《宋徽宗道德真經解義》Vol. 2

This passage contains Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary on Chapter 5 of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue), primarily explaining the concepts of "Heaven and Earth are not benevolent" and the bellows metaphor.

Regarding "Heaven and Earth are not benevolent": Heaven and Earth treat all things like straw dogs used in sacrifices—taken when needed and discarded when not, showing no particular favor. The sage treats the common people in the same manner. This does not mean Heaven, Earth, or sages are truly heartless, but rather that they follow natural laws without deliberately imposing benevolence. Forced kindness can instead bring harm. In an ideal world governed by the Dao (the Way), all things grow naturally and people govern themselves, requiring no artificial "benevolence."

Concerning the bellows metaphor: Heaven and Earth are like a great bellows—hollow inside yet constantly generating movement. A bellows works precisely because its emptiness allows free opening and closing; if stuffed full, it would cease to function. Similarly, Heaven and Earth drive the transformations of all things through the movement of Qi (vital energy), appearing to practice Wuwei (non-action) while accomplishing everything. The sage governs people likewise, following nature without forceful interference. Like the bellows, maintaining emptiness allows endless adaptability.

The core idea is this: The highest benevolence shows no deliberate benevolence; the most effective governance follows nature. Both Heaven-Earth and sages adhere to Wuwei, letting all beings develop according to their own patterns.

This passage elucidates the dialectical relationship between "emptiness" and "movement," while emphasizing the vital importance of "guarding the center" (守中).

The scripture states that "being empty, it is inexhaustible; moving, it produces endlessly," meaning that maintaining a state of empty stillness paradoxically prevents depletion, while timely action generates boundless power. Like bellows (橐籥) that must remain hollow to pump air, the sage preserves inner emptiness to respond spontaneously without being burdened by words or actions.

Regarding "much talk leads to exhaustion—better to guard the center," the text uses a flute (籥) as metaphor: just as the instrument's hollow cavity produces sound, the sage speaks only when necessary. Rather than exhausting oneself in debate, maintaining the Middle Way proves superior. This "guarding the center" refers to withdrawing the senses, turning inward, and returning to the primordial state of unity with heaven and earth.

In the "valley spirit (谷神) never dies" passage, "valley" symbolizes receptive emptiness while "spirit" (Shen) represents profound mystery. All formed things eventually decay, but the valley spirit transcends physical form and quantitative change—like the eternal movement of sun and moon, or the constant guidance of the Northern Dipper. Unbound by Yin-Yang transformations, it exists perpetually in ceaseless renewal, embodying the true meaning of "deathlessness."

Here, "guarding the center" represents a core Daoist cultivation method—maintaining mental stillness and impartiality. The "valley spirit" serves as another metaphorical expression of the Dao in the Daode Jing, highlighting its qualities of boundless receptivity and eternal constancy.

This passage elucidates two fundamental Daoist concepts: "Valley Spirit" (谷神) and "Mysterious Female" (玄牝). The Valley Spirit, representing the Dao's empty nature, remains perpetually receptive and thus responds to all movement in creation. Its divine quality, ever tranquil, subtly pervades all existence. By maintaining emptiness, it avoids being burdened by form; through stillness, it transcends all constraints. Ultimately, the Valley Spirit's receptivity and the divine mystery merge completely with the Dao.

The text employs the valley as a metaphor for the Dao's characteristics: capacity to contain, responsiveness to stimuli, emptiness that enables fullness, and boundless continuity. The Dao's "deathlessness" stems precisely from its uncreated nature—having no origin, it can never perish.

The term "Mysterious Female" (玄牝) denotes the generative source of heaven and earth. Here, "mysterious" (玄) represents heaven's azure hue, while "female" (牝) symbolizes earth's receptive quality. All beings receive life from the formless Dao, yet acquire physical form through heaven and earth's tangible manifestations. The phrasing "Mysterious Female" rather than simply "heaven and earth" intentionally uses chromatic and gendered imagery to represent these cosmic principles. These qualities originate from Qi (vital energy), making the Mysterious Female the generative mechanism through which Qi gives birth to the myriad things, embodying the ceaseless nurturing function of creation.

