Laozi said: In the ancient times, true men of old breathed in harmony with yin and yang; all living beings looked up to their virtue for peace and order. At that time, the principles were subtle and hidden, naturally forming simplicity and purity. Before this simplicity and purity dispersed, all things flourished abundantly. And when the age declined, by the time of Fu Xi Shi, things were obscure and confused; people all wished to depart from their innocent and naive minds in order to attain enlightenment between heaven and earth. Their virtues became complicated and inconsistent. And when it came to Shen Nong and Huang Di, they examined the principles of the world, established the framework of the four seasons, and harmonized yin and yang. Thus, all the people stood upright in thought, revered with attention and gazed upward, so that order was achieved but harmony was not fully realized. Down to the time of Xia and Yin dynasties, desires became indulgent in material things; wisdom was led astray by external influences, and life and nature lost their true essence. By the time of the Zhou dynasty, sincerity was diluted and simplicity dispersed; people departed from the Dao to create falsehoods, regarded perilous virtues as conduct, and cunning intelligence began to emerge. Monkeys imitated sages in their learning, used hollow accusations to intimidate the masses, polished and adorned poetry and books to seek reputation, each wishing to practice their clever deceptions in order to fit into society, thus losing the fundamental essence of the great tradition. Therefore, people have long been suffering from the loss of life and nature, a decline that has gradually worsened for a long time. Therefore, the learning of the perfected person aims to return nature to nothingness and let the mind wander in emptiness. In contrast, worldly learning plucks virtue and disrupts nature; it causes inner distress to the five viscera, reckless behavior beyond wisdom, and seeks fame and reputation in society—this is what the perfected person would never do. Plucking virtue for self-display, disrupting nature and severing life—such is not the way of the perfected person. As for those who have attained perfection, they are at peace with the meaning of life and death, understand the principles of honor and disgrace; even if all under heaven praise them, it does not make them more encouraged, nor does universal criticism add to their discouragement—they have grasped the essential truth of the ultimate Dao.

Laozi said: In ancient times, people wore their hair loose without binding the neck, and thus ruled over all under heaven. Their virtue brought life rather than death, gave freely without taking; although the world did not submit to them by force, they shared in the same appreciation of virtue. At that time, yin and yang were harmonious, and all things flourished and multiplied—bird nests could be reached from below and touched, and running beasts could be tethered and followed. When the age declined, birds, beasts, insects, and snakes all became a threat to people. Therefore, iron was smelted and blades forged to defend against these dangers. Thus, when the people faced hardships, they sought convenience; in times of peril, they prepared for defense. Each used their wisdom to avoid harm and pursue benefit. Established customs could not be followed blindly, and tools and devices could not remain unchanged—hence the laws and regulations of former kings were subject to change. Therefore it is said: "That which can be named is not the constant name." The Five Emperors followed different ways, yet their virtue covered all under heaven; the Three Kings engaged in different affairs, yet their names endured to later generations—these were changes made according to the times. It is like the way Shikuang tuned the five musical notes: what he adjusted in pitch, high or low, had no fixed pattern; yet by measuring with inches and degrees, none failed to hit the right note. Therefore, only those who understand the essence of music can compose, for sound has its fundamental principle within. And those who understand the use of compasses, rules, hooks, and cords are able to govern people. Therefore, the institutions of former kings should not be discarded merely because they seem unsuitable; matters from later ages that are good should be recorded and upheld. Therefore, the sage establishes rites and music but is not bound by them; he controls things without being controlled by them, establishes laws without being constrained by them. Hence it is said: "The Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao."

