《唐玄宗御製道德真經疏(一)》Vol. 2

This chapter illustrates the interdependent relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu) through three examples: the wheel, pottery, and houses. Thirty spokes converge at the hub (the central wooden core of a wheel), yet it is precisely the hollow space at the hub's center that allows the wheel to turn. Without this emptiness, the entire wheel would cease to function. Similarly, when a potter kneads clay to form a vessel, it is the empty space within that gives the vessel its capacity to hold things. When building a house, doors and windows are carved out—it is the vacated interior space that makes the dwelling habitable.

Emperor Xuanzong of Tang explains that the essence of the Dao (the supreme truth of Daoism) lies in its state of "ultimate nothingness and pure unity" (zhi wu zhi yi). It is precisely this emptiness that propels the movement of all things. Just as with the wheel, pottery, and house, the tangible components (spokes, clay, walls) provide the material foundation, but what truly enables function is the invisible emptiness within. The same principle governs the workings of heaven and earth—though phenomena appear infinitely varied, their root always traces back to the unifying nature of the Dao.

Here, "being" refers to concrete, material existence, while "non-being" denotes the intangible, empty space within things. Daoism holds that these two aspects complement each other: tangible forms provide the physical basis, but it is the emptiness within that grants practical value. As Zhuangzi remarked, if a house lacked space, even a mother-in-law and daughter-in-law would have no room to turn around, leading to quarrels. Thus, the Erya dictionary defines "palace" (gong) simply as "chamber" (shi), emphasizing that a structure's worth lies in the usable void it creates.

This passage presents Emperor Xuanzong of Tang's commentary on Chapter 12 of the Daode Jing, focusing on how sensory desires affect the human mind. The original text essentially conveys:

Excessive exposure to the five colors (blue, yellow, red, white, black) dulls the eyes' clarity, constant hearing of the five tones (gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu) impairs auditory discernment, and overindulgence in the five flavors (sour, salty, sweet, bitter, pungent) numbs the palate. Immersion in such sensory pleasures not only harms the body but, more critically, leads the mind astray. Like chasing prey during a hunt, unrestrained desires drive the heart-mind to frenzy. The pursuit of rare treasures disrupts natural behavior and violates one's inherent nature.

Therefore, the sage (one who has realized the Dao) emphasizes inner fulfillment ("feeding the belly") over external sensory gratification ("not feeding the eyes"). The "belly" symbolizes undiscriminating containment, while the "eyes" represent attachment to outward forms and appearances. One must abandon the chase after external desires and choose instead to cultivate inner refinement.

Emperor Xuanzong references the Yijing (Book of Changes) distinction: "What is above form is called the Dao; what is within form is called concrete objects (qi)." This illustrates how concrete existence ("being") and the formless Dao ("non-being") are interdependent. The function of physical objects (qi) manifests through the Dao (non-being), while the Dao's presence becomes evident through concrete phenomena. The commentary particularly stresses that obsession with sensory pleasures like music and beauty not only damages the body but also obscures the mind, preventing realization of the Dao.

This chapter discusses human attitudes toward honor and disgrace, and how excessive self-regard becomes the source of misfortune.

Regarding "being startled by honor and disgrace as if in fear" (宠辱若惊): Whether receiving favor or suffering humiliation, both disturb one's peace of mind. Those obsessed with fame and fortune become arrogant when gaining power, then fall into self-abasement when losing status. Therefore, the sage advises us to remain equanimous, neither elated by praise nor dejected by blame.

Concerning "valuing great misfortunes as we value our bodies" (贵大患若身): Excessive attachment to the physical form is the root of calamity. People indulge in sensual pleasures and chase worldly glory precisely because they identify with this body that generates such desires. The body itself becomes the source of all afflictions - to cherish it is to cherish misfortune. Transcending these attachments means overcoming the body's limitations.

Explaining "favor is degrading" (宠为下): Why is honor considered lowly? Because relying on favor breeds arrogance, and arrogance invites disaster. Thus what appears as honor actually sows the seeds of future disgrace.

Clarifying "being startled by honor and disgrace": When honored, one fears the pride that may bring downfall; when disgraced, one dreads the humiliation - this anxious mentality constitutes being "startled by honor and disgrace." Ordinary people crave favor and fear disgrace, but sages perceive how fortune and misfortune intertwine, recognizing both as transient states unworthy of excessive concern.

Final interpretation of "valuing great misfortunes as we value our bodies": Our fundamental suffering stems precisely from over-identification with this physical form. All anxieties and afflictions originate in attachment to the self.

The reason I experience great suffering is because I cling to my physical form, crave honor and detest disgrace, and obsess over distinctions of right and wrong. When these cannot be obtained, immense worry and fear arise—my heart is exhausted by greed while my body wearies from constant striving. With both mind and body thus strained, how could this not become calamitous?