The "gate of the Mysterious Female" is called the "root of heaven and earth," indicating the primordial source of all existence. As Zhuangzi observed, all things have their roots of growth, though the passageway remains invisible. While heaven and earth constitute the spatial dimensions within which beings exist, temporally they share no precedence with creation. Yet from the Dao's perspective, heaven and earth precede the myriad things. Their emergence originates from this unseen source—the Mysterious Female as generative foundation belongs to the realm of Yin-Yang, serving as mother of the ten thousand things. The "gate" implies cyclical opening and closing, while the "root" signifies organic growth. When the Mysterious Female's Qi expands, it becomes Yang; all things dependent on Yang thereby come into being.

This passage elucidates philosophical concepts from the Dao De Jing concerning the Yin-Yang of heaven and earth, the Mysterious Feminine Gate, and the path to longevity.

Yin and Yang are the most fundamental forces between heaven and earth. The closed state is Yin, while all things dependent on Yin arise from it. All beings in the universe emerge from this fundamental gateway of Yin and Yang, yet the gateway itself is intangible and imperceptible, hence called the "Mysterious Feminine Gate" (the mysterious origin from which all things arise). It exists as if present and yet absent, never exhausting itself.

Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty, in his commentary, states that this fundamental Dao has existed since antiquity without end. Heaven and earth form naturally, allowing the Qi of Yin and Yang to operate spontaneously; the myriad things transform and generate, allowing all forms to propagate freely. The nature of Qian (Heaven) is easy to know, and the nature of Kun (Earth) is simple to complete—neither requires human effort to achieve, hence the phrase "used without exertion" (no need for deliberate force).

Further explanation clarifies that all things rely on Qi to gain life and Shen to gain spiritual awareness. Qi is the mother of Shen, and Shen is the child of Qi. When Qi is stable, Shen is complete; when Qi is disordered, Shen becomes chaotic; when Qi dissipates, Shen departs. "Continuous, as if ever-present" describes this state of existence—endlessly enduring, existing before heaven and earth took form, persisting after they fade away, elusive and profound yet undeniably real.

Regarding the principle of "the longevity of heaven and earth": Heaven and earth endure precisely because they do not strive for their own survival. The celestial canopy above holds the sun, moon, and stars, sheltering all things; the earth below bears mountains and rivers, supporting all beings. Heaven and earth harbor no selfish intent toward the myriad things, thus they operate eternally. If heaven and earth acted with selfish intent to create, then heaven would become measurable (indicating finite coverage), and earth would become fathomable (indicating finite capacity), thereby becoming constrained.

Human life follows the same principle. In our original formation, we were identical to the Great Void (the cosmic origin), like water condensing into ice. But once people acquire physical form, they mistake this form for their true self. In truth, life originates from the formless, boundless source, united with the Dao—without beginning or end. This is the true meaning of longevity.

People often consider their physical existence as the entirety of their being, clinging stubbornly to this corporeal form, only to damage their bodies and fail to preserve complete vitality. When life scatters without cohesion, it vanishes abruptly—fleeting as a horse's shadow glimpsed through a door crack. They fail to realize that Heaven and Earth endure precisely because they do not deliberately pursue self-preservation.

The vast heavens dwell above without intent to canopy all things; the expansive earth rests below without thought to bear all creatures. Though Heaven and Earth accomplish their functions of sheltering and supporting, they remain unaware of how they achieve this. Their enduring existence stems precisely from not striving for survival. By not clinging to life, they transcend life and death—existing within the phenomenal world yet unburdened by its limitations, thus attaining longevity.

Therefore, the sage (one who embodies the Dao) places himself behind others yet ends up ahead; does not deliberately preserve himself yet endures. As Emperor Huizong of Song annotated: Heaven moves above, Earth rests below, and the sage dwells between them. When these three interconnect, they form the dynamic relationship of the "Three Powers" (Heaven, Earth, Humanity); viewed separately, each becomes an independent "Polar Extremity" (Celestial Pole, Earthly Pole, Human Pole); when fused, they create the wondrous state of "Three Numinous Realms."

