《宋徽宗道德真經解義》

Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty begins his commentary on the Dao De Jing by elucidating the essence of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power). The Dao is the fundamental principle all beings follow, while De represents the innate truth realized within one's heart. The Dao transcends time and never decays, whereas De remains perfectly preserved within human nature. Laozi (Lord Lao) lived during the decline of the Zhou dynasty when social morality was collapsing, hence he composed these eighty-one chapters (the ultimate yang number of nine multiplied by itself) to illuminate the true meaning of Dao and De.

The Dao existed before the cosmos emerged, at a time when not even the concept of "non-being" existed—we reluctantly name it "Dao." When primordial chaos first divided but before all things took form, this generative force nurturing existence was called "De." The Dao itself cannot be defined by language; what we call "Dao" actually refers to the universal patterns all beings follow. Similarly, De isn't attained through forced pursuit but arises naturally through inner realization.

Formless and eternal, the Dao dwells in emptiness, transcending distinctions between "being" and "non-being." It is both the substance of all things and the principle of their operation. The vastest heavens and smallest hair's breadth equally embody the Dao—every being from birth to death follows its patterns. De describes the state where humans maintain their original heart-mind undisturbed by external influences, serene as a deep pool, unshaken by worldly changes, preserving innate nature complete beyond gains or losses.

During the Zhou dynasty's decline, people obsessed over superficial displays and petty cleverness, reducing benevolence and righteousness to hypocritical performances that severed them from pristine simplicity. Enslaved by reputation and material concerns, manipulated by likes and dislikes, they imposed artificial standards that violated natural law. Therefore, Laozi wrote the Dao De Jing to guide people back to fundamental truth. Through exploring the relationship between "being" and "non-being," he reveals cosmic origins; through observing constancy within change, he unveils subtle profundity; through returning to innate nature, one comprehends the Great Dao; through harmonious interaction, one cultivates virtuous power.

This passage elucidates the essence and characteristics of the Dao (the Way), along with methods for comprehending it.

Initially, it explains that maintaining internal Qi (vital energy) through "guarding the Qi" (守气) allows one to return to the Dao's original state of namelessness (无名), while cultivating De (Virtue/Power) enables a return to pristine simplicity (归朴). These principles illustrate the Dao's eternal and unchanging nature. The Dao possesses fixed, immutable patterns (常), hence it is called a "Jing" (经, scripture/classic); yet it also intertwines and transforms, thus termed "change." Authentic scriptures possess an unchanging essence that endures through time.

Words convey speech, and speech points to meaning. Only language that carries the Dao can be both concise and apt; only ideas imbued with the Dao's principles can be profound yet clear. The Dao itself cannot be fully expressed through words or completely explained through concepts. Clinging to superficial language prevents true understanding of the Dao, yet abandoning language entirely leaves no means to describe it. Only those who merge with the Dao can perceive it beyond words and meanings, uniting with the cosmic origin (元一) and returning to eternal truth (真常). Thus, one must silently contemplate (默识) and deeply cultivate (深造).

The Dao cannot be approached through deliberate pursuit, nor attained through mere absence of intention. Silent contemplation and profound practice constitute the state of mystical unity (玄同) with the Dao.

The passage then interprets the opening line of the Daode Jing: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao." Emperor Huizong of Song annotated: The Dao is without beginning or end, indescribable in words—what can be spoken is not the true Dao. The speakable Dao and nameable names resemble concrete objects or seasonal changes, flourishing and fading with time, never eternally constant. The true eternal Dao and eternal name are self-originating and rootless, without beginning or end, existing before heaven and earth. Fuxi, upon realizing the Dao, could harmonize primordial Qi (袭气母); the Queen Mother of the West, upon comprehending it, could reside peacefully in the immortal realm of Shaoguang. The Dao's origins and ends remain unknowable.

A supplementary explanation states: The Dao is supremely empty, containing all things yet leaving no trace, thus having no fixed form; it is supremely still, facing the movement of all things yet remaining undisturbed, thus having no fixed orientation. The Dao cannot be spoken—words and sounds are but its dregs; it cannot be named—physical objects are merely tools (筌蹄) for capturing it. The speakable Dao and nameable names belong to concrete things, changing ceaselessly like the seasons. Following principles and adapting to transformations, each finding its place—these are not true eternity. The eternal essence (妙本) neither perishes before heaven and earth nor exhausts after them. It can only be silently realized (玄冥自契)—how could words possibly express it? Fuxi comprehended the Dao and harmonized primordial Qi—this suggests he had already understood...

