my own family to observe another's family — if I can set my family in order, other families too can be set in order. Take my own village to observe another's village — if my village can be transformed, other villages too can be transformed. Take my own state to observe another's state — if my state can be well-governed, other states too can be well-governed. Take my realm under Heaven to observe another's realm — if my realm can be brought to peace, other realms too can be brought to peace. How do I know that all under Heaven can be brought to peace? By inference from my own person. 
 Discourse 
 The greatest thing one can establish is meritorious service to the state. The finest thing one can hold is a disc of precious jade. Yet when the rival state is destroyed, the meritorious minister perishes. A common person bears no guilt, but possessing a jade disc is itself a crime. Thus establishing merit and holding jade not only cannot endure — they even bring the danger of death. 
 Only one who holds Dao in his person and establishes De in the world can achieve what is described as "received in the ancestral temple, preserved by descendants through the generations." Through ten thousand ages, nothing will change this. 
 Establishing De in the world may appear extremely difficult, extremely grand. But in truth it is extremely near, extremely easy — it lies right in one's own person. Does not the Doctrine of the Mean say: "In hewing a handle from a handle, the model is not far off"? Does not the Great Learning say: "Everything, without exception, is rooted in cultivating the self"? Does not Mencius say: "Cultivate your own person, and all under Heaven will find peace"? 
 If one can truly cultivate De in one's own person, one can not only set the family in order, govern the state, and bring peace to all under Heaven — one can govern all worlds, all realms under Heaven, all of Heaven and Earth and the myriad beings. All of these are nurtured and sustained from one's own person.

Chapter 55
含德之厚，比於赤子。毒蟲不螫，猛獸不據，攫鳥不搏。骨弱筋柔而握固。未知牝牡之合而血夋作，精之至也。終日號而不嘎，和之至也。和和曰常，知常曰明。益生曰祥，心使氣曰強。物壯則老，是謂不道，不道早矣。 
 Translation 
 One who holds De in abundance
is like a newborn infant.
Venomous insects do not sting it,
fierce beasts do not seize it,
birds of prey do not strike it.
Its bones are weak, its sinews soft, yet its grip is firm.
It knows nothing of the joining of male and female,
yet its vitality stirs —
essence at its utmost.
It cries all day without growing hoarse —
harmony at its utmost. 
 Harmony upon harmony — this is called the constant.
To know the constant is called clarity.
To augment life is called auspicious.
For the heart to command the qi is called strength.
When beings reach their prime, they age —
this is called departing from Dao.
What departs from Dao comes to an early end. 
 Word Notes 
 
 含 — "to hold; to contain" : to enfold within oneself. 
 螫 — "to sting" : when an insect pierces the skin and injects venom. 
 據 — "to seize; to pin down" : to press down and grab. 
 攫 — "to snatch; to swoop upon" : the strike of a bird seizing prey. 
 握 — "to grip; to grasp" : to hold in the fist. 
 血夋 — "the infant's member" : the external genitals of a small child. 
 嘎 — "hoarse" : an angry, strained cry. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One who holds De in abundance is compared to a newborn infant. Because the infant does not know how to harm things, its abundant De resonates and summons a response: venomous insects do not sting it, fierce beasts do not seize it, birds that snatch their prey do not strike it. Though its bones are weak and sinews soft , its vital force grips and holds with great firmness. It knows nothing of the union of male and female , yet true yang stirs of itself . This shows that its true essence has reached the utmost purity . It cries all day , yet its voice never grows hoarse or strained. Its harmony has reached the utmost . 
 One who understands harmony is said to know the constant Dao . One who knows the constant Dao is said to have attained the utmost clarity . Nourishing oneself through Supreme Harmony, augmenting the vital force, is called auspicious . When the heart does not let the temperamental qi disturb it, and can lead the qi so that it does not become violent and unruly, this is called true strength . 
 In this way, preserving Supreme Harmony augments the vital force, and the heart leading the qi so that it does not leak outward constitutes strength — only then does one accord with Dao. Like the myriad beings whose vital qi bursts forth: they may indeed grow strong and vigorous, but when beings reach their prime, they age . This is called departing from Dao . What departs from Dao comes to an early end . 
 Discourse 
 The preceding chapter spoke of establishing De throughout all under Heaven. The root-source of this lies in cultivating the self. This cultivation of the self requires no exotic methods or extraordinary arts — one need only not lose the heart of the newborn infant. The infant's heart is harmonious, its qi is soft — this is the image of abundant De. Its harmonious qi resonates and summons: dragons descend, tigers submit. 
 Moreover, the infant is without selfishness and without desire. Its primal qi does not leak outward. Therefore it can generate life ceaselessly. Whenever beings allow their vital qi to burst forth and spill outward, they may indeed flourish and thrive. But when the fullness reaches its extreme, decline inevitably follows. Decline leads to old age and death. 
 Only the pine and cypress do not flourish greatly in spring, and therefore they do not wither in the cold of winter. If even plants and trees are so, how much more should this be true of human beings?

Chapter 56
知者不言，言者不知。塞其兌，閉其門，挫其銳，解其紛，和其光，同其塵，是謂玄同。故不可得而親，不可得而疏，不可得而利，不可得而害，不可得而貴，不可得而賤。故為天下貴。 
 Translation 
 Those who know do not speak;
those who speak do not know.
Block the openings,
shut the gates,
blunt the sharp,
loose the tangled,
soften the light,
merge with the dust —
this is called mysterious sameness. 
 Therefore it cannot be sought in closeness,
nor held at distance;
it cannot be turned to advantage,
nor made to suffer harm;
it cannot be lifted to honor,
nor cast into lowness.
Thus it is prized above all under Heaven. 
 Word Notes 
 
 疏 — "distant" : far, remote. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Those who truly know Dao do not speak of it. Those who speak of it do not truly know. Those who truly know Dao block their outward openings and shut their gates against what enters from without . They blunt their sharp edges , free themselves from entanglement , soften their light , and merge with the worldly dust . This is called mysterious sameness . Why is it called mysterious sameness? Because one cannot draw near to such a person, nor keep distant from them; one cannot profit them, nor harm them; one cannot ennoble them, nor demean them. Therefore they are the most honored in all under Heaven. 
 Discourse 
 The great Dao is without sound or scent. It cannot be put into words. The moment one speaks of it, one falls into fixed appearances — and this is not truly understanding Dao. Those who truly understand Dao cast off their acuity and let fall their scheming; inwardly they give rise to no discriminating marks; outwardly they merge with others. What need have they for lofty rhetoric and sweeping pronouncements? And what need for endless argument and debate? 
 In an era of the Great Unity, everyone would be a person of noble character, so merging with others would naturally follow. But even in an era of chaos, when people's conduct is far from uniform, the person of Dao still merges with others. Yet though they merge, they are harmonious but not swept along — they differ from people of the world. People of the world seek closeness with, lift to honor, and turn to advantage those who are the same as themselves, while they hold at distance, cast into lowness, and cause harm to those who differ. The person of Dao is the same as others, yet no one can seek closeness with them, turn them to advantage, or lift them to honor — this is sameness that is not-sameness. And since no one can seek closeness with them, turn them to advantage, or lift them to honor, yet equally no one can hold them at distance, cause them harm, or cast them into lowness — this is not-sameness that is sameness. This is the most mysterious kind of sameness. Though on the surface they are the same as others, their inner spiritual nobility is something no one can actually reach. 
 The Confucian disciple Yan Hui, though he walked step by step when the Master walked and hastened when the Master hastened, still sighed in admiration: "The more I look up, the higher it seems; the more I bore into it, the harder it becomes; I see it before me, and suddenly it is behind." This is precisely the principle at work. 
 Yet people of the world fail to perceive this. They say that Mozi's "elevating sameness" — his political doctrine of enforced uniformity — originated with Laozi. They do not realize that Mozi's sameness is caught up in outward traces — it is external, institutionalized, coerced. Laozi's sameness is supremely mysterious. Laozi and Mozi are vastly different indeed.

Chapter 57
以正治國，以奇用兵，以無事取天下。吾何以知天下之然哉？天下多忌諱，而民彌貧；人多利器，國家滋昏；人多技巧，奇物滋起；法令滋彰，盜賊多有。故聖人云：我無為而民自化，我好靜而民自正，我無事而民自富，我無慾而民自樸。 
 Translation 
 Govern the state with uprightness,
deploy the army with surprise,
win all under Heaven through noninterference. 
 How do I know this is so?
By these signs: 
 The more taboos that burden the world,
the poorer the people become.
The more sharp instruments the people possess,
the darker the state grows.
The more cleverness and skill people cultivate,
the stranger the novelties that arise.
The more laws and decrees proliferate,
the more thieves and bandits flourish. 
 Therefore the Sage declares:
I act without acting, and the people transform on their own.
I love stillness, and the people right themselves.
I do not interfere, and the people prosper.
I am free of desire, and the people return to the uncarved. 
 Word Notes 
 
 滋 — "ever deeper," "all the more" : a sense of deepening further, intensifying. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Govern the state with uprightness. Deploy the army with surprise. Win all under Heaven through noninterference. How do I know that all under Heaven can be won through noninterference? Because when all under Heaven is burdened with many taboos, the people fear violating the prohibitions, lose their livelihoods, and grow ever poorer. When the people are furnished with many sharp instruments of convenience, where there are mechanical affairs there must be mechanical minds; people treat one another with cunning and stratagem, and the state grows ever darker. When people prize cleverness and skill, strange and useless novelties multiply all the more. When one governs people by laws and decrees, the more conspicuous these become, the more thieves and bandits flourish. All of this is the consequence of meddling. Therefore the Sage says: I act without acting , and the people naturally transform themselves. I love stillness , and the people naturally right themselves. I do not interfere , and the people naturally prosper. I am free of desire , and the people naturally return to the uncarved. 
 Discourse 
 I, this young student, upon reading this chapter, came to understand that learning is not a pedantic and useless doctrine, and that followers of Dao are not pedantic and useless people. It is simply that governing a state through Dao and transforming the people through De means one is unwilling to deploy one's methods of Dao lightly — for fear of awakening the people's calculating minds, which would only throw the state into ever greater turmoil. 
 When military force becomes unavoidable — when the fate of the state and the lives of the people hang in the balance — then the person of Dao can indeed achieve victory through surprise and rescue the world from calamity. But the "surprise" they employ is not cunning stratagems or deceitful ruses; it is not brute force or freakish valor. It is simply that which surpasses people's expectations — something different from the way others wage war. 
 Confucius, for instance, did not consider wrestling a tiger barehanded or wading a river on foot to be the truly remarkable thing; rather, he regarded facing every undertaking with apprehension and succeeding through careful counsel as truly remarkable. 
 The Marquis of Wu, Zhuge Liang, did not consider capturing Meng Huo to be the remarkable thing — he considered releasing Meng Huo to be remarkable. And it was not one release that was remarkable, but seven releases. 
 As for the Marquis of Wu playing his lute atop an empty city to turn back Sima Yi's forces, or Zhang Zifang playing his flute on a mountaintop to scatter the Hegemon-King's army — these are but lesser instances of the marvelous. 
 For the person of Dao does not consider it marvelous to win battles by filling the cities with slaughter and filling the fields with slaughter. What they consider marvelous is retiring the troops with a laugh and a jest, ending war and stilling strife. Military force is used only to rescue the world from chaos. Once chaos is quelled, military force is no longer employed, and one returns to honoring Dao and treasuring De, to clarity, stillness, and nonaction.