Heaven, Earth, and sages all follow the Dao's principles. The sage's method of self-cultivation is essentially emulating Heaven and Earth. This chapter first explains how Heaven and Earth do not cling to self-preservation, then describes how sages do not cling to themselves. While ordinary people rush ahead, the sage willingly stays behind, bearing the world's impurities—this is "placing himself behind." By not contending, none can contend with him; thus seeming to retreat actually leads. Like traveling without disputing smooth or rugged paths, or seasons not disputing yin-yang harmony—transcending the binds of life, death, fortune, and misfortune, the spirit remains unconfined. This is "disregarding the body yet preserving it."

If even the sage cultivates himself this way, how much more so with external matters? Meeting circumstances without resistance, experiencing without attachment, preserving innate nature and guarding primordial spirit (Shen), he wanders freely through worldly affairs. His form naturally aligns upright; self and objects merge as one. Existing before Heaven and Earth yet not seeking permanence, ancient in years yet showing no decay—this is the effect of cultivating the Dao.

Minister Cao Xiaobiao further explains: If one always positions oneself ahead of all things, everything becomes opposition, and one is instead overcome by externals, never truly leading. But by relinquishing self to preserve life, life instead...

All things perish when they deviate from their authentic state, yet the true source of life never vanishes—this is the principle of nature. The sage stands between heaven and earth, yet accomplishes deeds surpassing both. Together they form the "Three Powers" (heaven, earth, humanity); distinguished, they become the "Three Ultimates" (celestial pole, terrestrial pole, human pole); merged, they transform into the "Three Luminaries" (sun, moon, stars). The sage becomes one with the Dao, thus attaining the same realm as heaven and earth.

This chapter first explains how heaven and earth endure precisely because they don't cling to self-generated growth, then describes how the sage, by transcending personal concerns, paradoxically leads and endures. The sage never strives to be first, yet none surpasses him; never seeks preservation, yet none outlasts him. This state beyond personal gain stems from achieving "no-self" (forgetting the limited ego).

Emperor Huizong's commentary: Heaven and earth's fundamental virtue is creative life, while the sage's supreme treasure is alignment with the Dao. The Dao itself is supremely impartial—heaven and earth follow it selflessly, thus enduring; sages emulate it selflessly, thus abiding. Those obsessed with personal profit ultimately fail to realize their true selves.

Supplementary explanation: Heaven, earth and sages transcend selfishness because they've moved beyond limited selfhood. Paradoxically, those fixated on private gain never actualize their authentic worth. Heaven and earth endure eternally precisely because they lack self-generated desires; sages persist because they don't cling to physical form—this constitutes "realizing one's true self."

Chapter Eight describes supreme goodness as resembling water. Emperor Huizong cites the Yijing: the alternation of yin-yang constitutes the Dao, while goodness inherits this process. Zhuangzi notes that labeling "goodness" already deviates from the Dao itself. Yet water, born from "Celestial Unity" (the Dao's primal manifestation), most approximates the Dao—profoundly still, crystal clear, the world's purest essence, hence "supreme goodness resembles water."

Additional clarification: The quiescent, unmoving essence is the Dao; its responsive manifestation is goodness. When returning to the ultimate Dao, goodness requires no designation—what we call "supreme goodness" already departs from the Dao (because naming creates limitation). Water originates from "Celestial Unity" (the Dao's expression); though manifest as matter, it retains Dao qualities: emerging from emptiness yet flowing through reality, this nature comes closest to the Dao.

The Dao (the ultimate source and truth of the universe) appears formless and elusive, yet its profundity is unfathomable. Its depth contains the patterns of all things; when the mind becomes tranquil and clear, one returns to the essence of the Dao. Though it may seem distant, we are never truly separate from it. Thus, the highest virtue is like water.

Water nourishes all things without contention, willingly settling in low places that people disdain—this nature is closest to the Dao. As Emperor Huizong of Song commented: Water transforms into dew to moisten all beings, condenses as frost and snow to nurture life, flows as rivers to gather into lakes and seas. It is both accessible yet profoundly hidden, generously sustaining all things without ever exhausting itself. What could be more virtuous than this? Water nourishes yet claims no merit, always maintaining a gentle and non-contentious posture, embracing impurity without inner disturbance—thus it is nearest to the Dao.