Laozi said: In ancient times, the sage kings looked upward to take patterns from heaven, downward to measure according to earth, and inwardly followed principles from human nature. They regulated the qi of yin and yang, harmonized with the seasons, observed the suitability of hills, plains, rivers, marshes, fertile land, and high or low terrain in order to establish affairs and generate wealth, thus eliminating the worries of hunger and cold, preventing diseases and ailments. They accepted human affairs midway and established rites and music accordingly, practicing the way of benevolence and righteousness to govern human relationships. They categorized the properties of metal, wood, water, fire, and earth to establish the affection between father and son and form families; they listened to the clarity or 浊 ness of the five tones and the generative relationships among the six pitch-pipes to set forth the righteousness between ruler and minister and thus build the state. They observed the sequence of the four seasons—early, middle, and late—to establish the etiquette for elders and juniors and form official positions; they divided the land into provinces, apportioned states for governance, and established great schools to educate people—this was the framework and order of good governance. If one attains the Dao, then he is promoted; if one loses the Dao, then he falls into disuse. Things have never existed that are stretched without relaxation, or flourishing without decline. Only the sage can flourish without decline. When sages first composed music, it was to return the spirit and restrain indulgence, restoring the natural heart. But when this declined, people flowed away without returning, became licentious and fond of beauty, disregarded proper laws, and these corrupt practices passed down through later generations until they led to the downfall of states. When sages first wrote books, it was to clarify principles for all matters; the foolish used them to remember, while the wise recorded events. But in decline, writings became tools of deceit, used to justify guilt and execute the innocent. When sages established hunting grounds, it was to prepare offerings for ancestral temples and train soldiers as a precaution against unforeseen dangers. Yet when this declined, rulers indulged in horseback riding and hunting, seizing time from the people and exhausting their strength. In its prime, the appointment of virtuous individuals served to regulate education and justice; the worthy occupied positions of power, capable men held office, blessings reached below, and all the people cherished virtue. But when this declined, factions formed, each promoting those they favored, abandoning public interests for private gain, supporting one another inside and out—wicked men occupied posts while the virtuous withdrew into seclusion. The way of heaven and earth is such that when something reaches its extreme, it turns back; when it gains too much, it suffers loss. Therefore, the sage reforms institutions in response to decline and initiates new actions when a matter concludes. The excellence lies in harmony, while the failure arises from reliance on power. The way of the sage says: Without cultivating propriety and righteousness, integrity and a sense of shame cannot be established. When people lack integrity and shame, they cannot be governed. If one does not understand propriety and righteousness, laws cannot be properly applied. Unless virtue is honored and vice discarded, people will not turn toward propriety and righteousness. Without law, governance cannot be achieved; without understanding propriety and righteousness, the law cannot be effectively carried out. The law can punish those who are disrespectful to their parents but cannot make people filial; it can penalize thieves but cannot instill integrity in them. When the sage king was in power, he clearly demonstrated what was to be loved and hated for the people, established standards of censure and praise to guide them, favored and promoted the virtuous while despising and demoting the unworthy. Punishments were set aside and not used, as rites and righteousness were cultivated and the worthy and moral were entrusted with responsibility. Therefore, the most virtuous in all under heaven were appointed as the Three Dukes; the most capable within one province became the Nine Ministers; the most outstanding within a state served as Twenty-Seven Gentlemen of Rank; and the most exemplary within a village were named Eighty-One Senior Scholars. Those whose wisdom surpasses ten thousand others are called "ying"; those who surpass a thousand are called "jun"; those who surpass a hundred are called "jie"; and those who surpass ten are called "hao." Those who understand the principles of heaven and earth, comprehend human relationships, possess sufficient breadth to accommodate many people, have enough benevolence to win over distant hearts, and wisdom enough to discern circumstances are called "human ying." Those whose virtue is sufficient to educate and transform others, whose conduct embodies righteousness, whose integrity earns the trust of the people, and whose wisdom illuminates those below them are called "human jun." Those whose conduct can serve as a model, whose wisdom is sufficient to resolve doubts and ambiguities, whose integrity enables them to honor agreements, whose uprightness allows them to distribute wealth fairly, whose actions are worthy of imitation, and whose words are worth following are called "human jie." Those who steadfastly uphold their duties without neglect, adhere to righteousness without compromising for favor, do not evade hardship recklessly, and do not acquire benefits through improper means are called "human hao." The ying, jun, hao, and jie, each according to the magnitude of their abilities, occupied appropriate positions. From root to branch, from weighty to light, superiors led while inferiors followed in harmony; within all four seas, people shared a single mind and common purpose—turning away from greed and baseness toward benevolence and righteousness. In transforming the populace, it was like wind bending grass. Now if an unworthy person is placed over a virtuous one, even severe punishments cannot prevent corruption. The small cannot control the great, and the weak cannot command the strong—this is the nature of heaven and earth. Therefore, the sage promotes the worthy to accomplish achievements; an unworthy ruler promotes those with whom he is personally aligned. By observing whom one appoints, order or disorder can be discerned; by examining his associates, it becomes clear whether a person is virtuous or unworthy.

