《宋徽宗道德真經解義》Vol. 3

In his commentary on Chapter 13 of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue), Emperor Huizong of Song explains the profound meaning behind the phrase "favor and disgrace seem alarming." The reason why favor and disgrace startle people lies in their excessive attachment to external honor and humiliation. If one becomes smug upon receiving favor from superiors, this itself constitutes disgrace; if those in high positions only seek personal gain, they will invite great calamity.

Those who covet wealth and status cannot bear to relinquish their salaries, those who pursue fame cannot let go of their reputation, and those obsessed with power refuse to share it with others. When they gain something, they tremble with anxiety; when they lose it, they are overwhelmed with grief. This is why favor and disgrace unsettle the mind. Pain and pleasure alternate, fear and delight entangle endlessly—these afflictions cling to one like an incurable illness.

In essence, both "favor" and "disgrace" are manifestations of a debased state. Just as a dragon, meant to roam freely, loses its dignity when caged, the true sages of antiquity remained unshaken in their integrity even when offered high rank and generous emoluments. Those in elevated positions should remain mindful of danger; those enjoying blessings should maintain humility—only then can they avoid disgrace. Those who cling to power, advancing without knowing when to retreat, will ultimately be scorned by others.

Glory and riches are like things temporarily entrusted to the body—they are not the true meaning of life. Gaining them is no cause for joy, nor is losing them a reason for sorrow. This is the true lesson behind "favor and disgrace seem alarming." Those who understand this principle will not let external judgments disturb their inner peace.

This passage expounds the Daoist philosophy of transcending worldly concerns of gain and loss, favor and disgrace, nobility and baseness.

It begins with the examples of Liuxia Hui (a virtuous scholar of Lu during the Spring and Autumn period) and Zheng Kaofu (a wise minister of the Shang dynasty), illustrating how true sages remain undisturbed by material gains or losses. Ordinary people rejoice at gains and grieve over losses, becoming trapped by these fluctuations. By relinquishing attachment to such concerns, one naturally rises above the duality of favor and disgrace.

The text then explains the meaning of "valuing great calamity as one's own body": worldly people chase power and status, wielding authority over rewards and punishments to command universal awe. While this appears noble, such "nobility" ultimately becomes a burden. Sages remain unbound by position, thus maintaining true nobility without inviting misfortune. This mirrors the practitioner's path of "discarding limbs and abandoning cleverness" (freeing oneself from bodily attachments and cunning intellect) to achieve "union with the great Dao (Tong yu da tong)."

The passage observes that those obsessed with external nobility lose genuine nobility. Only sages attain the state of "no-self" (wuwo), remaining unburdened even in high positions. Ordinary people, clinging to "having self," inevitably invite anxieties.

Finally, it cites Confucius's "hearing the Dao (Dao) in the morning, one could die content in the evening," Mencius's "neither early death nor long life alters one's resolve," and Yan Hui's "sitting in forgetfulness" (zuowang), demonstrating how those who embody the Dao transcend life and death—let alone trivial matters like gain/loss or fortune/misfortune. The ancient perfected ones (zhiren) remained untroubled by profit or physical form because they realized the fundamental unity of all things with themselves.

This passage expounds profound Daoist insights on cultivating body-mind and proper conduct in the world.

It begins with the proposition that "this body is not truly mine." The truly awakened person roams above with the Creator (referring to the Great Dao) and associates below with those who have transcended life-death and seen through beginnings-endings - what worries could remain? Ordinary people consider favor as honor, but the enlightened regard it as shame; common folk take wealth as happiness, while sages recognize it as potential calamity. For all external things are unreliable - this is the principle of nature. If one can maintain an attitude of "non-possession" toward what they have, then neither favor brings shame nor high position invites disaster. The ancient sage minister Yi Yin didn't claim merit for favors received, and Emperor Yao found no pleasure in rulership - this exemplifies such realization.

It further explains: Only through attachment to "self" does the notion of body arise, and with bodily attachment comes anxiety. If one forgets the self to the point where even "I" ceases to exist, what worries remain? When form is no longer burdened by external things, it returns to its formless authenticity; when mind is no longer constrained by physicality, it returns to its thoughtless natural state. Thus when roaming with the Creator above, one has already forgotten oneself; when befriending those beyond life-death below, worries naturally vanish. To regard favor as shame and recognize the hidden dangers in wealth means understanding that glory and riches are external - what is there to depend upon?