Among the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), water is the most fundamental element; all life depends on it. Water silently bestows its grace, its beneficiaries often unaware of its presence. When it settles in low places to nourish, people don’t question why it is so benevolent; when it accepts filth, it endures what others despise, yet water itself makes no distinction between purity and impurity. This transcendence brings it close to the Dao.

Water is adept at choosing its dwelling—it flows underground yet never overflows. Just as water follows its nature downward without self-satisfaction, so too is a person wise who chooses their place accordingly.

The heart should be as still as an abyss—measured yet unfathomable, explored yet endlessly deep. Maintaining this emptiness and stillness allows one to be profound like the watery depths.

In dealing with others, extend universal kindness without partiality. To love broadly and selflessly, to give generously without expectation—this is the highest benevolence. To bestow grace like water is true humaneness.

Speech should be as trustworthy as water. When encountering obstacles, water flows around them to reach the sea, enduring hardships without altering its purpose.

This scripture uses the properties of water as metaphors for governance and worldly wisdom.

Water embodies the principle of following nature: when encountering obstacles, it flows around them; when facing steep terrain, it winds its course, yet ultimately returns to the sea. This mirrors skillful governance—clearing away corruption, smoothing out dangers, and adhering to the inherent patterns of things, achieving order effortlessly without forced intervention.

Water possesses remarkable adaptability: it becomes square in a square vessel and round in a round one, constantly adjusting to its surroundings while maintaining equilibrium. Handling affairs should likewise be flexible and responsive, adopting the most suitable approach for each situation.

Water understands timing: it melts and flows in spring but freezes solid in winter; guided eastward, it moves east; guided westward, it moves west. Action should emulate water’s discernment—moving when the time is right and resting when stillness is called for.

The wisdom of non-contention: The sage follows water’s example, nourishing all things without claiming merit, avoiding contention so that none can contend with them. Just as the softest water can penetrate the hardest substance, those who embody virtues like water—without boasting—naturally avoid mistakes and resentment.

The text concludes with two cautionary analogies: when water fills to the brim, it overflows; when edges are too sharp, they cannot last. This teaches that seeking perfection is inferior to knowing when to stop, and displaying brilliance is less wise than maintaining restraint. All things, at their peak, must decline—this is the Dao of nature.

This scripture expounds Daoist wisdom on worldly conduct and self-cultivation. Its core message reveals that excessive pursuit of external possessions brings misfortune, while true wisdom lies in maintaining a tranquil and balanced state of mind.

The text first observes that those who constantly seek to seize advantages, chase after fullness, or indulge in desires actually hasten their own downfall. The myriad things of this world undergo endless transformations, while human wisdom remains limited. What we presume to be "foresight" (qianshi) is in fact the beginning of foolishness. Those who obsessively analyze circumstances and rush forward will eventually exhaust their wisdom—how could such an approach sustain lasting advantage?

Using the metaphor of "a hall filled with gold and jade," the scripture illustrates how wealth and status are not life's fundamental treasures. Excessive pursuit of these externals becomes a burden instead. Those hoarding riches become enslaved by material possessions, while the pride accompanying wealth and honor erodes one's De (Virtue), ultimately inviting calamity. The truly enlightened sage neither treats worldly benefits as personal possessions nor considers ruling the world as a mark of distinction.

The passage culminates by emphasizing that external possessions are merely temporary lodgings—blind pursuit of them causes us to lose our intrinsic nature. Though gold and jade are prized by the world, they are not our innate possessions; obsessive pursuit binds us to material things. While wealth and honor are universally desired, arrogance arising from them damages one's De. The awakened understand that true wealth lies in inner moral cultivation, and the noblest station transcends worldly ranks to dwell in the realm of Dao.

When a person achieves non-attachment to the self, even ruling the world wouldn't mean claiming power as personal possession, and dwelling in eminent positions without being bound by external things. Those who remain unconstrained by worldly gains yet don't privatize benefits have truly comprehended the essence of the Dao. Therefore, such individuals never deviate from the Great Way.

