《唐玄宗御製道德真經疏(一)》Vol. 10

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang offered this commentary when annotating the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue):

Regarding the chapter stating "when people do not fear death" (Chapter 74), this speaks to how rulers who abuse penal laws achieve the opposite of their intent. When the common people have long endured turbulent times and grown accustomed to death, what use is there for rulers to intimidate them with capital punishment? The truly enlightened way of governance should instead transform the people through the practice of Wuwei (non-action).

Only when people truly value life and fear death can the lawful punishment of evildoers serve as an effective deterrent. Yet we must remember that the power over life and death fundamentally belongs to the Dao of Heaven (natural law), as if an invisible "heavenly net" maintains cosmic justice. If a ruler oversteps his authority by wantonly applying punishments, it would be like an unskilled apprentice presuming to chop wood for a master carpenter—not only ruining the material but likely injuring himself. The Dao operates according to its own principles, and human interference only disrupts this natural harmony.

The subsequent Chapter 75 concerning "the people's hunger" continues this discourse on the consequences of power abuse. Here it emphasizes how rulers who excessively levy taxes—just like those who usurp Heaven's authority over life and death—ultimately reap what they sow. This resembles an unskilled woodcutter who disregards proper technique: none avoid injuring their own hands.

This scripture conveys two main layers of meaning:

The first part explains the causes of people's hardships. The reason people starve is that their rulers impose excessive taxes. The nation takes the people as its foundation—if complicated policies and heavy taxation lead to poverty, the country's roots will be shaken. When people become difficult to govern, it's because rulers engage in too much "youwei" (excessive interference), and cumbersome decrees agitate minds, breeding hypocrisy. People recklessly risk death because they excessively pursue luxurious living, even at the cost of breaking laws.

The second part illustrates how weakness overcomes strength through the phenomenon of life and death. When alive, the human body is soft; after death, it becomes stiff. Plants are pliant while growing but turn brittle when withered. This teaches us: when harmonious Qi (the natural energy of life) exists, it manifests as softness, but when it dissipates, rigidity sets in. Thus, what appears strong is actually at a disadvantage, while weakness embodies the way of survival. Just as plants brim with vitality when tender and fragile but lose vigor when dried and stiff, this warns people to preserve their inherently gentle nature.

The mentioned concept of "Wuwei" (non-action) is central to Daoist thought, advising rulers to minimize artificial interference and follow natural laws. "Harmonious Qi" refers to the balanced interplay of Yin-Yang energies that sustain life. By contrasting states of life and death, the scripture reveals the dialectical truth that weakness contains life-force, while apparent strength approaches death.

This passage primarily uses natural phenomena and metaphors to illustrate the Daoist principle that the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong.

When plants grow, they are tender and pliable, yet become dry and brittle when withered. This shows that inanimate things depend on the gathering and dispersion of Qi (vital energy) for their flourishing and decline, while sentient beings follow the Dao's principles of existence and dissolution. Therefore, stubborn rigidity leads down the path of death, whereas gentle flexibility sustains life. Just as in warfare, relying solely on brute force rarely brings victory—the truly skilled commander bases strategy on benevolence. Those who bully the weak with their strength ultimately fail, and the inflexible often bring about their own downfall.

Though a tree's roots are thick and sturdy, they remain beneath the earth, while its delicate branches reach skyward. This vividly demonstrates nature's law: "What is strong and mighty remains below; what is soft and weak rises above." The powerful are often surpassed by the gentle, just as tree roots forever stay beneath their foliage.

Chapter 77 employs the metaphor of drawing a bow to describe the Dao of Heaven's operation. Though the Heavenly Dao seems mysterious, its workings can be understood through archery: if the bowstring is too high, lower it; if too low, raise it; if the pull is excessive, lessen it; if insufficient, increase it. Only through perfect adjustment can one hit the target. Similarly, the Dao of Heaven maintains cosmic harmony—the alternation of sun and moon, the cycle of seasons—constantly balancing by reducing excess and supplementing deficiency.

Sages comprehend this principle, thus avoiding extremes and maintaining humility. They emulate the Heavenly Dao, taking from surplus to compensate for scarcity. Ordinary people do the opposite, always depriving the insufficient to indulge the excessive. Only those who have attained the Dao can dedicate their surplus to nourish the world—this is the true way of sages.

This passage elucidates how human governance should emulate the Dao (the Way) of Heaven. The Dao of Heaven follows the principle of "diminishing excess to supplement deficiency," much like the natural balance seen in seasonal cycles and ecological harmony. Yet human society often operates inversely, "taking from the insufficient to serve the excessive," exploiting the poor to enrich the wealthy.