Chapter 58
其政悶悶，其民醇醇；其政察察，其民缺缺。禍兮福所倚，福兮禍所伏。孰知其極？其正無耶？正復為奇，善復為妖。人之迷也，其日固久矣。是以聖人方而不割，廉而不劌，直而不肆，光而不耀。 
 Translation 
 When governance is broad and unhurried,
the people grow pure and generous.
When governance is sharp and prying,
the people grow mean and wanting. 
 Misfortune — fortune leans upon it.
Fortune — misfortune lurks within it.
Who knows where this turning will end?
Is there no fixed standard of right? 
 The upright reverts to the strange,
the good reverts to the monstrous.
Humanity's bewilderment before this
has gone on for a very long time indeed. 
 Therefore the Sage is
square but does not cut,
edged but does not wound,
straight but does not impose,
bright but does not dazzle. 
 Word Notes 
 
 醇 — "pure and generous" : thick, rich; honest and generous in nature. 
 倚 — "leans upon" : rests against, depends on; because of, by reason of. 
 伏 — "lurks within" : hidden, concealed; lies hidden within. 
 妖 — "monstrous" : a harmful prodigy; a monstrous aberration. 
 劌 — "wound" : to cut, to injure. 
 肆 — "impose" : unrestrained, presumptuous; impudent, unbridled. 
 耀 — "dazzle" : to flaunt, to show off; to boast, to make a display. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When the state's governance is broad and unhurried , the people are naturally pure and generous. When the state's governance is sharp and prying , the people naturally become mean and wanting. When things reach their extreme, they reverse: misfortune is what fortune leans upon ; fortune is where misfortune lies hidden . Fortune and misfortune cycle endlessly — who can know where this turning ends? It is not that there is no fixed standard of right. But what appears upright turns again to the strange, and what appears good turns again to the monstrous. The people's bewilderment over where right and wrong, good and evil truly lie has indeed lasted a very long time. Therefore the Sage, though square , does not cut sharply with those corners. Though edged , the Sage does not wound with that severity. Though following the straight way , the Sage does not push it to the point of presumptuousness. Though possessed of radiance , the Sage does not make a dazzling display. 
 Discourse 
 The value of governance lies in grasping the guiding thread and holding fast to the essentials — not in sharp and prying scrutiny, not in burdensome and exacting decrees. When governance becomes exacting and burdensome, not only will water too clear fail to sustain fish, but moreover, whatever those above favor, those below will pursue to excess — breeding customs of harshness, calculation, and deceit. 
 Consider the principle of all things in this world: they cycle in alternation. When one pushes discernment to its extreme, it reverses into confusion. Take the analogy of a person with good eyesight, which we call "keen sight." If they strain to gaze at something extremely distant, exhausting their power of vision, they end up seeing flowers in empty space. They would have been better off as someone with less keen sight, who simply sees blue sky and bright sun. 
 Therefore in all matters, it is better to hold something in reserve and not exhaust things completely. Yet holding in reserve merely slows the exhaustion — in the end, exhaustion still comes. One must transcend the alternating cycles of light and darkness, fortune and misfortune, right and wrong, good and evil — step entirely outside the loop — before one can find a true resting place. Otherwise, day after day one is lost in the turning wheel, coming and going: what one took for upright reverts to the strange, what one took for good reverts to the monstrous. Where then will one find direction?

Chapter 59
治人事天，莫如嗇。夫惟嗇，是謂早服。早服謂之積重德。積重德，則無不克。無不克，則莫知其極。莫知其極，可以有國。有國之母，可以長久。是謂深根固柢，長生久視之道。 
 Translation 
 For governing people and serving Heaven,
nothing surpasses drawing inward.
Only through drawing inward
can one submit early.
Submitting early — this is called
accumulating De, layer upon layer. 
 With De accumulated, layer upon layer,
nothing lies beyond one's power.
When nothing lies beyond one's power,
no one can know one's limit.
When no one can know one's limit,
one may hold the state. 
 Holding the mother of the state,
one may long endure.
This is called deepening the roots, firming the base —
the Dao of long life and enduring vision. 
 Word Notes 
 
 嗇 — "frugality" : drawing inward, withdrawing, emptying, stilling. Not mere parsimony — the entire Daoist posture of self-restraint. 
 柢 — "base" : the root; the foundation. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Governing people and serving Heaven — nothing surpasses drawing inward, withdrawing, emptying, and stilling. Only one who draws inward and stills the self can be said to have submitted early to the way of serving Heaven and governing people. One who has long practiced this way is said to have accumulated De, layer upon layer . With De accumulated, layer upon layer, nothing lies beyond one's power . When nothing lies beyond one's power, no one can know one's limit . When no one can know one's limit, one may hold the state . Having secured the mother of the state , one may long endure . This frugality of drawing inward, if applied to self-cultivation, is called deepening the roots and firming the base — the Dao of long life and enduring vision. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter treats governing people and serving Heaven as equally important. This is precisely the spirit of the Two Emperors and Three Kings — Yao, Shun, Yu, Tang, and Kings Wen and Wu — the sages who were scrupulous in the affairs of the people and reverent before the mandate of Heaven. 
 If we examine the ancient scriptures and classics, the matters of governing people and serving Heaven are all set forth in the fullest detail. From this it is clear that serving Heaven is no vague and ethereal affair. Yet the sages' way of serving Heaven was nothing like the manner of the rulers of the Qin, Han, Tang, and Song dynasties, with their feng-shan sacrifices and apotropaic rites, their fawning irreverence and superstitious practices. It was, rather, a matter of having few private desires and little selfishness, of utmost sincerity penetrating and moving Heaven, resonating with the heart of Heaven itself. Then naturally yin and yang would be in harmony, the seasons would follow their proper course, and there would be no calamities of flood, drought, or pestilence, no people given to debauchery, wickedness, extravagance, or excess. 
 For human beings dwell within qi as fish dwell within water. When the water grows turbid, the fish are unsettled. When qi departs from its proper state, it gives rise to disorder among people. The Sage serves Heaven through sincerity, starting from the very transformation of qi — this is the marvelous method of rectifying the root and purifying the source. 
 Moreover, since all beings are born of Heaven, being scrupulous in human affairs is itself reverence toward Heaven. Governing people and serving Heaven are originally one and the same undertaking. One who can govern people can serve Heaven; one who can serve Heaven can naturally govern people. Among the rulers of ancient times who truly governed all under Heaven, which of them was not one who could stand unashamed even in the hidden corner of the room? 
 As for the way of governing people and serving Heaven: the Confucian disciple Zhonggong exemplified it when he dwelt in reverence and acted with simplicity. In this he grasped the essentials. He could face south, governing through nonaction, and attain lasting stability. If one applies this way to cultivating the self and establishing one's destiny, one can likewise attain long life and enduring vision. For governing the state and cultivating the self are, after all, one and the same principle.

Chapter 60
治大國若亨小鮮。以道蒞天下。其鬼不神。非其鬼不神。其神不傷人。非其神不傷人。聖人亦不傷人。夫兩不相傷。故德交歸焉。 
 Translation 
 Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish.
When one presides over all under Heaven through Dao,
the ghosts do not work their wonders.
It is not that the ghosts cannot work wonders —
their wonders do not harm the people.
It is not only that their wonders do not harm the people —
the Sage, too, does not harm the people.
When neither harms the other,
De converges and returns to them both. 
 Word Notes 
 
 亨 — "to cook" : Read as 烹 (pēng). Means to cook, to prepare by boiling. 
 鮮 — "fresh food" : Fresh, delicate food — here, a small fish. 
 蒞 — "to preside over" : To be personally present at, to attend to in person. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Governing a great state is like cooking a small fish — if you do not handle it properly, it falls apart into a mess. When one presides over all under Heaven through Dao , the ghosts do not work their wonders. It is not that the ghosts have lost their numinous power — it is that their numinous power does not harm people. The Sage governs all under Heaven without harming people, and so the ghosts likewise refrain from harming. When neither of these two harms the other , this is entirely the response evoked by the Sage's abundant De. Therefore the De that refrains from harming converges from both sides and returns to them both. 
 Discourse 
 Once a friend invited me to dinner and prepared two dishes — one grand course and one dish of small fish. The grand course was superbly done, but the small fish was a disaster: some pieces were raw, some burned to a crisp — a complete mess, utterly flavorless. The host flew into a rage and called the cook in to berate him. The cook said: "These small fish are terribly difficult to prepare. Some are bigger, some smaller; some need salt, some should be bland; some require a gentle flame, some a roaring fire. When you lump them all together and cook them at once, of course it turns out badly. If you want them done right, you need a great cauldron, ample water, and a perfectly blue flame — the method of nonaction. Follow the principle that the great soup is left unseasoned: use no special ingredients, and what comes forth will have a natural flavor. But people in this world prefer rich, heavy tastes, so I did not dare cook it that way." I laughed heartily and said: "Not only can you not cook properly — you even talk big and mock the world!" But now, as I, this young student, annotate this chapter and encounter the words "governing a great state is like cooking a small fish," I realize that what he said was the language of Dao. His understanding is no less than that of Cook Ding, who served Lord Wenhui. 
 And I came to a further realization: Laozi himself was a great master of the culinary arts. What a pity that he was hidden away as Keeper of the Archives! Had he been put in charge of cooking, he would surely have produced the most marvelous and nourishing flavors to feast all under Heaven — surpassing even the legendary "salt and plum" counsel of the minister Fu Yue. As for Chen Ruzi, who cut meat with such meticulous evenness — he would not even be worth mentioning. 
 I imagine that Laozi, in cooking his small fish, would certainly have used the method of "the great tailor does not cut." Since his cooking does not hack and carve, his governance would surely not harm the people. Since it does not harm the people, the spirit of harmony would be summoned forth, and there would be no natural disasters or human calamities. The state could enjoy lasting peace and enduring stability. 
 What is the reason for this? Let me try to explain the underlying principle. In all the cosmos, what brings people and the myriad beings into existence is the qi of yin and yang. The power that governs yin qi is called "ghost." The power that governs yang qi is called "spirit." To speak of them as one, we call this "Heaven." (The "heavens" spoken of in the Buddhist scriptures are stages within a system of learning — they are not the Heaven that governs yin and yang.) To speak of this as the sovereign over yin and yang is to call it Shangdi — the Lord on High — or the True Lord, the True Ruler. (The "Shakra" of the Buddhist scriptures is comparable to saying "the ruler of such-and-such a country" — he is not the one and only Lord on High.) (In my earlier annotations to the Daqian Tushuo , what I called "the Lord on High" referred only to the spirit-lord governing the yang-qi portion. The "Lord on High" I speak of here is precisely what the Book of Changes calls the Supreme Ultimate.) 
 The Lord on High is the sovereign of all Heaven, Earth, people, and things — just as the human heart is the sovereign of the entire body. Even if it is merely the skin that is injured, the heart inevitably feels pain. Therefore, if the people are harmed without cause, the Lord on High inevitably feels pain. Toward the dead and wounded, a feeling of grief and compassion arises. The moment grief and compassion arise, yang qi weakens. Toward those who have done the harming, a feeling of pain and loathing arises. The moment pain and loathing arise, yin qi grows strong. Once yin qi grows strong, demons hold authority and scatter all manner of freakish disasters and sudden calamities far and wide. Moreover, the people and creatures born in such a time are largely imbued with this baleful, harsh, and killing qi. Those with wasp eyes and a leopard's voice, born cruel by nature — this is precisely because they have absorbed the most of this qi. People born imbued with such qi will inevitably carry out great slaughter, and all under Heaven falls into chaos. 
 When this chapter says "the ghosts do not work their wonders" and all the rest — this is the principle behind it. 
 Someone said to me: "Whether your words are correct need not be debated. Since you say the Lord on High and the myriad beings are like one body, then the one who harms is the Lord on High, and the one who is harmed is also the Lord on High. The Lord on High has harmed himself. Would the Lord on High then punish himself? It is as if one's own hand injures one's own foot — would the heart then command the foot to punish the hand?" 
 I said: "You know one thing but not the other. You understand the form but not the spirit. When I say the Lord on High punishes people, I do not mean it in the way that superstitious folk and shamans describe it. It is the natural principle within the transformation of qi. The Lord on High does not deliberately punish anyone — all beings bring consequences upon themselves. When people slaughter and harm one another, yin and yang fall out of harmony, and all manner of disasters brew forth. The appearance of punishment manifests naturally." 
 "Furthermore, you say that one cannot punish oneself. But in truth, self-punishment permits not even the slightest leniency — you simply do not realize it. I once tested this through personal experience. One day I was using my right hand to cut paper with a knife. I pressed too hard and slashed my left hand. My heart ached terribly, and I felt compassion for the left hand and resentment toward the right. I glared at the right hand for a long time. The next day, the left hand had stopped hurting, but the right hand had swollen up. My insides felt unwell too. I called a doctor to take my pulse. The doctor said: 'The heart pulse is weak, and the liver qi is overactive. This is because you have experienced both grief and anger, causing yin and yang to fall out of harmony and the internal organs to attack one another. Once the heart is calm and at peace, you will naturally recover. Medicine cannot cure this.'" 
 "Hearing this, I was suddenly and completely enlightened. I realized that the discomfort in my organs was caused by the heart's agitation. The swelling and pain in my right hand came from the heart's resentment — in the moment of glaring with anger, a surge of malignant qi was sent crashing into it, and so it swelled. When I reflect on it now, I followed the doctor's advice and kept my heart calm and my qi at peace for a long while before I gradually recovered." 
 "I thought further: the left hand is my hand, and the right hand is also my hand. The left hand was already injured — would I truly wish for the right hand to suffer as well? Though I had no intention of making it suffer, in the moment of resentment the heart stirred and the qi issued forth without my awareness. The right hand hurt unbearably, and I could not call the qi back even if I wanted to. I realized then that when a person punishes himself — even those who fall ill from the seven emotions — they are punishing themselves without knowing it." 
 "And from this I further realized that the Lord on High's punishment of people works in precisely this way." 
 I then thought of King Wen, whose compassion extended even to dry bones, and King Tang, who removed three sides of the hunting net. These were not the benevolence of a soft-hearted woman — they were acts that harmonized yin and yang. Therefore the Sage's governance of all under Heaven attends entirely to the root, not the surface. For all under Heaven to enjoy lasting peace in the future, there is no alternative but to be benevolent toward the people and cherish all things, and to nurture and warm the qi of Supreme Harmony. 
 Moreover, consider this: when I alone kept my heart calm and my qi at peace, my illness was cured. If all the people under Heaven kept their hearts calm and their qi at peace, would not all the illnesses of all under Heaven be cured as well?

