《宋徽宗道德真經解義》Vol. 10

In his commentary on Chapter 70 of the Daode Jing, Emperor Huizong of Song explains: The principles I speak of are actually easy to understand and simple to practice, yet people in the world often fail to comprehend or implement them. This is because the great Dao (the fundamental law of the universe) is inherently clear and visible—when expressed in words, it becomes readily understandable. Its core essence is straightforward, and following it presents no difficulty. As Mencius said, the great Dao is like a broad highway—how could it be hard to grasp? The problem lies in people's failure to reflect inwardly (examine themselves).

Zhang An further elaborates: The words of sages are meant to clarify principles and analyze affairs. Their teachings stem from the natural laws of life, aiming to dispel people's delusions. If one turns inward to observe their own mind, these principles are neither difficult to understand nor to practice. Yet people often abandon what is near at hand to seek what is distant, chasing trivialities while losing sight of the root. They constantly look outward, indulging in empty talk and trivial matters, and thus fail to grasp the essential meaning.

Regarding the phrase "Words have their source; affairs have their master" (speech has its guiding principle, action its foundation), Emperor Huizong points out: No matter how many words are spoken, they cannot exhaust the truth, yet the truth remains the root. No matter how busy one is with affairs, the Dao is the true master. As long as one follows the truth and acts in accordance with the Dao, nothing in the world is difficult. Zhang An adds: Speech should align with truth—once truth is understood, there is no need to cling to words. Action should follow the Dao—once the Dao is realized, one transcends mundane affairs.

On the passage "It is because they are ignorant that they do not know me", Emperor Huizong criticizes those who are only versed in bureaucratic documents—they appear knowledgeable but are actually ignorant, utterly failing to understand the great Dao. Zhang An remarks: How could those who do not even grasp the guiding principle of speech or the foundation of action possibly understand me? Those who truly understand me are those who comprehend the great Dao.

"Those who know me are few, and thus I am valued"—Emperor Huizong explains this by saying, "Those who stand alone are criticized by the crowd; profound insights startle the common people," illustrating why rarity confers value. Zhang An believes: Because my Dao is so vast, few understand it, and this very scarcity demonstrates its worth. Such value does not require worldly titles—the Dao itself holds supreme worth.

Finally, "Therefore the sage wears coarse cloth yet holds jade within"—Emperor Huizong explains that this means the sage harbors the Dao in their heart without flaunting it. Zhang An clarifies: Those who truly attain the Dao do not display it outwardly but keep its treasure deep within.

Chapter 71 discusses "knowing what is not known"—both Emperor Huizong and Zhang An emphasize: The highest wisdom lies in recognizing the limits of one's knowledge, while mistaking ignorance for knowledge is the true flaw. The sage is free from this flaw precisely because they clearly perceive the boundaries of their understanding. Recognizing these limits is itself the remedy—this is great wisdom.

This passage from Emperor Huizong of Song's Exegesis on the Dao De Jing primarily discusses the dialectical relationship between "knowing" and "not knowing," as well as the sage's attitude toward knowledge.

The phrase "To know you don't know is best" means that those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) paradoxically feel they know nothing—this represents the highest wisdom. The subtle profundities of the Dao are mysteriously unfathomable; attempting to grasp them through ordinary knowledge only reveals superficial understanding. Those who presume to know have already strayed from the true Dao.

Next, "Not knowing yet thinking you know is sickness" criticizes those who remain ignorant of the Dao's essence yet consider themselves knowledgeable about worldly trivialities. Such people become slaves to external things, perpetually mired in vexations—this constitutes true affliction. Only by recognizing one's ignorance can this malady be avoided.

The line "It is by being sick of sickness that one is not sick" means that those who recognize their afflictions won't truly suffer from them. Sages remain free of such problems precisely because they constantly feel they don't fully understand, maintaining an attitude of humility.