Laozi specifically emphasizes that only those who have truly attained the Dao can use their surplus to aid the world's deficiencies. The sages (enlightened rulers who embody the Dao) model themselves after Heaven's way, generously bestowing De (Virtue/Power) without claiming merit. They understand that clinging to high status after achieving success invites Heaven's retribution, so they consciously attribute accomplishments to others and conceal their own wisdom. This, too, is an expression of "diminishing excess."

The text then illustrates the principle of "softness overcoming hardness" through the nature of water. Though the softest substance in the world, water can penetrate solid rock. Its essence lies in willingly occupying low places, avoiding contention, adapting its movement to circumstance, and taking the shape of its container. Despite its apparent gentleness, nothing surpasses water in overcoming the rigid.

Reiterating this lesson, the passage stresses that rulers should embody water's qualities—remaining humble and yielding to genuinely benefit the people. A truly wise sovereign never flaunts ability but, like water, silently nurtures all things.

Though water is soft in nature, it can wear through solid rock. When hardness confronts hardness, both suffer damage; but when water flows against stone, the rock erodes while the water remains unharmed. This demonstrates that for overcoming the hard and conquering the strong, nothing surpasses water's effectiveness. Thus we say nothing in the world can overcome water, nor is there any better method than this.

Water's softness triumphs over rigidity precisely because it embodies the virtue (De) of non-contention, free from any compulsive desire to win. This principle should be applied both in governing nations and cultivating one's being. Though all under heaven know the truth that the soft overcomes the hard, few truly practice it because people's arrogance drives them to constantly compete for dominance.

Therefore the sages say: Only those who can bear a nation's humiliation are worthy to be lords of the land; only those who endure a country's misfortunes can become kings of the world. Here "humiliation" refers to disgraceful burdens - meaning if a ruler can embrace all faults, taking responsibility upon himself, the people will be moved by his virtue (De) and pledge sincere allegiance. "Misfortunes" signify disasters - if a ruler remains humble and yielding, willingly shouldering national calamities while calling himself "the solitary one" or "the unworthy one" (ancient royal self-deprecations), the world will submit to his benevolent virtue (De).

These truths may initially sound paradoxical. That bearing a nation's disgrace makes one its true lord, or enduring its disasters qualifies one as world sovereign - such statements seem contrary to common logic. Yet Laozi particularly emphasizes: These are indeed supreme truths that prove effective in practice, though ordinary people find them startling upon first hearing.

Regarding the resolution of deep-seated enmity: Forced reconciliation of profound grudges inevitably leaves residual bitterness. Originally humans possessed pure hearts and tranquil spirits, but later became mired in worldly desires, losing their fundamental nature.

This passage primarily discusses how human desires and emotions are the root cause of moral degeneration and our greatest inner adversary. When common people give rise to deceitful behaviors due to their passions, if a ruler fails to transform them naturally through Wuwei (non-action, following the natural course without forced intervention) but instead establishes doctrines and laws to restrain cunning while attempting to reconcile contradictions, this may temporarily quell major grievances but will inevitably sow new hidden dangers.

The very act of establishing doctrines and laws leaves traces, and the malpractices arising from these traces become new sources of resentment. Thus, relying solely on external regulations and coercive measures cannot achieve true good governance. Authentic good governance requires the ruler to maintain personal clarity and Wuwei, allowing the people to naturally return to their simple and honest nature, thereby eliminating the seeds of resentment.

The sage (one who has attained the Dao) maintains inner purity (the "left tally" symbolizes the heart, belonging to Yang), neither opposing external circumstances nor harshly demanding from others. A virtuous ruler influences people through heart-mind resonance, guiding their natural transformation; whereas a ruler lacking De (Virtue) relies on laws and enforcement, which only generates further malpractices.

The Dao of Heaven (natural law) is impartial—it always favors the virtuous. Those who maintain clarity and Wuwei receive heavenly blessings, while those who depend on harsh punishments incur celestial calamities. This demonstrates Heaven's lack of partiality, assisting only those who possess De.

Finally, the ideal state of "small state with few people" is mentioned, where even with various tools available, they remain unused. This advocates a return to primordial simplicity—rulers governing through Wuwei while the people live in simple self-sufficiency, free from excessive desires and pursuits. Only when the entire society maintains pristine naturalness can true good governance be achieved.