All things return to and guard their origin (the Mother) — this is the fundamental method for realizing the great Dao. Is this the eternal "constant Dao"? The Queen Mother of the West (Xiwangmu, foremost female immortal of Daoism) comprehended this principle. Sitting in stillness on Mount Shaoguang (a legendary immortal mountain), she may be said to have grasped the origin, thereby understanding the patterns of all things. Is this the "constant name" that aligns with the functioning of the Dao?

The eternal Dao and the eternal name both have their own inherent roots, existing perpetually even before the formation of heaven and earth. How, then, can they be discussed in terms of relative concepts like old and new, beginning and end? Thus, it is said that their end cannot be known.

The nameless state is the beginning of heaven and earth; the named state is the root of all things. Emperor Huizong of the Song dynasty commented: The Dao itself is eternally nameless. Heaven and earth depend on it to come into being, just as Zhuangzi said, "That which gives birth to heaven and earth." Before heaven and earth took form, who could have named it? Thus, the nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth. Only after heaven and earth existed could all things be produced, so the named is the mother of all things.

Minister Cao Yi explained: The universe was originally in a state of "non-being" (wu), where even the concept of "non-being" did not yet exist. Thus, the nameless is the origin of primordial qi (vital energy). Heaven and earth rely on this "non-being" to arise, so the nameless creates heaven and earth. From "One" (yi) names begin; "One" gives birth to "Two," "Two" gives birth to "Three," and "Three" gives birth to the myriad things. Thus, the named is the principle by which all things are generated. All things rely on this "being" (you) to take form, so the named nurtures all things. From the perspective of primordial qi, it is called the "beginning"; from the perspective of ceaseless generation, it is called the "mother."

Maintaining a state of desirelessness allows one to observe the mysteries of the Dao, while maintaining a state of desire allows one to observe its manifestations. Emperor Huizong quoted Zhuangzi: The Dao, established in eternal non-being, does not cling to any particular thing—this is called "constant non-being" (chang wu). It does not discard any particular thing—this is called "constant being" (chang you). "Constant non-being" manifests in theory as the subtlest profundity, enabling one to observe its mysteries. "Constant being" manifests in practice as the richest transformations, enabling one to observe its operations. These two states—being and non-being—encompass the subtleties and workings of the Dao. Those with great wisdom can contemplate both simultaneously and thus avoid limitations in understanding.

Within the indistinct and chaotic, there are both form and substance. Those with lesser wisdom, preoccupied with selfish gain, are blinded by partial understanding. They either cling to "being" and deny "emptiness," or chase after branches while forgetting the root. As a result, the great truth of the Dao becomes fragmented and misunderstood in the world.

Cao Yi further explained: To realize "non-being" within "being" is called "constant non-being." This is not absolute nothingness but seeing emptiness within existence, where each particular thing embodies emptiness. Thus, "not establishing a single thing" is the true "constant non-being." To manifest "being" within "non-being" is called "constant being." This is not the existence of particular things but seeing existence within emptiness, where each emptiness contains all things. Thus, "not discarding a single thing" is the true "constant being." "Constant non-being" embodies the unified state of all things returning to their origin.

The true essence of the Dao resides in the most subtle phenomena of existence, transcending distinctions of right and wrong while encompassing all time. The Dao maintains the state of "non-being" (Wu) without sinking into mere nothingness, thus perceiving the mysteries of all things; it manifests as "being" (You) without clinging to concrete forms, thereby observing the boundaries of existence. Within these realms of being and non-being, though we may discern boundaries and profundities, can the profound mystery of the Dao ever be fully grasped through such dualistic concepts alone?

These two (being and non-being) actually share the same origin, differing only in name—both may be called "Xuan" (the profound mystery). Emperor Huizong of Song explained: The Dao itself has no form—how could it have distinctions of boundaries and mysteries? All things and I share the same source; right and wrong arise from the same primal Qi. The common mistake people make is abandoning illusion to pursue reality, thereby distancing themselves further from truth, unaware that "being" and "non-being" are merely different names.

The essence of the Dao takes eternal "non-being" as its substance and wondrous "being" as its function. So deep and formless—who can truly discern its boundaries and mysteries? When humans and all things return to the source of creation, distinctions of right and wrong dissolve into the formless Qi. Transcending the limitations of form and intellect, the division between being and non-being disappears—this is true "Xuan." Within non-being lies being; within being dwells non-being—this reveals their shared origin.

The character "Xuan" originally meant dark crimson, just as concepts like the northern direction embody unity of opposites. Only by penetrating the boundaries of being and non-being and returning to their unified source can one truly discuss the Dao. "Xuan zhi you Xuan" (the mystery beyond mystery) is precisely the gateway to all wonders. As the Huangdi Neijing states "Xuan gives birth to Shen (spirit)" and the Yijing speaks of "the divine mystery creating all things," deepening "wonder" leads to "Xuan." Xuan is the fundamental hue of heaven and earth—though manifested colors are visible, their source remains hidden. "Xuan beyond Xuan" refers to this origin of all creation.