Chapter 61
大國者下流。天下之交。天下之牝。牝常以靜勝牡。以靜為下。故大國以下小國。則取小國。小國而下大國。則取大國。故或下以取。或下而取。大國不過欲兼畜人。小國不過欲事人。夫兩者各得其所欲。故大者宜為下。 
 Translation 
 A great state is the downstream flow,
the confluence of all under Heaven,
the female of all under Heaven.
The female overcomes the male through stillness;
by stillness she makes herself low.
Thus when a great state humbles itself before small states,
it draws them in.
When a small state humbles itself before a great state,
it is drawn in.
So one humbles itself and thereby receives;
the other humbles itself and is received.
A great state wants no more than to gather and tend others;
a small state wants no more than to be taken under.
Both attain what they seek —
and so it is the greater that should take the lower place. 
 Word Notes 
 
 兼 — "together" : To unite, to combine. Here: to shelter and nurture jointly. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 A great state is like the downstream flow of water — the place where all the hundred streams converge. It is the confluence of all under Heaven, like the female of all under Heaven . The female constantly overcomes the male's movement through stillness; through stillness she practices the way of placing herself below others. Therefore, when a great state can humbly lower itself and dwell beneath the small states, it wins the hearts of the small states. When a small state humbly lowers itself and dwells beneath the great state, it wins the heart of the great state. So one lowers itself and thereby wins others' willing submission, while the other lowers itself and is received with gracious treatment. A great state desires nothing more than to gather and tend others; a small state desires nothing more than to serve others. In this way, great state and small state each obtain what they desire. Therefore the great state should take the initiative in lowering itself . If even the great state takes the lower position, the small state need not even be mentioned. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter discusses the foreign policy by which states should coexist — using De to win others' allegiance rather than military force, overcoming through yielding rather than through strength. The great state, as the one toward which small states naturally gravitate, should take the lead in humbling itself and treating the small states with generous accommodation, so as to preserve the peace of the world. 
 For great states habitually rely on power to bully others and on military force to swallow them up. They do not realize that when they act this way, the small states — far from daring to submit — will inevitably fear the extinction of their nations and their peoples. They will band together, many small states uniting, and fight the great state to the death. The great state, having something to rely upon, will inevitably grow arrogant. Once arrogant, its qi becomes bloated and dissipated. Once bloated and dissipated, it will inevitably be defeated in the end. 
 The small states, driven by fear, will inevitably return to the root when pushed to extremity. They will be able to endure humiliation and place themselves below others. Moreover, the many small states will share sympathy for their common plight, and feelings of mutual care will arise. They will be of one heart and one De. Their qi will be tragic and heroic. With tragic and heroic qi, they will inevitably triumph in the end. 
 But after their triumph, they will walk the same old path as the great state before them. Their cruelty toward the defeated will be even more severe. The defeated, now suffering under this cruelty, will inevitably rouse themselves to greatness and seek revenge. And so wars follow upon wars, with never a single day of peace. 
 Therefore one must take non-contention as one's contention and yielding as one's strength, humbly placing oneself below, in order to extinguish the calamity of war. Consider how the downstream flow of water dwells in the lowest place, contending with nothing — yet all the waters converge upon it. Is this not proof that through humility one becomes the destination toward which all gravitate? 
 The wars and slaughter of today's world have reached their utmost extreme. Why not try this marvelous remedy? If a state that possesses De and vision were to act with keen eyes and quick hands and try this method first — a great state would need three years, a middling state seven years, a small state ten years — there would certainly be great results. If it proved utterly ineffective, then not only may they burn the printing blocks and set fire to the books of this Dao De Jing — I myself would willingly accept the blame for deceiving the people and misleading the state.

Chapter 62
道者萬物之奧。善人之寶。不善人之所保。美言可以市。尊行可以加人。人之不善。何棄之有。故立天子。置三公。雖有拱璧以先駟馬。不如坐進此道。古之所以貴此道者何。不曰求以得。有罪以免耶。故為天下貴。 
 Translation 
 Dao is the sanctuary of the myriad beings —
treasure of the good,
refuge of those who are not good.
Beautiful words may buy favor in the marketplace;
honored conduct may raise a person above others.
But when a person falls short of goodness,
why would one cast them away? 
 Therefore, when the Son of Heaven is enthroned
and the Three Dukes installed —
though one brings forward jade discs held in both hands,
borne ahead of a team of four horses —
none of this compares to sitting still and advancing in Dao. 
 Why did the ancients hold Dao so dear?
Was it not said: seek, and you obtain;
transgress, and you are pardoned?
This is why Dao is the most precious thing under Heaven. 
 Word Notes 
 
 奧 — "sanctuary" : The southwest corner of a room — the place where a person rests and finds shelter. 
 置 — "to establish" : To set up, to install in office. 
 拱 — "held in both hands" : The hands joined together. A jade disc so large it must be held with both hands. 
 駟 — "a team of four horses" : Four horses pulling a single chariot. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Dao is the place where the myriad beings find their home and rest — the treasure that good people use to cultivate themselves and bring order to the world, and the thing that even those who are not good rely upon to protect themselves. How can those who are not good borrow its protection? There is a saying that puts it well: when one's speech accords with Dao, one can win others over; when one's conduct accords with Dao, one can rise above others. When a person is not good, if they can reform and start anew , why should anyone cast them aside? Therefore, when one uses Dao to enthrone the Son of Heaven and establish the Three Dukes , only those who possess Dao can fill these positions, and only then will people submit. For this reason, even if one presents a great jade disc held in both hands , borne ahead of a team of four horses — these do not compare to sitting still and advancing in Dao. Why did the ancients prize Dao so? Is it not because whatever one seeks through it can be obtained, and whatever transgressions one has committed can be pardoned? This is why it is the most precious thing under Heaven . 
 Discourse 
 A jade disc held in both hands and a team of four horses are what the world considers precious treasures. Yet when you are hungry, you cannot eat them; when you are cold, you cannot wear them; and when the state faces a crisis, they cannot save it. How, then, can they be considered precious? Moreover, the House of Zhao possessed a jade disc worth multiple cities, and it brought them nothing but aggression from Qin. Duke Jing of Qi had horses by the thousands, yet when he died, the people could not find a single good thing to say about him. Such jade discs and teams of horses are not merely useless — they are positively harmful. 
 Therefore the good person does not treasure such things, but treasures Dao. For with Dao, every inch of progress brings an inch of benefit; every foot of progress brings a foot of benefit. Whatever one seeks is obtained. Transgressions can be pardoned. It can bring order to the state and peace to all under Heaven, causing the myriad beings each to find their proper place.

Chapter 63
為無為。事無事。味無味。大小多少。抱怨以德。圖難於其易。為大於其細。天下難事。必作於易。天下大事。必作於細。是以聖人終不為其大。故能成其大。夫輕諾必寡信。多易必多難。是以聖人猶難之。故終無難。 
 Translation 
 Act through nonaction.
Attend to affairs through non-interference.
Taste the tasteless.
Regard the great as small, the many as few.
Repay enmity with De. 
 Plan for the difficult while it is still easy;
act on the great while it is still small.
The difficult affairs of all under Heaven
must arise from what is easy.
The great affairs of all under Heaven
must arise from what is small. 
 Therefore the Sage never treats things as great,
and so is able to achieve greatness.
One who promises lightly will rarely keep faith;
one who takes much as easy will meet much that is hard.
Therefore the Sage still regards things as difficult,
and so in the end encounters no difficulty. 
 Word Notes 
 
 圖 — "to plan" : To plan for, to deliberate upon. 
 諾 — "promise" : To agree, to assent, to give one's word. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Act with nonaction as one's action. Attend to affairs with non-interference as one's approach. Taste the tasteless as one's flavor. The great , regard as small; the many , regard as few. Repay enmity with De . Plan for difficult things while they are still easy. Act on great things while they are still minute. The difficult affairs of all under Heaven must begin from what is easy; the great affairs of all under Heaven must begin from what is minute. For this reason, the Sage never waits until things have grown great before attending to them, and so is able to accomplish great things. Those who make promises lightly will inevitably fail to follow through and prove untrustworthy. Those who consider too many things easy will inevitably find much that is difficult. For this reason, the Sage still treats things as difficult — and so in the end encounters no difficulty. To treat things as difficult is precisely what ensures they will not become so. 
 Discourse 
 The general meaning of the entire chapter concerns acting on difficult things while they are still easy and on great things while they are still small — forestalling disaster before it takes shape, remaining watchful and alert. The entire life's learning of the Marquis of Wu, Zhuge Liang, was drawn from this chapter. 
 Only the words about "repaying enmity with De" seem at odds with Confucius's teaching, which left me greatly puzzled. After careful reflection, I finally understood. Confucius was speaking for the human realm, and his standard had to be one that every person could practice. That is why he said: "Repay enmity with uprightness." Even repaying enmity with uprightness is something most people find difficult to achieve. If one were to say "repay enmity with De" — would that not be merely pleasant to the ear and impossible to put into practice? 
 Moreover, the person who asked Confucius about "repaying enmity with De" must have observed that people in the world repay grudge with grudge in an endless, escalating cycle, never reaching a resolution. And so he overcorrected and proposed this idea. But he did not realize that as long as one is conscious of De and enmity and repayment, one still harbors the discriminating mind of self and other. With such a discriminating mind, not only is it impossible to carry out — it also runs contrary to human nature. That is why Confucius did not permit it. 
 As for what Laozi says about repaying enmity with De — this belongs to the realm of divine transformation, where one has merged into a single body with the myriad beings. Such a person does not know what De is, what enmity is, or what repayment is. Others observe that this person has forgotten both kindness and enmity, and from the outside they describe it as "repaying enmity with De." But in truth, there is no so-called De, no so-called enmity, and no so-called repayment at all.

