《道德真经疏义》Vol. 2

Scriptural Title and “Grasped at but Not Obtained”

“Carrying the Yingpo,” Chapter Ten, is the title of chapter 10 of the Daodejing (the Way and Its Virtue). Its opening line is “Carrying the yingpo and embracing the One, can one not be separated?” “And grasped at but not obtained” comes from chapter 14: “Looked at but not seen, it is called yi; listened to but not heard, it is called xi; grasped at but not obtained, it is called wei.” It means that even when one reaches out to grasp it with the hand, one cannot catch it, describing the Dao (the Way) as formless and without image.

Huizong’s Commentary (Emperor Huizong of Song’s commentary on this chapter)

Po belongs to Yin, attaches to the body, and has a fixed location; therefore Laozi says “yingpo” (the Po can be managed and guarded). Hun belongs to Yang, relies on Qi (vital energy), and goes everywhere; therefore the Yijing uses the word “wandering” to describe Hun (“the wandering Hun becomes change”). The sage uses Shen (spirit) to govern the physical form and Hun to restrain Po. Thus Shen constantly carries Po but is not constrained by Po, just as a cart carries the ten thousand things as it moves, or as the four seasons turn with cold and heat coming and going; Shen remains free and unobstructed. Within the mind there is naturally an innate free wandering, with above and below and the four directions mutually depending on one another. Transcending heaven and earth and forgetting the ten thousand things, the spirit will have nothing to trouble it; how then could it be bound by the physical Po?

Subcommentary (Jiang Cheng’s explanation)

Po is produced by “form” (visible, substantial matter), so its character is formed from “white.” White belongs to Yin among the Five Colors. Po remains within form and substance and does not change with external things; having such a foundation, it becomes attached to physical form. But spirit can transcend the ten thousand things and not be trapped; naturally it will no longer be confined to the physical Po.

The po (bodily soul) is generated from physical form (color); its character is written with “white,” and white is a Yin color. Once the po enters the human body, it no longer changes and does not roam about at will; it attaches to the physical form and remains there. This is why Laozi speaks of “yingpo” (encamped po): “ying” means having a place to dwell and rest.

The hun (ethereal soul) is governed by Qi (vital energy); its character is written with “cloud,” and cloud belongs to Yang Qi. The hun can exit and enter, gather and disperse; Jing (essence) and Shen (spirit) respond along with it, and relying on Qi it reaches everywhere. That is why the Zhouyi uses the word you (“roaming”) to describe it: you means going everywhere without restriction.

The sage uses Shen to govern the physical form, not allowing Jing and Shen to be burdened by it; he uses the hun to restrain the po, not allowing the hun to be constrained by the po. Thus Shen constantly rides above the po, but is not carried by the po. This is like a cart in motion: a hundred things are loaded within it, and though the accumulated load is great, it is not damaged. It is also like the movement of the four seasons: cold and heat come and go, and human beings and the ten thousand things all live and rest accordingly.

The heart-mind has a naturally free realm; it transcends beyond dust and defilement, yet can pervade the whole body—unlike those whose hearts are narrow and who guard only one place. The six penetrations (referring to the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind—the six roots—being unobstructed and interconnected) communicate with one another, reaching directly from the eye-root to wisdom, filling all without obstruction; they are not like the six borings (where the six roots each cling and disturb one another) contending with one another. Understanding that Heaven and Earth are born together with me, one can transcend Heaven and Earth; understanding that the ten thousand things are one body with me, one can forget the ten thousand things. Coming and going throughout above and below and the four directions, moving freely among the myriad realms, Jing and Shen are never trapped—how could they be bound by the physical form or stalled by the po?

“Embracing the One” comes from Laozi, chapter 10: “Carrying the po and embracing the One, can they not be separated?” It means: embracing the unified Dao (the One), can one keep body and mind from becoming separated?

Emperor Huizong’s commentary repeats the final sentence above in order to emphasize: Jing and Shen transcend the physical form precisely because they are united with the ten thousand things; therefore they cannot be trapped by form and po.

Heaven’s one generates water; Earth’s two generates fire. (The ancients paired numbers with the Five Phases: Heaven, by one, generates water; Earth, by two, generates fire.) Among the ten thousand things, water corresponds to Jing (essence), and fire corresponds to Shen (spirit). Both Jing and Shen arise from the Dao (the Way), and the physical form originally arises from Jing as well. As long as one guards the root and does not let it be lost, and lets Shen become one with it, Jing and Shen will unite and not separate.

Use Jing to gather Shen, use Shen to direct the physical form, and use the physical form to preserve Shen. In this way Jing remains complete and undiminished, Shen can be employed without being exhausted, and the body can grow without decaying—like the sun and moon attached to the sky, or plants and trees relying on the earth, never separated from them.

I once elaborated further: human life exists because Jing gathers Shen; the physical form is thereby fully constituted, and the four limbs and hundred bones circulate freely, reaching everywhere. Above, it can connect with Heaven; below, it can coil and root in the great Earth, transforming and nurturing the ten thousand things in a way that cannot be described by images. This state may be called “identifying with the Emperor” (sharing the De, or virtue, of the Heavenly Emperor and the Great Dao).

Yet the foolish people of the world enslave themselves to external things and lose their original nature amid worldly customs. They cannot let the inner Shen settle even for a moment; they gallop amid endless desires and exhaust their Jing outward. Thereupon hun (the yang spirit) instead follows po (the yin bodily form), and the body in turn drags down Shen; in the end they transform together with the ten thousand things. Is this not bewildering?

The sages are not like this. They carry the po so as to reach through, embrace and guard the One (that is, the Dao) so as to preserve, realize Shen and return to stillness, and their physical form is naturally upright. Their Shen, even when passing through Mount Tai, is not changed by it; when situated in a deep abyss, it does not get wet. Who knows where it begins? Who knows where it ends? Therefore it is said: the sage values Jing.

The commentary says: The Dao (the Way) produces “One”; “One” is water. Therefore Heaven’s “One” generates water, and in the myriad things it manifests as Jing (essence). “One” generates “Two”; “Two” is fire. Therefore Earth’s “Two” generates fire, and in the myriad things it manifests as Shen (spirit). (“Heaven’s One generates water” and “Earth’s Two generates fire” are taken from the ancient numerical sequence by which the Five Phases [Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water] are generated.)

All things have Qi (vital energy), and Jing and Shen are the beginning of Qi; all things possess number, and Jing and Shen receive number earliest. It can be seen that Jing and Shen also arise from the Dao, because the luminous arises from the dark and subtly mysterious. Heaven and Earth contain and store Jing and Qi, and from this the myriad things are transformed and born; the four seasons disperse Jing and Qi and give form to the myriad things. Thus bodily form, too, is rooted in Jing and comes into being, because that which has form arises from the formless.

If one can skillfully embrace and guard it, guarding without losing it, one can hold fast to Shen, make it stable, and become one with Shen. Therefore Jing and Shen unite and do not separate, because the purest Jing in the world can unite with the most numinous and wondrous Shen in the world.

Using Jing to gather Shen without agitating one’s Jing, Jing and Qi are preserved intact and not depleted; using Shen to command the bodily form, embracing Shen and maintaining stillness and stability, the workings of Shen can continue without exhaustion; using the bodily form to preserve Shen, Shen in turn guards the bodily form, so the bodily form can grow and not decay. When Jing is preserved, Shen is preserved; when Shen is preserved, the bodily form is preserved as well. This is like the sun and moon hanging in the sky and shining enduringly, and grasses and trees clinging to the earth and standing and growing; the two are never separated.

In human life, Jing is the root of the body. When Jing is sufficient, Shen gathers along with it, and the body’s form and functions become complete. Jing comes from the Qi of utmost Yin, Shen from the Qi of utmost Yang; Yin Jing is water, Yang Shen is fire. Water and fire originally have no fixed form, but if one seeks them with a mirror and a fire-striker (ancient implements for obtaining fire), water and fire will come of themselves. From this we know that Jing and Shen pervade and circulate, and there is nowhere they do not reach. The Qi of utmost Yin is clear, still, and solemn; the Qi of utmost Yang is blazing and radiant. The two mutually resonate and blend into harmony, and the myriad things are thereby born. Seen in this way, my body and Heaven and Earth share the same source.

Therefore, the body can reach upward to the bounds of Heaven, downward it can occupy the earth, transform and nurture the myriad things, and be called identical with the Heavenly Emperor; such is the principle.

The people of the world invert root and branch-tips, utterly benighted, never awakening in their whole lives. They value external things and slight the inner nature; they chase branch tips, become servants of external things, and lose their original nature amid the mundane world. Heart-mind and Shen (spirit) rush about in disorder within the chest, never at peace for a moment, so the inner Shen is exhausted and does not know where to return, merely chasing desires without end. The external Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) dissipate accordingly: they cannot use Jing to govern the hun-soul, and the hun-soul instead follows the po-soul; they cannot use Shen to command the body, and the body instead burdens Shen. People cannot distinguish the boundary between themselves and external things; they sink downward and change and drift along with the myriad things—how could this not be delusion?

The sage is not like this. They take the po-soul as their support and cause its operation to accord with the norms of nature and conform to principle; embracing and guarding the One (the integral whole of the Dao) to maintain emptiness and stillness, they thereby accord with the Dao (the Way). They do not look or listen; they only guard their Shen. Embracing Shen with stillness, Shen suffers no loss; cautiously guarding themselves, the body naturally becomes upright. Their Shen roams in Taiyou (the realm of primeval chaos at the very beginning) without changing; in its greatness it has no outside. Dwelling in deep springs without becoming wet, in its smallness it has no inside. Facing it, one sees no beginning—who can trace its origin? Following it, one sees no end—who can exhaust its end? This is all because the purity of the One penetrates through and brings it about. Therefore Zhuangzi says, “The sage values Jing,” and Shun admonished Yu, “Only Jing, only the One”—presumably this is precisely to understand this principle.

“Can you concentrate your Qi and attain suppleness, so as to be like an infant?” This comes from Chapter 10 of the Laozi and means: can one concentrate and harmonize the original Qi to attain softness, like an infant? The infant’s breath is pure, harmonious, and smooth; its body and mind are not bound by external things; it is soft and weak, without contention, and its heart holds no bustling private desires. Laozi uses this as a metaphor for returning to the state of original authenticity. The “carrying the po-soul and embracing the One” mentioned above is precisely a commentary on this: settle the po-soul well, guard the One, and keep Jing and Qi from scattering; then one can be as soft and pure as an infant.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: The Yi (Book of Changes) says, “Qian—in its stillness it is undivided.” Yang Xiong (a Western Han scholar) says, “Harmonious softness is sufficient to pacify things.” To be quiet without confusion is called “undivided” (zhuan); to be peaceful without violence is called “soft” (rou). When an infant (Daoists often use the infant as a metaphor for the pure, desireless mind) dwells, it does not know what it is about to do; when it walks, it does not know where it is going; it does not harbor a discriminating mind of right and wrong, beauty and ugliness. Therefore its Qi is undivided and can attain soft compliance.

Mencius (a Warring States thinker) says: “Movements such as leaping and running are Qi in activity, and in turn they disturb the human mind.” If the mind cannot command the undivided Qi, then the Qi will lose its proper course in leaping and running, and the mind will fall into agitation and arrogance and become difficult to control.

The sage is empty-hearted like a valley and accords with the affairs of the world; in his mind there is no thought of letting Qi assert its strength. Thus his quietness without confusion and peacefulness without violence—what difference is there between him and an infant? Therefore Laozi says, “Can one be like an infant?”

Mencius also says: “That vast Qi (the abundant upright Qi within the human body) is supremely great and supremely strong. Nourish it with uprightness and do not harm it, and it will fill the space between Heaven and Earth.”

Why does Laozi, when speaking of “concentrating Qi” (zhuan qi), also speak of “attaining softness” (zhi rou)? This is because one practices the Dao and righteousness with the power of supreme strength, and returns to one’s original nature through the state of supreme softness. The ancient Daoist arts are present everywhere in this.

The Shuyi says: In the Xici of the Yijing it is said, “As for Qian, in its stillness it is undivided” (the stillness of the Qian hexagram is undivided). Qian is undivided because of its stillness; thus “undivided” means being still without being pulled along or bound.

Yang Xiong says in the Taixuan: “Harmonious softness is sufficient to pacify things.” Softness can pacify the myriad things because it is harmonious and compliant; thus “softness” means being harmonious and compliant without being violent.

Moreover, the great transformations of human life have four stages. In infancy, desires and thoughts are not yet full. When they rest, they do not intentionally seek stillness, so they do not know what they want to do; when they act, they do not intentionally seek movement, so they do not know where they are going. They act according to their nature and follow natural principle; they have no mind for cunning calculation and do not distinguish right from wrong or beauty from ugliness. Therefore their qi is pure and still, not confused, and they can attain harmony and softness without violence.

Broadly speaking, the will is the commander of qi, and a focused will is sufficient to make qi move accordingly. Mencius said: “Stumbling and running are both qi, yet they in turn move the mind.” From this we know that focusing one’s qi fundamentally depends on the mind being focused and unchanging. If the mind is focused and unchanging, the myriad things are not sufficient to disturb it, and qi naturally becomes focused as well. If the mind cannot command qi, then qi will be stumbling, impetuous, and unbalanced; if the mind is violent, arrogant, and cannot be restrained, it is like a violent and overbearing person who does not die a good death (from the Laozi: “The violent and strong do not die a good death”). How then could one be like an infant?

The sage dwells in the world with an empty mind. Whenever adverse circumstances come, he regards them as an empty boat drifting past or a broken tile flying by; therefore he can guard softness. If there is no hardness in the mind driving qi, how is that different from an infant?

Mencius said: “That flood-like qi is the greatest and most rigid. If it is cultivated with uprightness and not harmed, it fills the space between Heaven and Earth.”

Laozi speaks of “focusing qi” but calls it “attaining softness.” Why is this? Presumably the “greatest” is what matches Dao (the Way), and the “most rigid” is what matches righteousness. When Mencius speaks of the “most rigid,” he has in view the practice of Dao and righteousness and is discussing the function of qi; when Laozi speaks of “attaining softness,” he has in view the return to original nature and is discussing the substance of qi.

As for Guan Yin (the Hangu Pass keeper whom Laozi met on his westward journey and to whom the Guanyinzi is traditionally attributed), he took “pure qi”; Huzi (Liezi’s teacher, see the “Huangdi” chapter of the Liezi) took “balanced qi.” Each has his own rationale, and it is no more than this. The ancient Dao flowed and spread everywhere without being absent; it was precisely for this reason.

Cleansing and clearing the mysterious mirror—can it be without blemish?

This line means: washing away distracting thoughts and making the mind clear as a bright mirror, can one be without any flaw?

Huizong’s commentary says: When the sage washes the mind in this way, he can sweep away all actions of deliberate contrivance without clinging to them. Retiring and hiding in a profound and secret place in this way, he can clearly discern the mysterious principle and silently apprehend it. One who can do this keeps his body pure and uncarved, unentangled; if he has faults, he does not regret them, and when he succeeds, he does not take pride in it as his own gain. How then could there be any blemish?

The subcommentary explains: The ancients regarded “there has never yet been any thing” as a stage not yet reached; one must exhaust it to the point that “there is not even the thought that there has never been any thing,” and only then is it considered reached. Only thus can one sweep away all fabrication and not cling to existence. Washing the mind in this way, who could still have the slightest disturbance? People hold that things with words and traces are not true; one must reach the forgetting of words and the stilling of traces before one can be considered true. Only then can one clearly discern the mysterious principle and silently apprehend it. Retiring and hiding in profundity in this way, who would still be burdened by words? One who can do this keeps his body pure and uncarved, unentangled with the myriad things, and suffers no diminishment. His spirit moves in accordance with the times: even if he has a fault, in that situation it could not have been otherwise, and so he has faults without regret. Acting in accordance with Heavenly Principle, his conduct is fitting because in the nature of the matter it could not be otherwise; and so he hits the mark without regarding it as his own attainment. In this way, how could there be any blemish?