Chapter 72 discusses the consequences when people lose basic reverence for authority. When commoners cease to feel even minimal awe, greater calamities inevitably follow. Using examples from the Yijing (Book of Changes), it illustrates how minor transgressions accumulating beyond a certain threshold invite catastrophic retribution.

Finally, "Do not constrict where you dwell" refers to how human nature is originally boundless, yet most people confine themselves within narrow cognition. One should dwell in the world's most spacious abode (referring to an expansive mind), as Mencius advised, never becoming shackled by external things or artificial constraints.

This passage contrasts two approaches to life, revealing the core Daoist principle that "the soft and yielding overcome the hard and strong." To put it in modern terms:

Like a makeshift hut of thatch crammed into a corner, such cramped living conditions naturally feel constricting. When people excessively pursue material comforts ("disdaining what sustains them"), they actually shackle their innate nature. Human life is fundamentally an aggregation of primordial Qi (yuanqi), interconnected with all things. But when trapped by daytime desires ("the doings of daylight hours"), it's like being worn down by repeated friction from manacles, losing even the nighttime opportunity to restore one's vital energy. Those who maintain the harmony of yin and yang ("preserving the Great Harmony") achieve longevity precisely because they don't crave external things.

Life originates from the Dao and is fundamentally one with all existence. Yet when people are led astray by desires, with their shen (spirit) scattered outward and jing (essence) dissipated, their physical form deteriorates, making life difficult to preserve. Those truly skilled in nurturing life return to their simple original nature ("embracing simplicity and returning to the uncarved block"), preserving their spirit and merging with the Dao—this is the authentic way of "not despising what sustains them."

The reason sages transcend ordinary existence lies in their self-awareness without self-display ("not displaying themselves"), and their cherishing of life without self-importance ("not esteeming themselves"). Such people interact harmoniously with all things, neither harming others nor being harmed by them. Following nature's course without anxiety, how could they be troubled by threats or anger? In contrast, those who inflate their egos and remain insatiable are precisely walking the opposite path.

Chapter 73 uses the contrast between life and death to illustrate: reckless courage often invites fatal consequences ("daring to be bold leads to death"), while understanding the wisdom of yielding preserves life ("daring to be yielding leads to preservation"). What is rigid belongs to the category of death; what is soft belongs to the category of life. Someone like Zilu, who only understood boldness without knowing retreat (criticized by Confucius as "having nowhere to apply his talents"), ultimately failed to achieve greatness. Those who truly understand the Dao of humble withdrawal can actually stand before others. As Liezi said, all things under heaven follow their own natural patterns.

This passage discusses the core Daoist concept that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong." In military affairs, those who appear fierce and courageous often act with excessive cruelty, treating common people as worthless grass to be slaughtered at will. Conversely, those who seem timid and hesitant often harbor benevolence, cherishing the populace as carefully as one would tend to the wounded. These two approaches bring entirely different consequences—one breeds calamity, the other fosters benefit.

The Dao of Heaven (natural law) often defies human expectations—what people consider advantageous may be detested by the cosmos. For instance, while ruthless slaughter in warfare might appear strategically beneficial, the heavens cherish life and thus abhor such actions. Even sages find it difficult to fully comprehend the Dao of Heaven and must align themselves with natural patterns. Consider how the legendary Emperor Yu, when launching his campaign against the Sanmiao tribes, heeded the advice of his virtuous minister Yi.

The Dao of Heaven operates through three remarkable characteristics: It achieves victory without contention—just as all things grow and perish according to their natural course without forced intervention. It responds accurately without speech—like how thunder, rain, wind, and clouds naturally reveal fortune or misfortune, with karmic retribution being impeccably precise. It attracts allegiance without summons—as all beings inherently follow cosmic principles. This represents the supreme state of "prevailing effortlessly through non-contention."

All things in the world are complex and varied, yet the Dao of Heaven governs them with its inherent patterns—who could presumptuously summon it at will? The Dao operates ceaselessly, allowing Qi (vital energy) to flow naturally of its own accord.