Chapter 64
其安易持。其為兆易謀。其脆易判。其微易散。為之於未有。治之於未亂。合抱之木。生於毫末。九層之臺。起於累土。千里之行。始於足下。為者敗之。執者失之。是以聖人無為故無敗。無執故無失。民之從事。常於幾成而敗之。慎終如始。則無敗事。是以聖人慾不欲。不貴難得之貨。學不學。復眾人之所過。以輔萬物之自然。而不敢為。 
 Translation 
 What is settled is easy to hold.
What shows no sign yet is easy to plan for.
What is brittle is easy to break.
What is minute is easy to disperse.
Act before things come into being;
govern before disorder arises. 
 A tree you can wrap your arms around
was born from a hair's tip.
A nine-storied terrace
rose from a heap of earth.
A journey of a thousand li
begins beneath your feet. 
 Those who contrive defeat things;
those who cling lose them.
Therefore the Sage acts without contrivance and so meets no defeat,
clings to nothing and so suffers no loss. 
 When people take up their affairs,
they often ruin them just as they near completion.
Be as careful at the end as at the beginning,
and no affair will come to ruin. 
 Therefore the Sage desires what others do not desire
and does not prize what is hard to obtain.
The Sage learns what others do not learn
and restores what the multitude has left behind.
Thus the Sage assists the natural unfolding of the myriad things
and does not dare to act. 
 Word Notes 
 
 脆 — "brittle" : When a thing is young and tender, it snaps easily. 
 判 — "to snap" : To break apart, to split. 
 毫 — "a hair" : The finest hair — here, the smallest possible beginning. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When all under Heaven is settled , it is easy to maintain. When affairs have not yet shown their first signs , they are easy to plan for. When things are brittle , they are easy to break. When things are minute , they are easy to disperse. One must act on things before they have come into being and govern before disorder arises . A tree you can wrap your arms around grew from a hair's tip . A nine-story terrace rose from the first pile of earth . A journey of a thousand li begins right under your feet . But all these things follow their natural course. If one acts upon them with contrivance , they are defeated. If one clings to them rigidly , they are lost. Therefore the Sage acts without contrivance and so meets no defeat; clings to nothing and so suffers no loss. The affairs that common people undertake often come near to completion only to be ruined . If one is as careful at the end as at the beginning , there will be no ruined affairs. Therefore the Sage desires what others do not desire — not prizing goods the world hungers after. The Sage learns what others do not learn — and restores what the multitude has left behind. In this way, the Sage assists the natural unfolding of the myriad things yet does not dare to act with contrivance. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter continues to elaborate the meaning of the preceding chapter, and its message is extremely clear. As for the words "desire what is not desired" and "learn what is not learned" — together with the first three phrases of the preceding chapter, they share the same meaning. They all teach that in undertaking affairs, one should pursue the endeavors that others do not pursue. If you wait until everyone else is already doing it before you act, your labor will bear no fruit. And if others are already doing it, there is no need for you to do it as well. In seeking learning, one should pursue the studies that others do not study. If you wait until everyone else is already studying it before you begin, your learning will be of no great use. 
 Does not the ancient poem say: 
 
 The poet's pure scene lies in early spring,
when green willows have barely turned half yellow.
If you wait for the imperial gardens to blaze like brocade,
everyone who steps outside will be watching the flowers. 
 
 But Laozi's point here is not to teach people to chase after cleverness or profit. His meaning is to teach people either to embrace the broken and guard the incomplete — preserving and continuing the lineage of Dao — or to blaze new trails and open fresh paths, awakening the people's understanding. 
 I have deep feelings about these words "learn what is not learned." For I have long borne an undeserved reputation, and through the mistaken kindness of various distinguished gentlemen, many have wished to send me to school to study. But fate was unkind and fortune thin. My grandfather, because my mother, the late Madam Wang — taboo name Chongmeng, courtesy name Jingfan — had spent seven years at the Shandong Public No. 1 Normal School and died of illness just as she was about to graduate, was so grief-stricken that he absolutely refused to let me attend school. And so I was prevented from studying Dao together with my fellow students. Now I am already thirteen years old, still without accomplishment. The learning that others study, I have not been able to study; the learning that others do not study, I do not understand either. Have I not failed the earnest hopes of all the world? 
 And yet — my fate being what it is — since I dare not compete with others for the common forms of learning, I have quietly resolved to study a little of what others do not study. If there are others in the world who share my plight and feel the same sympathy, they too might join in this inquiry. Let me announce in advance the subjects I wish to study. Because I lack ability, I dare not set as many subjects as a proper school. I have set only two. 
 One subject is the very newest learning — what will begin to show its first sprouts in five years, become slightly useful in thirty years, and reach full flourishing only after more than nine hundred years. The other subject is the very oldest learning — taking the Qing dynasty as its starting point and tracing back to before the time of Pangu. When the new learning has run its course, the old learning will take its place. New and old revolve in mutual succession. The two subjects merge into one, and there is no longer any distinction between new and old. This is something one must study before one can know, study before one can do. Yet if one turns inward and seeks the innate knowledge and innate ability that are already one's own, is there not also that which can be known and done without study? 
 Is not my aspiration absurdly impractical? But it is not that I am happy to be this way. It is the times, it is fortune, it is fate. Heaven took my mother from me — and so it is. Heaven has specially appointed me to learn what others do not learn.

Chapter 65
古之善為道者。非以明民。將以愚之。民之難治。以其智多。故以智治國。國之賊。不以智治國國之福。知此兩者。亦楷式能知楷式。是為玄德。玄德深矣遠矣。與物反矣。乃至於大順。 
 Translation 
 Those in ancient times who were skilled in practicing the Dao
did not use it to sharpen the people's minds,
but to return them to simplicity.
The people are difficult to govern
because their cleverness runs too deep.
To govern a state through cleverness
is to become the state's undoing.
To govern a state without cleverness
is the state's blessing.
To know these two
is to know the standard.
Always to know the standard —
this is called mysterious De.
Mysterious De is deep and far-reaching,
running counter to the current of worldly things,
until at last it arrives at the Great Accord. 
 Word Notes 
 
 楷 — "standard" : Model, exemplar, pattern. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Those in ancient times who were skilled in governing through Dao did not first open the people's intellect — they sought to lead the people back to simplicity . The reason the people are difficult to govern is that their cunning and scheming have grown too great. Therefore, governing a state through cunning and deceit is to be a thief to that state. Not governing through cunning and deceit is the state's blessing . To understand the advantages and disadvantages of these two approaches is to possess a standard for governance. To be able to know this standard is what we call mysterious De . Mysterious De is deep and far-reaching — it runs counter to worldly conventions and common sentiments . Only through this can one arrive at the state of harmony above and below, the Great Accord . 
 Discourse 
 Confucius said: "The people can be made to follow it, but they cannot be made to understand it." How could the Sage not wish to open the people's understanding? Yet if one does not first give the people a heart grounded in De and morality, and instead gives them the cunning knowledge of deception and trickery, the people will become impossible to govern and the state will surely fall into chaos. 
 Therefore one must first lead the people to return to the genuine and go back to the unhewn wood, establishing a foundation of De and morality. Only afterward should one gradually enable them to gain knowledge. Take De and Dao as the root; take knowledge as the branches. Let De and morality advance hand in hand with knowledge. Only then can there be harmony above and below, arriving at the Great Accord. 
 This is the proper sequence by which the Sage governs all under Heaven through De and morality. How could it be a policy of keeping the people ignorant in order to protect one's own position and serve only autocratic rule?

Chapter 66
江海所以能為百谷王者。以其善下之。故能為百谷王。是以聖人慾上人。以其言下之。欲先人。以其身後之。是以處上而人不重。處前而人不害。是以天下樂推而不厭。以其不爭。故天下莫能與之爭。 
 Translation 
 The rivers and the sea reign over a hundred valleys
by their gift of lying low.
Therefore they reign over a hundred valleys. 
 So when the Sage would rise above the people,
he speaks in words that place him beneath them.
When he would lead the people,
he sets his own person behind them. 
 Therefore he dwells above, and the people feel no burden;
he stands in front, and no one is harmed.
Therefore all under Heaven gladly lifts him up and never tires of it. 
 Because he does not contend,
no one under Heaven can contend with him. 
 Word Notes 
 
 厭 — "to grow weary of" : To resent, to find tiresome, to lose patience with. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The reason the rivers and the sea can be the king to whom the hundred valleys pay homage is that they are good at occupying the lowest position — and so all the valley streams converge upon them. For this reason, when the Sage wishes to rise above others , he first uses humble and deferential words , placing himself below them. When he wishes to go before others , he first places his own person behind them. Therefore, when he dwells above others , the people do not feel burdened by his weight. When he stands before others , the people do not envy or resent him. For this reason, all under Heaven gladly lifts him up and never grows weary. Because he does not contend , no one under Heaven is able to contend with him. 
 Discourse 
 The way of humility and non-contention has already been discussed repeatedly in earlier chapters. That this chapter once again explains it at length is because most people in this world compete to be strong and strive to prevail, and none are willing to lower themselves before others. That is why the point is set forth again and again in careful detail, further explaining that only by not contending for the top can one dwell at the top, and only by not contending for the lead can one take the lead. 
 But this too is simply a natural principle. It is not that one harbors the deliberate intention of dwelling above others while making a show of yielding — resorting to scheming techniques and political artifice.

Chapter 67
天下皆謂我道大似不肖。夫惟大。故似不肖。若肖。久矣其細也。夫我有三寶。寶而持之。一曰慈。二曰儉。三曰不敢為天下先。夫慈故能勇。儉故能廣。不敢為天下先。故能成器長。今舍其慈且勇。舍其儉且廣。舍其後而先。死矣。夫慈以戰則勝。以守則固。天將救之。以慈衛之。 
 Translation 
 All under Heaven say my Dao is great, yet seems to resemble nothing.
It is precisely because it is great
that it resembles nothing.
Were it to resemble something,
it would long since have become small. 
 I hold three treasures
and keep them close.
The first is compassion.
The second is frugality.
The third is not daring to be first under Heaven. 
 From compassion comes courage.
From frugality comes abundance.
From not daring to be first under Heaven
comes the capacity to lead all things. 
 Now: forsake compassion and grasp at courage,
forsake frugality and grasp at breadth,
forsake the rear and press to the front —
this is death. 
 In compassion, go to battle and you conquer;
stand in defense and you hold firm.
When Heaven moves to save,
it shelters with compassion. 
 Word Notes 
 
 肖 — "to resemble" : To be similar to, to look like something particular. 
 儉 — "frugality" : Thrift, economizing, saving. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 All under Heaven say my Dao is exceedingly great, yet it seems utterly incapable — it resembles nothing at all. It is precisely because Dao is exceedingly great that it seems to resemble nothing. If it resembled some particular thing, it would long since have become something exceedingly small and petty. I have three treasures. I cherish and hold fast to them. The first is called compassion . The second is called frugality . The third is called not daring to be first under Heaven . With a compassionate heart, one's love for others is genuine and unwavering, and so one can be courageous. With frugality, one's wealth and resources will certainly be abundant, and so one can accomplish expansive undertakings . Not daring to be first under Heaven is to be a great vessel late to completion — and so one can become the chief among all things . Nowadays, people abandon compassion yet still pursue fierce and aggressive courage; abandon frugality yet still pursue expansive grandeur; abandon the principle of staying behind yet still compete to be first. In this way, they are certain to end in death. This compassion possesses sincere and unwavering perseverance. Use it to go to battle and you will conquer; use it to defend and you will hold firm. When Heaven would save a person, it guards them with compassion. 
 Discourse 
 Alas! The present-day world may be reckoned civilized, yet the more civilized it becomes, the higher the standard of living rises — and the more extravagant people become. The more they aim high and pursue the grandiose, the more they delight in novelty and crave the strange. They compete to show off. They compete for outward appearances. The more they compete, the more strained material resources become; the more strained resources become, the more people compete. From contention comes war. From war comes killing. It has reached the point where killing is regarded as a mark of capability. The compassionate heart has been entirely lost. The way of humanity has nearly been extinguished. If one traces this disease to its source, it is nothing other than going in the opposite direction from the three treasures Laozi taught — compassion, frugality, and not daring to be first under Heaven. 
 Laozi's words are not pedantic and useless. If one has a compassionate heart — like the genuine love of parents for their child — one will certainly have courage, and with courage one can accomplish great things. With frugality, one can ensure a surplus of material resources, enabling one to greatly expand production and to put resources to use and enrich life. Not daring to be first under Heaven is not dependence or lack of vigor. It is to conserve one's vital spirit and preserve it for the right moment, in order to become a great vessel and shoulder the cosmos. Nowadays, without any foundation, people pursue only the branch-tips. How could they not rush toward death? 
 I, this young student, upon perceiving this — earlier, when the European War was at its most intense — wished to find a way to bring rescue. I thought: all beings are born of Shangdi. In compassion and love for the people and all things, none can surpass Shangdi. Moreover, this very chapter says: "When Heaven moves to save, it shelters with compassion." But Shangdi is in Heaven above; no human has seen Him. I thought: those who represent Shangdi and share His same compassion can only be the Five Great Religious Founders . 
 Take Confucius: "The old are at ease and the young are cherished"; "benevolent toward people, cherishing all things." Laozi esteems Dao and De, holding compassion as a treasure. Shakyamuni Buddha enters the hells to save all beings. Jesus gives up his body to redeem the sins of all beings. The Patriarch of Islam says the Lord practices compassion and forgiveness. All are of great compassion and great mercy. 
 And so, taking the central purpose of the Five Great Religious Founders as my basis, I selected passages from each religion's scriptures, combined them, and elaborated upon them, composing A Compilation to Cease War as a vanguard for rescuing the world from war and slaughter and for illuminating Dao and De. Furthermore, I wished to provide detailed explanations of the important scriptures of each religion, to serve as the path for the evolution of Dao and De. 
 At present I have already produced vernacular commentaries on the Confucian Four Books and the Liyun , and on Laozi's Dao De Jing — each as a vernacular explanation. Following that, I shall produce a vernacular commentary on the Buddhist Diamond Sutra . As for the scriptures of Christianity and Islam — our nation's predecessors have already rendered them in the vernacular — so I shall compose Elucidations of the Christian Old and New Testaments and Elucidations of the Quranic Heavenly Scripture , still entirely in vernacular explanation. Finally, I shall continue and revise the Comprehensive Mirror of Immortals , uniting the five great religions. I shall also unite the vanguard figures and the later schools and branches of all five great religions, gathering together the great force of compassion of all the sacred ones, immortals, and buddhas of every age and every land, ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign, and returning it all to Shangdi. By seeking the force of compassion from Shangdi, and by uniting all forces of compassion together, this will be sufficient to dissolve the killing qi. It will certainly close the cycle of killing and open the cycle of life, bringing the world to peace. Spears shall be cast down and Dao shall be taught. Weapons shall be cast into farming tools. Soldiers shall become farmers. The calamity of war shall be no more — forever. The shared happiness of peace, kinship, health, and joy shall endure — forever. 
 This is the small and humble wish of this young student. I wonder whether humane persons and noble-minded ones who hold compassion in their hearts consider this to be right.