Loving the people and governing the state—can one practice Wuwei (non-action)?

This line means: in caring for the people and governing the state, can one practice Wuwei?

Huizong’s commentary says: To cherish the people through benevolence, govern the state through wisdom, promulgate transformative teaching, revise laws and institutions, and thereby benefit the people of one generation—this is far from Wuwei. The sage’s grace extends to ten thousand generations, yet it does not arise from a deliberate mind that “loves the people.” His achievements cover the world, yet they seem not to be his own doing; thus he can practice Wuwei, and even while governing the world he still has ample capacity.

The subcommentary says: To love others and benefit the myriad things is called benevolence (ren); when one uses benevolence to care for the people, there arises the intention to love others and benefit things. To be able to distinguish right from wrong is called wisdom (zhi); when one uses wisdom to govern the state, there arises a mentality that discriminates between right and wrong. In carrying out moral transformation, one certainly cannot abandon administrative affairs; in establishing laws and regulations, one cannot put an end to disturbance. Even if doing so can bring stability to one generation, none of it can avoid youwei (deliberate action); to attain Wuwei (non-action) would then be difficult. The sage, however, is different: although he too acts, he does not depart from the root of Wuwei. His action arises from Wuwei, and so his grace flows through ten thousand generations, yet he does not feel that he is deliberately loving others. Originally he has no intention of loving the people, yet his merit and virtue cover the world, and still he seems not to regard it as his own achievement. Originally he has no intention of governing the state, and therefore he can be Wuwei; yet in governing the world he still has more than enough capacity to spare.

“When the Heavenly Gate opens and closes, can one be female?” This comes from Laozi, chapter 10, and means: When the Heavenly Gate—referring to the gate through which the senses and mental thoughts enter and exit—opens and closes, can one maintain softness, stillness, and humility, like the female?

Huizong’s commentary says: The Laozi states, “Know the male, keep to the female, and become the stream of the world.” The sage discerns the changes of the Dao of Heaven: whether to contract or expand, to open or close, he follows the times, and the manifestation or concealment of hardness and softness depends entirely on how they are applied. Yet he never rushes ahead of others but always follows behind them; he never places himself above the myriad things but always willingly dwells below them. Thus the people of the world delight in elevating him and never grow weary of him. The principle of “being able to be female” lies precisely here.

The subcommentary says: The scriptural text states, “Knowing the male and yet willingly guarding the female, one can become the ravine of the world.” The male and strong is to overcome the ten thousand things by hardness and fierceness; the female and soft is to maintain softness and compliance. If one understands the principle of the male yet rests content in the attitude of the female, one does not subdue the ten thousand things by hardness and strength but can guard softness and weakness; thus one can become the ravine of the world. A ravine lies in a low place, where the streams of the world flow down from the heights and gather; therefore it is used as a metaphor.

The sage can perceive the signs of things’ changes; when acting, he accords with the Dao of Heaven—this is to embody the changes of the Dao of Heaven. It is like rolling up and unrolling, opening and closing, shifting with the seasons; rolling and unrolling, opening and closing never go against the proper time. He understands softness and also understands hardness; he understands the hidden and subtle and also understands the manifest and prominent. Unifying these in daily application, softness and hardness, hiddenness and manifestness can all be used as needed. He understands the principle of retiring behind others and occupying the foremost position; he never takes precedence over things but follows the ten thousand things. He understands that guarding softness can instead bring strength; he never overcomes things by force but is content to place himself below the ten thousand things. For such a person, virtue endures without becoming tiresome, and the people of the world are pleased to raise him up without growing weary. The reason one can be a person of female softness lies precisely in this.

As for the sentence “Understanding and fourfold penetration—can one be without knowledge?”, Emperor Huizong of Song (Zhao Ji) comments, “Intelligence, clear-sightedness, sageliness, and wisdom are guarded with stupidity.” The meaning is the same.

The subcommentary says: True wisdom appears as no knowledge; “not knowing” is instead true knowing. Therefore being able to be “without knowledge” is to be without anything not known. Xunzi (written “Gouzi” in the original) says, “Intelligence, clear-sightedness, sageliness, and wisdom are guarded with stupidity.” Intelligence can plan and deliberate; clear-sightedness can distinguish and analyze; sageliness can penetrate the principles of things; wisdom can know the ten thousand things. Intelligence, clear-sightedness, sageliness, and wisdom may be said to be understanding and fourfold penetration. Yet the perfected person penetrates the infinite without displaying his clear discernment; his light is broad and far-reaching without revealing its radiance. This is precisely “guarding with stupidity.” Is this not “being able to be without knowledge”? In the past, Xi Yong (a man of Jin in the Spring and Autumn period, skilled at observation) could see the first signs of thieves, and Wenzi (an ancient worthy) foreknew that such a man would not meet a good end. Yan Hui appeared dull and slow, yet Confucius said of him, “When he withdrew and examined his private conduct, it was also sufficient to elucidate [the teaching]”—that is, his private words and deeds were sufficient to expound the principle. From this, it appears that understanding and fourfold penetration while being able to be without knowledge is probably to have grasped the way of holding fullness. The way of holding fullness is the method of preserving fullness so that it does not overturn.

Scripture: The Dao transforms and gives birth to the myriad things, nurtures them, yet does not claim them as its own; it acts, yet does not presume upon its merit; it brings the myriad things to growth, yet does not dominate them. This is “Xuan De” (mysterious De—a De that is profound, subtle, and in accord with the Dao).

Commentary: The sage can preserve spirit, comprehend the transformations of creation, and become one with the Dao; thus the sage can match spiritual intelligence and nurture the myriad things so that nothing is unfitting. By letting the myriad things each fulfill their own nature and receive full nourishment, while harboring no partiality or private gain in the heart, the sage is thus “giving birth without possessing.” Having no acts of boasting or displaying merit, the sage is thus “acting without relying on merit.” Having no clever schemes to deliberately restrict or cut down, the sage is thus “bringing to maturity without dominating.” One who can be like this has a De that is profound, far-reaching, and vast, contrary to worldly conduct; for this reason it is called “Xuan De.” Although the Dao of Heaven dwells in the north and its position belongs to the dark, it is nevertheless distinguished from the myriad things; and “xuan” is the color of Heaven. The sage models the Dao of Heaven and embodies it as De; if it were not named with “xuan,” there would be no way to describe it.

The numinous and wondrous is hard to fathom. Only the sage can hold fast to his Shen (spirit) and thereby become one with Shen; transformation follows the forms of the myriad things and changes, and only the sage comprehends its principle and thereby connects with the Way of transformation and nurture. The sage can hold Shen and know transformation because he shares one body with Dao (the Way, the cosmic source and principle of operation). Sharing one body with Dao, he can unite his De with Heaven and Earth and become the center to which the myriad things return. The spiritual powers of Heaven and Earth are sufficient to match him, and though the myriad things are many, he is sufficient to nurture them; there is nothing he cannot do. Therefore, when he causes the myriad things to grow, he can complete their natures—this is what is meant by “all things each attain what is fitting for them.” He nourishes the myriad things in order to exhaust the work of nurture, as it is said: “Once they receive nurture, there is nothing that does not grow.”

Although the myriad things appear through movement, they are self-generating and self-transforming. The sage regards them like straw dogs (the grass dogs used in ancient sacrifice, discarded once used and not treasured), without a deliberate mind to love people or benefit things—how then could he have any thought of possession? Hence it is said: “He generates but does not possess.” Although the sage’s transforming De manifests amid change, the common people daily turn toward goodness without feeling who is bringing it about, and the sage never boasts of himself—what then could he rely upon? Hence it is said: “He acts but does not depend on it.” After all under Heaven is unified, governance arises from spontaneity; the institutions of the great Dao are whole and not split apart, and the sage has no craft of carving and engraving—who then would be the master? Hence it is said: “He rears but does not dominate.”

Whoever gives birth to and nurtures the myriad things often loses something because of clinging to tangible things; to give birth and nurture without taking possession is true excellence. Whoever fashions the myriad things often loses something because of clinging to results; not to rely on success is true excellence. Whoever rears and nurtures the myriad things often loses something through domination and carving; not to dominate is true excellence. This De is subtle, profound, and hard to fathom; it goes beyond the surface of things, is deep and remote, and runs contrary to worldly things. If its De were not minute and subtly wondrous, who could do these things? Therefore it is called “Xuan De” (profound and subtle De). The Yi says: “Heaven is xuan and Earth is yellow.” Xuan is the color of Heaven. Spring belongs to the azure heaven, while the xuan color represents winter and the north, when the Dao of Heaven returns to its source. The sage’s realization of heavenly De is likewise: the Dao of Heaven descends as De, subtle and minute, and the Dao of Heaven already operates within it; apart from “xuan,” nothing is sufficient to describe it.

Thirty spokes (the wooden bars connecting the outer rim of a wheel to its center) converge on a hub (the round wooden block at the center of the wheel through which the axle passes); precisely because the center is empty, the cart can move. Kneading clay to make vessels, precisely because the center is empty, the vessel can hold things. Cutting out doors and windows to build a house, precisely because the center is empty, the house can be lived in.

Emperor Huizong of Song, Zhao Ji, comments: Being and non-being are originally the same principle; the two are used alternately, and through their coming and going they generate one another. This is called “Zhishen” (the most mysterious and unfathomable realm). The manifestations of being and non-being differ: “being” is the substantial body of things, while “non-being” is their function. The movement and transformation of Yin-Yang are precisely where the principle of all things lies. The function of the cart lies in movement, the function of the vessel lies in holding, and the function of the house lies in its empty interior. Mysterious function arises within the utmost emptiness and utmost non-being; the mechanism of transformation is hidden in a place free from entanglement. Just as a bright mirror has no fixed image and shows its illumination according to the differences among things, the mind of the Zhiren (a person of the highest Daoist attainment) can constantly comprehend this principle.

The Shuyi subcommentary further says: If viewed through the eyes of “Zhishen,” the myriad things appear to exist but are not truly existent; they appear to be nonexistent but are not truly nonexistent; within the hidden and subtle there is emptiness. The mysterious function comes forth from the utmost non-being; the mechanism of transformation is hidden in a place free from entanglement, just as a bright mirror has no form and reflects according to things. The mind of the Zhiren can constantly comprehend this principle.

The Subcommentary says: If viewed from the perspective of the most wondrous Shen (spirit), it seems to be “being,” yet it is not truly being; it seems to be “non-being,” yet it is not truly non-being. Being and non-being are mysteriously united as one, and their functions all arise from its coming and going. Thus being and non-being are fundamentally one, and function and coming-and-going are wholly interpenetrating. This is what is called the utmost Shen. Viewed from the perspective of Yin-Yang and the myriad things, what is manifest and visible is called “being,” while what is hidden and unfathomable is called “non-being.” When distinguishing being and non-being within the appearances of formed things, being serves as the support of bodily form, and non-being as the root of function. The operation of Yin-Yang and the principles of the myriad things are all like this.

Thus, when thirty spokes converge on a single hub, when clay is kneaded to make vessels, and when doors and windows are cut to make a house, all these are manifest as “being,” and the usefulness of the cart, the vessel, and the room lies precisely here. Yet what is the root of the cart’s ability to move, the vessel’s ability to hold things, and the room’s ability to be empty and habitable? Wondrous function originates in ultimate non-being, yet its beginnings cannot be seen; transformation lies hidden in a place free from entanglement, yet its boundaries cannot be peered into. It is like a mirror without a fixed image: it reflects according to things, neither welcoming nor rejecting, responding to things while empty, retaining nothing. Therefore it is truly neither “being” nor “non-being”; it simply responds to things without being harmed. The perfected person, in the exercise of the mind, constantly apprehends this principle.

Emperor Huizong’s Commentary says: Being is substantive, while non-being is vacuous. The substantive is what supplies forms and appearances, sounds and colors, and gives them a physical body; the vacuous is what enables movement, containment, and response without exhaustion. Between heaven and earth, the Dao (the Way) manifests through vessels and objects, so there is no non-being that does not depend on being; vessels and objects become wondrous through the Dao, so being must return to non-being. The bending and stretching of Wood, the moistening of Water, the flaming of Fire, the hardness of Metal, and the spreading of Earth that brings growth and harvest—all these are “being,” and people rely on them for benefit. But the movement of heaven, the stability of earth, the succession of the four seasons, and the flourishing of the hundred things—who governs them? This is “non-being.” The people of the world do not see its traces, and therefore its function is never exhausted. Being and non-being generate each other; Laozi elaborated and clarified this.

Chapter Twelve: The Five Colors

The five variegated colors dazzle and confuse people’s eyes, so that instead they cannot see the true nature of things; the five pleasing sounds clog and dull people’s ears and eyes, so that instead they cannot hear the sounds of nature. (The Five Colors refer to blue-green, yellow, red, white, and black; the Five Tones refer to gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu.) These two lines are Laozi’s warning against the excessive pursuit of sensory pleasure, emphasizing that external stimulation from sounds and colors damages people’s original nature.

Emperor Huizong of Song (Zhao Ji) comments: Around the eye are the images of two yang lines, and in the middle is the nature that can see. When this nature is penetrating and clear and issues as brightness, it is called “zhe” (clear discernment), sufficient to resolve the doubts of the world. In the ear there is only one principal aperture (symbolizing the single yang in the Kan trigram), and what can hear is also this nature. When this nature is penetrating and clear and issues as acuity, it is called “mou” (skill in planning), sufficient to penetrate the minds of all under Heaven.

Those who realize the Dao, beyond formed things, use Shen (spirit) alone to see; beyond sound, use primal Qi alone to hear. In this way, seeing and hearing no longer depend on the functions of the ears and eyes—how then could they be obscured by sounds and colors? People in the world are driven by entanglement with external things; their eyes sink into the five colors and their ears sink into the five tones, and so their acuity declines. How are they different from the blind and the deaf?

The Daode Zhenjing Shuyi (Commentary on the Meaning of the True Scripture of the Dao and De, written by Chu Boxiu of the Southern Song) explains: The Li trigram (one of the Bagua, symbolizing fire and light) is derived from Qian and Kun and, by further seeking among the trigram lines, is obtained as the “middle daughter.” Its outer two lines are yang (odd lines), and its middle line is yin (even line); its shape resembles the eye, and so it is said that around the eye are two yang lines. The Li trigram takes fire as its image; the nature of fire is that its light and flame shine outward.

This passage uses the trigram images of the Zhouyi to explain the original nature of the ears and eyes.

The Li trigram is the trigram obtained by “the second seeking, obtaining a daughter” (that is, the middle daughter). On the outside is a yang line (“odd”), and in the middle is a yin line (“even”); its shape resembles an eye. Hence it is said that “the eye has a double enclosure,” meaning that the eye has two outlines. Among the things symbolized by the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the Li trigram is associated with “fire”; the light of fire shines outward, and thus in human nature it corresponds to “seeing.” When the eye is clear it is bright, and brightness further gives rise to wisdom, so it can resolve the doubts of the world. How could the five colors disturb its brightness?

The Kan trigram is the trigram obtained by “the second seeking, obtaining a son” (that is, the middle son). On the outside is a yin line, and in the middle is a yang line; its shape resembles an ear. Hence it is said that a yang line is stored within the ear. The Kan trigram is associated with “water”; the clear light of water shines within, and thus in human nature it corresponds to “hearing.” When the ear is clear it is acute, and acuteness further gives rise to strategy, so it can comprehend the minds of all people in the world. How could the five tones disturb its acuteness?