Here, the phrase "summoning it to arrive" refers to the duty of subjects, while the Dao's governance over the fate of all beings is supreme. Who could casually command the natural movement of Qi? The flow of Qi is not something human effort can control.

The Dao of Heaven appears ordinary yet excels in strategy. Only by maintaining constant and simple Virtue (De) can one foresee dangers. Precisely because it is constant and simple, it seems ordinary; because it can anticipate risks, it excels in strategy.

The net of Heaven's law is vast and boundless—appearing loose, yet it leaves no good or evil unaccounted for. Human actions always leave gaps to exploit, but though Heaven's way seems sparse, it has no loopholes. Accumulated good and evil, blessings and misfortunes, each return to their kind—hence it is said "nothing is lost." Humans must struggle to prevail and speak to respond, while the Dao prevails without struggle and responds without words. Summoning the Dao is difficult because it manifests spontaneously, without waiting to be summoned. Only sages can realize this, neither chasing profit nor avoiding harm, often gaining benefit without injury, thus harmonizing with the Dao.

The Dao nurtures all things impartially, without distinguishing good from evil, vast and limitless—who could fathom its limits? Disasters, blessings, and omens descend according to their kind. Though timing may vary, retribution never fails—hence "nothing is lost."

Chapter 74 speaks of how the common people often do not fear death. If people have proper pursuits in life, they naturally cherish it; but if deprived of these, why would they fear death? Using instruments of punishment to intimidate, laws to execute, and penalties to kill—this is using death to terrorize the people. Yet they will still violate the laws and remain unteachable.

The people forget their innate self-preservation, losing the principle of safeguarding life. As social morals decay, they break prohibitions, unable even to protect their own kin, suffering unbearably—life becoming worse than death. This is why they do not fear death. When rulers fail to govern with the proper Dao, driving the people to such desperation, attempting to rule by threatening them with death becomes futile. If instead the people cherished life and feared the law, then executing the wrongdoers I apprehend—who would dare repeat their crimes? If all under heaven lived in peace, fearing to break the law, evildoers would stand out clearly.

This passage discusses the art of governance, with its core tenet being that rulers should adhere to the principle of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)." The text cites Xunzi's view that those who voice dissenting opinions or exhibit unconventional behavior should be prohibited and punished, as the crime of disrupting state governance is grave.

The author explains that when people understand the joys of life, they will fear death; this fear of death will deter them from breaking laws lightly. The state has officials specifically responsible for punishments (the "executioners"). If a ruler oversteps their authority by personally carrying out executions, it would be as improper as a non-carpenter trying to chop wood in place of a master craftsman. The ruler should maintain a state of non-action in governing the realm, while ministers should actively handle concrete affairs—this constitutes the eternal and unchanging way of governance. If these roles become reversed, it would violate the Dao of Heaven.

The text emphasizes that the ruler's governance through non-action represents the correct path, while ministers' active administration constitutes their proper duty. Only when rulers and subjects each fulfill their distinct roles can the state achieve great order. The state has established penal laws executed by designated officials. Should the ruler usurp these functions, punishments would lose their proper standards—just as someone unskilled in carpentry would injure their own hand while trying to chop wood. The ancient sage-kings valued governance through non-action precisely because it allowed those responsible for specific affairs to fulfill their true functions.

The passage later explains that people's hunger stems from rulers imposing excessive taxes, leading to abandoned farmlands and food shortages; the difficulty in governing people arises from overly complicated decrees that foster cunning and hypocrisy among the populace; and people's disregard for death results from excessive pursuit of lavish living. All these phenomena represent violations of the natural Dao.

In his commentary on the Daode Jing, Emperor Huizong of Song observed that those who excessively pursue luxurious lives will find their desires and greed increasingly amplified, ultimately leading to various acts of indulgence and wickedness. Minister Chen Yi further elaborated that unrestrained pursuit of pleasure leads to insatiable demands—a practice that harms life itself while failing to cultivate self-respect.