Knowing when to withdraw after achieving merit and fame aligns with the Dao's operation. Just as the sun declines after reaching its zenith and the moon wanes after becoming full—these are nature's patterns. Sages perceive how success and failure transform into each other, understanding that prosperity and decline follow their destined cycles. Thus they transcend worldly attachments, remain unburdened by external things, and avoid the calamity of pride. Who but those who comprehend the Dao's ways could achieve this? Hence "retiring after success" is a natural law. The four seasons alternate, withdrawing after fulfilling their roles—this manifests the Dao's operation. Those who only advance without retreating, who see existence but not disappearance, who calculate gains without considering losses—how could they avoid regret? As Yi Yin (the wise minister of Shang dynasty) said: "A minister shouldn't cling to power by relying on the ruler's favor."

Yin and Yang alternate in operation, cold and heat cycle in succession—for every advance there's retreat, for every achievement there's decline. The Dao lets all things withdraw naturally after fulfilling their purposes—this is nature's principle. Those who treat fame as private property, who know only advancement without yielding—even if they master techniques for preserving wealth or methods for displaying brilliance—can they ultimately avoid regret? Sages discern the patterns of success and failure, comprehend the destined cycles of prosperity and decline, understand the mysteries of creation, and see how fortune and misfortune transform into each other. Thus they remain unburdened by fame, knowing the Way of advance and retreat, existence and demise, without losing proper orientation—this is true mastery of the Dao's ways.

Regarding the chapter "Carrying the Hun and Po": Po belongs to Yin, attached to the body with limitations, hence Laozi uses "encampment" to describe it; Hun belongs to Yang, relying on Qi to roam boundlessly, thus the Yijing uses "wandering" to describe it. Sages use Shen (spirit) to govern the physical form, employing Hun to regulate Po, therefore the spirit carries Hun without being constrained by Po. Like a vehicle transporting goods, like the seasons alternating cold and heat, the mind wanders freely while the six senses remain interconnected. Transcending the constraints of heaven, earth and the myriad things with spirit never exhausted—how could it be hindered by Po?

Hun relies on Qi for the spirit's boundless reach—this belongs to Yang; Po attaches to the body with limitations—this belongs to Yin. When spirit carries Hun there's life; when spirit follows Po there's death. The sage's Qi remains complete and stable while the spirit...

This scripture elucidates the relationship between Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) in Daoist cultivation. Its core teaching asserts that the human spirit (hun) should govern the physical form (po), rather than being burdened by corporeal attachments.

The opening passage explains the principle that "Shen carries hun but not po" — the spiritual nature (Shen) should bear consciousness (hun) in free activity, unshackled by sensory limitations (po). Only thus can one attain the realm of "unrestrained movement and boundless responsiveness," as natural as the sun and moon's course or plants' growth.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary further clarifies: The celestial water of Tianyi (Heaven's Oneness) corresponds to Jing (vital essence) in the human body, while the earthly fire of Di'er (Earth's Duality) corresponds to Shen (spiritual awareness). The crux of cultivation lies in maintaining spiritual unity, ensuring essence and spirit remain inseparably joined. Using Jing to consolidate Shen, and Shen to master the physical form, one preserves vital energy from depletion and spiritual wisdom from exhaustion.

The text critiques worldly people who become enslaved by external objects — indulging desires leads to spiritual dissipation, ultimately inverting hun and po relationships and exhausting both body and spirit. In contrast, sages (those who attain the Dao) maintain the state of "bearing po while embracing unity" — tending to physical needs while preserving primordial spirit. This resembles Mount Tai's immovability or an abyss's stillness, undisturbed by external influences.

The conclusion reveals the philosophy of "Dao begets One": The "One" represents precelestial water virtue (Tianyi's water), the source of vital essence; "Two" signifies postcelestial fire virtue (Di'er's fire), the manifestation of spiritual illumination. The formless primordial Qi in the Great Void requires safeguarding precelestial essence to coalesce complete spiritual awareness. Only by employing spirit to govern form can life endure without decline. Thus Jing constitutes life's foundation, while "One" represents essence's core.

This passage elucidates the essential techniques of "embracing unity to preserve essence" (抱一守精) and "regulating Qi to attain softness" (调气致柔) in Daoist cultivation.