Chapter 68
善為士者不武。善戰者不怒。善勝敵者不爭。善用人者為之下。是為不爭之德。是為用人之力。是謂配天。古之極。 
 Translation 
 The good warrior takes no pride in force.
The good fighter stirs no anger.
The good victor does not contend with the enemy.
The good commander places himself beneath his men.
This is called the De of non-contention.
This is called the power of employing others.
This is called matching Heaven —
the highest since antiquity. 
 Word Notes 
 
 敵 — "enemy / to oppose" : To resist and oppose one another; mutual antagonism. 
 配 — "to match" : To match and combine with. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The one who is good at being a warrior does not prize martial force. The one who is good at fighting does not give vent to anger. The one who is good at vanquishing the enemy does not use contention and killing. The one who is good at employing others places himself beneath them. This is called the De of non-contention . This is called the power of employing others . This is called the ability to match and combine with the Dao of Heaven . This is the highest method known since ancient times . 
 Discourse 
 All who possess Dao do not prize martial valor and do not delight in war. Even when they cannot avoid using military force, they are divinely martial yet do not kill . They repel the enemy while conversing and laughing. They meet movement with stillness. They meet the weary with ease. They overcome the strong through weakness. They conquer the hard through softness. Take the Marquis of Wu, Zhuge Liang; the Grand Tutor Xie An; Wang Yangming — all of them employed precisely this method. All of them understood the Dao of Heaven. 
 Otherwise, the petty courage of a common man — how could it bring peace to all under Heaven? A morning's petty wrath — how could it endure? A temperament that is flighty and impetuous — how could it prevail over others? When it comes to Dao, such things are even further off the mark. 
 As for employing others — one must be humble and respectful, placing oneself beneath them, so that talented people are willing to serve. If one is arrogant and self-satisfied, how would the upright and noble-minded be willing to serve? Those who do serve such a person will invariably be sycophants seeking profit and office. Would employing such people not ruin everything?

Chapter 69
用兵有言。吾不敢為主而為客。不敢進寸而推尺。是謂行無行。攘無臂。仍無敵執無兵。禍莫大於輕敵。輕敵幾喪吾寶。故抗兵相加。哀者勝矣。 
 Translation 
 In the use of troops, there is a saying:
"I dare not be the host but be the guest.
I dare not advance an inch, yet yield a foot."
This is called: marching where there is no march,
raising arms where there are no arms,
closing with an enemy who is no enemy,
grasping weapons where there are no weapons.
No calamity is greater than making light of the foe.
To make light of the foe is to nearly forfeit my treasure.
Thus when opposing forces meet,
the one who mourns shall prevail. 
 Word Notes 
 
 仍 — "to close with / to confront" : "Because of" or "on account of," implying engagement and confrontation. 
 抗 — "to oppose" : To resist and oppose; hostile opposition, mutual engagement. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 In the use of troops there is a vital saying: I dare not be the one who initiates hostilities but rather be the one who responds to the enemy. I dare not advance even one inch, but rather retreat a full foot. Although one deploys troops, one does not harbor a heart that delights in killing — it is as though one were not marching troops at all. Although one charges forward, it is as though one had no arms to bare. Although battle and killing follow upon one another, it is as though there were no enemy. Although one holds weapons, it is as though one held no weapons at all. Of all the calamities under Heaven, none is greater than taking the enemy lightly and delighting in war . To take the enemy lightly and delight in war is to destroy the lifeblood of one's own state . Therefore, when two armies face each other across their ramparts and engage, the one who does not lightly open hostilities and who mourns at human death — that one wins the battle. 
 Discourse 
 There are those in the world who interpret Laozi together with the Classic of the Hidden Talisman as works on military strategy. Looking at these several chapters, they are indeed military strategy. Not only these chapters — if one reads the entire scripture as military strategy, that too is perfectly valid. This is because Laozi's words do not fall into fixed traces. The wise see wisdom in it; the humane see humaneness in it. Take the Confucian Book of Changes and the first chapter of the Analects : depending on the time, the place, and the person, they can be interpreted in any number of ways. How could they be seen merely as military strategy? 
 Yet interpreting them as military strategy has deep origins. The study of Dao has its headwaters in the Yellow Emperor. Our nation's culture, along with its agriculture and manufacturing, also has its headwaters in the Yellow Emperor. Thus the study of Dao is the vanguard of all learning, and also the great method for governing the state and bringing peace to all under Heaven. In governing the state, whether to eliminate tyranny or to resist enemies, one cannot avoid using troops. Therefore the study of Dao is also the source from which military science springs. But the military science of the Daoist school is fundamentally different from that of later military specialists. The Daoist school takes retreat as advance, takes not fighting as fighting, takes not killing as victory. Its essential meaning lies in not lightly initiating hostilities and thereby bringing on the terrible calamity of war and slaughter. 
 I, this young student, upon close examination of its central purpose, find it is not merely compassion and magnanimity. It is that Laozi had thorough insight into the Dao of Heaven and human feeling. All who delight in war and relish killing — regardless of how strong the state or how brave the army — in the end will certainly meet with defeat. To kill others is precisely to kill oneself. To destroy others is precisely to destroy oneself. This is why one dares not do otherwise. 
 Let me attempt to explain by way of the Dao of Heaven and human feeling. 
 First, from the standpoint of the Dao of Heaven. Heaven takes its love of life as its De. The Dao of Heaven is the way of what is so of itself. It generates and brings forth the myriad beings. When any among the myriad beings grows and flourishes in excess, it begins to sustain its own life at the expense of other beings' lives. At that point, Heaven loathes its excess and puts an end to it. In truth, it is not Heaven that kills it — it kills itself. 
 How so? All beings receive Heaven's qi and are thereby born. All possess the De of cherishing life. The De of cherishing life is called humaneness. With humaneness, one can grow and flourish. Confucius said: "The humane are long-lived." When a being's growth reaches its peak of vigor, its vital impulse dissipates outward, and the humaneness within is lost. To lose humaneness is to lose one's Heaven-endowed nature. To lose one's Heaven-endowed nature is to die. This is why Laozi repeatedly says: "What has grown vigorous then grows old. This is called departing from Dao. What departs from Dao comes to an early end." 
 Moreover, Heaven's cherishing of life is a cherishing of the myriad beings — not merely the cherishing of a single being. Those who hold the cherishing of life in their hearts — Heaven assists them. Those who take killing as a glory — Heaven certainly loathes them. Those who are weak — Heaven certainly protects and shelters them. From this vantage, all who delight in war and relish violence are pursuing the path of death. 
 Second, from the standpoint of human feeling. No father fails to love his son and wish for his son to grow and thrive. No son fails to be filial to his father and to mourn bitterly at his father's death. If one lightly initiates hostilities, one will inevitably kill the sons of others and kill the fathers of others. 
 Kill a man's son — that father's love for his child is acute and utterly sincere. Being utterly sincere, his qi will be brave. He will be fierce and unafraid of death. Consider even the smallest birds and beasts — if their young are harmed without cause, they will rise up against even those they ordinarily fear. How much more so for a human being! King Tang of Shang destroyed the state of Ge because its lord killed his boy. This is precisely the reason. 
 Kill a man's father — that son's mourning at his father's death is extreme. Being stricken with grief, his qi will be fierce. In fury he will disregard his own life. There are those who, to avenge a father, as a lone commoner dare to assassinate the lord of ten thousand chariots. How much more so when state opposes state! Fuchai, mourning his father's death, defeated the state of Yue. This is evidence from the past. 
 Alas! Killing one boy brought the calamity of a state's destruction. Killing one man's father led to becoming a slave of a destroyed state. How much more so when they fight to seize a city and the slain fill the city; they fight to seize territory and the slain fill the fields! When one has killed the fathers, brothers, and sons of multitudes, can one not bring upon oneself the calamity of state-destruction and racial annihilation? 
 This is why Laozi says: "In compassion, go to battle and you conquer." And: "When opposing forces meet, the one who mourns shall prevail." 
 From these two lines of reasoning, Laozi's esteeming Dao and De and abhorring war is not pedantic and impractical. Nor is it mere soft-heartedness. To love another's state is precisely how one loves one's own state. To love another's people is precisely how one loves one's own people. Even when he has no choice but to use troops, it must be a punitive expedition to save the people — an army of compassion — not a use of military force to expand power.

Chapter 70
吾言甚易知。甚易行。天下莫能知。莫能行。言有宗。事有君。夫惟無知。是以不我知也。知我者希。則我者貴。是以聖人被褐懷玉。 
 Translation 
 My words are easy to understand,
easy to put into practice.
Yet none beneath Heaven can understand them,
none can put them into practice. 
 Words have a root.
Affairs have a master.
It is only through not knowing this
that they do not know me. 
 Those who know me are few;
those who follow me are precious.
And so the Sage wears coarse cloth
and holds jade at his heart. 
 Word Notes 
 
 褐 — "rough cloth" : A coarse, broad garment of woven animal hair — the kind worn by people of low station. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 My words are very easy to understand, very easy to put into practice. Yet none beneath Heaven can understand them, none can put them into practice. The words I speak have an ultimate root. The affairs I speak of have a master and sovereign. It is precisely because no one has grasped my root principle, my sovereign tenet, that they do not know me. Those who know me are few — and so my Dao is all the more precious. For this reason, the Sage wears coarse cloth — the garb of a lowly person — on the outside, yet holds jade at his heart. How hard it is for people to perceive this! 
 Discourse 
 Laozi's words, in their broad purport, simply urge reverence for Dao and De, abhorrence of war and battle, and the practice of clarity, stillness, and non-contention. These are the most level, the most ordinary of principles — easy to understand and easy to put into practice. Yet people of the world either dismiss them as pedantic and useless, or exalt them as something mystically extraordinary; or they apply them narrowly, treating them merely as a technique for personal cultivation; or they look at them askance, branding them outright as heterodox teachings. All of these people see only the coarse cloth on the outside and fail to see the jade held at the heart. 
 Whether the people of the world know Laozi or not is of no great consequence in itself — it is a matter of the gravest consequence for the whole world. If there were truly someone who grasped his genuine root principle of revering Dao and De and abhorring war and battle — and understood that it is not pedantic and useless, but contains real principle — and took it up and put it to the test, it would truly be a blessing for every nation on the globe.