True wisdom lies in not treating life as a mere instrument for seeking pleasure. Zhuangzi once said that those who truly understand the essence of life do not forcibly pursue what is unnecessary for existence. By relinquishing worldly affairs and transcending attachments to life and death, the body remains unburdened and the spirit (Shen) undepleted. Preserving the wholeness of the body and the abundance of the spirit allows one to merge with nature—an approach far superior to the deliberate pursuit of longevity. Applying this principle to governance, rulers should reduce taxes, simplify punishments, and ensure the people are well-fed and clothed. Only then will society naturally stabilize, achieving the highest ideal of imperial rule.

Chen Yi further explained: Those who do not deliberately seek longevity follow the natural order (Dao), avoiding forced interference with life. Not clinging to life as private property paradoxically preserves its wholeness. While recognizing the preciousness of life is important, understanding the fundamental methods of preserving it is even more crucial.

Chapter 76 states: When alive, the human body is soft; after death, it becomes rigid. Similarly, plants are tender when growing but dry and stiff when withered. Thus, rigidity belongs to the category of death, while softness belongs to life. All things contain both Yin and Yang forces, and only when these two energies (Qi) are harmonized can life flourish continuously. When the destructive force of Yin prevails, the harmonious vitality of life is lost.

Using military force to assert dominance often leads to failure—just as, in battle, the side driven by righteous indignation tends to prevail. Trees that grow too tall are inevitably felled for use. Chen Yi explained that while saplings are cherished by all, once they become towering trees, they are cut down and utilized. What is rigid will always encounter something stronger to subdue it.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist principle of "the soft and weak overcoming the hard and strong." When Emperor Huizong of Song and his ministers discussed Chapter 77 of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue), they observed that the natural law operates like drawing a bow—seeking perfect balance: what is high is lowered, what is low is raised; what has excess is reduced, what is deficient is supplemented. The Dao of heaven invariably diminishes surplus to compensate insufficiency, as naturally as the waxing and waning of the moon.

Yet human society often follows the opposite pattern: people frequently exploit the weak to please the powerful. Only those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) will voluntarily share their surplus to assist those in need. The sage (one who has attained the Dao) performs good deeds without boasting and achieves merit without claiming credit—such is the wisdom of not flaunting one's virtue.

The "apparent timidity and humility" mentioned here does not denote true weakness, but rather the pliable wisdom of water-like adaptability in navigating life. The "drawn bow" metaphor represents the Middle Way philosophy of pursuing equilibrium. "The destitute" refers to those without support, while "the eminent" signifies the powerful. The entire passage emphasizes that aligning with nature's flow, maintaining humility, and balancing gain and loss constitute the true practice of heavenly Dao.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "the soft and weak overcoming the hard and strong," along with the principles by which sages govern the world.

Emperor Huizong of Song remarks in his commentary that truly wise individuals never take pride in their own accomplishments (free from self-promotion) nor grow complacent in their achievements (free from self-satisfaction). While others flaunt their cleverness, he appears dull; when others contend for dominance, he yields and accommodates. Precisely because he does not deliberately display his worthiness, he remains whole and in harmony with the Dao of Heaven.

Minister Chen Yi elaborates further: Sages who comprehend the great Dao govern the world by offering their surplus to benefit all, rather than relying on that surplus as a means of control. They act without claiming credit and achieve without dwelling on their merits—this is because they have no desire to boast or flaunt their worthiness. Here, "worthiness" refers to accomplishments. The sage uses his early-realized wisdom to enlighten those who follow, even implementing policies such as reducing taxes and sharing benefits with the people—all manifestations of "offering one’s surplus to the world." Because he does not flaunt his worthiness, the people feel no oppressive burden of rule—this is the realm where the sage shares virtue with Heaven.