First, the practice of "embracing unity": When one's Shen (spirit) becomes highly concentrated and undistracted, it returns to the state of "One" (the primordial condition of the Dao). Maintaining this state without deviation preserves Jing (essence). Abundant Jing leads to clear Shen, and clear Shen enables harmonious adaptation to all transformations, merging with the natural processes of creation. In stillness, one comprehends the great Dao; in movement, one aligns with celestial principles. Those entangled in desires and external attachments dissipate their Jing, lose spiritual clarity, and become imprisoned by their physical forms, ultimately descending into ignorance and losing their innate nature. Only those who steadfastly maintain this unity remain complete in spirit despite life's myriad changes.

Next, the cultivation of "concentrating Qi to achieve softness": One should gather Qi to attain an infant-like state of tenderness. As the Yijing states, "Stillness brings concentration," and Yang Xiong observed that "softness can stabilize all things." Infants, being innocent and spontaneous, act without discrimination between right and wrong, beautiful and ugly, hence their Qi remains concentrated and soft. Mencius also warned that impetuousness disturbs the Shen. If the mind cannot focus on regulating Qi, the breath becomes disordered, leading to mental imbalance. Sages maintain emptiness like valleys, never allowing their heart-Qi to become rigid, thus achieving stillness without disorder, harmony without violence—identical to an infant's state. While Mencius speaks of the "vast, flowing Qi" as strong and upright, Laozi advocates "concentrating Qi to achieve softness." These seemingly contradictory approaches actually complement each other: strength serves to uphold moral principles, while softness facilitates the return to original nature—this represents the comprehensive method of ancient cultivation.

Finally, the explanation of Qi's significance: Qi manifests the Dao's movement, and all things originate from its transformations. Circulating between heaven and earth, Qi governs the birth and demise of all existence. As the foundation of creation, humans must skillfully nurture it. Both Mencius and Yang Xiong noted how Qi influences the moral inclinations of the heart-mind. Maintaining concentrated, undisturbed Qi prevents the burdens of impetuosity and entrapment in dualistic judgments. Concentrated Qi brings constant stillness, peaceful without violence—through softness one returns to original purity, uniting with the Dao in childlike innocence. Conversely, excessive "heart-fire" (desire) destroys this harmony.

This scripture discusses how imbalances in the human heart lead to behavioral deviations, and how sages attain the state of Wuwei (non-action) through the cultivation practice of "cleansing the mysterious mirror" (removing distracting thoughts and contemplating one's original mind).

When the human heart is disturbed by external influences and aggressive, violent thoughts gain dominance, the originally pure and peaceful nature diminishes. Emotions of joy and anger disrupt the balance of Yin-Yang, while indulgence in sensory pleasures fuels desires—this is why people fall into reckless action without self-awareness.

Sages employ the method of "cleansing the mysterious mirror" to purify the heart: they eliminate all attachments without leaving traces, and deeply conceal wisdom while silently comprehending. Such individuals maintain inner purity without burdens, neither regretting mistakes nor becoming complacent over successes—how could flaws arise? When the mind returns to emptiness, emotions and distracting thoughts naturally dissolve. Merging with the Dao (the Way), one transcends worldly concerns and perceives ultimate truth.

In governing a nation, treating people with benevolence and ruling with wisdom may improve society, but this still falls short of true Wuwei. Sages bestow blessings for generations without consciously displaying benevolence; their achievements cover the world yet seem unrelated to themselves—this is the true state of non-action. Genuine benevolent governance doesn't require deliberate shows of kindness, yet universally benefits the people; true statecraft doesn't demand forced action, yet ensures lasting stability.

"The opening and closing of the heavenly gate" (referring to the operation of natural laws) teaches the principle of understanding strength while abiding in softness. Sages follow the transformations of celestial Dao (the Way), withdrawing when appropriate and acting when needed—never striving to lead but often following, never competing for supremacy but willingly standing behind. Like the natural movement of Yin-Yang, the sage's actions align with nature without force.

After reaching the state of comprehending all things, one paradoxically maintains a condition of no-knowledge and no-desire. True wisdom lies not in deliberate displays of cleverness but in acting according to natural laws. Just as sunlight illuminates without claiming brilliance, and water nourishes without claiming merit—this represents the highest way of being in the world.