One who grasps this understands the subtlety of “seeing”: beyond the formed, one observes with Shen (spirit), and thus can see forms that cannot be seen. One understands the subtlety of “hearing”: beyond sound, one listens with Qi (vital energy), and thus can hear the soundless sound. Nothing is unseen, nothing is unheard; seeing and hearing do not depend on the ears and eyes, and whatever is seen or heard is wholly true. How then could any sound or color obscure it?

People in the world see only the appearances before their eyes, and what they perceive cannot penetrate to the underlying principle. They are cut off from the realm of the soundless, and their ears and eyes are entangled and enslaved by external things. Addicted to visual sensation and infatuated with beautiful colors, how can they know the true proper color of the world? Addicted to auditory sensation and infatuated with sounds, how can they know the greatest sound of the world? If they merely exercise their keenness and intelligence, that keenness and intelligence instead decline day by day. When the ear is not acute, it is in effect as if there were no ear; when the eye is not clear, it is in effect as if there were no eye. How is this different from the deaf and the blind? Yet it is people themselves who make themselves blind and deaf; it is not sounds that can make them blind and deaf.

The final sentence comes from Laozi, chapter 12: “The five flavors make the mouth fail (the sense of taste becomes abnormal); galloping and hunting make the mind go mad.” The meaning is: excessive fine flavors corrupt the sense of taste, and excessive hunting and amusement derange the mind.

Emperor Huizong’s Commentary

When the Dao is spoken from the mouth, it is bland and without flavor. The five flavors are what people commonly delight in, but rich and heavy delicacies are in fact poison, and so they spoil people’s taste. People live in the world with bodies that are tiny, no more than seven chi, yet their minds can companion the creative transformations of Heaven and Earth—the process by which Heaven and Earth generate the myriad things. The mind of the sage: when it moves, it reaches all directions; when still, it mirrors Heaven and Earth. People of the world drown in hunting, and thereby lose their original mind and cannot restrain themselves. Is this not a great sorrow?

Explanation of the Meaning

Humans eat grain-fed livestock; deer eat wild grass; carp eat maggots; owls and crows love mice. Among these four kinds of creatures, which one understands the true correct flavor of the world? The so-called correct flavor is simply the realm in which the Dao is “bland and without flavor.” People know only that tastes have common preferences, but they do not know that beyond tasting there is something fundamental that exists; therefore they regard fodder-fed animals—meat foods such as beef, mutton, pork, and dog—and rice and millet—fine grains—as delicious. Yet rich and heavy flavors are truly poison: although they can nourish the body, they cause one to lose the root of the body. This is what is meant by “the five flavors make people’s mouths go wrong.” “Shuang” means error; once the taste has erred, one loses the correct flavor.

Human life is very small: as far as the person’s body is concerned, the physical form is no more than seven chi; but if one can complete one’s nature on one’s own, the mind can companion creative transformation. The sage devotes his heart fully to the true Dao: when he moves, he circulates through all directions and there is nowhere he does not penetrate; when still, he illuminates Heaven and Earth without bound. He is just about to harness the six natural qi of Heaven and Earth—yin, yang, wind, rain, darkness, and light—and roam in the realm of the infinite; how then would he still act in hunting? The foolish do not understand this; they take surpassing others as strength and focus only on practicing galloping and chasing, or because of running about they agitate their minds, cannot attain self-possession, and their good conscience is lost with it. Is this not a great sorrow?

Scriptural Text

Rare goods cause people’s conduct to be hindered. (“Xingfang” means that people’s actions are obstructed and their moral conduct is damaged.) This sentence only sets forth the principle that precious and hard-to-obtain things disturb the human mind and cause people to deviate from their original nature.

The commentary by Emperor Huizong of Song says: Benefit is meant to nourish people, and goods are the concrete form of benefit. The two can transform into each other, and so they are mutually beneficial and together provide nourishment. The sage does not value goods that are hard to obtain, does not treasure extraordinary things, and makes light of useless things, hoping that people will rest content in their proper station and not contend for what belongs to others. If rare goods are valued, the authentic nature of life is endangered; if one greedily seeks wealth and honor without cease, how can one hold fast to proper conduct? Therefore it is said that goods harm virtue. Zhong Hui, the left minister of Tang of Shang, praised Shang Tang, saying, “He did not accumulate goods and profit.” Confucius said to his disciple Zigong, that is, Duanmu Ci, “Ci does not accept Heaven’s mandate, yet engages in trade and accumulation.” Such is how goods harm conduct.

The sub-commentary says: The ancient former kings strove to circulate wealth and goods so that supplies could pass between those who had and those who lacked and each thing could find its place. Their aim was to promote the circulation of goods and enable people to benefit one another and be commonly enriched. Benefit is originally meant to nourish people; only after it is transformed into goods can there be mutual profit and common sufficiency. As for those hard-to-obtain goods, they cannot be worn as clothing or eaten as grain. If people treat them as precious, they endanger the authentic nature of life; greed for wealth and honor, contention, and deceit will then lead them to do anything. To make the common people content in the authentic nature of life, one must take non-seeking as one’s discipline, and this is truly difficult. This being so, the sage does not treasure extraordinary things and makes light of daily-use articles for no other reason than the hope that people will rest content in their proper station and not have anything taken from them by others. Therefore he casts gold into steep mountain gorges and pearls into the deep abyss of the Five Lakes—a general reference to the large lakes around Taihu—not valuing hard-to-obtain goods, so that mutual support among people stops once it is sufficient. Who then would do anything harmful to conduct? When Zhong Hui praised Shang Tang for “not accumulating goods and profit,” he meant that action should not put benefit first; this is the conduct of an upright and magnanimous person. When Confucius told Zigong, “Ci does not accept Heaven’s mandate but engages in commerce,” he meant that pursuing profit is not what a gentleman does. This is why Zhuangzi, a representative Daoist figure of the Warring States period, advocated smashing jade and destroying pearls and honored those who did not pursue wealth and goods.

Therefore the sage values the belly and does not value the eyes; he rejects what is seen externally by the eyes and takes inner fullness instead. The commentary by Emperor Huizong of Song says: Among the Bagua (Eight Trigrams, the eight basic trigrams of the Zhouyi), the Kun trigram symbolizes the belly because it is heavy and substantial, bears and contains; the Li trigram symbolizes the eyes because it looks outward.

The sage values inner bearing and containment and does not become immersed in external sensory pursuits. Thus he discards the outward-gazing “eyes” and chooses the “belly” that can contain all things.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: In the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the Kun trigram—one of the Eight Trigrams of the Zhouyi, symbolizing earth—corresponds to the human belly: thick and heavy, bearing and containing, able to embrace. The Li trigram—also one of the Eight Trigrams, symbolizing brightness—corresponds to the human eyes: looking outward, able to discern clearly. To bear and contain means that everything can be accepted; to look outward means there will always be something unseen. The sage takes all under heaven as his measure, and so chooses the containing “belly”; he does not govern every affair or scrutinize every thing, and therefore discards the outward-gazing “eyes.” Zhuangzi says: “There is no greater harm than harboring private intentions, and then causing eyes to arise within the heart.” Therefore the sage removes this mind’s eye.

The subcommentary further expounds: The Kun trigram is thick and heavy, bearing and nurturing the myriad things so that they transform and grow; in the human body it is the belly. The Li trigram is yang on the outside and yin within, with brightness doubled; in the human body it is the eyes. When the belly bears and contains, it makes no selection but stores and gathers everything, and so there is nothing it does not receive. When the eyes look outward, they must make distinctions: they can see beyond a hundred paces, yet cannot see their own eyelashes, and so there is something they do not reach. The sage erases the distinctions of right and wrong and unifies the feelings of like and dislike; taking all under heaven as his measure, he therefore takes only the containing “belly.” He does not pick and choose—not because he wishes to govern every affair and inspect every thing—and so he discards the outward-looking “eyes.” Zhuangzi says: “Once eyes arise in the heart, one will guide others with a discriminating mind, and thereby breed harm.” To follow what is natural is for De to arise; to use human cleverness to guide others is for harm to arise. Therefore the sage does not use the eyes.

Chapter 13 opens: “Favor and disgrace both unsettle the mind; one treats great calamity as important as oneself.”

Favor and disgrace are both bestowed by the outside world; those of high status stand above, while those who receive favor stand below. If, while being favored, one takes this as an honor, one is inviting disgrace. To occupy a noble position and yet regard it as a burden—there is no calamity greater than this. Those who love wealth will not decline a salary; those who love prominence will not decline an empty name. Those who firmly grasp authority will not hand it over to others. While holding it, they tremble inwardly; when letting it go, they grieve. This is why favor and disgrace alarm people. Painful illness and comfortable pleasure often come upon the body together; fear born of coercion and joy born of delight alternately sink into the heart. This is the principle Laozi speaks of: “value great trouble as the body.” The reason great trouble cannot be shaken off, just like the body, is precisely that it accompanies the body.

Favor and disgrace both arise from external things; if people take them too seriously, they become restless as if startled. To be favored and valued by others is the normal condition of those in a lower position; to occupy a high position is often to be burdened by responsibility.

If one regards being favored as glory, one becomes dependent on that favor and, once it is lost, feels disgraced. If those in high positions become arrogant on this account and treat their status as capital, that is even more a source of trouble. Those greedy for wealth will not decline a salary and are burdened by rich profit; those who covet eminence will not decline fame and are burdened by high reputation; those close to power will not hand over authority, because once power is gone, those who boasted of power will grieve. These three things, when held in hand, constantly cause trembling and fear of loss—this is what is meant by “gaining them, one worries about losing them.” After relinquishing them, one grieves again—this is what is meant by entrusting oneself to external things, so that one is unhappy without them. This is probably why favor and disgrace startle people.

Bodily pain and illness are either severe disease or harm caused by an imbalance of Yin-Yang; when the body is peaceful, one feels comfortable and glad. The human mind is disturbed by worldly affairs: if not fearful because of excessive constraint, then excited because of excessive joy. Within one body, various troubles attack one another; those of noble status treat it as a burden, and their troubles are no more than this. This is probably why Laozi says, “The great calamity is like the body”: because one has this body, these troubles arise.

Then what are favor and disgrace? Favor is the manifestation of being in a lower position.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: The dragon transforms freely and cannot be tamed. If it is domesticated and controlled by people, its aspiration is reduced to being fed—this is the path of disgrace. In antiquity, those who truly knew how to be scholars could not have their integrity changed even by the high rank of the Three Ducal Offices (the Three Banners), nor their conduct shaken even by a stipend of ten thousand measures of grain. When in favor, they still thought of danger; when in blessing, they still remained humble—how then could disgrace arise? Those who covet high rank, envy rich stipends, know only how to advance and not how to retreat, know only how to gain and not how to lose—others will slight them. Therefore accepting the favor of others is precisely the manifestation of being in a lower position.

This passage first uses the dragon as a metaphor: dragons travel in the sky; when they gather, they form a single whole, and when they disperse, they display various patterns. They transform freely and cannot be controlled or hoarded by people. If one can only see them but cannot grasp them, and has not yet escaped “inner covering” (the state of being obscured and entangled by external things), one may be domesticated by others and used for driving carriages or riding, and will inevitably regret it. To regard oneself as an animal that can be domesticated and single-mindedly seek to be tamed is to invite humiliation upon oneself. This is precisely why favor turns into humiliation.

Therefore, one who is skilled at being a scholar, even if granted the Three Pennants (three banners, indicating high rank), cannot have his integrity changed, because he knows that what is precious in himself is more valuable than the position of the Three Pennants. Even if given ten thousand zhong (an ancient salary unit, indicating a generous stipend), his conduct cannot be shaken, because he knows that what he possesses in himself is richer than the salary of ten thousand zhong. One who understands the way to preserve favor still constantly harbors fear while in favor; one who understands the principle of preserving blessing remains humble, yielding, empty, and still while in blessing. Thus he can possess wealth and honor without losing them from himself, and his blessings and salary endure—how then could there still be humiliation?

If someone relies on official position and resorts to falsehood to seek prominence, craves salary and seeks wealth through corrupt conduct, knows only advance and not retreat, and does not understand the principle of things’ waxing and waning; knows only gain and not loss, and does not understand the fixed measure of fullness and deficiency—then even with the prominence of a Zhao Meng, Zhao Meng could make him base. Therefore, accepting favor from others is the principle of being in a lower position.

“To be startled when gaining favor and startled when losing it—this is called being startled by favor and disgrace.”

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Such external things as carriages, horses, caps, and ceremonial regalia are not the true principle of nature and life. External things come to one by chance and lodge temporarily in me; when they come, they cannot be refused; when they leave, they cannot be stopped. Therefore the perfected person does not rejoice at gain nor grieve at loss. But now, if one is unhappy as soon as an external thing departs and rejoices when receiving it, then gain and loss entangle the mind—how can one not be startled? Liu Xiahui served as a judicial officer and was dismissed three times yet did not leave; Zheng Kaofu received appointment three times, and the higher his position, the more humble he became, walking with quick small steps along the wall—both were different from such a person.

I. On Gain and Loss

Even if the most honorable station were to fall to me, even if I could annex the feudal lords and enjoy noble rank, the carriages, horses, and ceremonial caps that attach to the person are still not the fundamental principle of life. Things outside the self can never be firmly tied down; to pursue them single-mindedly brings no benefit to acquisition, for they are merely temporarily lodged in me. The turning of time and fortune does not pause; when external things come, there is no need to reject them—what do they add to my nature when they arrive? Therefore the perfected person does not rejoice at gain. Titles and station are likewise not permanent; when external things depart, they cannot be stopped—what do they diminish in me when they are lost? Therefore the perfected person does not grieve at loss.

The foolish do not understand the principle of adversity and success, which is as natural as cold coming and heat going. When external things depart, their hearts are displeased; some, placed in poverty and lowliness and fallen into hardship, accept it and instead rejoice; some, placed in wealth and honor, feel oppressed, and thoughts of gain and loss wage war within their breasts, so that even the clear and bright place of the mind is blocked. Those who can remain unperturbed by this are truly few. Liuxia Hui (a worthy man of Lu in the Spring and Autumn period, who once served as shishi, the officer in charge of criminal justice) was dismissed three times but did not leave; Zheng Kaofu (a grandee of Song in the Spring and Autumn period) was promoted three times, yet each time bowed lower and walked in small steps close to the wall—how could they let gain and loss burden their hearts?

II. What Does “Valuing Great Calamity as the Body” Mean?

Emperor Huizong’s commentary says: Relying on power and profit, grasping the authority of reward and punishment, and exercising kindness and awe, one is feared and revered by the world as a spirit or god and honored as the High God—this may be called exceedingly honorable. But the sage does not allow honor to become a burden to himself, and so can long preserve honor without losing it. It is like a person who can forget his limbs, cast aside cleverness, reject bodily form and cunning, and merge with the Great Dao: wherever he may be, he finds joy in himself. Worldly people exchange external things for their original nature; therefore they are burdened by things and cannot let go of power. They let bodily form burden the mind and spirit; therefore they lose the original heart and cannot let go of the body. This calamity is truly great.

The sub-commentary further explains: To set oneself up as honorable will in the end inevitably include times of loss; only by not taking honor as one’s own can one truly preserve honor. This is the same principle that applies to ordinary people.

The meaning of this passage in the Daode Zhenjing Shuyi (Sub-commentary on the Meaning of the True Scripture of the Dao [the Way] and De [Virtue/Power]) is this: if a person takes nobility as his own station, he will inevitably suffer some loss; only by not regarding nobility as something he possesses can he preserve it for long. This is like the human body: if one obstinately regards the body as “mine,” every action is obstructed; only by understanding that the body does not truly belong to oneself can one preserve it.

Now those who grasp great power and authority, wield the great powers of reward and punishment, and monopolize the levers of awe and favor—the people of the world fear them like gods and revere them like supreme deities; their nobility may be called unmatched. Yet the sage uses emptiness to master fullness and does not take nobility as his own station; therefore, though noble, he can endure without decline.