Chapter 78 uses water as a metaphor: Nothing in the world is softer or weaker than water, yet nothing surpasses it in overcoming the hard and unyielding, because the nature of water cannot be altered. Emperor Huizong compares well water to human nature, stating that water’s nature comes closest to the Dao precisely because it cannot be changed. If it could be altered, it would conform to others and lose itself—how then could it overcome external things? Because it remains immutable, it preserves its essence through countless transformations, and nothing can conquer it.

Chen Yi explains: Water adapts its shape to the vessel that contains it, capable of taking countless forms. Though it appears the softest and weakest, it overcomes the hardest substances without fail—precisely because its nature is unchanging, its essence remains constant. This is why the soft and weak triumph.

All under Heaven know the principle that the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong, yet few can practice it. Emperor Huizong quotes Confucius, saying this is "understanding with wisdom but lacking the virtue to uphold it." Chen Yi adds that people observe how water wears away stone and recognize the benefits of softness, yet fail to embody it because of their selfish desires to compete and prevail.

Thus, the sage declares: Only those who can bear the humiliation of the state are fit to be its rulers; only those who can shoulder its misfortunes may become kings of the world. Emperor Huizong draws a parallel with natural phenomena: just as rivers tolerate turbidity and mountains conceal venomous creatures, so must a ruler endure disgrace.

The essence of the Dao (the Way) is emptiness. Precisely because of its void nature, it can embrace all things. It appears soft and weak, yet governs everything. Water most closely embodies the characteristics of the Dao, which is why sages emulate its virtue (De)—willing to dwell in lowly places, embracing impurity, accepting all without distinction between good and evil, large and small, clean or dirty, near or far. This seemingly paradoxical trait is, in fact, the fundamental principle for governing the world (what is right may sound like its opposite).

Chapter 79 discusses the principle of resolving deep-seated grievances: forcibly mediating major resentments inevitably leaves behind lingering bitterness—how can this be considered proper resolution? The ancient sages excelled at governance by allowing the people to self-regulate rather than employing coercive measures. When rulers impose harsh laws to suppress the desires of the people, they only provoke greater resentment. Using rituals, music, rewards, punishments, or decrees to forcibly reconcile conflicts will only deepen the accumulated grievances in the world.

Thus, the sage holds the left tally (the half of a contract symbolizing giving without demanding), following the natural order without forcing outcomes. Just as ancient contracts were divided into left and right halves, the holder of the left tally only gives without taking. The sage treats the people in the same way, complying with nature without harsh demands, so the people bear no resentment. True reconciliation does not rely on external coercion but dissolves naturally, like a "falling tile" (a tile blown down by the wind that strikes someone but is not held in hatred)—without leaving a trace of enmity.

This passage discusses governing a state in accordance with the natural Dao (the Way). When sages rule the world, they do not force things but allow all beings to develop naturally, simply responding according to their innate nature. Like managing affairs through mutual agreements, virtuous rulers (those who have attained the Dao) do not oppress the people but transform them through De (Virtue/Power).

Those without virtue act contrary to this. They delight in interfering with all things, and when they fail to find true fulfillment, they constantly seek to take from others. As Zhuangzi said, such people lost in material desires are actually deluded. The Dao of Heaven (natural law) treats everyone equally but shows special favor to those who practice goodness.

Next comes the description of an ideal society of "small states with sparse populations." With small territories and few people, affairs are easier to govern, and people's desires are easily satisfied. There's no need for cunning strategies or clever schemes, and folk customs remain naturally pure. The author considers the era of the twelve rulers from Rongchengshi to Shennongshi in high antiquity as this ideal age of governance.

In such a society, though people possess various tools and utensils, they have no need to use them excessively, as everyone remains content with their proper roles and lives self-sufficiently. People value life and are reluctant to travel far or migrate, because their lives are peaceful and happy, and even in death they receive proper burials. Confucius said, "When rulers lose the Dao, the people become scattered," referring precisely to situations where people are forced to leave their homelands.