This mysterious principle permeates all existence: heaven's movement, earth's support, human spirituality, and the flourishing of myriad beings—all are marvelous functions of the Dao, all stem from Xuan. Thus it is called "the gateway to all wonders." Confucius only reached the "Shuo Gua Zhuan" in the Yijing before discussing "wonder," while Laozi addresses this truth in the opening of the Daode Jing—revealing how the words of sages interpenetrate.

The profound mysteries of heaven, earth, and all things originate from the "Xuan" (the unfathomable primordial source). The North symbolizes the primordial "One," while the South represents the opposing "Two." Divine transformations emerge from this profound mystery, and the mystery itself manifests through these divine workings. The mutual generation of being and non-being, merging into seamless unity, constitutes the realm of "Xuan." This state of profound mystery within mystery is the ultimate truth.

Divine radiance emerges from here, and spiritual clarity is revealed through it. It nurtures all things without leaving a trace. Thus, the workings of heaven and earth are inscrutable, and the sage follows nature without forcing action. The flourishing vitality of humanity and all beings stems from this mysterious source, which is why it is called the "Gate of All Wonders."

Confucius used the hexagrams and numbers of the Yijing (Book of Changes) to reveal the divine workings, and only in the Shuogua Zhuan (Treatise on the Trigrams) were their deeper mysteries unveiled. Laozi, however, elucidated the principle of Xuan through the mutual generation of being and non-being, articulating its essence in the very first chapter of the Daodejing. Divine radiance arises from the profound mystery, and this mystery is the source of all wondrous functions—this is the fundamental order of the cosmos.

Regarding the dialectical relationship between beauty and ugliness, good and evil: When all people in the world fixate on a standard of "beauty," the concept of ugliness arises. When everyone defines a certain behavior as "good," the standard for what is "not good" also emerges. The Dao itself has no distinctions—how could there be beauty or ugliness? Original nature is pure and undivided—what room is there for good and evil? It is precisely because the concept of beauty is established that ugliness follows, and because good is defined, its opposite appears.

What the world considers miraculous may decay, and what seems decayed may transform into the miraculous—how can beauty and ugliness truly be distinguished? What was affirmed in the past may be denied today, and what is discarded now may be valued in the future—how can good and evil be definitively judged? The sage, having realized the true Dao, abides in emptiness amid wondrous function, transcending the distinctions of beauty and ugliness, good and evil, and thus remains unbound by these dualistic concepts.

The Dao itself is formless and without attributes—it is only due to human fixation on distinctions that differences like beauty and ugliness arise. Original nature is mysteriously unified—it is only when duality is imposed that divisions like good and evil appear. The people of high antiquity returned to the source of the Dao, resting in their natural disposition, each fulfilling their place without striving. Later, as primordial simplicity dissipated, people turned away from the great Dao to chase external things, making judgments based on personal bias and choices driven by preferences. No longer trusting in the Mandate of Heaven, they indulged their desires, thus giving rise to the endless cycles of contention between beauty and ugliness, good and evil.

All phenomena in the world that appear miraculous or decaying, beautiful or ugly, fundamentally stem from people's subjective judgments. Opposing concepts like beauty and ugliness, right and wrong, good and evil are merely shifting standards that change with circumstances. When people become attached to their personal viewpoints, they fall into endless cycles of debate.

Those who have attained the Dao (sages) transcend such dualistic distinctions. They dissolve the boundaries between self and object, reaching the state of "mysterious unity" (xuantong). Like the divine diviner Ji Xian in the Zhuangzi who couldn't comprehend Master Hu's realm, true wisdom resembles the lost Mysterious Pearl (a metaphor for the Dao's ultimate truth) - it cannot be pursued through ordinary cognition.

All opposing concepts are interdependent: being and non-being give rise to each other, difficulty and ease complete each other, long and short manifest through contrast, high and low define each other, notes and sounds harmonize together, front and back follow one another. As Emperor Huizong of Song noted in his commentary: Before the universe differentiated (in the stage of Grand Simplicity), all things were unified; only after the division of yin-yang (the Two Modes) did various oppositions emerge. These polarities resemble measuring length with rulers, revealing height through mountains and valleys, echoes responding to sounds, or shadows following forms - all manifestations of natural principles.