But when I attain the state of "no-self" (realizing the illusory nature of physical form), what suffering remains? This "no-self" means thoroughly perceiving the body's empty essence, understanding it lacks true substantiality. One then achieves the states of "sitting in oblivion" (meditative self-forgetting) and "transcendent illumination" (surpassing worldly perception), freeing oneself from bodily constraints to commune with the Dao (the Way), no longer fettered by ego. Thus distinctions of honor and disgrace naturally dissolve, likes and dislikes quieten, reaching what Zhuangzi called "the sovereign's perfect liberation"—how could great suffering persist then?

As the minister in the Zhuangzi answered Emperor Shun: "Your body does not truly belong to you—it is merely a temporary coalescence bestowed by Heaven and Earth."

Those who govern the world while overvaluing themselves may temporarily entrust it to others; those who govern while cherishing themselves may entrust it enduringly. This means rulers who fixate on their status as sovereigns will belittle others, preventing genuine allegiance—power can only be provisionally delegated. But rulers who cultivate self-care while nurturing their people inspire willing devotion, enabling lasting stewardship.

This chapter begins with the alarm of favor and disgrace, concluding with entrusting the world, conveying: Rather than dread favor and disgrace, forget them; rather than cling to status and affection, transcend them; rather than entrust the world, forget it. Great suffering stems from ego-attachment—transcending the self-other dichotomy dissolves all anxieties. Clinging breeds conflict; forgetting favor and disgrace ends alarm; forgetting self removes suffering's root; forgetting the world erases power's traces. Thus one emulates ancient sage-kings above while employing worthy ministers below—appearing to practice wuwei (non-action) yet accomplishing all, seeming devoid of De (Virtue) yet embodying supreme virtue.

(Note: This commentary on Daode Jing Chapter 14 follows the prior chapter on bodily attachment as suffering, further elucidating transcendence of form. The opening three lines state the Dao cannot be perceived through senses; the middle six lines trace origin to "no-thing"; the next five reveal the Dao's mysterious function; the final four cite ancient testimony.)

This passage elucidates the mysterious characteristics of the Dao (the Way) as the cosmic origin and fundamental principle. It begins by explaining that people cannot truly grasp the Dao through visual observation, auditory perception, or tactile contact, because the Dao transcends concrete forms. Though the Dao itself possesses no color, sound, or shape, it manifests all appearances, harmonizes all sounds, and gives form to all phenomena. Hence, it is described using three terms: "yi" (formless and smooth), "xi" (subtle and inaudible), and "wei" (minute and intangible).

These three characteristics are ultimately unified, for the Dao itself is exquisitely profound and cannot be defined by concrete things. It is neither bright nor dark, neither above nor below, transcending all spatial orientations. The Dao moves eternally yet defies description; though it gives birth to all things, its essential nature remains a state of emptiness (wu).

This state may be called "form without form" or "image without substance"—what we term "huhuang" (indistinct and elusive). The Dao is neither pure being nor pure non-being, existing in an ineffable, mysterious realm. Like an endlessly moving rope whose substance remains invisible, the Dao generates all things without leaving traces, ultimately returning to its original state of emptiness.

Laozi describes the characteristics of the Dao (the Way) thus: When you try to meet it ahead, you cannot see its beginning; when you attempt to follow it from behind, you cannot find its end. This is because the subtle essence of the Dao has no fixed form, and its vastness cannot be confined. Having no beginning means it lacks a starting point, and having no end means it knows no termination—thus, no matter from which direction you approach it, you can never truly grasp it.

The text then discusses the principles of governance: The ancient sage-kings always used the principle of Wuwei (non-action) to educate the people. Here, it admonishes contemporary rulers that if they can follow the ancient method of "governing through non-action" to handle today's complex affairs, they will achieve the natural effect of teaching without words. Those who truly understand how to emulate the simple and pure governance of antiquity have grasped the fundamental outline of the Dao. The so-called "Daoji" (the guiding principle of the Dao) refers to recognizing that preserving one's innate simplicity and practicing quietude and non-action are the core laws of statecraft.

Chapter 15 specifically discusses the qualities of those who have attained the Dao: In ancient times, those who truly understood the Dao had thoughts that were profound and subtle, their realms mysterious and all-pervading—so much so that ordinary people could never fathom their depth. Precisely because they are indescribable, we can only reluctantly use metaphors to characterize them: They move through the world as cautiously as crossing a river in winter, for they understand worldly desires are like treacherous waters that can drown a person, and thus they remain ever vigilant. Though these Dao-attainers live in the mundane world, they are never tainted by desires, and thus always maintain a state of calm composure.