This is like a person possessing a body: let all the bones of the body (baihai) settle each in its proper place, forget the functions of the four limbs, withdraw the cleverness of ear and eye, transcend bodily form without being bound by it, and discard cunning and intellectual calculation without forcing strained interpretations. In this way one accords with “Great Penetration” (Datong, the state of unobstructed communion with the Dao) and attains “No-form” (Buxing, the state beyond formed things). Wherever one goes, one finds joy in oneself; how could one ever suffer loss because of the body?

But ordinary people cannot fully preserve their original nature, yet single-mindedly pursue power and are entangled by external things until their nature is altered; they cannot concentrate on guarding the inner spirit, yet cannot forget the bodily form, and are burdened by the body until they lose their mind-spirit. To alter one’s nature through external things and burden one’s mind-spirit through the bodily form—the calamity is great.

Laozi’s statement, “Why do I have great trouble? Because I have a body. When I no longer have a body, what trouble do I have?” means precisely this: clinging to bodily form and external things invites calamity; transcending bodily form and external things leaves no trouble.

In a person’s lifetime, the hundred bones, nine apertures, and six viscera all exist complete within the body; who, then, can be said truly to belong to “me”? If one insists that they are mine and are what I cling to, that is delusion. Those who understand the great Dao (the Way) are precisely concerned with untangling this delusion; hence Confucius said, “If one hears the Dao in the morning, one may die content in the evening.” Mencius said, “One does not change one’s resolve because of length or shortness of life.” Yan Hui said, “I have reached sitting in forgetfulness.”

Life and death are the greatest matters in human life, and even they cannot make one change oneself; how much less can gain and loss, misfortune and blessing disturb him? This is why the perfected people of ancient times did not let the advantages and harms of external things burden their bodies, nor let the demands of the body burden their minds. They viewed the relation between the ten thousand things and themselves in such a way that even if they wished to distinguish self from other, they had no way to do so; thus this body was no longer something they could monopolize. Above, they wandered with the Creator; below, they made friends with those who transcend life and death and have no distinction of beginning and end—what else could make them cease their pursuit?

Moreover, favor is a glory valued by the world, but they regard it as disgrace; wealth and honor are what people delight in, but they regard them as burdens. This is probably because external things cannot be relied upon; the principle is simply so. If one can truly attain this state of “having yet as if not having,” then even when favored one will not feel disgrace, and even when wealthy and honored one will not be trapped by it. Yi Yin did not pride himself on favor and utility, and Tang Yao did not gloat over power and position—this is probably that very state.

Notes: Huizong refers to Emperor Huizong of Song, personal name Zhao Ji, who personally annotated the Daodejing; the Daode Zhenjing Shuyi (Subcommentary and Exposition on the True Scripture of the Dao and De) is part of his commentary system. Confucius, Mencius, and Yanzi refer respectively to Kong Qiu, Meng Ke, and Yan Hui; the quotations here come from Confucian classics and are used to corroborate Daoist views. Zhiren (the perfected person) is an ideal personality in Daoism, referring to one whose cultivation has reached an extremely high level and who transcends worldly gain and loss. The Creator refers to the Dao that generates the ten thousand things, or to heaven, earth, and nature.

Within the physical frame there is the True Lord (zhenjun), sufficient to command all under Heaven; there is the True Sovereign (zhenzai), sufficient to govern the ten thousand things. As for the outer frame of the body—the hundred bones (all the joints), the nine openings (the seven openings plus the two lower orifices), and the six viscera (the internal organs)—all rely on the physical form. With whom, then, can I be intimate? If one does not know to seek the True Lord and True Sovereign within the physical frame, one will treat the body as something other than oneself and stubbornly believe that it belongs to oneself; all this is a sign of being stirred and entangled by external things. Only one who realizes the great Dao understands that although the physical form has shape, it is not the true substantial reality. Even if the physical form changes, the inner True Lord still remains and is not lost. Hence it is said, “If one hears the Dao in the morning, one may die that evening and it is enough.” Mencius said, “Not to be of two minds about early death and long life”: this means that whether one’s lifespan is long or short, the mind and will do not change, and long life and early death are regarded as the same. Yan Hui said, “I have sat in forgetfulness”: this means forgetting the distinction between things and myself.

Death and life are great matters, but if one can refrain from changing oneself because of them, how much less can small matters such as gain and loss, misfortune and blessing, trouble him? There is no other reason for this: it is simply because he knows that within the physical frame the True Lord and True Sovereign exist, and therefore he can command the hundred bones, and external things cannot become a calamity to him.

The Perfected (zhiren) of ancient times did not let profit burden the physical form, and so they could see through gain and loss and forget the body; they did not let the physical form burden the mind and spirit, so that the mind no longer clung, and they used the body merely as a tool. Looking inward at one’s own mind, the mind had no mind (no clinging mind); looking outward at one’s own physical form, the form was also as if without form; looking far out at the ten thousand things, the ten thousand things were also as if empty. In viewing the ten thousand things and the self, one could not even distinguish between choosing and rejecting; then this body was no longer something privately owned by me. One who can see the form that is not seen, above associates with the Creator and below befriends those who transcend death and life and have no beginning or end—what could still disturb him? If the mind has already transcended things, then even when favored he will not feel bent or disgraced by it, and even when honored he will not be burdened by it. How could he regard the glory esteemed by the world as humiliation, or the joy loved by people as rest?

Yi Yin did not place favor and profit above success, and so he could grasp the way of not being lost through favor; Yao did not regard the imperial throne as joy, and so he could preserve the principle of holding honor without losing it. This is probably what is meant.

Thus, one who can regard his own person as more precious than the world can have the world placed in his keeping; one who can cherish his own person more dearly than the world can have the world entrusted to him.

Emperor Huizong’s commentary explains: The world is a great vessel; without the Dao (the Way; the fundamental principle by which the universe operates), it cannot function. The world is also a sacred vessel; without the Dao, it cannot be guarded. The sage comprehends the Dao, and therefore can govern the world with magnanimity (zaiyou, that is, governance that is tolerant and does not disturb the people); the people of the world gladly raise him up and never grow weary of him. Those of the next level understand how to prize their own persons and do not let themselves be enslaved by external things, and so certain affairs can be entrusted to them; they understand how to cherish their own persons and do not allow external things to injure them or plunge them into difficulty, and so certain responsibilities can be entrusted to them.

Therefore it is said: the essence of the Dao is used to cultivate the self; its surplus is used to govern the state; its coarse remnants are used to govern the world (tuzhi, that is, crude dregs, a metaphor for secondary matters). Yet the worldly gentlemen harm their own persons and cast away their lives, sacrificing themselves for external things—is this not lamentable?

This passage from the Subcommentary and Explication on the Daode Zhenjing mainly discusses the relationship between Dao and vessel, as well as the different attitudes of the sage and worldly people toward the body, fame, and profit.

Subcommentary Section (Vernacular Interpretation)

Heaven, earth, the four directions, above and below—vast, boundless, and without limit—this is the greatest “vessel” under Heaven (referring to the tangible carrier of the myriad things). Whenever there is a tangible vessel, there must be something beyond the vessel that operates it; that which transcends the vessel is Dao. To stand in a realm that cannot be measured and to move in a state without fixed abode—this is the most mysterious “vessel” under Heaven (referring to the intangible and mysterious). Whenever there is something mysterious, there must be something that communicates with the spirit and guards it; that which communicates with the spirit is also Dao.

The sage realizes Dao and therefore causes Dao to reside within himself. Thus, though he dwells in the world, he does not indulge his nature; though he embraces the world with tolerance, he does not alter his De. From west to east and from south to north, there is no one who is not won over in heart and sincerely convinced; all people under Heaven delight in raising him up without growing weary of him.

Those of the next order understand that the essential nature of the myriad things does not lie in external objects, and therefore they do not contend for the world. They know that a single joint of a finger is more important than a state, that both arms are more important than the world, and that their own person is more important still than both arms. Therefore they treasure their bodies and do not harm themselves; they cherish their bodies and do not debase themselves; they regard the world as merely something temporarily entrusted to them.

How could this be a matter of harming life, injuring nature, making the body a burial offering to external things, being driven by external things amid confusion and turmoil, being trapped by external things until utterly exhausted, and failing to understand the principle of preserving oneself? Zhuangzi’s statement that “the essence of Dao is used to cultivate the self, its remainder to govern the state, and its dregs to govern the world” refers precisely to this.

Worldly gentlemen do not understand that the body is the root of life. They go so far as to sacrifice the body for empty fame, scheme in every way until they lose their lives, chase external things without knowing how to return, and endanger themselves and cast away life in pursuit of external things. This is like using the pearl of the Marquis of Sui (a precious treasure) to shoot at a bird a thousand ren high: the loss is truly too great. Is this not lamentable?

Vernacular Interpretation of the Scriptural Passage “Viewed but Not Seen, It Is Named Yi”

“Viewed but not seen”: looking with the eyes, one does not see it. “It is named Yi”: it is called Yi. The commentary explains: the function of the eye is sight, and sight is for distinguishing things; but yi is level and undifferentiated, a state without discrimination, beyond the range that vision can reach—therefore it is called yi. The commentary further notes that when Taiyi (the Great Change; the primordial state before the cosmos had manifested any sign) had not yet revealed any trace, it was precisely this state of Qi (vital energy).

The Shuyi (Subcommentary) says: Among the heavenly numbers, three belongs to Wood and gives birth to Wood; in the human body it corresponds to the liver. The liver opens into the eyes, and so among the Five Affairs—the five human functions of seeing, hearing, speaking, acting, and thinking—it belongs to seeing, and the eyes govern sight. The image of Li (one of the Bagua, representing brightness) is reflected in the eye; only when the eye comes into contact with the colors of external things does seeing arise, and thus sight is able to distinguish things. Yet what can be seen still belongs to the realm of formed color; being high or low, it can be distinguished.

The wondrous Dao is not a thing that has color. It is clear and empty, wholly without trace; when looked at with the eye, it is not seen. It is flat and uniform—where could high and low be distinguished? What the Liezi calls Taiyi (the Great Change) is the state in which no trace has yet manifested, that is, the state before primordial Qi has appeared. At the first opening of Chaos, Qi was still invisible; its tranquil state can readily be imagined. Therefore it is called Yi (level).

On the line “Listening to it, one does not hear it; this is called Xi,” Emperor Huizong of Song comments: The ear governs hearing, and hearing is what is used to perceive things. Xi means sparse and separated by intervals; it is not something the ear can hear, and so it is called Xi. This is the meaning of “the Great Sound is inaudible.”

The Shuyi says: Among the heavenly numbers, one belongs to Water and gives birth to Water; in the human body it corresponds to the kidneys. The kidneys open into the ears, and so among the Five Affairs it belongs to hearing, and the ears govern hearing. The image of Kan (one of the Bagua, representing Water) is reflected in the ear; when the ear comes into contact with sound, hearing occurs only after discrimination, and hearing is used to perceive things. Yet sounds that can be heard still belong to things that have sound; sometimes clear, sometimes turbid, they cannot govern hearing. The wondrous Dao is without sound, utterly still and silent, with no acoustic trace; when heard by the ear, it is not heard. When the wind stops, sound ceases; sounds become sparse and intermittent. This is precisely the meaning of the scriptural text’s “the Great Sound is inaudible.” The wondrous Dao moves without fixed direction and dwells in a profound and hidden place; its sparseness can readily be imagined, and so it is called Xi.

On the line “Grasping at it, one does not obtain it; this is called Wei,” Emperor Huizong comments: How subtle! How subtle! So subtle that it has no form—who can grasp it? This is the meaning of “the Great Image has no form.”

Qi first undergoes change, and only then does form arise; only when there is form can it be known and grasped. The subtle essence of the supreme Dao is profound and remote, dark and indistinct; it has not yet begun to become any concrete thing. Follow it in search, and it still cannot be found—hence the saying, “So subtle, so subtle, until it becomes formless.”

Only things with form can be touched. The Dao has no form—who can touch it? Laozi says, “The Great Image has no form.” If so, as for greatness of image, who could surpass the Dao? Precisely because the Dao is formless, its “greatness” has no boundary and no periphery.

Qi, form, and substance—these three cannot be defined one by one in words, and so they are blended into one body.

Song Huizong’s commentary says: Taiyi (the primordial state described in the Liezi, when the myriad things had not yet appeared and all was still undivided) has not yet differentiated—who can distinguish high from low? The Great Sound (the grandest sound) is soundless—who can distinguish the clear from the turbid? The Great Image has no shape—who can distinguish large from small? The eyes have nowhere to exercise their keen perception, the ears have nowhere to exercise their hearing, and the body has nowhere to exert its strength. The totality of the Dao is just here: exhaust it and it cannot be fathomed; seek it and it cannot be obtained. Qi, form, and substance are all present but have not yet separated, and so they are blended into one. Even so, since it is already one body, how could there be no words about it?

When Taiyi (the Great Change) had not yet differentiated, as the Liezi says: “That which gives color to things—the source of things with form—has never itself displayed color.” The source of colored things is itself colorless; how, then, could high and low be distinguished? The greatest sound is soundless; as the Liezi says, “That which gives sound to sounds has never itself emitted sound.” The source of sound is itself soundless; how, then, could clear and muddy tones be distinguished? The greatest image is formless; as the Liezi says, “That which gives form to forms has never itself shown form.” The source of bodily form is itself formless; how, then, could great and small be judged?

Even if Li Zhu—the legendary figure of keenest eyesight—were to polish his eyes in broad daylight and look closely, he could not see its form, and his eyes would have no place to exercise their keen sight; even if Shi Kuang—the famous musician of Jin in the Spring and Autumn period, with exceptionally acute hearing—were to bow his head and listen all night, he could not hear its sound, and his ears would have no place to exercise their acute hearing; even if the wise and those skilled in inquiry were to search repeatedly, in the end they would gain nothing, and their bodies would have no way to exert force.

From the standpoint of “not seeing,” it is called Yi (level and without image); from the standpoint of “not hearing,” it is called Xi (silent and without sound); from the standpoint of “not touching,” it is called Wei (subtle and hard to manifest). The three names differ, but the entity indicated is the same, and the purport is one; the entire substance of the Great Dao lies therein. If one probes it deeply, it cannot be exhausted; if one seeks it, it cannot be obtained—this is what the Liezi calls Hundun (the undifferentiated whole). It is called Hundun because Qi, form, and substance are blended into one and have not yet separated. Since it is already an undifferentiated whole, can it still be described in words?

“Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark”: on the metaphysical level, the transformations of Yin-Yang are unfathomably deep, distant and hard to illuminate, and so it is said to be “not bright” (bujiao, not clear); on the phenomenal level, one Yin and one Yang have differentiated into order and measure, and so it is said to be “not dark” (bumei, not obscure). Emperor Huizong’s commentary says that jiao means bright and mei means dark. The Yijing says: “To make it bright through spiritual power depends on the person.”

The subcommentary holds that what belongs to the realm of the formless is called Dao (the Way). The mystery of Shen (spirit) also lies within it, and so Shen itself likewise belongs to the formless realm. People within Yin know only that Shen is in Yin, but not that it is also in Yang; people within Yang know only that Shen is in Yang, but not that it is also in Yin. Shen transcends the range that Yin and Yang can fathom. It moves swiftly yet does not seem hurried; it seems already to have arrived, and yet seems not to have arrived; indistinct, as if present and as if absent—this is what is meant by saying that in high places it is not bright.