Laozi said: Those who establish rites carve and polish human nature, correcting and suppressing natural feelings. The eyes may desire something but are forbidden by rules; the heart may take pleasure in it yet is restrained by propriety. One must move with careful steps, bow respectfully, kneel humbly—meat is set before them but not eaten, wine is served but not drunk. Externally, their form is bound; internally, their virtue is troubled. They suppress the harmony of yin and yang and force upon life's natural inclinations, so that they spend a lifetime as sorrowful people. Why is this so? It is because they do not address the root of desire but merely prohibit its expression, and do not understand the source of joy yet prevent people from experiencing it. This is like enclosing wild beasts without blocking the walls of their enclosure while trying to suppress their wild instincts—or attempting to block the flow of rivers with one's bare hands. Therefore it is said: "Opening the gate of desire and aiding in its fulfillment leads to a lifetime of no salvation." Rites serve to suppress feelings and restrain desires, using righteousness as a means of self-protection. Even when the heart is distressed and the body suffers from hunger and thirst, one forces oneself through necessity. Therefore, few are able to complete their natural lifespan. Rites do not make people devoid of desire, but they can restrain it; music does not prevent people from taking pleasure, but it can regulate and contain it. Making all under heaven fear punishment and thus dare not steal—how could this compare to making people have no desire to steal in the first place! Therefore, when one knows that something is of no use, even a greedy person will reject it; but if one does not know its value or purpose, even an upright and honest person cannot help but desire to possess it. People who lose their states, die at the hands of others, and are ridiculed by all under heaven have never done so without desire. If one knows that a fan is useless in winter and a fur coat is unnecessary in summer—realizing that countless things hold no value for oneself—then all things will transform into dust and dirt! Therefore, lifting the boiling soup to stop it from bubbling only makes the boiling worse; one who understands its root cause simply removes the fire.

Laozi said: To act in accordance with nature is called the Dao; to attain one's natural disposition is called virtue. Only when nature is lost does benevolence and righteousness become valued; once benevolence and righteousness are established, the Dao and virtue decline. Purity and simplicity disperse, and rites and music become mere ornamentation. Right and wrong take form, confusing the people; pearls and jade grow precious, and all under heaven contend for them. Rites are established to distinguish between the noble and the lowly, the honored and the humble. Righteousness is used to harmonize relationships among ruler and subject, father and son, elder brother and younger brother, husband and wife—these are the fundamental human bonds of society. The rites of later ages emphasize reverence and formal interaction. Those who practice righteousness do so to gain through giving; rulers and subjects criticize each other, and family members develop resentment. Therefore, when water accumulates, it breeds insects that devour one another; when earth accumulates, it produces creatures that feed on flesh from within; when rites and music become mere adornments, deceit and falsehood arise. The governance of later ages does not focus on providing the essentials for sustaining life; instead, it dilutes the sincerity of the world and disperses its simplicity. It confuses the people, turning clarity into turbidity, causing life and nature to become restless and chaotic, all in pursuit of profit. Loyalty and trust decay, people lose their true natures, law contradicts righteousness, conduct opposes benefit, poverty and wealth vie against each other, and even the relationship between a ruler and his servant or captive becomes meaningless beyond recognition. When there is abundance, people yield; when there is scarcity, they contend. Yielding gives rise to rites and righteousness; contention brings about violence and disorder. Therefore, excessive desires lead to neglect of affairs, and constant pursuit of sustenance leads to unceasing conflict. Thus, in times of peace, the unworthy adhere to uprightness and cannot be tempted by profit; in times of chaos, even the virtuous may turn to deceit, and laws are powerless to restrain them.