The passage describes the attitude and mental cultivation of Daoist practitioners.

A Daoist cultivator is as firm as ice in winter, free from the fear of collapse, yet remains as cautious as if under a neighbor's watch. Liberated from worldly desires, they live with ease and leisure, yet in action, they remain vigilant, wary of straying from the Dao (the Way).

In interactions, they carry themselves with the solemnity of a guest, respectful and composed, while their inner state flows naturally like spring ice melting. Though they keep desires at a distance, as a guest would from a host, their acts of kindness and assistance unfold without obstruction, smooth as thawing snow.

Their character is simple and unadorned, free from contention despite transcending worldly attachments, their virtue (De) as pure as uncarved wood. Their mind is vast as a valley, embracing all things. Though inwardly clear and serene, they blend harmoniously with the mundane world, avoiding deliberate novelty—outwardly appearing as ordinary as murky water.

Who can maintain inner purity amid worldly chaos, allowing desires to gradually settle like turbid water clarifying over time? The Daoist practitioner understands: to be content with temporary stillness and cease progress is not true awakening. One must continually refine oneself, shedding attachments layer by layer, ensuring that pure nature remains unconfined by any method, naturally revealing its vitality.

Those who uphold this path do not seek self-satisfaction or perfection. To cling to any state as an endpoint is to fall into yet another attachment. True cultivation is an endless journey of self-transcendence.

This passage expounds the essential principle of "tranquility and non-action (Wuwei)" in Daoist cultivation. Emperor Xuanzong of Tang, in his commentary on the Dao De Jing, pointed out that the true path of Daoist practice lies in maintaining a pure mind without attachment to anything. Just as water naturally flows downward and fire naturally moves toward dryness, if one can preserve inner stillness, one will naturally return to their original innate nature.

The text first explains the principle of "not seeking fullness": Practitioners should not pursue perfection or satisfaction, because complacency hinders spiritual progress. Only by maintaining an unfilled state can one avoid clinging to new achievements and continue advancing.

Chapter 16 specifically discusses the cultivation method of "reaching utmost emptiness and maintaining profound stillness." "Utmost emptiness" refers to the pure original nature (wondrous foundation) that humans initially receive, which becomes tainted by desires during growth. To return to this original nature, one must steadfastly preserve tranquility, sever desires, and allow the pure innate nature to return spontaneously—just as water naturally moistens and fire naturally dries.

Observing the patterns of all things: Though myriad beings take different forms, they ultimately return to their source. Just as flourishing leaves and flowers eventually return to their roots, and human emotions and desires, though chaotic, can reconnect with the true nature of life by preserving stillness and emptiness. This state of returning to the source in stillness is called "returning to destiny (Fu Ming)"—reconnecting with the fundamental origin of life.

The passage emphasizes that through cultivation focused on stillness and emptiness, one can break free from the entanglement of desires and return to the natural state of unity with the Dao (the Way). Here, "returning to destiny" signifies reconnecting with the source of life to attain genuine longevity.

All things return to their source to find peace and stillness. When humans maintain this stillness, they attain a state of profound emptiness. Just as the life of a tree originates from its roots and returns to them to renew its vitality, human life stems from the mysterious origin (the Dao). By preserving stillness and reaching profound emptiness, one can be said to have returned to the fundamental nature of life.

Returning to the origin of life is called "chang" (the eternal principle), and understanding this principle is called "ming" (illumination). Acting recklessly without comprehending this principle invites misfortune. Those who can maintain softness, stillness, and profound virtue to the utmost emptiness—returning to the origin of life—may be said to have grasped the eternal principle. To know and uphold this principle is wisdom; to defy it and act arbitrarily is "wuchang" (lawlessness), and such unvirtuous conduct ultimately brings calamity. As the Yijing's "Heng" (恒, Perseverance) hexagram states: "Failing to sustain virtue invites disgrace."

Understanding the eternal principle enables one to embrace all things. Reaching the state of "ming" allows one to perceive all things clearly, respond appropriately to all situations, and encompass everything without exception. Hence it is said, "Understanding the eternal principle enables one to embrace."

Embracing all things leads to impartiality. Impartiality allows one to become a true ruler, revered by all under heaven. Only heaven is truly great, and a ruler who emulates heaven's virtue—covering all things without partiality—is said to "follow heaven." When a ruler's virtue matches heaven's, governance becomes effortless (wuwei), and the Dao's teachings naturally prevail. Thus, it is said, "Following heaven is aligning with the Dao."

By preserving stillness to reach profound emptiness and returning to the origin to restore life's true nature, one attains the virtue of a true ruler. A ruler whose virtue aligns with heaven can propagate the Dao, and where the Dao prevails, blessings endure. The people will cherish such a ruler like the sun, gaze upon them like the vast sky, receive their grace like nourishing rain, and await their presence like the spring breeze. In this way, they will live out their days free from danger and calamity.