What belongs to the realm of the formed is called the “vessel,” and Dao actually lodges within it; therefore Dao also belongs to the realm of the formed. Dao does not incline toward Yang, nor does it arise solely by means of Yang; it does not attach itself to Yin, nor is it completed solely by means of Yin—it is the unity of Yin and Yang. Dao can be contracted and can be diffused; though it dwells in the formless, its effects are also plainly evident—this is what is meant by saying that in low places it is not dark. “Jiao” is the same as the word jiao meaning “bright”; if it were not bright, it would be hidden and difficult to know. “Mei” is the same as the “mei” in “Meigu,” meaning dark; if it were not dark, it would be distinct and orderly. Even so, if it is not the right person, Dao will not circulate in vain. What can make the wondrous manifest lies in the person themselves.

“Sheng sheng! It cannot be named; it returns again to nothingness.”

Huizong’s commentary says: The substance of Dao is like the course of day and night, which has a constant regularity to follow, yet the cause of its changes between light and dark cannot be inferred. How could it be described by form, sound, or color? Therefore it says, “It returns again to nothingness.” (“Huizong” refers to Zhao Ji, Emperor Huizong of the Song; this commentary is his annotation to the Daodejing.)

The subcommentary says: “Sheng” is the marking cord used to constrain things and keep them from deviating from what is straight. “Sheng sheng” means not going beyond the bounds of rule and measure. Dao’s order is well arranged and not chaotic, like the fixed regularity of day and night, in which dark and light never change; therefore it says it “returns again to nothingness.”

The subcommentary states: A rope is used to bind objects and keep them from deviating from the straight. “Shengsheng” means that the movement of the Dao does not exceed the bounds of regulation and constraint. The laws of the Dao are orderly and not chaotic, just as the alternation of day and night is constant—one bright, one dark, never changing—and so it is called “shengsheng.” Yet the Dao is profound, subtle, and hidden, without form or name; no one can fathom the causes of its alternations of light and dark. Therefore it is said to be “unnameable.” If one can return to the root and not leave even a hair’s breadth behind, then it is not merely “there had never yet been things” (nothing had yet existed), but even “there had never yet been that state of there never having been things” (even the state of “not yet having things” had never existed). What realm is this, that form, sound, and color could depict it? This is what is called “returning to no-thing.”

“This is called the shape of no-shape, the image of no-thing; this is called the indistinct and elusive”: The Dao is the shape of no-shape and the image of no-thing; this is called “elusive,” that is, as if present and as if absent, difficult to grasp.

The commentary of Song Huizong (an emperor of the Northern Song, referred to in the commentary as “Huizong”) says: The shape of no-shape and the image of no-thing—within the elusive and indistinct there is something; within the indistinct and elusive there is an image. This is like the Great Void (Taixu), the vast boundless emptiness, containing the ten thousand images, yet no one sees its beginning or end; or like a numinous, luminous wisdom that dwells freely and peacefully, yet no one can exhaust its workings. To say it “exists” is not to say it is substantially real; to say it “does not exist” is not to say it is absolutely nothing. It is like the sun and moon far away in the heavens: people must use a yangsui (ancient concave bronze mirror for kindling fire) to obtain fire, and the fire comes of itself. Where, after all, are water and fire? So too is “the shape of no-shape, the image of no-thing.”

The subcommentary also says: Only what has shape can be seen. The Dao fundamentally has no visible shape, yet it does not depart from visible things; therefore it is called “the shape of no-shape.” Only what has bodily form can be depicted. The Dao fundamentally has no form, yet it does not depart from bodily form; therefore it is called “the image of no-thing.”

The sub-commentary says: The Dao has a “shape,” and therefore it can be seen; yet the Dao fundamentally has no visible shape, and yet it cannot be separated from “seeing,” so it is called the “shape of no-shape”—without shape, yet in some manner presenting itself. The Dao has a “form,” and therefore it can be compared and depicted; yet the Dao fundamentally has no bodily form, and yet it cannot be separated from “form,” so it is called the “image of no-thing”—without any substantial thing, yet having its image.

“The shape of no-shape” and “the image of no-thing” seem to be being, yet they are not truly being; in the indistinct and elusive, there seems to be something. They seem to be non-being, yet they are not absolute non-being; in the elusive and indistinct, there seems to be an image. This is like Taixu (the vast, boundless void), empty and vast, yet giving rise to the myriad beings, while the myriad beings have no clear boundaries; it contains the myriad images, yet no beginning or thread can be seen. It is also like “one nature without fixed nature”: its fundamental nature is unified and cannot be fixed as any particular nature; it accords with the myriad things and is inexhaustible, profound and unfathomable; its spiritual clarity and wisdom are spontaneous, yet the wonder of its function cannot be fully investigated.

Therefore, it is both being and non-being: the substance of being is not truly being; it is both non-being and being: the substance of non-being is not truly non-being. It is like the sun and moon, which are far from people, yet one can use fangzhu (an ancient bronze water-collecting vessel; facing the moon, it obtains water) to gather water from the moon, and use yangsui (an ancient concave bronze mirror for making fire; facing the sun, it obtains fire), and before long water and fire come of themselves. Things such as water and fire cannot be defined by “being” or “non-being.” The “shape of no-shape” and “image of no-thing” are also like this, and so they are called “huanghu” (elusive).

“Meet it and you do not see its head; follow it and you do not see its back.”

Emperor Huizong’s commentary says: The Dao has no beginning at the outset and no end at the finish; therefore, whether you go to meet it or follow it, you cannot see it.

The sub-commentary says: The entirety of the Dao is naturally complete and perfectly sufficient. Look straight at it, and it is right before you—who can trace where it begins? Suddenly it is behind you—who can grasp its endpoint? As Zhuangzi says, “Its beginning has no head, its end has no tail.” Meeting it or following it, how could one truly see it?

“Hold fast to the Dao of antiquity in order to master the beings of today. To know the ancient beginning—this is called the Dao’s order.”

Holding fast to the Dao of antiquity in order to master the myriad beings of today; to be able to know the ancient beginning of the myriad things—this is called the Dao’s order (daoji, the general principle that governs the myriad things).

Huizong’s Commentary: The Dao is the mutual operation of one Yin and one Yang. Those who follow only the Yang of Heaven and ignore the Yin of Earth are easily obscured by the dynamic aspect of the Dao and act solely on the basis of strong Yang Qi; those who follow only Yin and disregard Yang sink into stillness and in the end wither like dead wood. Those concerned only with themselves discard the seven emotions (generally referring to joy, anger, sorrow, fear, and so on), while those concerned only with others discard benevolence and righteousness. How could this be the Dao spoken of by the ancients? The Dao of antiquity cannot be fully clarified in words, yet it is not nothing at all; it seems to exist and yet not exist, indistinct and difficult to discern. Grasping this Dao to govern the world, one can accord with transformation and gain benefit, rouse the wondrous functions of things, and there is nothing that cannot be done. The fundamental constancy of the Dao is precisely this meaning; what is meant by “from ancient times to the present it has always existed” is probably this. Therefore, to know the beginning of the myriad things is called “Daoji” (the general guiding principle of the Dao).

Subcommentary: When the Heavenly Dao is established, it is spoken of as Yin and Yang. Although the Dao itself is not the same as Yin and Yang, it nevertheless cannot be separated from Yin and Yang. The constancy and unchanging nature of the Dao lie precisely in this, which is the meaning of the saying “from ancient times to the present it has always existed.” Therefore, to know the beginning of the myriad things is called “Daoji.”

Subcommentary Explanation: What establishes the Dao of Heaven and Earth is called Yin-Yang. The Dao itself is not Yin-Yang, yet it does not depart from Yin-Yang. Those who do not understand the Dao view Yin-Yang as split apart. Some crave survival and are burdened by bodily form; seeing only the movement of the Dao, they rely on strong Yang. Others incline solely toward stillness and forget the body; indulging in the stillness of the Dao, they remain in withered dryness.

The Mohists (Mo Di) advocated universal love and, for others’ sake, set aside the Dao and rightness, to the point of not seeing their own limitations. Yang Zhu (Master Yang) advocated “for oneself” and, for his own sake, discarded benevolence, to the point of becoming unrestrained without measure and not observing norms—neither complete nor impartial, clinging only to a one-cornered view. Could this be the Dao of the ancients?

The Dao of the ancients did not discard “Nonbeing,” nor did it fix it as a speakable “Being.” “Nonbeing” is also not detached outside “Being”; this state is called “huanghu” (indistinct and elusive), and it is not nothingness. Taking this as the standard of verification and as the order for action, one uses it to respond to the myriad transformations and to deal with things as they arrive: flexible adaptation is sufficient to exhaust the benefits of things, and stirring transformation is sufficient to exhaust wondrous function. Use it to order worldly affairs, and nothing will fail to work—this alone is the Dao of the ancients.

This Dao, though passing through high antiquity, does not appear aged; before Heaven and Earth had formed, it had already existed since antiquity. It is the root that maintains the guiding order, governs the myriad things, and exhausts the wondrous. Whatever is constrained by external things cannot establish itself outside it. As for the fundamental constant principle of the Dao, nothing is more unchanging than this.

Only one who can investigate the origin of things and know their source has all the patterns and laws of the Dao within his mind; therefore it is said, “This is the guiding order of the Dao.”

Chapter Fifteen: Those of ancient times who were skilled in cultivating the Dao were subtle and wondrous, penetrating and profound, so deep that they could not be known by others.

The shi of antiquity (by which is meant those who cultivate the Dao) were different from the shi of today, and those who were skilled at being shi were also different from those who were not. Thus, the realm of wei (subtlety) is joined as one body with the Dao; the realm of miao (marvelousness) is made one body with Shen (spirit); the realm of xuan (dark profundity) is sufficient to match Heaven; and the realm of tong (penetration) is sufficient to foretell the affairs of the sage. They stored their workings deeply, so deeply that they could not be fathomed.

The Shangshu says, “The mind of the Dao is subtle”; therefore wei is the Dao. The Yi Commentary says, “Shen is that which makes the myriad things marvelous and is spoken of in this way”; therefore miao is Shen. The Wenyan Commentary on the Kun hexagram of the Yi says, “Heaven is xuan and earth is yellow”; therefore xuan is the color of Heaven. The Commentary says, “That which is unobstructed in all affairs is called sage”; therefore tong is the action of the sage.

Water, however deep, can be measured; caves, however deep, can be explored. Those of antiquity who were skilled at being shi possessed these four realms—wei, miao, xuan, and tong (from Laozi, chapter 15): fame and profit and practical concerns could not enter their minds; the stirrings of the calculating mind arose naturally and deeply, as if from the heels. Therefore their inner store was deeply hidden and could not be fathomed or explored.

Lie Yukou (that is, Liezi, a Daoist figure of the Warring States period) lived in seclusion in a garden in Zheng for forty years, and no one knew him. Laozi once said to Confucius: “A good merchant hides his goods deeply and appears as if he has nothing; a junzi of abundant virtue appears outwardly foolish.” This probably refers to people of this kind.

The Shuyi says: There is the age of high antiquity and the age of middle antiquity; the ancient “shi” (a person of virtue and learning) is the shi of high antiquity. Shi are further divided into superior shi and inferior shi, and those skilled at being shi belong to the category of superior shi. Thus the ancient shi differs from the shi of today, and those skilled at being shi differ from those unskilled at being shi.

Those skilled at being shi have talents that reach upward, their aspiration lies in the great Dao (the Way), and they respond to shenming (spirit illumination); they understand the heavenly Dao and penetrate the realm of the sage. Deep and broad, they cannot be fathomed; thus they are subtle and wondrous, mysterious, profound, and penetrating, distant and hard to know. Whenever one looks at it and does not see it, one calls it “wei” (subtle), because the Dao has no form and cannot be seen with the eyes; only one who understands “wei” can become one with the Dao. This is the meaning of what the Shangshu says: “The mind of the Dao is subtle.”

“Constantly without desire, one observes its wonder.” Shenming cannot be attained by seeking it; only by entering the realm of mysterious wonder can one be of one body with Shen (spirit). This is the principle in the Zhouyi: “As for Shen, it is in terms of its wondrous working of the myriad things that it is spoken of.”

The color xuan combines red and the two Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang, because it can manifest both Yin and Yang; thus the color of Heaven is contained therein. The Zhouyi says, “Heaven is xuan and Earth is yellow,” which is precisely this meaning. One who can manifest xuan and yellow is of the same kind as Heaven.

The meaning of “tong” (penetration) is endless coming and going, because nothing can obstruct it; the actions of the sage are also contained therein. This is the principle in the Commentary (Zhuan) explaining the classic: “When nothing in affairs is obstructed, this is called sagehood.” To be identified with the great penetration is to enter the gate of the sage.

In antiquity, those skilled at being shi, from the subtle and wondrous all the way to the mysterious, distant, and penetrating, were suddenly transparent and sank into a realm that cannot be measured. This realm is not like the depth of water that can be measured, nor like the depth of a cave that can be explored. They blocked the mind of cunning and did not reveal it; they stored away the source of wisdom and did not let it leak out. Neither name nor substance could invade their hearts; the mind of adaptive contrivance was set in motion only when needed.

It is like fire that has gone out leaving only ashes: the fire hidden within has already withdrawn deeply and cannot be probed—how could the people of the world recognize him? Formerly Lie Yukou (i.e., Liezi, a Daoist figure of the Warring States period) lived for forty years in the gardens of Zheng, and no one recognized him; the reason lies precisely here. It was not that the gardens of Zheng lacked worthy people, nor that the villages lacked humane people; he lived there forty years, which is not a short time, and yet people did not recognize him, because he had removed the radiance of deliberate display and seeking, so that people had no way to know him.

Mencius (a representative Confucian figure of the Warring States period) said, “What the noble person does is originally beyond the understanding of ordinary people.” This is exactly the situation being described.

Laozi (founder of Daoism in the Spring and Autumn period) said to Confucius (founder of Confucianism): “A good merchant hides his goods deeply, appearing as if he has nothing at all; a noble person has abundant De (Virtue/Power), yet his appearance seems dull and simple.” This means that one with abundant De appears outwardly as if lacking something, just like a good merchant. Yanzi (i.e., Yan Hui, a disciple of Confucius renowned for his virtue) was “as if foolish,” and for this Confucius praised him.

First Paragraph (Main Theme of the Scripture)

The height and remoteness of heaven cannot be quickly measured; the depth and thickness of earth cannot be quickly fathomed. To say that heaven is round and covers from above, and that earth is square and bears all things, is merely to draw a rough outline for them. When one forcibly depicts their shapes, how could one truly probe their utmost limits?

The Shuyi further states: Heaven governs primordial Qi, and is not merely the vast expanse of sky before our eyes; therefore its height cannot be easily measured. Earth governs primordial form, and is not merely mountains, forests, rivers, and marshes; therefore its thickness cannot be easily fathomed. That which rises high and vaults above is called round and covering all things; that which lies below, heavy and thick like bedrock, is called square and bearing all things. These are all merely provisional names borrowed from images and forms.

Therefore, those who are skilled in cultivating the Dao have subtle, mysterious, and penetrating depths that are profound and unfathomable, just like heaven and earth. The various descriptions given below are all forced attempts to depict their outward appearance.

Second Paragraph (Scripture: “Hesitant, as if crossing a stream in winter; wary, as if fearing the four neighbors”)

The commentator explains: “Yu” means planning in advance before a matter has arisen and stopping reckless action; “You” means harboring doubts about what has already occurred and repeatedly weighing it. Those in ancient times who realized the great Dao made inner cultivation their priority; they did not take pleasure in contact with external things, but constantly held fear and self-examination in mind, responding to external affairs only when unavoidable. They were careful and cautious, like one crossing a river in winter, fearing a misstep; and like one fearing that neighbors on all sides might peer in, always maintaining vigilance. This is exactly what the Yijing means by “thereby fasting and purification,” that is, restraining oneself with a mind of sincerity and reverence.

Planning before the matter arises is “yu”; planning after it has arisen is “you”

Yu means planning before an event occurs and taking precautions before trouble arises; you means hesitating indecisively only after the event has already occurred.

