The sage has no invariable mind of his own; he makes the mind of the people his mind.
To those who are good to me, I am good; and to those who are not good to me, I am also good;—and thus all get to be good.
To those who are sincere with me, I am sincere; and to those who are not sincere with me, I am also sincere;—and thus all get to be sincere.
The sage has in the world an appearance of indecision, and keeps his mind in a state of indifference to all.
The people all keep their eyes and ears directed to him, and he deals with them all as his children.
Sit With This
Whose behaviour is currently deciding your character for you — and what would it be to stay good there, not as their reward, but as your own settled weather?
A Practice
Pick one person who reliably pulls you off your centre. Before you next meet them, decide who you will be in that meeting — your tone, your steadiness — independent of anything they do. Afterwards, notice the difference between being steady and being right.
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Western Commentary
The sage, the verse says, has no fixed mind of his own — he takes the heart of the people as his heart. And then it states the most quietly radical policy in the book: to the good, I am good; and to the not-good, I am also good — and thus all get to be good. The same for sincerity: met or betrayed, he offers it either way. His goodness is not a transaction that waits to see what the other person does first. It is a settled condition, like weather that does not consult the ground before it rains.
Most of us run the other arrangement without ever choosing it. We meet people verdict-first — a one-line judgment loaded before they finish speaking — and we let their conduct set ours: warmth for warmth, edge for edge, sincerity only where it seems safe. It feels like fairness. But notice what it actually does: it hands the keys of your character to whoever behaved worst in the room. Your kindness becomes a thing other people operate. The verse offers the alternative quietly — a goodness that has stopped being a reaction, and so cannot be taken hostage.
And there is a practical wisdom in the strange clause and thus all get to be good. People have a way of growing toward the version of themselves they are treated as. Meet someone as their worst moment and you tend to summon it; meet them as their best possibility and, more often than chance would explain, it answers. This is not a rule against boundaries — the same book teaches knowing when to stop. It is freedom from having your inner weather set by the last person who mistreated you, and a steady invitation that lets others find their better selves without being lectured toward them.
The closing image gathers it up: the sage looks almost indecisive, holds no hardened verdicts, and deals with everyone as his children. Not childishly — as a parent does: expecting growth, forgiving the stumble, refusing to freeze anyone at their worst. An open mind looks like weakness the way still water looks like emptiness. But it is exactly this unfixed heart, the verse suggests, that everyone eventually turns toward — eyes and ears directed to it — because steadiness without verdicts is the rarest shelter there is.