Laozi said: The rulers of a declining age drill into mountains and stones, extract gold and jade, dig for pearls in oyster beds, melt copper and iron—yet all things do not flourish. They carve out the bellies of pregnant creatures, burn fields around villages, destroy nests and smash eggs; phoenixes no longer soar, qilins no longer wander. They build platforms by piling wood, set fire to forests for hunting, drain lakes for fishing, heap earth into hills, dig wells from the ground, channel rivers into ponds, construct walls for defense, capture wild beasts for domestication—thus yin and yang become distorted, the four seasons lose their order; thunder and lightning destroy, hail and frost bring harm. All things wither prematurely, more than half perish; grass and trees dry up in summer, three rivers cease to flow. They divide mountains, rivers, valleys into boundaries marked by soil, calculate population size to assign portions, set up mechanical defenses and obstacles for protection, establish distinctions of rank through dress and color to distinguish noble from humble, reward the old, the virtuous, or the unworthy according to their own will—thus wars arise and disputes multiply; ruthless killing of the innocent, punishment of those without guilt, all begin at this time.

Laozi said: When the world is about to lose life and nature, it is like the rise of yin qi. The ruler is dark-minded and unenlightened; the Dao is abandoned and not practiced; virtue is extinguished and not promoted. Actions are contrary to heaven, decrees go against the four seasons; spring and autumn contract their harmony, and heaven and earth remove their blessings. The sovereign occupies his position in unrest, ministers retreat into silence without speaking out, officials twist imperial intent and disrupt established norms, estrange family ties for personal advancement. Wicked men flatter and plot secretly, swiftly carrying arrogant rulers along as they imitate the corrupt to accomplish their schemes. Thus, ruler and minister become alienated and distant; kinship is severed and no longer close. Fields bear no crops, roads see no leisurely steps. Gold accumulates but integrity crumbles; jade is hoarded without profit. Tortoise shells yield no omens from within, divination with yarrow stalks grows daily more frequent. The world does not unite as one family; feudal lords establish laws and customs that differ widely. They uproot the fundamental principles and abandon their origins. They carve out five punishments, impose harsh decrees, contend over trivial gains like those at the tip of a cone or blade. They oppress the people, seizing more than half their resources. Armies are raised to create chaos; cities are attacked with wanton killing. High places are brought low for safety, great battering rams and towering fortifications are built, battle formations are arranged so that death is inevitable on the battlefield. They provoke fierce enemies. When the people rebel, reputations are hastily inflated; states are annexed by force, lands seized, and tens of thousands lie dead in corpses. The aged, weak, hungry, and cold perish beyond count. Since then, the world has never again found peace for life and nature or joy in its customs. Virtuous sages suddenly arose, upholding the Dao and virtue, assisted by benevolence and righteousness. The nearby were inspired to offer their wisdom; the distant were drawn in by virtue. Under heaven was unified as one. Descendants succeeded each other in governance, supporting the worthy while removing slanderers and those who spread unfounded arguments. They abolished harsh laws, dispensed with burdensome regulations, suppressed rumors, closed the doors of factionalism, diminished intelligence and skill, followed the great constants, dismantled artificial distinctions, rejected excessive cleverness, and achieved a grand harmony in the formless void—thus all things returned to their roots. The sage is not one who can create an era, but rather one who seizes the opportunity when it arrives and does not let it slip away; therefore, the Dao has never been completely severed.

Laozi said: The Feng River is ten ren deep and does not accept dust or filth; if metal or stone lies within, its shape appears clearly on the surface. It is not that the river is not deep and clear—but still, no fish, turtles, dragons, or crocodiles return to it. Grains do not grow on stone; deer and elks do not wander on barren mountains—because there is nothing to provide shade or shelter. Therefore, to govern by severity as if it were discernment, by harshness as if it were wisdom, by strict subjugation as if it were loyalty, and by excessive calculation as if it were achievement—such governance is like stretching leather too tightly; it leads only to great failure and rupture. When government is muddled and unobtrusive, the people remain simple and sincere; when government is overly scrutinizing and rigid, the people become hollow and lacking in integrity.

Laozi said: Govern a state with virtue, employ troops through strategy. Laozi said: First establish a government that cannot be defeated, and then seek victory over the enemy. To attack an opponent's disorder with one's own lack of order is like responding to fire with fire or water with water—when things are the same, they cannot govern each other. Therefore, using what is different as a strategy brings success: stillness defeats haste; order defeats chaos; satiety defeats hunger; ease defeats labor. The mutual response between these opposites resembles the interactions of water, fire, metal, and wood in their natural conflicts—wherever such principles are applied, victory follows. Thus, when virtue is equal, the many overcome the few; when strength is matched, the wise control the foolish; when wisdom is the same, those with numbers prevail over those without.