Those in antiquity who realized the Great Dao made inward cultivation their primary task and did not regard outward travel and the pursuit of external things as the highest realm. They considered forgetting external things good and did not take communion with external things as joy. They held reverence in their hearts, constantly reflected, and did not dare to indulge. Therefore, when matters had not yet arrived, they were not eager to respond; only when they felt an influence or were pressed did they act, and only when unavoidable did they rise. This is like crossing a river in winter: one must carefully plan beforehand. Once a matter has already occurred, one must maintain a fearful caution and act slowly; even when planning afterward, one is as careful as if fearing the criticism of the four neighbors.

Rivers are dangerous places, and wading through water in winter is something everyone finds bitter; hence the saying “as if crossing a stream in winter.” This is not a matter of being forced by necessity but of required caution. “Neighbors” are people who look after and protect one another, and people all consider this good; hence the saying “as if fearing the four neighbors.” This too is not a loss of self but an understanding of the proper measure in dealing with others. How, then, could one rashly change when undertaking action? The Yijing says: “When the junzi is about to undertake something or take action, he must first fast and purify himself, so that his De may communicate with the spiritual brightness.” This is what that means.

Solemn as if with a dignified countenance

Yan is a solemn and serious appearance. Song Huizong’s commentary cites the Analects, “looked at from afar, he appears dignified”; the Liji, “grave as if in thought”; and the Zhuangzi, “when others are without the Dao, one rectifies one’s countenance to awaken them, causing their intentions to dissolve,” explaining that rectifying one’s demeanor can transform others and cause their intentions to melt away.

A person of complete De has, from afar, a dignified majesty that can be looked up to, and, when approached, does not make others weary. Therefore his outward condition is appropriate, without partiality or factionalism (“yi” means appropriateness; “bu peng” means not forming cliques).

Supplementary Subcommentary

“To turn inward and dispute with things is like casting off the limbs and lodging oneself among the hundred bones; one’s form then appears as something that may be lightly trampled”: this means that when one turns inward to distinguish and contend with external things, it is as if one forgets the limbs and entrusts oneself to the hundred bones, so that the physical form instead seems despicable and trampled upon. “To go outward and interact with things, then it spreads through the four limbs”: this means that when one goes outward to engage with things, the spirit disperses through the four limbs and loses its inner guard.

The subcommentary says: If a person draws inward and distinguishes himself from external things, his spirit will sink into his four limbs and hundred bones, and his physical form will easily be slighted and trampled upon; if he turns outward and engages with things, his spirit and qi will spread throughout his body and manifest in movement and stillness, so that his bearing and conduct become worthy of regard. A solemn bearing when interacting outwardly with others is precisely what makes one’s conduct worthy of observation. What the Analects calls “looked at from afar, he appears dignified and awe-inspiring” and what the Book of Rites calls “solemn as if in thought” both express this principle.

Zhuangzi says: With a person who is unreasonable, if one rectifies one’s demeanor and guides him, his ill will will also dissolve. A person of complete virtue has a sincere and respectful appearance while inwardly empty and clear; standing alongside others, he can transform them—how much more so in the subtle details of moving his countenance? Straighten the cap and robes, make the gaze dignified; from afar there is a respectable awe, so the other does not give rise to evil thoughts; seen up close, he does not weary others. To cause others to dispel ill will is fundamentally not difficult. The Zhenren (Perfected) of ancient times had a proper appearance and did not follow the crowd; how could they hunch their shoulders and bend their backs, force a smile and flatter, and bring disgrace upon themselves?

“Scattered like ice about to melt” describes the spirit relaxing and dissolving, like ice about to thaw. Emperor Huizong of Song’s commentary says: Water congeals into ice, and ice melts into water; originally they are the same thing. Those obscured by attachment to one side are like water congealed into ice; those who penetrate the principle that the ten thousand things are greatly one are like ice melting into water. The Yi says, “Huan means separation,” referring to scattering and separating—that is, forgetting external things and distancing oneself from human affairs without being entangled, and so it is called Huan.

When water reaches the utmost clarity, it instead congeals into ice and is no longer clear; when Shen (spirit) reaches the utmost luminosity, it instead congeals into physical form and is no longer luminous. Yin Qi causes water to congeal, and water becomes ice—this is like Shen transforming into physical form; Yang Qi causes ice to melt, and ice returns to water—this is like physical form transforming back into Shen. Water and ice are originally the same substance. Those obscured by “holding to one” (fixating on a single side) only know how to guard the physical form and do not understand how to exhaust the nature of Shen. They are like water congealing into ice: ice is produced from water, yet it instead obstructs the flow of water. Those who comprehend “Great Sameness” (the state in which the myriad things are merged into one) understand how to forget the physical form, and thus can accord with Shen. They are like ice that has melted—buoyant and free, without the slightest obstruction.

The Yijing says, “Wind moves over water: Huan (Dispersion).” The Shuogua Zhuan explains this as “huan li” (dispersion and separation). It is clear, then, that the meaning of huan is to depart from external things and forget oneself, without entanglement or calculation. Precisely because one can leave things behind and forsake the body, one is like ice that has thawed and melted, utterly without obstruction—where could entanglement or calculation still be? As for the state in which cold Qi congeals into ice, it is plainly very different from this. The Taiyuan Jing says, “The one who has nothing to entangle or calculate is the sage.” Dispersing like ice about to melt—this is probably the path that leads to the sage’s realm.

Sincere and Uncarved, as if Plain Wood

Huizong’s commentary explains “dun” as thickness brought to its utmost. Human nature is originally extremely pure and thick, like uncut timber that has not yet been split apart or made into an artifact.

The Shuyi says: The “dun ren” spoken of in the Yijing means humaneness at its thickest; the “jiaohua” spoken of in the Liji means transforming instruction at its thickest. Thus “dun” is the utmost of thickness. People are born with a thick nature, but because external things entice them, they shift and change, and thickness turns into thinness. Those who excel at being shi (scholar-gentlemen) can restore the root of their nature and do not shift with external things. They are like uncarved wood, preserving its undifferentiated wholeness. It has visible form, yet it has not yet become a vessel; such thickness may be said to have reached its utmost. As for splitting it with axes, destroying its undivided body, carving it into a beautiful xizun (an ancient ox-shaped sacrificial wine vessel), and then painting it with blue and yellow colors—that is far removed from its original state.

Vast and Open, as if a Valley

Huizong’s commentary explains “kuang” as breadth brought to its utmost. The mind is originally without boundary, like a valley: empty, able to contain the myriad things, and able to respond and echo.

The “expansive wilderness” (kuangye) spoken of in the Shijing refers to land of utmost breadth; the “expansive days” (kuangri) spoken of in the Commentary refers to time of utmost length. From this we know that kuang means expansiveness carried to the utmost. The original source of the mind has no boundary; the square-inch heart is as empty and broad as the Great Void, and therefore the mind has no boundary. The mind encompasses all things, yet it does not cling to what it encompasses; thus the inner mind constantly preserves emptiness. Scholars skilled in cultivating the Dao take emptiness and stillness to their utmost and do all they can to preserve the true purity of the mind. Like a valley that can contain the myriad things—accepting without hoarding, responding without lingering—only such expansiveness reaches the utmost. But if the six apertures—ear, eye, mouth, nose, mind, and knowledge (which the Zhuangzi calls the “six clefts”)—disturb one another, and one narrows one’s own dwelling place, using things with form to obstruct the Great Dao, then obstruction meets one at every movement, and one is far from the realm of kuang.

Emperor Huizong’s commentary says: Not deliberately carving and polishing in order to seek security, not deliberately acting with intensity in order to establish novelty, merely being natural and complete as formed by Heaven—this is why it says “seems turbid.” This differs from the practice, in self-cultivation, of deliberately displaying one’s own purity and cleanness in order to set off others’ impurity by contrast.

The Shuyi says: The Perfect Man (zhiren), one whose moral cultivation has reached the highest level, travels through the world, conceals his radiance, and mingles with the dust and the mundane (from the Laozi: “harmonize its light, merge with its dust”); he blunts his edges and is round and harmonious in accord with things. The greatly incorruptible do not appear harsh; in action they do not demand the rigid and exacting, and they never deliberately adorn themselves in order to seek comfort and security. They do not seek much that is extraordinary, delight in following along with the crowd, and never intentionally overcorrect in order to appear different from others. Even in dangerous circumstances they can accord, changing with the myriad things according to circumstance, not setting up sharp edges, merely remaining an undifferentiated whole. The crowd are all bright and clear, haggling over trifles, while he alone seems dim; he looks as though turbid, but in reality he is not truly turbid. This is utterly different from the practice, in self-cultivation, of deliberately showing clarity and displaying purity.

Who can, amid turbidity, maintain stillness and settle, so that it slowly becomes clear? Who can, amid stability, maintain movement, so that it slowly grows?

Huizong’s commentary (Emperor Huizong of Song) says: One who possesses the Dao is as though still even when moving; he races along with the times yet keeps his fundamental home. When settled, he can accord with all things; within emptiness, he can satisfy what all things require. Thus, when still, his mind gradually clears, and external things cannot muddy it; when moving, he gradually brings forth all things, and external things cannot unsettle him. The Yijing says, “It comes slowly and gently.” “Xu” means proceeding steadily, naturally, and at ease. The perfected person (one of the highest moral cultivation) employs his mind: he does not take stillness as something good and therefore deliberately keep to quietude, nor does he take bringing forth all things as an accomplishment and therefore deliberately do something. He follows things as they inherently are and lets them develop naturally, without urgency or frantic exertion; hence it is said, “gradually clears.” Being still so as to clear gradually, all things cannot disturb his mind—who then can make him turbid? Moving so as to bring forth gradually, all things cannot entangle his thoughts—who then can make him unsettled? If the mind retains the notion of “stopping” and is tied down by external things, it stagnates; how then can it accord with all things without being harmed?

The subcommentary (annotation) says: “Hesitant, as if cautiously crossing a river in winter; muddled, like turbid water that embraces all.” When according with worldly affairs, if one is tied down by external things, the mind stagnates; how then can one accord with all things without being harmed?

Notes: The Yi refers to the Zhouyi; this line comes from the Yijing’s Yu Hexagram (or a related passage in the Tuanzhuan). The phrase “lai xu xu” means coming slowly and unhurriedly. The perfected person (zhiren) is, in Daoist teaching, one who has reached the highest level of moral cultivation. In “xu qing” and “xu sheng,” xu here means slow, unhurried, and natural; it is not simply the opposite of urgency but denotes a state free from hastiness and impatience, one that follows nature.

The subcommentary says: Cautious and reserved, as if crossing a river in winter; simple and solid, as if turbid water concealing itself. To respond to the world and elucidate principle in this way is because one has already embodied the Dao (ti Dao, personally according with the great Dao). Only one who has embodied the Dao can be just right in both movement and stillness, and external things can no longer entangle the mind; therefore one should take guarding stillness as the fundamental norm.

When moving in response to external things, stillness is present within movement. Riding forth at the proper time yet still returning to the root (su means original nature, the root), one does not sink into movement; thus one moves without pursuit, and how could external things make one turbid? This is stability. Responding to external things and immediately penetrating them, one can respond to change within stillness. Having no demand to reach the utmost, and not clinging to stillness, one stops without obstruction; how could external things make one uneasy?

The reason external things cannot make the mind turbid is that stillness gradually clarifies it; the reason they cannot make it uneasy is that movement gradually gives rise to the myriad things. To be still and gradually clear is not to regard stillness as good, nor to seek stillness deliberately. Though there is disturbance, one does not lose the nature of that disturbance; letting it stir, the mind remains peaceful as before—how could external things be sufficient to disturb it? To move and gradually generate is not to take generation as merit, nor to seek generation deliberately. Without dwelling in one corner, one comes forth at the proper time and responds—how could external things be sufficient to entangle one’s thoughts?

The word xu means being composed and self-possessed, moving peacefully; it is used in the Zhouyi in the same way as “coming slowly.” In movement and stillness alike, following what is inherent, not contravening the order of things, allowing things to be natural, not opposing one’s nature—all are states of peaceful self-appropriateness. How then could there still be urgent fear or hurried fatigue? If the mind already has a deliberate thought of stopping, then forcing oneself to act without stopping is certainly excessive; forcing oneself to stop without acting is equally excessive. Sometimes acting and sometimes stopping, not entangled by external things—who can harm it? If one is entangled by external things, one can only stagnate and cannot move forward; how then can one respond to external things without being harmed?

Those who preserve this Dao do not seek fullness.

Song Huizong’s commentary says: When things are accumulated, there will be insufficiency; when nothing is stored, there is instead surplus. The Perfected Person (one who has cultivated the Dao [the Way] to the utmost) does not accumulate anything; the mind is simply empty. If one keeps to this Dao yet believes that all the beauty of the world lies in oneself, that is a small-minded view; therefore one does not wish to fill oneself to overflowing. The Daodejing says: “Great whiteness seems soiled; vast De (Virtue/Power) seems insufficient.”

The subcommentary says: Use a round granary to store grain—when the grain is taken completely, the granary becomes empty. Use a vessel to hold water—when the water is poured out completely, the vessel becomes empty. Although the myriad things flourish, after being taken and used they will ultimately become depleted; because there is accumulation, there is insufficiency. Only when the Dao reaches nothingness can it supply what the myriad things require; only when it reaches emptiness can it respond to the actual needs of the world. Because it does not store, it has surplus. The Dao operates without accumulating; even when used, it is not necessarily full. The Perfected Person holds to this Dao without accumulating, merely preserving emptiness. If one takes all the beauty under Heaven to be in oneself, it is like monopolizing a single ravine and being self-satisfied—that is far too narrow. When the autumn floods arrived, the Lord of the River was pleased with himself because of it, but he was laughed at by those of broad understanding (the “great house”) (an allusion to Zhuangzi, “Autumn Floods”). The Daodejing says: “Great whiteness seems soiled; abundant De seems insufficient.” How then could there still be any entanglement brought about by fullness?

Only by not being full and overflowing can worn-out things be continuously renewed and brought to completion anew.

Emperor Huizong of the Song comments: Where there is decay, there is renewal; where there is completion, there is destruction. The new and the old replace one another like the turning of the four seasons; completion and ruin depend on one another like the birth and extinction of the ten thousand things. Everything that is born from Dao (the Way)—the root and source of the universe—and attaches to “forms and numbers” (xingshu, the concrete world of embodied, measurable things) is no exception. Only Dao has no fixed form; it is empty and not full. Thus it can both decay and renew, both complete and destroy; transcending forms and numbers, it has never decayed and has never been destroyed. Therefore it is said: precisely because Dao is not full, it can decay without being renewed and be completed without being destroyed. When plants and trees first flourish, they eventually wither; when a flame first burns bright, it finally goes out—this is because there is the “new,” and so “wornness” (decay) follows. When the sun reaches noon it declines to the west; when the moon is full it wanes—this is because there is “completion,” and so “ruin” immediately appears. One who possesses Dao is not like this.

Subcommentary on the True Scripture of the Way and Its Virtue

Every thing with physical form is subject to the alternation of old and new and to wear and damage; every thing governed by quantity and regularity is subject to generation and destruction. In spring things first sprout, in summer they continue and flourish; as one wanes the other waxes, and after flourishing comes decline. Cycling back and forth, they form the four seasons; the mutual replacement of new and old is precisely this principle. Among things, too, there is successive rise and successive decline; they disperse and transform into the myriad things, and completion and destruction are causes of one another—this is likewise so. All of this falls within the scope of “form and number” (concrete things that possess form and are constrained by quantitative regularity), and therefore no sooner have they been renewed than they begin to decay; no sooner have they been completed than they quickly perish. No one can make this process stop.

Only Dao has no fixed form and is not confined by form. Therefore it can renew and can decay, yet never truly decays; it is not bound by number, and therefore it can complete and can destroy, yet never truly is destroyed. This is because Dao is empty and is not filled.