Chapter 71
知不知上。不知知病。夫惟病病。是以不病。聖人之不病也。以其病病。是以不病。 
 Translation 
 To know yet seem not to know — this is the highest.
Not to know yet think you know — this is a sickness.
Only by recognizing sickness as sickness
does one become free of it.
The Sage is free of sickness
because he recognizes sickness as sickness.
And so he is free of sickness. 
 Word Notes 
 
 病 — "sickness" : Harm, affliction. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 To know yet not regard oneself as knowing — this is the highest. Not to know yet regard oneself as knowing — this is a great sickness. Only the one who recognizes sickness as sickness can be free of sickness. The Sage is free of sickness precisely because he recognizes sickness as sickness; therefore he is free of sickness. 
 Discourse 
 Confucius once admonished Zilu, saying: "To know what you know and to know what you do not know — this is true knowledge." This is roughly similar to the meaning of this chapter. But Laozi's words go a step further. 
 Yet Laozi has another meaning as well. In times when all under Heaven is in chaos, right and wrong are necessarily jumbled together, and perverse theories run rampant. Those who know say they know; those who do not know also say they know. They go so far as to issue pronouncements and compose books. They themselves do not understand, yet they lead others into confusion. They carry a sickness of which they are unaware, and still they would infect all the people under Heaven. The disorder reaches such a point that even those with true insight can find no peace of body or mind. Those who are free of sickness are equally helpless. It very nearly makes every nation under Heaven a nation of the confused, and every person a patient. 
 This is why Laozi explains it repeatedly — to teach people to examine themselves and cure their own sickness. 
 I, this young student, in annotating this chapter, feel deeply moved. For I myself am already one who does not understand. Because the people of the world have overused their cleverness, I have become all the more confused. I myself am already a person of softness and weakness. Because the people of the world are fond of war and killing, I have developed a growing sickness of the heart. 
 I know that among the people of the world there must be those who share my affliction and feel the same compassion. Where can I find a good and wise teacher to dispel my foolish delusion? Where a great physician to attend to my sickness of the heart?

Chapter 72
民不畏威。則大畏至矣。無狹其所居。無厭其所生。夫惟不厭。是以不厭。是以聖人自知不自見。自愛不自貴。故去彼取此。 
 Translation 
 When the people do not fear authority,
a greater authority will come.
Do not crowd them in their dwellings.
Do not oppress them in their living.
Only by not oppressing
will one not be oppressed.
Therefore the Sage knows himself but does not parade himself,
loves himself but does not exalt himself.
He sets aside the one and takes up the other. 
 Word Notes 
 
 威 — "authority" : Punitive authority, the intimidating power of the state. 
 厭 — "weary / to sate" : Sufficient, sated; interchangeable with "glutted" or "to have one's fill." 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Lead by Dao and De, and the people will have no need to fear punitive authority. They will naturally know reverence. In this way, without displaying anger, the ruler's authority is awe-inspiring — a great authority arrives of its own accord. 
 Therefore those who govern the state should not rely on their power to oppress the people. They should not glut themselves on the pleasures of sound, color, goods, and profit to nourish their own lives. Precisely by not seeking to sate themselves on sound, color, goods, and profit, they will be filled without seeking fullness and can renew themselves daily. 
 For this reason, the Sage seeks only self-knowledge, not self-display. He seeks only self-love, not self-exaltation. Therefore he sets aside the one — insatiable grasping — and takes up the other — humility and non-contention. 
 Discourse 
 All those who are fond of war and killing: outwardly they rely on military might to carve up all under Heaven, and inwardly they rely on punitive authority to slaughter their own people. They rely on the power of arms, acting with such cruelty and heartlessness, for no purpose other than to fill the pit of their desires — seeking to sate their ears with music, their eyes with color, their bodies with soft warmth, their mouths with rich delicacies. Beyond this, they would swallow up all under Heaven and make the myriad nations pay tribute, boasting of their fame and exalting their persons. 
 Consider the First Emperor of Qin, so self-aggrandizing that he believed himself to surpass even the Two Emperors and Three Kings. He seized the finest treasures of the six conquered states, built the vast Epang Palace, and carried off the women, children, jade, and silk of the six states to fill its chambers — all in pursuit of pleasures of the flesh-self. 
 They do not realize that those who rely on military might and political power to intimidate people — though people cannot help but be afraid — once that power is lost, it is like a tiger stripped of its claws and teeth; no one fears it any longer. Consider Napoleon: in the days of his ascendancy, the nations of Europe trembled before him. Yet once he lost his military power, he died a prisoner on a lonely island. Who feared him then? 
 Only the noble person who is divinely martial yet does not kill — without anger, yet more awe-inspiring to the people than the executioner's axe — possesses Heavenly rank and true nobility, which surpasses the authority of arms and punishment ten thousand times over.

Chapter 73
勇於敢則殺。勇於不敢則活。此兩者或利或害。天之所惡。孰知其故。是以聖人猶難之。天之道不爭而善勝。不言而善應。不召而自來。繟然而善謀。天網恢恢。疏而不失。 
 Translation 
 Courage in daring leads to killing.
Courage in not-daring leads to life.
Of these two, one benefits, the other harms.
What Heaven finds hateful —
who truly knows the reason?
Even the Sage regards this with care.
The Dao of Heaven does not contend, yet excels at overcoming;
does not speak, yet excels at answering;
does not summon, yet all things arrive of themselves;
is unhurried, yet excels at planning.
The net of Heaven is vast, vast —
wide-meshed, and yet nothing slips through. 
 Word Notes 
 
 繟 — "unhurried" : Relaxed, slow. 
 恢 — "vast" : Immense, great. 
 疏 — "wide [mesh]" : Sparse, loose. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 One who is courageous in rashness and the desire to prevail kills others. One who is courageous in not-daring, abiding in softness and lowliness, gives life to others. Of these two, one benefits people and the other harms them — this much people can know. But what Heaven finds hateful — the courageous who kill — who truly knows the reason? Even the Sage regards courage and daring with care. 
 The Dao of Heaven does not contend with people, yet it excels at overcoming. It does not speak, yet there is a response that follows naturally. It does not summon, yet things come of their own accord. Though exceedingly unhurried, it excels at planning. The net of Heaven is vast and immense; though its mesh is exceedingly wide, nothing slips through. 
 Discourse 
 The power of life and death is the great prerogative of Heaven. The Sage embodies Heaven and carries out Dao; his rewards and punishments are utterly impartial. This is to act as Heaven's agent in giving life and dealing death. 
 But if instead one kills to fatten oneself and harms others to benefit oneself, then when Heaven would give life, man goes ahead and kills. How could Heaven not find this utterly hateful? 
 Those who dare to kill surely believe that "the strong devour the weak" is a universal law of natural evolution. And they think Heaven, being without sound or scent, is incapable of reward or punishment. They do not realize that though Heaven does not speak, retribution arrives of itself. Its retribution may seem lenient, but in truth it is utterly rigorous — not a hair's breadth is out of place. No one has the power to escape it. 
 For the Dao of Heaven is the natural order. All the natural consequences that arise in human affairs are the workings of the Dao of Heaven. No one makes it so, yet it is as if someone did. 
 The rewards and punishments of Heaven being so rigorous — what need is there for men to be so eager to kill?

Chapter 74
民常不畏死。奈何以死懼之。若使人常畏死。而為奇者。吾得執而殺之。孰敢。常有司殺者殺。而代司殺者殺。是代大匠斫。夫代大匠斫。希有不傷其手矣。 
 Translation 
 When the people no longer fear death,
what good is it to threaten them with death?
If the people could be made always to fear death,
and we seized the deviant and put them to death,
who then would dare?
There is always one whose office it is to kill.
To kill in place of this executioner
is to hew wood in place of the master carpenter.
Of those who hew in place of the master carpenter,
few escape cutting their own hands. 
 Word Notes 
 
 匠 — "carpenter" : A woodworker. 
 斫 — "to hew" : To chop open wood. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The people are not afraid to die. How then can those who govern insist on using death to frighten them? If you could make the people always fear death, then the ones who act in strange and lawless ways — I could seize and execute them, and who would dare commit lawless acts again? But the more you kill, the more such people appear. Clearly the people do not fear death. 
 Moreover, when the people have committed crimes, there is always a judicial authority who executes them according to public law. Yet there are those who would replace that authority and kill on their own private authority. This is like someone who does not understand the compass and square yet presumes to hew wood in place of the master carpenter. Those who hew wood in place of the master carpenter rarely escape cutting their own hands. 
 Discourse 
 When the Sage transforms all under Heaven through Dao and De, he causes the people to understand the root of reverence. They naturally become as if ten eyes were watching them, ten hands pointing at them. They are watchful in what others cannot see and apprehensive in what others cannot hear. If they exercise such care even in what is hidden and subtle, how much less will they commit crimes and foment rebellion in the open! What need is there to rely on penal law? 
 Moreover, using penal law to kill and suppress the populace — the people are not afraid of it. It is not that the people do not fear death by nature. It is that times of harsh punishment are necessarily times of chaos. The people cannot get through a single day without hardship, and they have nowhere to put their hands and feet. Having lost all hope of living, how would they fear death? 
 Furthermore, those who administer punishments are not necessarily free of manipulating the law to serve private ends. When the penal law itself is unjust, the people refuse to fear it all the more. Even if they did fear it, it would be hard to avoid falling into the legal net. And so people come to see breaking the law and fomenting rebellion as a path to survival, and keeping the law and living quietly as simply waiting to die. The result is mutual slaughter, and great upheaval erupts. 
 Alas! Even Confucius said, "Lead them with policies and align them with punishments, and the people will evade trouble but have no sense of shame" — and that was merely a warning about insufficient governance. How much worse to lead them by indiscriminate slaughter, to align them with brutality and cruelty! How could all under Heaven not be thrown into chaos?

Chapter 75
民之飢。以其上食稅之多也。是以飢。民之難治。以其上之有為也。是以難治。民之輕死。以其生生之厚也。是以輕死。夫唯無以生為者。是賢於貴生。 
 Translation 
 The people's hunger —
it is because those above consume too much in taxes.
This is why they hunger. 
 The people being hard to govern —
it is because those above are addicted to action.
This is why they are hard to govern. 
 The people making light of death —
it is because the nourishing of life is made too lavish.
This is why they make light of death. 
 Only those who do not make life their preoccupation
are wiser than those who prize it. 
 Word Notes 
 
 稅 — "taxes" : The levies and tribute paid by the people. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The people's hunger is because their superiors consume too much tax revenue. The strength of the people is exhausted; therefore they go hungry. The people being hard to govern is because their superiors employ scheming techniques of active governance. The people respond with a hundred kinds of trickery; therefore they are hard to govern. The people making light of death is because their appetite for pleasure has been given free rein and the materials for nourishing life are too lavish — their resources are inadequate; therefore they make light of death. 
 Only those who do not take the nourishing of life as their paramount concern are truly skilled at honoring their life. 
 Discourse 
 This past summer, I, this young student, read the last testament of Mr. Liang Juchuan, who gave his life as a martyr to principle. He wrote: "The livelihood of the people grows desperate under the burdens they bear. In the villages of the four quarters, living conditions are such that people and livestock are nearly equal. Yet in the cities, people chat and laugh and pursue their pleasures, prizing refinement and hygiene — truly a lamentable thing." He further wrote: "Unless one resorts to cunning schemes and deceitful stratagems, there is no way to survive." 
 I believe Mr. Liang's words cut directly to the heart of our present ills — they are truly a righteous argument for saving the world. When I came to annotate this chapter, I realized that Mr. Liang's words secretly accord with Laozi, and that Laozi's formulation is even more precise and penetrating. 
 Examining Laozi's main idea closely, the weight rests on the single phrase "the nourishing of life is made too lavish." For the people's hunger comes from those above consuming too much in taxes, and the excessive consumption of taxes comes from lavish life-nourishing. 
 How so? The taxes paid to the state were originally meant for public expenditures. When the state spends more, naturally more must be collected — this is a duty the people ought to fulfill. But Laozi does not say "those above use too much in taxes"; he says "those above consume too much in taxes." This plainly refers to the state maintaining a host of parasitic officials — as the Great Learning puts it, "the consumers are many." They strip away the fat and marrow of the people to feed their palaces, wives and concubines, their eating and drinking, their sounds and colors — all to nourish their own lives. 
 Thus those above set the example and those below follow it. Everyone lavishly nourishes their life. Even the lowliest laborers learn to smoke paper cigarettes, drink expensive tea, wear silken clothes, and eat rich food. 
 They do not realize that material resources are finite but human desire is boundless. The sources of wealth will inevitably run dry. When the sources of wealth run dry, those above levy upon the people — but even that does not suffice. When it does not suffice, they invent new names and categories to extract more, using legal power to take from the people and political scheming to deal with the people. The people too respond with scheming. And so a hundred kinds of trickery emerge — just as Mr. Liang said: "Unless one resorts to cunning schemes and deceitful stratagems, there is no way to survive." 
 In this condition: is it better to follow the upright way and die in poverty, or to use deceitful schemes and perhaps live? Even if one uses deceitful schemes and dies taking risks, at least one has had some pleasure. Whether you choose good or ill, it is all death — who still fears death? 
 If a noble person does not fear death, no danger or hardship will he avoid. If a petty person does not fear death, there is no great upheaval he will not dare set in motion. When great upheaval comes, there is mutual slaughter. And so everyone's devotion to nourishing life is precisely what kills them. 
 Alas, how painful! How much better to use virtue to adorn the self and use righteousness to nourish one's qi! That alone is truly to care well for one's life — truly to honor one's life.