Emperor Huizong of Song, in his commentary on the Daode Jing, explains: True wisdom appears foolish—this aligns with the principle that "great wisdom seems like folly."

Minister Cao Yi elaborates: The jade beads hanging before ancient emperors' crowns (liú kuàng) served precisely to restrain sharp edges. The sage appears foolish because there's no need to deliberately display cleverness; though comprehending all, one doesn't act through cunning—this constitutes genuine sagely wisdom.

Regarding the profound virtue (Xuande) of "nourishing all things without possessing, acting without claiming credit, guiding without dominating," Emperor Huizong annotates: The sage, united with the Dao, nurtures all beings in accordance with natural law. Allowing things to grow naturally and providing abundant nourishment without possessiveness; achieving without claiming merit, guiding without forceful control. This virtue is so profound it defies measurement, operating contrary to ordinary behavior—hence called Xuande (the most profound virtue). Like the mysterious black hue of the northern sky, the sage's virtue manifests the heavenly Dao in the human realm.

Cao Yi supplements: From focusing on unity (Baoyi) and cultivating vital essence (Zhuanqi), the sage reaches the state of perceiving cosmic mysteries (Xuanlan), achieving self-cultivation's pinnacle; from Wuwei and maintaining softness to transcending cleverness, responding perfectly to all phenomena. United with the Dao, the sage understands all things grow naturally, never claiming credit. Governing the world without coercion, everything follows its natural course—thus people feel no imposition, and creation requires no gratitude. This constitutes the most profound virtue.

Chapter Eleven employs the metaphors of wheel, pottery, and house: Thirty spokes converge at the hub (gǔ)—precisely because the center is empty that the wheel functions; kneading clay (shān zhí) into vessels—precisely because their hollow interiors exist that containers hold objects; carving doors and windows to build dwellings—precisely because their void exists that houses serve their purpose.

Emperor Huizong comments: Being (you) and non-being (wu) form a unity—an object's function emerges precisely from this interplay. Carts serve transportation, vessels contain, houses shelter—these wondrous applications all originate from wu's presence. Like a mirror having no form yet reflecting all things. The mind of Dao-attained individuals often manifests in such realms.

This passage primarily discusses the dialectical relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu), and how they together constitute the complete manifestation of the Dao.

"Being" and "non-being" are fundamentally unified, forming the complete state of the Dao. From "non-being" comes "being," and through "being" we perceive "non-being." Though their manifestations differ, their essence is interconnected. "Non-being" manifests its substance through "being," while "being" relies on "non-being" to function—this is the universal principle of all things. For example, a cart can move, a vessel can hold, and a house can be inhabited precisely because "non-being" (the empty space) performs its function; while the physical objects themselves represent "being." To cling solely to tangible forms as the complete reality is like being a deluded fool. Only by understanding how "non-being" and "being" mutually support each other can one comprehend the mysteries of transformation and attain infinite subtle functions.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary explains: "Being" is substantial, possessing form, sound, color and other concrete characteristics; "non-being" is void, yet it embraces all things and operates endlessly. Between heaven and earth, the Dao manifests through concrete objects, so we cannot discard "being"; yet all objects ultimately return to the profound mystery of the Dao, which is "non-being." Just as wood can bend, water can moisten, fire can dry, metal can harden, and earth can nurture crops—these are the functions of "being"; while the movement of heaven and earth, the cycle of seasons, and the growth of all things are the operations of "non-being." Through these three aspects, Laozi illustrates the interdependent relationship between "being" and "non-being."

Concrete things ("being") provide practical benefits, while emptiness ("non-being") exerts latent functions. Only when the two complement each other can their functions be fulfilled, as seen in common objects like carts, vessels, and houses—all demonstrating the mutual cooperation of "being" and "non-being."

The section on the "Five Colors Chapter" points out that excessive pursuit of sensory pleasures damages one's original nature. The eyes can see because original nature operates through them; the ears can hear likewise. Those who have attained the Dao do not rely on ears and eyes but perceive directly with their spirit (Shen), thus remaining unswayed by sensory distractions. Ordinary people, however, often become enslaved by external senses.