The rotation of yin-yang, the succession of seasons, the birth and death of all beings - what appears difficult is actually perfectly natural. Just as heaven is naturally high and earth naturally low, striking the gong note produces gong sound while striking the jue note produces jue sound, summer naturally follows spring, and elders precede the young. Although these opposing phenomena all manifest the Dao's patterns, becoming attached to the oppositions themselves only takes one further from the true Dao.

The fundamental principle is this: Qi is the Dao's operational manifestation, while all things are Qi's transformational results. Though Qi is formless and invisible (dissolving into nothingness), it permeates everything; when Qi condenses and manifests, it forms the visible images of our world.

This passage elucidates the role of Dao (the cosmic origin) in the process of creation. The Dao existed even in the primordial state of "Taiyi" (the undifferentiated initial state of the cosmos), from which even the Heavenly Emperor emerged. Through Qi (the fundamental energy constituting all things), the Dao endows all phenomena with form. When Qi differentiates from its original chaotic state, it gives rise to the two energies of Yin and Yang; when form separates from its primordial condition, Heaven and Earth take shape.

The ultimate transformations of Qi and the shifts in form give rise to the stillness of mountains, the flow of rivers and seas, the manifestation of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), and the naming of all things. These phenomena all follow the laws of the Dao—whether in form, sound, or numerical change, all tangible things cycle through birth and death. Yet worldly people cling to these appearances, mistaking illusion for reality, harming one another in conflict, exhausting themselves without finding rest, and ultimately becoming trapped in endless rebirth.

All nameable things in the world exist in complementary pairs: being and non-being, difficulty and ease, long and short, high and low, the harmony of sounds, and the sequence of front and back—all are inevitable patterns. The mutual dependence of beauty and ugliness, good and bad, follows the same principle. Though these six pairs of opposites all reflect the presence of the Dao, becoming obsessed with them leads one further from its true essence.

Thus, the sage (one who has attained the Dao) adopts Wuwei (non-interference) in handling affairs and practices "wordless teaching." As the Zhuangzi states, "Govern the world through non-action," and the Yijing speaks of "using the wondrous Dao to instruct and inspire universal trust." Deliberate action brings success and failure, gain and loss; using words inevitably leads to right and wrong, both of which become burdens. Only the sage transcends worldly entanglements, nurturing all things without being burdened by them.

When situations arise, the sage responds in accordance with them; when discernment is needed, appropriate expression is used. But once one falls into deliberate action and excessive speech, they inevitably become ensnared by external things. The sage’s ability to surpass all things lies precisely in maintaining the state of Wuwei and wordless teaching in both action and instruction.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "governing through wuwei (non-action)." Laozi believed that sages (those who have attained the Dao) should respond to the transformations of all things as naturally as a mirror reflects images or a valley echoes sounds.

First, it describes how sages can return to their original, authentic state, transcending dualistic distinctions like right/wrong or beauty/ugliness. By not deliberately judging good and evil, they remain undisturbed by the six pairs of opposing concepts (such as beauty/ugliness, good/evil). True wisdom lies in letting all things grow naturally without interference—creating without possessing, achieving without claiming credit. This is the realm of "accomplishing everything through non-action."

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary uses the mirror analogy: all things appear before it as they are, with beauty and ugliness naturally revealed. Like a valley's echo, it responds truthfully to all sounds without rejection. All things form and transform spontaneously—who can truly possess them? Just as the four seasons fulfill their roles and withdraw, such is the Dao's natural rhythm. Understanding this, sages remain detached even when their achievements benefit the world. To cling to merit is to risk losing it.

The text emphasizes that sages act in harmony with circumstances, like winter cold and summer heat alternating naturally. When things flourish, sages simply reflect them like mirrors or echo them like valleys—neither forcing acceptance nor rejection, but wholly following nature's flow. This "great skill that appears clumsy" represents the highest form of operation.

The key insight is: not claiming merit preserves lasting influence; not possessing prevents loss. Herein lies the profundity of Daoist "governance through non-action"—by avoiding deliberate interference, superior results naturally emerge.

All things grow according to their inherent patterns, with life and death following a fixed cyclical order. Whether in motion or stillness, in speech or silence, all are governed by the mechanisms of Nature (Tianji); while human consciousness and mental faculties (spirit and mind) arise through the workings of vital energy (Qi mechanism).

Heaven endows all beings with distinct forms, evolving myriad different modes of existence. Their essences differ, their appearances vary, each developing to its natural limit and fulfilling its innate nature, yet none can comprehend the fundamental principle behind this. If one forcibly tries to possess these things, who can truly master life? Thus it is said: the Dao nurtures all things without claiming possession, appearing inactive yet accomplishing everything—though there is action, I do not rely on it; the work is completed by Heaven's way, though the achievement is great, I take no credit.