Chapter 76
人之生也柔弱。其死也堅強。草木之生也柔脆。其死也枯槁。故堅強者死之徒。柔弱者生之徒。是以兵強則不勝。木強則共。強大處下。柔弱處上。 
 Translation 
 When a person is alive, the body is soft and supple.
In death, it is stiff and rigid.
When grasses and trees are alive, they are soft and tender.
In death, they are dry and brittle. 
 Therefore the stiff and rigid are companions of death;
the soft and supple are companions of life. 
 Thus an army that grows too strong will not prevail;
a tree that grows too rigid will be felled.
The strong and great dwell below;
the soft and supple dwell above. 
 Word Notes 
 
 共 — "felled" : Read as gong. A tree grown rigid enough that its trunk can be encircled with clasped hands — and so it is cut down for timber. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When a person is alive, the body is soft and supple; when dead, the body becomes stiff and rigid. When grasses and trees are alive, they are soft and tender; when dead, they are dry and withered. Therefore the stiff and rigid are companions of death, and the soft and supple are companions of life. 
 For this reason, when an army is overly strong, a twilight air sets in and it cannot prevail. When a tree has grown strong, its trunk reaches the girth that can be clasped by the arms — and people fell it for timber. The strong and great dwell below; the soft and supple dwell above. 
 Discourse 
 The principle of dwelling contentedly in softness and weakness, never contending for superiority, has already been discussed many times. This chapter sets forth the underlying reason once more. 
 Whatever has grown overly strong and dominant has thereby taken the path of death. All beings are like this; none can escape it. Therefore one who has grown strong must not remain in that position of strength. Only then can one endure.

Chapter 77
天之道其猶張弓乎。高者抑之。下者舉之。有餘者損之。不足者補之。天之道損有餘而補不足。人之道則不然。損不足而奉有餘。孰能以有餘奉天下。唯有道者。是以聖人為而不恃。成功而不居。其不欲見賢耶。 
 Translation 
 Is not the Dao of Heaven like the drawing of a bow?
What is high, it presses down;
what is low, it raises up.
What has surplus, it diminishes;
what is deficient, it supplements. 
 The Dao of Heaven
diminishes the surplus and supplements the deficient.
The Dao of humans is not so —
it diminishes the deficient to serve the surplus. 
 Who can take what is surplus and offer it to all under Heaven?
Only those who possess Dao. 
 Thus the Sage acts but does not rely on what he has done;
he achieves merit but does not dwell in it.
He has no wish to display his worthiness. 
 Word Notes 
 
 張 — "to draw/raise" : To lift upward, referring to raising the bow from its resting position. 
 抑 — "to press down" : To lower, to make crouch down. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 The Dao of Heaven is like the form of a bow being drawn. What is high, it presses down. What is low, it raises up. What has surplus, it diminishes. What is deficient, it supplements. The Dao of Heaven diminishes the surplus to supplement the deficient. The Dao of humans is not so — it diminishes the deficient to serve the surplus. Who can take what is surplus and offer it to all under Heaven? Only the person who possesses Dao. For this reason, the Sage acts yet does not rely upon his accomplishments. He achieves merit yet does not claim credit. Is it that he has no wish to display his worthiness? No — it is that he diminishes his own surplus to supplement the deficiency of all under Heaven. 
 Discourse 
 A bow is semicircular in form. When placed lying down in its resting position, the bow's back faces upward — that is the high part — and the bow's tips face downward — that is the low part. Now draw it and hold it up: the bow's back goes downward and becomes low; the bow's tips go upward and become high. This single inversion is Heaven's Dao diminishing the surplus and supplementing the deficient — making what is high go low, and what is low go high. 
 Moreover, the raised and the lowered, placed together, form a complete circle. This is the fundamental form of Heaven's Dao. Once it is round, it can circulate and flow without obstruction, with no distinction between above and below. Were it not so — if one used only one side — the high would grow ever higher and the low ever lower, and the transformations of qi would reach their limit. 
 This world has already been ruined by contention. Therefore the Sage, having achieved merit, does not dwell in it but withdraws from the scene. He acts without relying upon what he has done. Of course this is because he has no wish to display his worthiness. But it is also because he accords with the naturalness of Heaven's Dao, diminishing his own surplus to supplement the deficiency of all under Heaven. Were it otherwise — like the people of this world who diminish the deficient to serve the surplus — they would inevitably be diminished by Heaven's Dao and could not endure for long.

Chapter 78
天下莫柔弱於水。而攻堅疆者。莫之能先。以其無以易之也。故柔之勝剛。弱之勝疆。天下莫不知。莫能行。是以聖人云。受國之垢。是謂社稷主。受國之不祥。是謂天下王。正言若反。 
 Translation 
 In all under Heaven, nothing is softer than water,
yet in attacking the hard and the strong,
nothing can surpass it —
for nothing can take its place. 
 That the soft overcomes the hard,
the weak overcomes the strong —
there is no one under Heaven who does not know this,
yet no one can put it into practice. 
 Therefore the Sage says:
"One who bears the filth of the state
is called the lord of the altars of soil and grain.
One who bears the calamities of the state
is called the sovereign of all under Heaven." 
 Straight words seem paradoxical. 
 Word Notes 
 
 攻 — "to attack" : To assault, to batter. 
 垢 — "filth" : Grime, defilement. 
 社 — "altar of the earth god" : The earth deity. 
 稷 — "altar of the grain god" : The grain deity. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Of all things soft and weak under Heaven, nothing is softer or weaker than water. And yet in attacking the hard and the strong, nothing can surpass it. This is because water by its nature flows downward, and nothing can change this. Therefore the soft can overcome the hard, and the weak can overcome the strong. No one under Heaven does not know this, yet no one is able to put it into practice. Therefore the Sage said: "One who bears the filth of the entire state is called the lord of the altars of soil and grain. One who bears the calamities of the entire state is called the sovereign of all under Heaven." These are straight words, yet they seem to say the opposite. 
 Discourse 
 To bear humiliation and place oneself beneath others, to abide in softness and weakness — this is what people loathe. They do not understand that only what is softest and weakest can overcome what is hardest and strongest. 
 Just look at water and you will understand. Among all things under Heaven, the hard can be broken and the strong can be weakened. But water has already reached the extreme of softness and weakness — there is no way to destroy it further. 
 Therefore, a person who abides in softness and weakness, who can bear humiliation and place himself beneath others, must possess the capacity for tolerance. One who does not shy away from danger and hardship must possess the capacity for shouldering responsibility. 
 Such a person can serve as the lord of the state and the sovereign of all under Heaven. He is certain to pursue well-being for the state and all under Heaven.

Chapter 79
和大怨必有餘怨。安可以為善。是以聖人執左契。而不責於人。故有德司契。無德司徹。天道無親。常與善人。 
 Translation 
 Reconcile a great enmity —
lingering enmity remains.
How can this be called good? 
 Therefore the Sage holds the left tally
yet presses no claim upon others. 
 Those who possess De attend to the tally;
those who lack De attend to the tax levy. 
 The Dao of Heaven plays no favorites —
it is always with the good. 
 Word Notes 
 
 左契 — "the left tally" : A contract written across the seam of two pieces, split into left and right halves. The left half serves as the creditor's stub. The holder of the left tally waits for the other party to come and match tallies; he does not go seeking people out. 
 徹 — "the tax levy" : The method of collecting taxes in the Zhou system. One who calculates amounts and exacts from people. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 When a great enmity has been reconciled, although it may appear reconciled on the outside, lingering enmity must remain within. How then can this be called good? 
 For this reason the Sage holds the left tally, waiting for people to come and seek a match, rather than going out to press claims upon others. Therefore, one who possesses De is like holding a tally — people naturally come seeking the match. One who lacks De is like managing tax collection — going out to exact from people, and people are not pleased. 
 Moreover, when people unite of their own accord, there is Dao within it. Heaven bestows, and people return of their own accord. But the Dao of Heaven plays no favorites — it is always with the good. 
 Discourse 
 This chapter honors the kingly way and denounces hegemonic techniques. 
 Throughout the ages, all who acted as hegemons among the feudal lords necessarily relied on military force. First they used military intimidation to overawe others, and only then did they negotiate peace. Having relied on military intimidation, there could not but have been killing and wounding. Killing others is what people most bitterly resent — this is the greatest enmity. To forge such enmity and then negotiate peace: can this peace be called good? 
 Moreover, those who use hegemonic techniques are not truly advocates of peace. They merely negotiate peace so that others will grow close and let down their guard. Then they can devise all manner of clever methods to absorb others' rights — and that is all. 
 Consider Laozi's single phrase: "those who lack De attend to the tax levy." This truly captures the entirety of the hegemon-states' deceitful stratagems. 
 Yet since it is reconciliation born of enmity, and after reconciliation they again absorb others' rights — how can such peace succeed? It must inevitably fracture. The very moment of negotiating peace is precisely the starting point of future wars and slaughter. 
 This is why, after the Five Hegemons of the feudal states, the era became the Warring States. People only know that the seven great powers were cruel and inhumane; they see them as the sinners produced by the Five Hegemons. They do not realize that this calamity of war was already gestating during the time when the Five Hegemons were assembling the feudal lords. 
 Were it not so, why would even a five-foot youth of the Confucian school be ashamed to speak of the Five Hegemons? It is not because they grandly discuss the kingly way and look down upon utilitarian achievement. It is truly because, from principle alone one may deduce that using hegemonic techniques must inevitably brew the disaster of war. Therefore they cannot bear to speak of it and dare not speak of it. 
 Even without speaking, later generations still secretly appropriated their techniques of power. If one were to further praise their achievements, then everyone would imitate them, and the proper way would be lost. Would that not be terrible? 
 Furthermore, to use hegemonic deception against others is something the Dao of Heaven does not permit. How so? The Dao of Heaven is the natural Dao. The hegemon kills people through military force and robs people of their interests through scheming — these are things people naturally detest. What people detest, Heaven also naturally detests. When Heaven and people both detest a thing, failure naturally follows. 
 How different is one who possesses De! He cultivates De and practices humaneness. Without seeking outwardly to reconcile with others, Heaven bestows and people return of their own accord. Consider King Wen, who treated people with humaneness and generosity: afterward, when King Wu was at the Mengjin ford, without any prearranged assembly, eight hundred and more states came of their own accord and collectively proclaimed King Wu as the Son of Heaven. 
 Is this not stronger beyond measure than forcing matters through the mixed deceptions of hegemony?