This scripture primarily discusses how sensory desires disturb human nature, and how sages maintain a state of clarity and Wuwei (non-action).

When eyes become addicted to colorful sights and ears indulge in pleasing sounds, human intelligence deteriorates—how is this different from being deaf or blind? The truly wise perceive the essence of things beyond form, observing through their inner Shen (spirit); they comprehend harmony beyond sound, listening through their Qi (vital energy). Without using their eyes, they see with penetrating clarity; without relying on their ears, they hear with profound understanding. Such intelligence is sufficient to strategize great affairs and discern truth. When eyes and ears are no longer swayed by external sights and sounds, how could one be burdened by such distractions? When human nature is altered by desires, one becomes lost in material pleasures; when the Shen is depleted by sensory stimuli, and the senses become enslaved to sights and sounds, the mind is exhausted and wisdom fades—this is what is meant by "blind eyes and deaf ears."

Gourmet delicacies dull the palate, while unrestrained hunting drives the mind to frenzy. The Dao manifests as bland and tasteless, yet people chase intense flavors, damaging their natural senses. Though the human body is small, the mind can encompass heaven and earth. The sage's mind, when active, governs all things; when still, reflects the cosmos. Ordinary people, obsessed with hunting, scatter their Shen outward, unable to find peace. Disordered Qi and blood lead to mental turmoil—how lamentable to lose one's innate nature!

Rare treasures distort behavior. Wealth exists to nourish life, yet sages do not value rarity or pursue exotic treasures, ensuring people remain content without greed. Those who prize rare goods will harm life itself in pursuit of riches—what kind of conduct is this?

Note: The phrases "great broth and dark wine" (大羹玄酒) refer to the simplest fare, "Chonghe" (冲和) denotes a state of serene harmony, and "Tianzhen" (天真) signifies the original, natural human nature. These concepts reflect Daoist ideals of embracing simplicity and returning to one's innate purity.

This passage discusses how the pursuit of material desires hinders moral cultivation. It cites historical examples: Zhong Hui, a virtuous minister of the Shang dynasty, praised King Tang for "not amassing wealth," while Confucius criticized his disciple Zigong for "not accepting Heaven's mandate and engaging in commerce." These illustrate how chasing material gain damages one's De (Virtue).

Those who understand righteousness and Heaven's mandate recognize that wealth and honor have their proper measure. By remaining content with one's lot, one avoids the calamities of contention and envy. Ordinary people often treasure things that are hard to obtain yet impractical—precisely because they're difficult to acquire. To obtain them, people violate their true nature and harm their lives, inevitably undermining their De.

Therefore, sages (those who have attained the Dao) focus on inner cultivation ("being filled in the belly" signifies inner fulfillment) rather than pursuing external sensory pleasures ("not for the eyes" means not indulging in sensual delights). Here, the Kun trigram from the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), symbolizing the earth's包容 (all-embracing quality), represents the sage's magnanimity, while the Li trigram (symbolizing luminous perception) represents outward observation. The earth can embrace all things, whereas visual perception has inherent limitations. Sages take the whole world as their measure, thus choosing包容 (all-embracing) magnanimity over interfering in everything or calculating every detail.

Zhuangzi said the greatest harm comes from deliberately pursuing virtue while creating mental distinctions. Therefore, sages discard the discriminating eye of external judgment. The belly (symbolizing inner being) makes no distinctions but embraces all, while the eyes (symbolizing external perception) select and differentiate. Earth's thickness enables it to bear all things; light's outward illumination discerns objects clearly.包容 (All-embracing) aligns with the Dao, while discernment inevitably brings limitation.

Sensual pleasures and material desires both cause people to lose their true nature. Human beings are influenced by external objects and dominated by emotions primarily because the eyes (the senses) are most easily seduced. If the eyes aren't beguiled, ears aren't disturbed, the mouth doesn't crave flavors, the heart doesn't rage wildly, and actions aren't obstructed, one can forget selfish desires, preserve original Qi, and attain inner fulfillment. Thus, the ultimate pursuit should be inner cultivation rather than sensory indulgence.