For example, wood in spring is full of vitality, tender and lush, but in winter it withers and dries up: this is beginning in flourishing and ending in decline. Fire, when fuel is added, burns ever more brightly, but once smothered it goes out: this is beginning in brightness and ending in extinction. The sun rises in the east in the morning and enters darkness in the evening; although it is the essence of yang Qi, it cannot avoid beginning to slant west at noon. The moon is full on the fifteenth day and afterward gradually wanes; although it is the essence of yin Qi, it cannot avoid moving toward deficiency after fullness.

Whatever falls within “form and number” is new and then old, is completed accordingly, and then destroyed. The person who possesses Dao, however, is empty and still and does not fill himself; he stands beyond form and number. Therefore he can undergo decay and renewal, completion and destruction, yet in the end never truly decays or is destroyed.

Chapter Sixteen: Reaching the Extremity of Emptiness

Original text: “Reach the extremity of emptiness; guard stillness firmly.”

Emperor Huizong of Song’s annotation and interpretation:

There is nothing more valuable than emptiness, nothing better than stillness; emptiness and stillness are the root of the myriad things. Because the heart is empty, it can contain the actuality of the myriad things; because the heart is still, it can accord with all kinds of change. “Extremity” means that many things gather and reach their end; “firmly” means that one applies oneself single-mindedly and earnestly until one reaches profundity. Therefore, if one makes the heart empty to the utmost and guards stillness to profundity, then although the myriad scenes are mixed and various, my heart remains clear and penetrating throughout; although the ten thousand changes are different, my heart remains peaceful and tranquil throughout. This is what is called “heavenly joy” (the supreme joy of nature). Unless one has embodied and realized the great Dao, one is not sufficient to comprehend this realm.

The general meaning of this passage from the Subcommentary on the True Scripture of the Dao and De is as follows.

“Tong” (sameness) means emptiness. Only emptiness can be vast; only vastness can encompass and cover all without omission. That is why Liezi speaks of “silence.” This state may be called “heavenly joy” (natural joy); unless one has realized the Dao, one is not capable of understanding it.

In the next passage, again beginning with “Tong is emptiness; emptiness is greatness; greatness can cover all without omission,” Liezi also says, “Nothing is more honorable than emptiness.” Emptiness brings quietude; quietude brings clarity; clarity enables one to illuminate all things without being confined by external things. That is why Liezi also says, “Nothing is more honorable than stillness.” To offer no resistance or opposition to external things is emptiness; none of the actual things in the world can escape the scope of emptiness. To remain always one and unchanging is stillness; none of the movements in the world can depart from stillness. This is precisely why Zhuangzi takes emptiness and stillness as the root of all things; Laozi’s statement, “Deep! It seems to be the ancestor of all things,” has the same meaning.

All things obstruct one another because they have form, and constrain one another because they have number. Bound by form, they are burdened by form; constrained by number, they are enslaved by number. There must then be something that transcends form and escapes number—perhaps only emptiness and stillness? Emptiness, therefore, can contain all actual things; stillness, therefore, can respond to all changes. For it is not obstructed by form, nor constrained by number.

In seeking the root of emptiness and stillness, although it is obtained naturally, to reach the utmost of emptiness and stillness one must apply effort and maintain it. Bring emptiness to its utmost, and guard stillness in earnest. When emptiness is brought to its utmost, external covetousness and admiration are washed away, and not a single flaw is seen. Not only is there no thought of “there being things,” there is not even the thought of “there never having begun to be things”: this is emptiness brought to its utmost. To guard stillness in earnest is to be pure, peaceful, and constantly still, untouched by even a trace of disturbance. This is not merely leaving movement and attaining stillness; it is stillness in the very midst of movement. This is guarding stillness and attaining its solidity.

When emptiness is brought to its utmost, one is no longer obstructed by actual things; when stillness is guarded in earnest, one no longer goes against movement. Then, though the ten thousand states are mixed and complex, the mind remains constantly penetratingly clear; though the ten thousand changes are different, the mind remains constantly still. The myriad things, with appearances and conditions true and false each differing, are called the “ten thousand states”; the tangled threads of affairs, appearing in turn and changing without constancy, are called the “ten thousand changes.” Though the ten thousand states are mixed, the mind remains constantly clear, because emptiness is sufficient to contain them (here “penetrating clarity” has the same meaning as “penetration” in “when the mind is penetrating, it is wisdom”). Though the ten thousand changes are different, the mind remains constantly still, because stillness is sufficient to respond to them (here “still” has the same meaning as in “still and unmoving”).

To bring emptiness to its utmost and guard stillness—if one can reach this stage, this is the balance of Heaven and Earth and the utmost of Dao and De. It is called the “Great Root and Great Ancestor” (the root and sovereign), the realm of harmonious communion with Heaven. What joy could be greater than this?

Again, when Zhuangzi discusses emptiness and stillness, he says both “with the single mind settled, one can rule all under Heaven” and “with the single mind settled, all things submit.” Presumably one must first settle the mind before one can respond to all things. What is called “constantly penetrating and constantly still” means precisely that the single mind is settled. It is precisely because the single mind is settled that one can extend emptiness and stillness to Heaven and Earth and penetrate all things. How could such joy be fully calculated?

All things arise together and flourish; from this I observe the principle of their cyclical return.

Emperor Huizong (Zhao Ji, emperor of the Northern Song, who personally annotated the Daodejing) says: The transformations of all things all lie at the outer end of Dao (the Way), the fundamental pattern of the universe’s operation—that is, they are manifested among concrete, tangible things. Those who attain Dao lodge themselves beyond the ten thousand things and can contemplate all things with detachment. When things are generated, each has its first sprouting; after sprouting, it must ultimately return and has its final destination. When all things arise together and move toward activity and generation, I see that what moves must return to stillness and what departs must return; from this I perceive the original mind of Heaven and Earth. In this way, one engages with external things without changing along with them—this is called “observing their return.”

Once Qi (vital energy) changes, it takes on form; once form changes, life is produced. These all belong to things that have form, and so there is no moment when they are not changing. The transformations of the myriad things all take place at the far end of Dao (the Way)—that is, within the range where Dao manifests and acts. The sage realizes Dao, takes his stand above the myriad things, and governs them by presiding over their completed patterns; therefore he can stand transcendently above the myriad things while being in communication with them.

The generation of the myriad things is driven by creative transformation—the natural nurturing and transformation of Heaven and Earth—and they are interrelated, move, and draw one another along in ordered sequence. They emerge from the pivot of creative transformation and take form, and thus the sprout of life appears; they return again into the pivot and go back to their original destiny, and thus there is the destination of their end. If one says that within this there is a True Sovereign ruling the myriad things, yet its traces cannot be perceived. When the myriad things rise and grow together, along the small path of the Gen position (northeast, symbolizing Stillness) they lead to the great road of the Zhen position (east, symbolizing Movement); they break through the earth, sprout and become visible, clearly manifesting themselves, and hasten along the path of movement and life.

The sage comprehends the principles of the myriad things and, in emptiness and stillness, gently surveys them broadly. He knows that the myriad things, appearing in profusion, all grow from Wuwei (non-action). Though they move, they do not depart from stillness; though they have appeared, they never fail to return. From this one sees that movement must return to stillness and emergence must return to recurrence, and thereby one perceives the mind of Heaven and Earth.

The Fu (Return) hexagram of the Yijing says, “Return—in it one sees the mind of Heaven and Earth!” The meaning of return lies in discerning the timing of things from subtle beginnings. If one can discern the timing of things, one can remain in ultimate stillness and not be disturbed, and the myriad things cannot disturb him. The sage has no fixed private mind; in all things he takes Heaven and Earth as his foundation. Amid complexity he remains closed and does not expose himself; amid turmoil he remains peaceful. He comes into contact with things but does not change along with them. This is not a matter of leaving contact behind in order to discern; it is discerning within contact itself. Therefore, when the myriad things arise together, one must observe their going and returning.

Nevertheless, when Laozi speaks of observing return, he still says “arise together,” because things differ in that there is action and rest. Though the formulations differ, the attainment of penetrating observation is in fact the same.

The myriad things flourish in profusion, each returning to its root.

Emperor Huizong of Song (Zhao Ji) commented: “Yunyun” is the appearance of the myriad things stirring, generating, and emerging. The myriad things are born from the Zhen trigram of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) in the east and meet in the Li trigram in the south; thus vegetation flourishes and grows together, and the brilliance of flowers and leaves is revealed outwardly. When they reach the Dui trigram in the west, the myriad things rejoice and contract; when they reach the Kan trigram in the north, the myriad things toil and return to storage; thus they discard flourishing display, move toward fruit, and return to the home of their respective nature and destiny. “Ming (destiny)” is the root of “Xing (nature),” and “Xing” is the foundation of “Ming”; “Jing (essence)” is the mother of “Shen (spirit),” and “Shen” is the child born of “Jing.” When jing and qi are complete, shen becomes vigorous; if one can exhaust one’s nature, one can reach the realm of heavenly destiny.

The Daode Zhenjing Shuyi further explains: When plants grow, they rise in profusion and slowly stir and emerge—this is the dynamic described by “yunyun.” The generation and storage of the myriad things each follow their season. Observing the movement of the four seasons and comprehending the wondrous function of the Bagua, one knows that when the myriad things come forth they come forth in accord, and when they return they return in accord. Thus from spring to summer, the Dao of Heaven pushes the myriad things into the human world; from autumn to winter, the things of the human world return to the Dao of Heaven.

From the direction of the myriad things emerging into the human world: the Zhen trigram belongs to the east and corresponds to spring, when the myriad things begin to stir; the Li trigram belongs to the south and corresponds to summer, when the myriad things flourish and are bright—this is precisely “yunyun arise together, their flowering brilliance appears outwardly.” From the direction of the myriad things returning to the Dao of Heaven: the Dui trigram belongs to the west and corresponds to autumn, when the myriad things tend toward contraction and ripening; the Kan trigram belongs to the north and corresponds to winter, when the myriad things return to the root—this is precisely “shedding flower to approach fruit, returning to the home of their nature.”

“Yunyun arise together” is like the spring qi stirring and the hundred grasses sprouting; “flowering brilliance appears outwardly” is like shoots growing and putting forth ears and flowers; “shedding flower to approach fruit” is like receiving the autumn qi and the myriad things forming fruit; “returning to the home of their nature” is then the return to the original state of no-thing.

The Yijing says, “Each rectifies its nature and destiny, preserving and harmonizing the Great Harmony.” This means that when Heaven and Earth transform and nurture the myriad things and condense them into form, the Xing and Ming endowed to each life are originally equal. Zhuangzi says, “Jing and shen are born from the Dao; the bodily form is rooted in jing.” This means that when Heaven and Earth disperse jing and qi and nurture the vitality of life, jing and shen are originally harmonious and mutually penetrating. What Heaven bestows on humans is called “Ming”; what is received in me and becomes my own is called “Xing.” Only by complying with heavenly destiny can one rectify one’s Xing; therefore it says, “Ming is the root of Xing, and Xing is the foundation of Ming.”

When a person is born, jing is present first, and shen follows. Only by preserving jing can one cause shen to condense; therefore it says, “Jing is the mother of shen, and shen is the child of jing.”

Only by understanding one’s nature and penetrating heavenly destiny can one be rooted in oneself and self-originating, preserving one’s nature without harming it; only by relying on jing and qi to gather and concentrate the spirit can one grasp the relation between mother and child, guard it, and not lose it. Therefore it says, “When jing is complete, shen is sovereign”—is this not something that can be done only by relying on jing and qi to gather and concentrate the spirit? What is called “exhausting one’s nature and reaching destiny”—is this not something only one who understands one’s nature and penetrates heavenly destiny can do?

Zhuangzi’s discussion of the Dao of pure simplicity begins with the purity and penetration of the One and ends with not impairing one’s shen; thus the principle of “when jing is complete, shen is sovereign” can be known. Mencius’s discussion of the Dao of exhausting the mind begins with nourishing one’s nature and serving Heaven and ends with cultivating oneself and establishing one’s destiny; thus the principle of “exhausting one’s nature and reaching destiny” can be known. One who understands these can penetrate the principles of the myriad things; as for observing the principle of the myriad things returning to their root, that is merely a remaining matter within it.

Explanation of the Scripture Passage:

“Returning to the root” means returning to the source of the myriad things; the state of having returned to the source is “stillness.” To be able to return to stillness is “returning to destiny (fuming)” (fu means return; ming refers to the nature and principle of life that the myriad things receive from Heaven).

Emperor Huizong’s Commentary:

The Dao, in its concentrated stillness and its movement, transforms and generates the myriad things. Once things possess bodily form, their inner coherence is called “form.” The bodily form preserves spirit; each has its own norm, which is called “nature” (xing). Before the myriad things had taken form, they already had their inherent distinctions, undivided and seamless, and this is called “destiny” (ming). Destiny runs through past and present and exists eternally; nature changes with the myriad bodily forms yet does not alter its essence. If people can preserve the bodily form, remove cleverness and fixed views, and return to stillness and stability, they will understand that heavenly destiny is within themselves, just as spring and summer pass and autumn and winter return in a natural cycle. To realize one’s original nature, embrace spirit, and examine oneself inwardly—this is “returning to destiny.”

Subcommentary:

What the subcommentary says is that after “abiding and moving, it generates things,” all the myriad things that possess shape, appearance, sound, and color dwell within the truth of the Dao. If one can return to quiescent stillness, one will know that heavenly destiny lies within oneself, just as spring and summer return again to autumn and winter. To realize one’s original nature, hold fast to spirit, and reflect inwardly—this is “returning to destiny.”

The Subcommentary on Meaning says: “The forms in which movement is lodged within the realm” refers to the outward appearance, image, sound, and color of the myriad things, in all of which the principle of ultimate truth is lodged. Which of them is not a principle endowed by spontaneity and thus formed? Zhuangzi holds that when things are born and their principle is completed, this is called “form”; what the scripture calls “things are formed” refers to precisely this.

“The transformation that preserves the nature of Shen” means that the numinous and refined Qi gathers in things, their spiritual nature becomes complete, and all things are guided upward. Which thing does not possess its inherent norm? Zhuangzi holds that form preserves and guards Shen (spirit), and each has its own norm; this is called “nature.” What the Book of Songs means by “there are things, and there are norms” is precisely this.

There is nature only where there is life, and form only where there is nature. Before forms had yet appeared, although the myriad things already had distinctions, these were simply so of themselves and involved no separation. This condition of “being just so, with no need to ask further” is called Ming (life-destiny). That which has life is called nature; nature is endowed by Ming. Ming changes without exhaustion, is not bound by the limits of beginning and end, is not constrained by temporal measures, and endures through past and present. Nature arises together with life; it neither increases nor decreases with noble or base status, does not change with death or life, survival or destruction, and though it passes through ten thousand forms, it does not alter.

Only one who preserves form and life can keep form from decaying and hold life from being injured. By removing cleverness and calculating mind, following Heavenly principle, and returning to stillness and calm, one cannot be moved by external things. Removing cleverness and calculating mind is what the scripture means by “not knowing and not being aware, not relying on cleverness”; returning to stillness and calm is “silent and unmoving, held by great stability.” One who can do this understands that the Ming of life lies within oneself and does not change with external things. It is like autumn and winter following spring and summer: what moves returns to stillness, what acts returns to rest, and one knows where to stop.

Spring is the Way of Heaven creating the myriad things; autumn is human accomplishment; summer is human vigilance; winter is the return of the Way of Heaven. From spring to summer, the Way of Heaven manifests and descends into the human realm; from autumn to winter, humans return to Heaven. Spring and summer come first; autumn and winter follow. Gather what is scattered and bring it to unity; strip away surface splendor and make it solid. Then the myriad things, bustling and flowing, each return to their root without knowing it. Cultivating nature and returning to De, with De reaching identity with the original beginning—this is probably what it means.