Chapter 80
小國寡民。使有什伯之器而不用。使民重死而不遠徙。雖有舟車無所乘之。雖有甲兵。無所陳之。使民復結繩而用之。甘其食。美其服。安其居。樂其俗。鄰國相望。雞犬之音相聞。民至老死不相往來。 
 Translation 
 A small state, few people —
let them have implements for tens and hundreds, yet never use them.
Let the people hold death close and not wander far. 
 Though boats and carriages exist,
none has reason to ride them.
Though armor and weapons exist,
none has reason to deploy them. 
 Let the people return to knotting cords.
Sweeten their food,
beautify their clothing,
give them peace in their dwellings,
give them joy in their customs. 
 Neighboring states lie within sight of one another —
the crowing of roosters, the barking of dogs
carry between them —
yet the people, from youth to old age,
never once visit. 
 Word Notes 
 
 徙 — "to move/migrate" : To relocate. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Let all the states under Heaven become small states. Reduce their populations. Teach them so that they have ten kinds, a hundred kinds of implements and yet do not use them recklessly. Teach these people to know how to hold life and death in reverence and not to migrate to distant places. Even if they have boats and carriages, there is no reason to ride them. Even if they have military uniforms and weapons, there is no reason to deploy them. Teach these people to return to the ways of high antiquity, using knotted cords to keep records. 
 Sweeten people's food and drink. Beautify people's clothing. Give peace to people's dwellings. Give harmony and joy to people's customs. Neighboring states see one another; the sounds of roosters and dogs are heard between them; yet the people, from youth to old age, do not visit one another. 
 Discourse 
 I, this young student, upon reaching this chapter in my commentary, could not help but dance for joy and declare: truly wondrous beyond measure! Truly wondrous beyond measure! 
 But people of this world do not understand. They will surely think that in today's age of global interconnection, the words of this chapter are utterly inapplicable. They do not realize that this chapter contains two kinds of principle — one that is most applicable precisely in an age of interconnection, and one that is applicable not only in an age of interconnection but will remain applicable even when civilization has advanced for thousands, ten thousands, a million years. 
 Let me try to explain. 
 The first: the principle of lament. The more interconnected the world becomes, the more savage the calamities of war. The wider the scope of interconnection, the larger the battlefields. The more convenient trains and steamships become, the more convenient also the transport of troops and supplies. Moreover, after interconnection: sometimes preaching provokes disaster; sometimes commerce provokes disaster; sometimes opening colonial territories provokes disaster. Once the calamity of war arises, the suffering is too cruel to bear describing. 
 With Laozi's divine sagacity, he had long foreseen this. Therefore he put forth the thesis of this chapter. He was not teaching people to abandon eating for fear of choking. He was deliberately speaking words that seem absurd, concealing within them boundless lament — to mock people, to shock people awake. If people could feel moved and awaken, the calamity of war could cease. 
 This principle, applied to the age of interconnection, can rescue us from the cruel disaster of armed warfare. 
 The second: the principle of evolution. When states are large, their power is great, and they often rely upon their strength to bully others. When populations are large, they become difficult to govern. And large populations inevitably mean large armies. If states were divided into equal nations — with no distinctions of large and small, for such distinctions only arise from comparison — and their populations reduced, then not only would states have no desire to annex others, and the people would be free from complexity and trouble, but with fewer people there would be fewer affairs. Only a simple government need be established, without the need to create many bureaucratic organs and squander gold and silver. Expenditures would therefore also be small. 
 Thus reducing the number of births is the marvelous method of addressing the root and clearing the source for governing all under Heaven. 
 Consider: whenever all under Heaven enjoys a brief peace, it is always after a great upheaval, when the population is sparse. Once peace comes, reproduction gradually increases. As reproduction increases, resources become strained. From this strain, contention arises. Moreover, when a single set of parents bears several children, they cannot even keep up with feeding and clothing them — how could they have the strength to educate them? Difficulty in food and clothing is still a small matter. Not receiving a basic education, an entire lifetime spent in muddled confusion, as if dwelling in a dark hell — this is truly pitiable. And if they receive no education, can they still understand humaneness, righteousness, and moral principle? Add to this the difficulty of earning a livelihood, and they will inevitably break the law and create disorder. On the small scale, bandits swarm like bees; on the great scale, wars follow one upon another. This is the root cause of great chaos under Heaven. 
 Only reducing the number of births can preserve lasting peace in the world. 
 But this principle must come about naturally. It requires that the people's moral character and knowledge have all advanced to a high level — that they be pure, simple, honest, and generous, with desires gradually diminishing. Men would not marry until after age twenty-five; if they already have an heir, they would not remarry after the wife's death. Women would not marry until after age twenty-five; even without an heir, they would not remarry after the husband's death. The institution of one husband and one wife would be practiced in reality. From the sovereign above to the common people below, none would be permitted to take concubines. Husband and wife would treat each other with the respect due a guest, not drowning in indulgent desire. They would merely produce an heir so as to be free from the great sin of lacking posterity. 
 Husband and wife would both study the Daoist Cantong qi ( The Kinship of the Three ) and the Buddhist Shurangama Sutra , cultivating essence, qi, and spirit — to the point of attaining immortality or Buddhahood. Thereupon they would sever desire completely. In this way, each couple would produce only one son and one daughter to continue the line. With reproduction so reduced, rearing and education would naturally become easy. 
 Moreover, when people's desires are few, the children born to them would be physically robust with no early deaths, and mentally keen with no dullness. Thus the more civilization advances, the higher the caliber of persons becomes. Everyone would possess the conduct of a virtuous gentleman. 
 But by that time, there would be no degraded underclass, nor anyone performing hard manual labor or drudgery. Therefore each person would need to have ten kinds, a hundred kinds of machines — all hard labor and drudgery would no longer require human hands. Yet even with such convenience, because people would all be temperate and free of desire, they would not lightly use them, lest material resources be exhausted. 
 The people of that time would all devote themselves to inner cultivation and the pursuit of spiritual learning. When a task is finished, they would retire to solitary dwelling to nourish the spirit. They would prefer stillness and not prefer movement. Moreover, everyone would have a fixed livelihood, so there would be no vagrants. Therefore, though trains and steamships exist, they would only be used for transporting goods and conveying what one has and what one lacks — and that is all. As for military uniforms and weapons, there would be no need to transport them; they would simply be stored in the national treasury. 
 At this time, although scholarship would be extremely thorough, people would only silently grasp the essential meaning and would not recite or memorize written phrases. Even for spreading civilization, they would only use simple diagrams to convey meaning — like the Eight Trigrams of antiquity — or write a few simple and clear sentences. For the caliber of people being so high, one glance would suffice to understand; there would be no need for writings that run on page after page, full of ornamental rhetoric that is empty and useless. 
 As for contracts and evidence, none of these would be needed. All people would be true and sincere without duplicity, trusting one another by the heart. What use would such things have? 
 When Laozi speaks of returning to knotted cords, he is merely speaking in the most extreme terms to say: do not value empty formalities — and that is all. 
 The people's food and drink would all consist of grains and vegetables. (When Laozi says "sweeten their food," this means precisely the savor that comes from tilling and harvesting.) They would not eat meat or fish, because all things grow together without harming one another. Moreover, everyone would practice inner cultivation. Like the contemporary Dr. Wu Tingfang, who considers eating meat to be impure and does not eat it. 
 The people's clothing would all be fine and beautiful, seeking only what benefits the body — they would not want extravagance. They would be at peace in their dwellings and take joy in their customs, not reaching for what is high and seeking what is far, not chasing the new and craving the strange. Though neighboring states lie within sight of one another and the crowing of roosters and barking of dogs carry between them, still they would grow old and die without ever once visiting. 
 But this "never once visiting" is not being confined to one small corner, gazing at the sky from the bottom of a well. It is because the people's degree of evolution is so high that they can fully exhaust the heart and know their nature. All things are complete within one's own person. Their flood-like qi fills all between Heaven and Earth. The heart of Dao permeates beyond the six directions. The spirit roams the Great Void. They arrive without traveling. They are swift without haste. They see all the worlds of Heaven and Earth as if in the palm of their hand. (I have previously authored Diagrams of the Great Thousand , and I am able to see all of this within my own inherent nature.) 
 At that time, the human world would simply be Heaven — there would be no boundary between the human and the celestial. That is why they need not visit one another. 
 But such evolution is natural. If one tries to force it before the time is right, one will surely invite great disaster. It must follow the proper sequence. Even to begin would require at least several hundred years. For evolution to reach its ultimate culmination, no less than a thousand years or more would be needed. 
 This principle — however many years of evolution have passed — remains valid. Is Laozi's ideal of evolution not supremely lofty?

Chapter 81
信言不美。美言不信。善言不辯。辯言不善。知者不博。博者不知。聖人不積。既以為人己愈有。既以與人己愈多。天之道利而不害。聖人之道為而不爭。 
 Translation 
 Trustworthy words are not beautiful;
beautiful words are not trustworthy.
Good words need no argument;
argumentative words are not good.
Those who know are not broadly learned;
the broadly learned do not truly know. 
 The Sage does not accumulate.
The more he lives for others, the more he has.
The more he gives, the more he possesses. 
 The Dao of Heaven: to benefit, never to harm.
The Dao of the Sage: to act, never to contend. 
 Word Notes 
 
 博 — "broadly [learned]" : Wide, extensive. 
 
 Chapter Explanation 
 Trustworthy words are not refined and beautiful. Refined and beautiful words are not trustworthy. Good words do not require argument. Words of argument are not good. One who truly knows does not seek broad learning. One who seeks broad learning may not necessarily know. 
 For this reason, the Sage does not seek to accumulate everything upon his own person. Though he does not seek to accumulate upon himself, because he lives for others, he himself grows ever richer. Because he gives to others, he himself grows ever more abundant. 
 The Dao of Heaven benefits the myriad beings and does not harm them. The Dao of the Sage takes all the affairs of the cosmos as matters within his own nature and shoulders all responsibility, yet does not contend with others. 
 Discourse 
 Confucius said: "One's words need not always be trustworthy; one's actions need not always bear fruit." The Buddha, too, often used expedient teachings in preaching the Dharma. From this we can see that the ancient sages did not rigidly cling to trustworthiness. But the sages were not deceiving people. It was for the sake of transforming and ferrying all beings — teaching in accordance with each person's capacity. Had they spoken the true principle directly, people would not have been able to believe it. Since people could not believe it, the sages had no choice but to proceed as they did. But this kind of non-trustworthiness is the idea of teaching through expedient adaptation. 
 What Laozi says — "trustworthy words are not beautiful" — goes a step further. 
 For trustworthiness is the name of the teaching that is most earnest and solid. Trustworthiness belongs to the element earth; deep De is sufficient to bear all things. Moreover, it contains true humaneness, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom within it. 
 Therefore, in Confucius's teachings, it is in the era of the Great Unity that one first speaks of "practicing trust and cultivating harmony." Laozi, in places where he disparages humaneness, righteousness, ritual, and wisdom, never disparages trustworthiness. Only in this chapter does he say "trustworthy words are not beautiful" — which seems different from what came before. 
 What people do not realize is this: the earlier emphasis on trustworthiness was spoken for the era when the Great Unity is first inaugurated. This statement that "trustworthy words are not beautiful" is spoken for the era when the Great Unity has evolved to its ultimate extreme. 
 For at that time, everyone would already practice trust and cultivate harmony. Then a further evolution must occur: even trustworthiness itself would no longer be needed. When people devote themselves to trustworthiness, there arises a calculating mind about how to establish trust — this inevitably falls into attachment to marks. Therefore even trustworthiness must be cast off. People would simply act from their innate nature and move at Heaven's impulse, no longer knowing what trustworthy or untrustworthy means. Whatever should be said, they say; whatever should be done, they do. Not only would they have no mind to establish trust in themselves, they would have no mind to demand trust of others. Everyone would simply forget one another's merit and be joyful together. 
 This at last reaches the realm of divine transformation. 
 The phrases earlier in this chapter — "good words need no argument" and "those who know are not broadly learned" — all carry this same meaning. Were one to take post-celestial reasoning to discuss this, how could it ever be understood? 
 But evolving to this level is by no means easy. It requires a great sage to emerge several thousand years beforehand and begin to advocate: taking the affairs of the cosmos as matters within one's own nature; possessing a capacity for shouldering responsibility as rich as Yi Yin's; embodying the Dao of Heaven that benefits all under Heaven without harming it; in all things living for others, not for oneself; giving to others, not seeking precedence. Only in this way can it gradually be brought about. 
 I, this young student, humbly believe that the present time is precisely the era of practicing trust and cultivating harmony. It is also an era when heterodox doctrines run rampant and right and wrong must be distinguished. It is an era when the teachings of all lands and all ages lie jumbled together, needing to be integrated and unified. 
 Laozi's several phrases about beautiful words not being trustworthy — these must still wait for a future day to be put into practice. 
 But the words about living for others and not for oneself, giving to others and not seeking precedence, shouldering the affairs of all under Heaven and all ages, embodying the Dao of Heaven in benefiting others without harming them — these are the exact medicine for today's ailment. There is not a moment to lose.