Chapter 17 (The first half of this chapter discusses the pristine simplicity of ancient times, while the latter describes the decline into superficial customs, illustrating the gradual departure from the Dao and analyzing the roots of such decay. The previous chapter emphasized that preserving stillness leads to emptiness; this chapter shows how wuwei can restore simplicity. Only after simplicity was lost did people begin to emphasize distinctions like closeness and praise. Governing through wuwei allows a return to natural harmony. A ruler who wishes to transform the people through the Dao should devote themselves to this wordless teaching.)

The highest rulers of antiquity were those whose presence the people barely noticed. "Taishang" (the Most High) is an honorific for the sovereigns of that age of pristine simplicity. Such rulers governed through wuwei and taught without words.

This passage contains Emperor Xuanzong of Tang's commentary on the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue), focusing on how different governing approaches elicit varied societal responses:

The most ideal ruler (the Supreme Sovereign) governs in such a way that the people merely sense his presence, just as one knows the sky exists above yet feels no trace of deliberate action. During the eras of the Yellow Emperor and the sage-kings Yao and Shun, governance began employing benevolent policies to educate the people, who then grew close to their rulers and praised them. However, as Zhuangzi pointed out, excessive veneration of such models could ironically become the source of disorder for later generations.

By the time of the Three Dynastic Kings and Five Hegemonic Lords, rulers employed harsh laws and severe punishments to control the populace. The people obeyed out of fear, yet secretly harbored contempt and resistance. This occurred because the ruler's sincerity was insufficient, causing the people to lose trust.

When a ruler governs through virtuous education, the people cherish his words and spontaneously praise him. The most perfect state of governance is achieved when accomplishments are realized, yet the people feel everything has unfolded naturally, unaware of any need for gratitude.

The commentary concludes by noting: Only when the great Dao (the Way) has been neglected do people begin promoting benevolence and righteousness. This is like wearing a wig only after going bald, or seeking medicine only after falling ill—such remedial measures precisely indicate the loss of the fundamental Way. Through contrasting these governing effects, the passage illustrates that the highest form of rule allows people to dwell in peace and prosperity without even noticing it.

This passage explains how when the Great Dao (the supreme principle of natural non-action) is abandoned, social customs become superficial. People compete for fame and profit, the peaceful and harmonious atmosphere disappears, and the teachings of serene non-action (Wuwei) cease to exist. Once the Dao is forsaken, artificial moral standards like "benevolence" and "righteousness" emerge. As Zhuangzi observed, the Great Dao becomes obscured by minor achievements—these being the moral norms of benevolence and righteousness that form their own systems but cannot comprehend the Dao, hence they are called minor achievements.

When people begin employing cleverness, greater hypocrisy arises. Later generations used such cleverness to establish laws restricting the people, creating institutions to punish wrongdoing. Fearing dishonesty, they crafted seals as proof; worrying about unfair trade, they invented measuring devices. Yet the unvirtuous dared to counterfeit even these seals and measures—these cleverly devised regulations only fostered greater deceit.

So-called "six familial bonds" (father-son, brothers, husband-wife) only emphasize filial piety and kindness when they become discordant. In an ideal society of great harmony, people harbor no selfishness. Only when hierarchy breaks down and grievances arise do we see individuals praised as "filial sons" for cooling pillows in summer or warming beds in winter, or called "kind" for caring for family. These people preen over such reputations, unaware that in the Dao's flourishing era, the world was like one family where harmonious relations were natural. When everyone regards others as themselves—not just favoring their own kin—then all under heaven can be filial; when all treat others' children as their own, then everyone can be kind. What use are labels of filial piety then?

Loyal ministers only appear when the nation descends into chaos. Loyalty is a minister's inherent duty—the reason we specially note "loyal ministers" is because rulers lost the means to govern properly, allowing sycophants near the throne, plunging the state into disorder. Only then do figures emerge who risk their lives to uphold the realm, earning the name "loyal." Had the Dao prevailed, with rulers governing through non-action, courts filled with worthies, and society orderly, such labels of loyalty and filial piety would vanish as pure simplicity arose. Why would we need to specially commend loyal ministers or filial sons? These four phenomena (emergence of cleverness, familial discord, national chaos, and valorizing loyalty/filial piety) all indicate society's extreme degeneration—how could we not return to pristine naturalness?

(From Emperor Xuanzong of Tang's personal commentary on the second chapter of the Daode Jing, this passage illustrates how artificial moral standards and clever methods create more problems when society deviates from the natural Dao, advocating a return to simplicity.)