The moment "self" consciousness arises, possessiveness emerges. Without possessiveness, external things cannot affect you; with possessiveness, one becomes mired in impermanent transformations. Therefore it says: "Act without claiming, accomplish without dwelling on it." If one dwells on achievements and becomes arrogant, the world will not acknowledge it; by not claiming credit yet truly possessing, the world cannot turn away. Precisely because one does not dwell on merit, the achievement never fades.

Chapter Three discusses not exalting the worthy: by not elevating the worthy, people won't compete for fame; by not valuing rare goods, people won't turn to theft. Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Exalting the worthy leads to excessive cleverness, throwing the world into turmoil as Confucians and Mohists rise up; valuing treasures stimulates greed until people break through walls in broad daylight. Not exalting the worthy allows people to abide in their original state without mutual comparison, thus avoiding contention; not valuing rare goods lets people rest content in their nature without improper desires, thus preventing theft.

Zhuangzi said: Eliminate the conduct of worthies like Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu, seal the mouths of Yang Zhu and Mo Di, and the virtue of all under heaven will return to natural unity. The "Lu Ao" records: Not valuing exotic treasures but cherishing practical goods makes the people naturally prosperous.

Minister Cui Gongyi explains: When sages govern the world, they eliminate harmful intentions in people while cultivating independent will. When original nature is upright, it won't become indulgent; when emotions are restrained, they won't overflow. Abiding in one's nature allows walking with the Dao; restraining emotions permits resonating with Heaven—ultimately dwelling joyfully in spontaneous realms, happily enjoying wuwei (non-action).

After the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou), the power of De (virtue) could no longer restrain desires, nor could tranquil minds control restlessness. People calculated gains and losses amid honor and disgrace, chasing superficial glamour in form and appearance. Thus gentlemen became constrained by doctrines, clinging to possessions and flaunting worthy conduct for fame; petty men turned from the Great Dao, acting perversely while trafficking in valuables to satisfy selfish desires.

When people pride themselves on their virtue and look down upon those less capable, while I harbor resentment toward those superior to me—this is the root of contention. When others flaunt their wealth to overshadow me, and I envy what they possess—this is the origin of theft. Thus, the pursuit of fame marks the beginning of strife, and the craving for profit is the source of theft. Those obsessed with reputation lose themselves in external pursuits, while those fixated on gain forsake their fundamental nature.

If we do not exalt the worthy, the people will not vie for superiority. If we do not prize rare treasures, the people will not be consumed by greed. Without the urge to compete, where would contention arise? Without covetous desires, what would prompt theft? If we eliminate the contrived virtue of figures like Zeng Shen and Shi Qiu, and silence the contentious debates of Yang Zhu and Mozi, then words and deeds will no longer be forced, distinctions of right and wrong will naturally dissolve, and human nature can return to its original purity.

Not exalting the worthy ensures the people will not contend. Not valuing rare treasures keeps the people from losing their equanimity. Not disparaging everyday necessities prevents the people from abandoning their roots. Thus, the people remain content, and contentment precludes theft. Therefore, it is said: Do not prize what is hard to obtain, and the people will not steal.

Do not display objects that stir desire, and the mind will not be disturbed. Once human desires run unchecked, people will risk their lives to seize what they crave, resorting even to robbery and deceit. Bo Yi starved on Shouyang Mountain in pursuit of fame, while Robber Zhi plundered the eastern hills out of greed. Their hearts burned as if scorched by fire, then froze as if encased in ice—tumultuous and ungovernable.

The sage, however, is different: They neither chase profit nor flee from harm. They neither rejoice in longevity nor grieve over a short life. They take no pride in prominence nor shame in poverty. What, then, could stir their desires? With no nascent cravings, their minds remain clear and tranquil, responsive to the world yet unattached, acting without blind pursuit. How could such a state be disturbed? Confucius, by forty, was no longer misled by external things, and Mencius claimed the same unshaken mind at that age.

The truly enlightened maintain an unwavering inner stillness, returning to the purest essence, their spirit gathered in the Great Void (the cosmic origin), their Qi balanced and harmonious. Observing all things under heaven, they find nothing capable of unsettling their serenity. The ignorant, by contrast, are ensnared by the five sensory desires, swayed by personal likes and dislikes, their six cravings clashing as they lose authenticity in choices. Their eyes wander, their minds race, and daily encounters with the world become inner battles—inevitably leading to chaos.

When the natural order of Heaven (Dao) is lost, extreme opposites emerge—the virtuous recluse Bo Yi starves to death while the notorious robber Zhi meets a violent end. Such extremes arise because people's vision is clouded by fame, profit, and desire. Just as moths see only the light when darting into flames, or one feels only the cold when trapped in an icehouse, people become mentally confused by gains and losses, utterly enslaved by their cravings.