This describes the ideal social state of ancient simplicity. The small size of the nation indicates no pursuit of territorial expansion; the sparse population shows no obsession with numbers. Without coveting vast lands, people's hearts remain free from contention; without chasing populous domains, governance naturally stays simple. Once this straightforward Dao is established, an atmosphere of pristine purity prevails.

Even if there were exceptional talents capable of leading tens or hundreds of people, such abilities would find no application in this society. The people cherish life and have no desire to migrate far, for the clear and unobtrusive governance allows them to peacefully pursue their livelihoods, eliminating any need to leave their homeland.

Though boats and carriages exist, none ride them. These vehicles were originally created to facilitate land and water travel for exchanging goods, yet with no frequent comings and goings, they naturally remain unused. It resembles Zhuangzi's ideal society where mountains need no carved paths and marshes require no constructed bridges.

Though armor and weapons exist, none display them. These arms were meant to quell rebellions and repel invaders, but when rulers govern with De (Virtue) and people live in harmony without conflict, warfare vanishes and weapons are stored away.

Let the people return to knotting ropes for record-keeping. In antiquity before writing, people used knotted cords to track affairs. Later, sages invented characters to replace the ropes. Yet with writing came cunning artifice and deception. Now we must help people return to primal simplicity, forgetting clever desires.

The people find their food delicious and their clothing beautiful. Food's delight lies in appropriateness—when suitable, even coarse grains taste exquisite; clothing's beauty rests in propriety—when fitting, even hemp garments appear splendid. Without such harmony, neither delicacies nor silks would satisfy.

Dwelling in contentment, they relish wholesome customs. Without greed, they remain settled in their homes; through pure cultivation, their traditions bring joy. Where desires run unchecked, none can dwell peacefully; where governance is harsh and meddlesome, how could customs bring pleasure?

Neighboring states remain within sight, their chickens and dogs heard clearly across borders, yet the people live and die without visiting one another. This illustrates how nations stay physically close yet

This scripture teaches that truthful words are often not ornate, while flowery rhetoric frequently lacks authenticity. Laozi (Laojun) guides sentient beings through his teachings - though plain and unadorned, differing from worldly preferences, they embody genuine truth. Conversely, words that cater to vulgar tastes and sound pleasing often prove superficial and hollow, incapable of true edification.

Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) don't cling to debate, for their realization manifests in actual practice rather than remaining at the level of verbal discourse. Those fond of argumentation often haven't genuinely grasped the essence of cultivation. Similarly, truly wise individuals don't pursue extensive learning, as comprehending the great Dao (the Way) requires focused refinement rather than accumulation of knowledge. Excessive pursuit of broad learning instead causes one to lose their original mind.

Sages (those who have attained the Dao) don't cling to or accumulate external knowledge or doctrines, having thoroughly understood the source of all things. They recognize that language, writing and teachings are all illusory tools. They can elucidate principles without becoming bound by words. The more they share their wisdom with others, the more abundant they become; the more they give, the more they receive. This embodies the Daoist wisdom of "Wuwei (non-action) yet nothing remains undone."

Though sages do not deliberately accumulate words to teach sentient beings, the awakening of wisdom and innate nature in ordinary people must rely on the guidance of sages. Therefore, sages use their inherently pure and untainted nature to exhaustively instruct the ignorant. To the sage, this pure nature is inherently luminous; while the wisdom of those receiving teachings to comprehend the Dao does not come from external sources—hence it is called "self-nature" (zixing).

The benefits gained through teaching do not originate from within the mind, thus they are termed "external benefits" (waiyi). The more sages teach the ignorant, the more their minds become enlightened—hence "the more one gives, the more one has" (yuyou). The more refined and unobstructed the principles learned, the richer the understanding becomes—hence "the more one learns, the more one gains" (yuduo).

The movement of the heavenly Dao follows the principle of benefiting all things without causing harm. The Dao bestows sunlight and rain to nurture all beings—this is "benefit" (li); it does not dominate or control creation—this is "non-harming" (buhai). Here, the metaphor of heaven's Dao illustrates how the sage's Dao brings vast benefits.

The sage's way of conducting oneself in the world is to act without contention. All the sage's actions involve no struggle with the myriad things, for the sage harbors no selfish accumulation. The more one gives to others, the more one's own abundance grows—thus one attains the state of "non-contention" (buzheng).

(This is part of Emperor Xuanzong of Tang's commentary on the tenth chapter of the Daode Jing, where "shu" refers to exegetical annotations on the classic text.)