Thus one can embody and guard one’s nature, embrace and guard Shen (spirit), examine oneself inwardly, and return to the constant way of Ming—what is there that cannot be done? Zhuangzi says, “Through Wuwei one returns to uncarved simplicity.” To embody and guard nature and to embrace and guard spirit: by Wuwei and returning to simplicity, one can preserve pure truth and plainness, and therefore can embody nature and embrace spirit. The Yijing says, “A sincere return brings no regret.” This is inward self-examination. Because one is sincere and solid by nature, outwardly there is nothing on which to rely; thus one can inwardly examine and verify oneself. If one can do this, one is plain and desireless, acts through Wuwei, and in movement follows the Way of Heaven; then what difficulty is there in returning to Ming?

The scriptural chapter “There Is Something Undifferentiated and Complete” says: “Silent and empty! It stands alone and does not change.” Its ultimate movement going far is called “far”; going far and then returning is called “return.” This too means that one must return to stillness and calm before one can return to the constant way of Ming. Therefore it first speaks of “returning to the root” and only afterward of “returning to Ming.”

Returning to Destiny Is Called the Constant

“Return” means to return, to revert. “Destiny” refers to the nature endowed in all things, the original state of a thing. To be able to return to this source is called the “Constant,” that is, what is enduring and unchanging.

Huizong’s Commentary: The Constant is a concept opposed to “change.” If one can return to one’s original nature, one will not be shaken by the myriad changes. It is uninterrupted and ceaseless, and is united with the Dao (the Way, the fundamental principle of all things); therefore it can lift up Heaven and Earth and govern the mother of Qi (the source of primal Qi, namely the Dao).

Explication: To understand the Constant, one may borrow the warp and weft of weaving. The warp threads are arranged lengthwise and have a fixed form, so they represent the Constant; the weft threads pass crosswise and interweave back and forth, so they represent change. The relation between the Constant and change is like that between warp and weft: the Constant is precisely spoken of in contrast to change.

The “constant” upheld by things in the world is fixed and immobile, and what is fixed is prone to decay. The “constant” spoken of by the Dao, however, endures precisely because it can move along with change. Only by returning to one’s original nature can one be rooted in oneself and exist from antiquity. When water is stirred into waves, this is not a bad thing; when water is still and clear, this is not necessarily good. Even after undergoing countless changes, the nature of true constancy remains unchanged—this is “the myriad changes cannot move it.”

When the spirit has no gap or fissure, external things have no way to intrude; this is called “without interval.” Not changing with the passage of time and never stopping is called “without cessation.” Without interval and without cessation, one is united with the Dao, and thus one connects past and present and stands alone without changing. It is said that Xiwei (a ruler of remote antiquity), having obtained this Dao, could lift up Heaven and Earth, and Fuxi (a ruler of remote antiquity), having obtained this Dao, could govern the mother of Qi; thus they could endure long and without end. What is called the Constant is that which nothing can replace.

Knowing the Constant Is Called Illumination

Huizong’s Commentary: To understand the constancy of the Dao and not be shifted by external things means that the clarity of the six sense faculties (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind) in the heart becomes mutually penetrating, sufficient to illumine Heaven and Earth and to illuminate the myriad things. This is “illumination.”

The body of Dao remains one and the same from beginning to end and does not change with external things; this is stillness taken to its utmost. The constancy of Dao, its not changing with the ten thousand things, is simply because it is pure, still, and Wuwei (non-action). Precisely because it is pure and still, it does not run along with the ten thousand things in their turmoil. When the ten thousand things grow and operate together, one must be able to observe the principle of their cyclical return; when the ten thousand things are manifold and teeming, one must be able to awaken to how each returns to its root. Contemplating the return and recurrence of the ten thousand things and understanding that all things return to their root, this stillness and stability will not be shaken by any external thing.

Thus, when the Six Penetrations—the state in which the six links of perception and cognition (eye, ear, nose, mouth, mind, and knowing) interpenetrate and rely on one another—mutually depend on one another, they are sufficient to mirror Heaven and Earth and to reflect the ten thousand things. What is called “penetration” means not being obstructed by external things. The eye is not obscured by colors, so it sees clearly and brightly; the ear is not disturbed by sounds, so it hears distinctly and keenly; when the nose is unobstructed with respect to odors, it can distinguish the fragrant from the foul; when the mouth is unobstructed with respect to flavors, it can taste the sweet and delicious; when the mind is not troubled by thoughts, its penetration becomes wisdom; when wisdom is not clouded by the principles of things, its penetration becomes De (Virtue/Power). This is what is meant by the mutual dependence of the Six Penetrations. From the eye to knowing, these six rely on one another without obstruction because the mind is empty and undivided, pure, still, and unmoving. When the mind is empty, it can be pure and still; when it is pure and still, it can be clear and lucid; when it is clear and lucid, the spirit (Shen) penetrates in all directions and flows through without obstruction, and there is nowhere it does not reach. Above, it can reach the heavenly realm; below, it can coil over the earth; it transforms and nurtures the ten thousand things, yet cannot be defined by any concrete form. Though Heaven and Earth are vast, they can be contemplated herein; though the ten thousand things are many, they can be manifested herein. Stillness! It is the pivot of Heaven and Earth and the bright mirror of the ten thousand things. Unless one understands the constant Dao, it is difficult to attain this state.

One who does not know the constant Dao and acts recklessly will bring misfortune upon himself.

Emperor Huizong of Song (an emperor of the Northern Song; here his commentary on the scripture) says: The sage understands the constancy of Dao, so his actions conform to norms and accord with the nature of things, and he constantly encounters auspiciousness. One who does not know constancy shifts and moves with external things; whatever he touches, he brings vexation upon himself; thus he recklessly judges beauty and ugliness and turns away from Dao; he recklessly generates right and wrong and goes against Dao. This is not enough to stabilize one’s own nature and life, and so it invites misfortune. The Yijing says: “Returning, one is without recklessness; to be deluded and not know to return—this is indeed recklessness.” This is precisely the principle being stated.

Vernacular Interpretation

When the mind is in accord with the Dao (the Way), there is nothing one does that is not true; when the mind turns away from the Dao, every action is delusive. The sage is the fullest embodiment of the Dao: because he understands the constant principle of the Dao, he does not change along with external things. Therefore his actions accord with the nature of things; wherever he goes is real, his movements inevitably tend toward auspiciousness, and his deeds inevitably conform to blessings and good fortune. When the will is settled and De (Virtue/Power) is ample, this is called “xiu” (the good, beautiful, and peaceful). When one does good, various blessings and auspicious omens descend.

Those who do not understand “constancy” (the constant principle of the Dao) act delusively and drift farther and farther from the Dao. When they come into contact with external things, they are pulled along by them and shift with them; this is called “using the mind to contend” (contending with mental cleverness). As soon as contact occurs, misfortune arises, and so they always perceive beauty and ugliness incorrectly. Constrained by personal likes and dislikes, they do not understand how to refer beauty and ugliness to the same principle; thus they oppose the Dao and recklessly generate right and wrong. Deluded by the falseness of blame and praise, they do not understand how to forget both right and wrong; thus they diverge from the Dao.

The Dao cannot be departed from even for a moment. Once one both opposes the Dao and diverges from it, one dissipates one’s own physical form and original nature, is invaded and disturbed by the Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang, and may even be unable to preserve one’s lifespan. No misfortune is greater than this; hence it is called “misfortune.”

The Xugua Zhuan (Commentary on the Sequence of Hexagrams) of the Yijing says: “Returning, then one is not delusive.” The Return hexagram is the first arising of subtle yang Qi; it can discern the source of things—this is Wu Wang (No Falseness). Wu Wang is the command of Heaven, to which the myriad things submit. Therefore the Xiang commentary on the Wu Wang hexagram says: “Thunder moves beneath heaven; things share in Wu Wang.” The myriad things thereby obtain their own natures. As for going astray and being unable to return, one then loses one’s original nature and falls into hardship, unable to generate and regenerate ceaselessly—this is delusion.

“Knowing Constancy, One Is All-Embracing”

This line comes from chapter 16 of the Daodejing: “Knowing constancy, one can be all-embracing; being all-embracing, one can be impartial; being impartial, one can be universal; being universal, one can be Heaven; being Heaven, one can be Dao; being Dao, one can be long-lasting, and to the end of one’s days will not be in danger.” It means: one who understands the constant Dao can embrace all things; embracing all things, one can be impartial and selfless; being impartial, one can be complete and universal; being complete and universal, one accords with the Way of Heaven; according with the Way of Heaven, one accords with the Dao; according with the Dao, one can endure long, and to the end of one’s life will not encounter danger.

Huizong’s Commentary (Zhao Ji, Emperor Huizong of the Northern Song, on the Daode Zhenjing)

“Knowing constancy, one does not store right and wrong, beauty and ugliness in the mind; therefore there is nothing one does not embrace.” It means: one who understands the constant Dao does not keep right and wrong, beauty and ugliness in the mind, and therefore there is nothing he cannot embrace.

The true constancy of Dao (the Way) is originally singular. Once one has realized this “One” and then looks upon the myriad things under Heaven, although they are diverse, chaotic, and utterly different, they all equally return to the utmost wondrous realm—where then are the distinctions of right and wrong, beauty and ugliness? It is precisely by rejecting “wrong” and exalting “right” that opposition and incompatibility arise; it is by loving beauty and loathing ugliness that people become trapped within the limits of self-seeking.

The Perfected Person (one of the highest cultivation who has already attained the Dao) has removed the burdens of attachment and forgotten right and wrong; he has erased selfish thoughts and brought beauty and ugliness back to unity. There is no other reason for this than that he understands the Constant (the constant principle of Dao). Understanding the Constant, he can dwell with an empty mind and comply with the affairs of the world without obstruction; right and wrong, beauty and ugliness no longer remain in his mind, and only then can he embrace all things. When the sage governs the world and makes his mind empty, it is precisely in accordance with this that he acts.

Of the phrase “Being all-embracing, one becomes impartial,” Emperor Huizong (Song Emperor Huizong, author of the commentary cited in this book) comments: When the mind holds no deliberate partiality, one will not be close only to one’s own kin or tender only to one’s own children—how then could selfishness remain?

The Subcommentary explains: Because contact with external things gives rise to views, one falls into selfish pursuit; when one accords with Dao and the mind holds no preconceptions, one becomes greatly unified with the world and free of self. The sage regards all under Heaven as one family, shelters and nurtures the myriad people, and looks upon the common people as his children. Because he has no mind of partiality, he does not merely love his own kin, and his loving heart reaches everywhere; he does not merely treat his own children as children, and his compassionate heart extends everywhere—how then could there be selfishness? Looking at Heaven and Earth, Heaven covers the myriad things without selfishness, Earth bears the myriad things without selfishness, and whatever lies between Heaven and Earth cannot escape their covering and support. The sage’s all-embracing selflessness is likewise so; therefore, by observing Heaven and Earth, one may see the likeness of the sage.

Of the phrase “Being impartial, one becomes kingly,” Huizong comments: When the great Dao is put into practice, all under Heaven is held in common, and so all under Heaven gladly support him without growing weary. (“Kingly” [wang] refers to a ruler who can match all under Heaven with an impartial mind and to whom all under Heaven turn.)

The sub-commentary says: The Dao is the common standard followed by all under Heaven. The Liji (Book of Rites), a Confucian classic, records the words of Zhongni (Confucius), saying that when the Great Dao was put into practice, all under Heaven was held in common. From this it is clear that the key to governing all under Heaven lies in understanding the Dao, and that the sage’s Dao is what the hearts of the multitude rely upon. The sage governs all under Heaven by the Dao and receives the Dao in his heart; therefore the people draw near to him, look up to him, and attach themselves to him. They rejoice inwardly and sincerely believe in him, and this does not fade over time. All under Heaven gladly uphold him and are unwilling to cast him aside. What the Yi (Zhouyi) calls “the common people join with his capacity” refers precisely to this principle.

“‘The king is Heaven; Heaven is Dao.’ This means: one who can penetrate the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—and stand between Heaven and Earth is the king; that which is perfectly one and vast, occupies the highest place, and covers all things is Heaven; that which Heaven, Earth, and Humanity all follow is the Dao. One who can fully develop human nature becomes the same as Heaven; one who can realize the principle of Heaven becomes the same as the Dao.”

Heaven and Earth each abide in their places, and the sage brings their functions to completion. Among the Three Powers—Heaven, Earth, and Humanity—the one who can penetrate all three and dwell in the exact center of Heaven and Earth is the king. “One” has not yet departed from the numbered (the myriad things that possess quantity), yet it is the root of all numbers. “Great” has not yet departed from corporeal form, yet it is the utmost of form. The light and pure qi (vital energy) dwells above, covering all things and broadly containing all things; that which dwells above and covers all without exception is Heaven. Heaven attains the Dao (the Way) and presides over qi transformation, sheltering and nurturing; Earth attains the Dao and presides over form and substance, bearing all things; the sage attains the Dao and presides over teaching and transformation. What Heaven, Earth, and Humanity all follow without exception is the Dao (the fundamental principle governing the movement of all things in the cosmos).

The king is the utmost of the human way. If one can fully fulfill the human way, one can communicate with Heaven—is this not to say that fulfilling the human way is identical with Heaven? Zhuangzi says, “The king is the heavenly Dao”; from this we know that the king is Heaven. Heaven is the fundamental source of the Dao; if one can take Heaven as one’s ancestral source, one becomes one with the Dao—is this not to say that realizing the heavenly Dao is identical with the Dao? Laozi says, “Heaven models itself on the Dao”; from this we know that Heaven is the Dao. The Greater Odes in the Book of Songs praises King Wen as “without sound, without smell” (his virtue is mysterious and traceless), yet it still says, “Take King Wen as your model” (take King Wen as the standard). What King Wen did was in fact in accord with Heaven; if one wishes to emulate the heavenly Dao, then emulating King Wen is sufficient—this is what it means to say that fulfilling the human way is identical with Heaven. It also says, “Without knowing, without recognizing, they follow the rule of the Lord on High (Shangdi)” (unknowingly following the rule of the Lord on High); this means that the operation of the wondrous Dao is in fact identical with Heaven. If one wishes to investigate the mystery of the Dao, then following the rule of the Lord on High is sufficient—this is what it means to say that realizing Heaven is identical with the Dao.

The flourishing of the Zhou dynasty lay in the sage using wise teaching to guide those who were deluded; people jointly upheld the same great Dao and sang it in poetry. Thus it became the most illustrious dynasty among the three dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, and kings of later ages often took it as a mirror.

“The Dao is enduring; to the end of one’s days, one is not in danger.”

Huizong’s commentary says: The Dao causes the ten thousand ages to have no decline or decay; the myriad things that attain it can flourish; it penetrates a hundred sages without being exhausted and shelters Heaven and Earth without ceasing. Therefore it says, “To the end of one’s days, one is not in danger.” “Danger” is close to misfortune; “incipience” is close to good fortune. If one does not fall into peril, then there will be no misfortune brought about by reckless action. This is something only one who comprehends the constant Dao can accomplish.

The memorial text says: grace extends throughout ten thousand generations and endures even longer than remote antiquity. This is because the Dao itself—the fundamental cosmic order as understood in Daoism—is enduring, and therefore it does not decay even after passing through ten thousand generations. What is called “uniting with the ancient Dao in order to seek lasting existence” is precisely what enables it to bring all things to completion in a thorough and accommodating way, leaving nothing out.

(“Qucheng,” “accomplishing through accommodation,” comes from the “Xici Shang” section of the Zhouyi: “It accomplishes all things through accommodation and leaves nothing behind,” meaning to bring all things to completion in a thorough and accommodating manner without omitting anything.)