Confucius remained free from delusion, and Mencius stood unshaken in his resolve precisely because they understood these external things were not worth coveting. The sage's method of governing the world is this: purify the people's hearts, ensure their basic needs are met, weaken their competitive impulses, strengthen their bodies and bones, and maintain their simple, desire-free state.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: An empty valley produces echoes because of its hollowness; a mirror reflects because of its clarity; a musical instrument sounds because of its cavity. Ears hear clearly when tranquil, eyes see sharply when unobstructed, and the nose detects scents when unblocked. If these organs are clogged, their functions deteriorate. When sages govern the world—like Emperor Yao employing both Shun and Gun—they maintain impartiality free from selfishness. Only an empty mind can judge fairly, without bias or preference; only with material sufficiency can one live peacefully, free from greed.

Here, "ambition" (志) refers to the heart's inclinations, while "bones" (骨) represent the body's foundation. Excessive ambition leads either to being trapped by empty fame, insatiable greed, self-praise for achievements, or boastful displays of talent—all of which distance one further from the Dao. A weakened physique makes one drift with the current, compete with external things, and ultimately sink beyond recovery. Sages always humble themselves yet are naturally elevated by others; they willingly take the rear yet are inevitably pushed forward. They understand strength but abide in gentleness, recognize glory but dwell in humility—this is the true meaning of "weakening ambition" (弱其志).

Figures like Guangchengzi (a legendary immortal), who cultivated themselves to live 1,200 years with undiminished vitality, exemplify the ideal of "strengthening the bones" (强其骨). Zhuangzi said: Harmony with the natural state of unknowing and desirelessness preserves one's innate purity. The sage's governance aims to return people to this natural disposition. If the people are made too clever or filled with excessive desires, what appears as order will in fact create greater chaos. Thus, the people must be allowed to remain in their simple, spontaneous nature.

This passage explores the dialectical relationship between "emptiness" (虚) and "substantiality" (实) in Daoist cultivation. The Dao (the cosmic origin) resides concealed within emptiness, for the void is the dwelling place of the Way; while concrete phenomena accumulate within the realm of substance. When humans cling to material forms, their physical bodies become enslaved by external objects; when the mind is driven by bodily concerns, selfish desires overpower one's true nature.

When a person's inner being is consumed by cravings and their outer self is pulled by material attachments, the balance of Yin-Yang is disrupted, and the natural harmony of Qi is lost. Consider how the mind, originally a vessel of luminous emptiness, becomes obstructed when cluttered—just as a blocked valley cannot echo, a clouded mirror cannot reflect, or a stuffed instrument cannot resonate. The human heart-mind operates similarly: it governs the five senses and gathers all virtuous potentials, requiring emptiness to naturally respond to external phenomena.

Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) attained this state—he maintained focused unity, his mind empty and luminous, entering a non-discriminatory awareness that completely followed innate nature without clinging to preferences. Like Emperor Yao employing both Shun and Gun without personal bias, he simply responded with the emptiness of mind.

The abdomen (metaphor for inner being) embodies the principle of containing without selecting, receiving without overflowing. The cyclical movement of Qi and transformation of phenomena all return here, revolving endlessly without exhaustion. When one perpetually feels insufficient, endless grasping leads to inevitable entrapment. Therefore, inner fulfillment brings self-sufficiency without external dependencies—craving naturally ceases, and the blessings of peace spontaneously arise.

As for ambition: when excessively intense, it drives relentless striving that exhausts the Shen (spirit), chasing fame and flaunting talents in ceaseless agitation. Thus ambition should be softened—returning from activity to stillness, transitioning from substance to emptiness, maintaining humility while abiding in one's fundamental nature. Like the feminine (Yin) principle returning to Wuwei (non-action), it willingly occupies the lower position.

This scripture passage discusses how practitioners of the Dao should maintain a state of gentle humility and return to primordial simplicity, while also explaining the sage's way of governing the world.

First, it describes how adepts should cultivate inner strength like bones. With weak resolve, one drifts with the current, led by external things and losing oneself. Though bones appear soft, they actually support the entire body—similarly, practitioners must develop this kind of inner resilience. Maintaining this firmness prevents mistakes in action and enables continuous progress along the Dao.