(Note: "Rongchengshi" refers to a legendary tribal leader of high antiquity; "Shennongshi" is the Flame Emperor, legendary inventor of agriculture and medicine; "various utensils" refers to daily implements)

This passage describes Laozi's vision of an ideal society, with the core principle being "governing through non-action (Wuwei)."

People understand the preciousness of life, therefore they value both living and dying. Knowing contentment as their foundation, they don't lightly relocate. Though boats and carriages exist in society, people have no need to use them; though weapons and armor are present, they're never displayed for show. This is because everyone remains satisfied with their current state, free from competitive desires.

The ruler enables people to return to the simple era of knot-tying record keeping (symbolizing an uncomplicated society without complex writing). People find coarse grains sweet to eat and rough cloth beautiful to wear, content with their customs and happy in their occupations. Neighboring states may be within sight of each other, their roosters and dogs audible across borders, yet the people grow old and die without ever visiting one another.

Commentary explains: In this ideal society, people live and work in peace, with no need for distant travel by boat or carriage; without threats of war, weapons remain unused. The populace is satisfied with basic necessities, pursuing no luxuries. Each person finds their proper place, naturally eliminating the need for hollow social formalities.

The reference to "truthful words aren't elegant" illustrates how profound principles often sound plain when spoken, yet contain the timeless wisdom of sages. All this describes an ideal state of returning to primal simplicity and the quietude of non-action.

The true Dao (the Way) remains timeless through all ages precisely because it does not cater to worldly preferences with empty words. Those superficially eloquent phrases often prove unreliable, like gilded surfaces obscuring the essence. Those skilled in embodying the great Dao need no elaborate explanations, for truth itself is profoundly simple; while those who argue forcefully with clever words only stray further from the root.

Genuine knowers of the Dao do not pursue extensive knowledge, as the essence of the Dao lies in returning to simplicity. Those encyclopedic in learning may not truly understand the great Dao—just as Zhuangzi observed: erudition doesn’t guarantee true wisdom, nor does eloquence necessarily indicate insight. The sages (those who have attained the Dao) never hoard external possessions; they maintain a state of emptiness yet can fulfill the needs of all things under heaven. As Confucius remarked: the true Dao of sages flows ceaselessly yet never accumulates.

Here lies the wonder: the more one assists others, the more one finds inner fulfillment; the more one gives, the richer one becomes. This mirrors how the great Dao nourishes all beings without depletion—all things draw from it yet it never runs dry. Such is the way of sages: when others cannot accomplish, they bring completion; when others lack, they provide abundance.

Here we explore how the fundamental principles governing celestial movements and the conduct of sages all originate from the Dao (the cosmic source and natural order). The Dao of Heaven and Earth nurtures all beings without harming them, just as the sun (Qian) silently provides the energy for growth without boasting of its merit. All things naturally benefit without feeling coerced.

The way of sages lies in acting without contention. Their movements flow like water in accordance with nature, their responses reflect reality as clearly as a mirror, and their reactions occur as spontaneously as an echo. Though they engage in action, this action springs from a state of Wuwei (non-forced action), simply following the celestial way—how could there be any thought of contention? This virtue perfectly aligns with the Dao, which is why the Classic of Virtue (De Jing) concludes with this principle.

Sages maintain inner stillness to respond to worldly affairs, manifesting the great Dao through Wuwei. They allow the two Qi of Yin-Yang to circulate naturally, letting all things develop according to their inherent nature. When active, they yield like water without resistance; when still, they remain clear as a mirror without attachment. External phenomena elicit natural responses as inevitable as echoes. Such action arises from "non-being" (absence of deliberate intent)—because of Wuwei there is no ego-clinging, and without ego there is no opposition to external things. When even the distinction between "self" and "other" is forgotten, how could contention arise? This state of "acting without contention" embodies true realization of the Dao.

Laozi reveals the profound meaning of Dao and De, whose essence lies in taking gentleness and non-contention as fundamental. Therefore, the sage's "acting without contention" serves as the concluding message of the Classic of Virtue—only those who have truly attained the Dao can embody this principle.