When sages govern, their minds remain empty and undisturbed by external things. Their bellies are satisfied without greed, their wills gentle without chasing material objects, and their bones strong against temptation. This allows people to preserve their natural simplicity, unburdened by fame or profit, living freely. Pursuing knowledge lets external things control the mind; excessive desires distort one's nature. Therefore, we must return to the natural state of no-knowledge and no-desire.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary adds: Under sage governance, the eloquent dare not show off their rhetoric, the brave dare not flaunt their strength, the talented dare not display their abilities, and the clever dare not scheme. The sage prohibits such harmful behaviors. Officials simply fulfill their duties by executing the ruler's decrees to govern the people.

In conclusion: Sages govern through wuwei (non-action) and teach through wordless instruction. Those above embrace the world with Dao, while those below transform their superiors through Dao. Returning people from excessive knowledge and desire to no-knowledge and no-desire achieves perfect governance, restoring the purity of antiquity. Even if clever individuals exist, their eloquence, courage, talent, and cunning find no outlet.

In his Exegesis of the Dao De Jing, Emperor Huizong of Song explains:

The sage governs the world not by abandoning human affairs or isolating all things, nor by coldly standing aloof. Their apparent Wuwei (non-action) is in fact the means to achieve "nothing left undone." All transformations follow their inherent patterns—the sage grasps the Dao and governs all things from a higher perspective. When phenomena arise, they observe their natural development; when beings grow, they assist their completion. How could governance fail under such conditions? Thus above, they ensure the orderly movement of sun, moon, and stars; below, they allow birds, beasts, and plants to flourish naturally.

Though dwelling among humanity as sovereigns, sages transcend mundane affairs. Their teachings and reforms aim to return people to their original simplicity. This seeming Wuwei is actually the most refined form of action—supporting all things to develop according to their innate nature, preserving their essence unharmed. This is the state of "governing without governing." The celestial order manifests in heavenly bodies moving harmoniously; earthly governance appears in flora and fauna thriving spontaneously. When both realms are properly ordered, people attain a state of no artificial knowledge or desire, and even the wise dare not act recklessly—this is the highest form of governance.

Regarding "the Dao is empty yet inexhaustible in application": though the Dao truly exists (with constancy and reliability) and functions effectively, it remains formless and never overflows. Like all things containing Yin-Yang energies balanced by harmonizing Qi (vital energy)—excessive Yang leads to extremity, deficient Yin creates insufficiency—only the moderating "harmonizing Qi" achieves perfect equilibrium. "Chong" (冲) represents the Middle Way, akin to balancing heights and depths or complementing strengths. The Dao's application always follows this equilibrium: like pouring water that never fills to overflowing, or drawing from a source that never runs dry. The more one gives, the more one gains. The Dao's essence embraces all things like boundless emptiness—how could it ever be full?

The Dao existed before heaven and earth took form (prior to the Great Origin), present even when Qi had not yet manifested.

Before the formation of the cosmos, when form and essence were yet undifferentiated, how could there be any "substance" to speak of? And if even "substance" did not exist, how could there be any "function"? Once the pivot of the Dao (the Way) begins turning, the mechanism of heaven and earth unfolds. Yin-Yang reveals its mysteries through the workings of Qi (vital energy) in the formless realm, while the myriad beings manifest their existence through form in the visible world. The birth and transformation of all things have their functions, yet people do not understand why they operate as they do—this precisely demonstrates the functioning of the Dao.

The Dao fills the entire cosmos yet has no fixed form, capable of responding to all changes; it nourishes the myriad beings yet is never confined by particular things—this is the Dao's characteristic of "never being full." Though the Dao appears to possess affection and constancy, it does not cling to mental constructs, for its functioning is driven by a deeper power. The Dao takes "no-mind" (absence of subjective intention) as its fundamental mind, while those manifestations of affection and constancy are merely the Dao's functional expressions. Thus, the Dao's operation is Wuwei (non-action) without form, never falling into concrete shapes.

The Dao takes subtle "being" as its essence, while visible forms are merely its vessels. The dispersion of Qi began at the cosmic origin, differentiating into the two energies of Yin and Yang. Qi serves as the vehicle for the Dao's movement, and the myriad beings are the results of Qi's transformations. Beings bound by fixed patterns cannot escape the mechanism of Yin-Yang, and those confined to form cannot transcend Yin-Yang's creative power. Yin-Yang perpetually carries the myriad beings, never separating from them. Leaning toward Yang energy leads to excess and rigidity, while leaning toward Yin energy results in deficiency and softness. Overusing hardness inevitably leads to breaking; overusing softness inevitably leads to peril.

"Neutral harmony" is the Dao's manifestation in Qi—this energy is balanced and harmonious. When Yin and Yang energies blend into harmonious equilibrium, the application of hardness and softness becomes perfectly measured, with transformations flowing without conflict. The two become seamlessly unified, achieving perfect harmony that never deviates from the Middle Way regardless of changes. Applying the principle of "neutral harmony" is like the vast void filling the six directions, enveloping heaven and earth, operating ceaselessly to respond to the infinite. It is supreme and boundless, unfathomably deep and immeasurable—how could such fullness have any limit?

Zhuangzi said: The waters where the giant salamander dwells form deep pools; still waters form deep pools; flowing waters also form deep pools. The characteristic of these depths is emptiness and stillness, unmingled with external things—this is the very substance of the Dao. Because it is empty, it can contain all reality; because it is still, it can govern all movement. The myriad beings are all sustained by this, and all transformations return to this source.

This passage elucidates the meaning of the Dao De Jing verse "blunt the sharpness, untangle the knots, soften the glare, merge with the dust" through interpretations by Emperor Huizong of Song and his minister Zhang Yi.

Emperor Huizong observes: Excessive sharpness easily harms others, while over-complication leads to chaos. Tempering one's sharp edges prevents contention with others, and resolving entanglements avoids confusion. "Softening the glare" resembles Zhuangzi's description of "radiance that doesn't dazzle," while "merging with the dust" parallels Zhuangzi's concept of "flowing harmoniously with all things." The sage dulls their锋芒 (sharp edges) to interact with all beings without harming or being harmed; they dissolve complications without resorting to scheming, remaining undisturbed by worldly affairs. This approach maintains harmony and connection with all existence.

Minister Zhang Yi elaborates: Sharpness represents an object's锋芒 (cutting edge), while complexity manifests as entangled affairs. Unchecked sharpness causes injury, and unresolved complexity breeds disorder. Injury provokes conflict, and disorder leads to chaos. Therefore, blunting sharpness preserves one's innate nature, while untangling knots allows calm observation. Deliberately displaying brilliance or emphasizing purity ironically reveals one's failure to transcend ego. True radiance is gentle and unobtrusive, harmonizing with all things; flowing with worldly dust means blending without standing out. Achieving this state erases emotional attachments and dissolves the distinction between self and other.

The concept of "太虚 (Taixu, Supreme Void)" mentioned here is a crucial Daoist notion referring to the primordial state of cosmic emptiness from which all things emerge. "玄同 (Xuantong, Mysterious Unity)" denotes the supreme state transcending all dualities. These ideas embody the Daoist wisdom of yielding, non-contention, and harmonious coexistence with all existence.

This passage describes the state attained when Daoist cultivation reaches profound levels. When the practitioner's mind becomes as tranquil as cooled ashes and the body as relaxed as withered tree branches, in this state of utmost stillness, the inner light of wisdom naturally manifests. What appears as dullness conceals vital energy; what seems formless contains divine wonder—this is the embodiment of the Dao (the Way).

(Chen Yi's commentary explains:) The profound Dao does not reveal itself lightly. It gathers De (Virtue/Power) without outward display, returning to the natural state of Wuwei (non-action), allowing the Shen (spirit) to wander freely. The mind is as silent as dead ashes, the body as loose as dry wood—the entire being merges with the cosmos, clear, serene, and focused. In this hazy state of seeming nothingness, one can still perceive the existence of all things. This realm resembles the sudden enlightenment experienced by Wenbo Xuezhi (an ancient Daoist sage)—appearing nonexistent yet truly present, without form yet brimming with divinity. It is the highest state of awakening, beyond verbal description. To study the Dao is to study this; to transmit the Dao is to transmit this.

(Regarding the interpretation of "I do not know whose child it is, appearing before the image and the divine"): "Image" refers to the initial manifestation of things, while "divine" refers to the spiritual resonance that interacts with all phenomena. Only after things come into being do they take form; only after the divine manifests can it mysteriously transform all things. Though image and divinity are the origins of all things, the Dao existed even before them. As Zhuangzi said, "It makes ghosts and gods divine; it gives birth to heaven and earth." The Dao cannot be seen, heard, or touched—its origin is unknowable. Hence, it is said, "I do not know whose child it is, appearing before the image and the divine."

(Chen Yi elaborates further:) The transition from formlessness to form relies on concrete things, so all phenomena arise from the Dao's transformations. Returning from form to formlessness means reverting to the Dao, making it the progenitor of all things. The Dao itself originates from emptiness—its own origin is unfathomable, hence "I do not know whose child it is." Concrete things belong to the world of form, all generated by the Dao, hence it exists "before the image and the divine." "Image" refers to the visible forms of things, marking the beginning of life; "divine" refers to the spiritual resonance that interacts with phenomena, initiating the interplay of all things. Though image and divinity are the origins of all things, they are rooted in the Dao. Thus, the Dao exists "before the image and the divine."