The discourse then turns to governing the world: The world is a sacred vessel that can only be operated and preserved by following the Dao. Sages (those who have attained the Dao) unite with the Dao, thus governing through wuwei (non-action), with all people gladly supporting them without weariness. Those of lesser attainment who know to value themselves without being enslaved by external things may be temporarily entrusted with the world; those who understand self-care without being trapped by externals may be provisionally delegated governance. Therefore, the true essence of the Dao is for cultivating one's person; its remainder serves for ordering states; its dregs alone are used for pacifying the world. Yet worldly people harm their bodies and abandon their lives chasing externals - is this not lamentable?

Finally it emphasizes: Sages govern the world through the Great Dao - in stillness they use the Dao as protection, in movement they follow the Dao as guide. How could they be burdened by worldly affairs? For those who cannot reach this state, at least know to value yourself through the Dao, never degrading yourself to base conditions - only then can you be called truly self-valuing and worthy of the world's trust. To understand self-care through the Dao without sacrificing yourself for externals - this is genuine wisdom.

This passage elucidates the Daoist description of the ineffable characteristics of the Dao (the Way). The eyes look but cannot see it—this is called "Yi" (meaning formless plainness). Emperor Huizong of Song explains that while eyes are meant for seeing, "Yi" represents a state of indistinguishable flatness beyond visual perception, akin to the primordial "Great Change" (Taiyi) stage of the cosmos when even Qi (vital energy) had yet to take form.

The ears listen but cannot hear it—this is called "Xi" (meaning rare and faint). Though sound arises from physical vibrations, "Xi" denotes an intermittent, barely perceptible state, resembling the realm of "the greatest sound is soundless." The true harmony of the supreme Dao can only be apprehended within silence.

The hands grasp but cannot hold it—this is called "Wei" (meaning subtle intangibility). What can be grasped must have form, yet the Dao is like "the greatest form is formless"—manifesting true existence precisely through formlessness.

These three attributes (Yi, Xi, Wei) transcend complete verbal description and are collectively termed "the One." In the primordial chaos before creation, when Qi, form, and substance remained undifferentiated—with no distinction between high and low, pure and turbid, large and small—this was the state where eyes couldn't see, ears couldn't hear, and hands couldn't grasp, yet the complete Dao resided therein. Though called "the One," it isn't absolute nothingness; neither being nor non-being, it abides in a state of profound mystery.

This passage explores the profound nature of the Dao (the Way), the core concept of Daoism referring to the cosmic origin and governing principle. The Dao is neither pure being nor pure non-being, but exists in a state of undifferentiated unity.

From the metaphysical perspective (transcending the material realm), the Dao is as unfathomable as the transformations of Yin-Yang—deep and obscure, hence described as "not bright" (不皦). Viewed through the physical lens, though we can discern the shifts of Yin-Yang, the essence of the Dao remains profoundly elusive (不昧). As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states: the divine and luminous principle actually resides within the human self.

The substance of the Dao resembles the cyclical rhythm of day and night—it cannot be captured through form or sound, ultimately returning to the state of "no-thing." Here, the "One" refers to the fundamental law of the Dao, which integrates being and non-being, above and below, in a mystery so profound it defies naming. "Unbroken continuity" (绳绳) describes the Dao’s ceaseless movement, yet it circles back to its original emptiness.

This state may be called "the formless form, the imageless image"—what is termed "huanghu" (恍惚, the ineffable). Like the primordial void (Taixu) that contains all phenomena yet has no visible boundary, or like the natural presence of human spiritual wisdom that remains intangible. To say it exists yields no tangible substance; to say it does not exist ignores its real effects. Just as the sun and moon are distant from humans, yet fire can be drawn with a mirror and light focused with bronze—where, then, do water and fire truly reside? Such is the principle of "the formless form, the imageless image."

Though it returns to the "no-thing" of the primordial state, this is not absolute nothingness. To call it being reveals no form; to call it non-being acknowledges its presence—this is the profound meaning of "huanghu." This state transcends the duality of being and non-being, embodying the mysterious essence of the Dao.

The Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe) has no concrete form—one cannot perceive its beginning nor trace its end. Looking ahead, you won't see its head; following behind, you won't find its tail. This is because the Dao itself has neither origin nor conclusion.

The accomplished adepts (shi) of ancient times could grasp this eternal and unchanging Dao to respond to contemporary affairs. Only by truly understanding the source of the Dao can one grasp its fundamental order (Daoji). The Dao encompasses both Yin and Yang. If one only emulates Heaven while neglecting Earth, they will become fixated on the Dao’s movement and transformation. If one only follows Yin while disregarding Yang, they will stagnate in the Dao’s stillness. Selfish attachment leads to the abandonment of benevolence, while excessive focus on others leads to the neglect of righteousness—neither represents the true ancient Dao. The ancient Dao cannot be fully expressed in words; it appears indistinct yet truly exists. By mastering this root principle, one can adapt flexibly to the changes of the world.

The true sages (shan wei shi zhe) of antiquity attained a state so subtle and profound, so attuned to the mysteries, that ordinary people could scarcely comprehend it. In their finest details, they merged with the Dao; in their most refined aspects, they resonated with the divine (Shen); in their most arcane depths, they matched Heaven; in their most penetrating wisdom, they manifested sagely virtue (De). This deeply concealed cultivation reached an unfathomable level. As the Book of Documents states, "The heart of the Dao is exquisitely subtle"; the Book of Changes says, "The divine (Shen) mysteriously transforms all things"; the Book of Changes also declares, "Heaven is profound, Earth is vast"; and the Zuo Commentary remarks, "The sage comprehends all without obstruction"—all these describe this supreme state.

(Note: "Daoji" refers to the fundamental order of the Dao; "shi" denotes accomplished adepts; "The heart of the Dao is exquisitely subtle" comes from the Book of Documents, meaning the essence of the Dao is profoundly refined; "The divine mysteriously transforms all things" is from the Book of Changes, describing the wondrous workings of the divine in creation; "Heaven is profound, Earth is vast" originates from the Book of Changes, illustrating the essential characteristics of Heaven and Earth.)

This passage contrasts the profound concealment of ancient Daoist practitioners with modern attitudes.

The ancient masters who excelled in cultivating the Dao (Dao) possessed subtle and mysterious attainments, neither chasing fame nor material gain. Their inner wisdom arose naturally from the depths of their being ("the mechanism emerges from the heels"), so deeply concealed that ordinary people could not fathom them. Take, for example, Lie Yukou (Liezi), who lived in obscurity in the state of Zheng for forty years without anyone recognizing his true nature. Similarly, Laozi once told Confucius, "A skilled merchant keeps his treasures hidden, while a man of great virtue (De) appears dull on the surface"—precisely illustrating this principle.

The author explains: Ancient cultivators were united with the Dao (Dao), inheriting its lineage with virtuous intent (Shanji Dao) and embodying its principles through action (Yi Shen Ren Dao). Thus, they attained a state of subtlety and profound communion. This depth manifests in several ways: the subtlety of merging with the Dao (Wei Yu Dao Wei Yi), the wondrous unity with the divine (Miao Yu Shen Tong Ti), the alignment with the mysteries of heaven (Pei Tian Zhi Xuan), and the foreshadowing of sagehood (Zhao Sheng Zhi Tong). Superficial things are easily grasped ("what is shallow can be measured in an instant"), but who can truly comprehend the depths of concealed cultivation?

Because such a state defies description, one can only approximate it through metaphor. Just as the heights of heaven and the depths of earth cannot be measured, people resort to phrases like "heaven is round, earth is square" to convey them. Daoist practitioners move through the world with caution, treading as carefully as crossing a winter river (Yu Xi Ruo Dong She Chuan) and remaining as vigilant as if wary of neighboring states (You Xi Ruo Wei Si Lin). They focus on inner refinement (Nei You Wei Wu), neither indulging in external pleasures nor losing their sense of reverence, engaging with the world only when necessity demands (Po Er Hou Ying).

This passage describes several virtuous states that Daoist cultivators should embody:

First, it discusses the mental attitudes of "yu" (precaution) and "you" (wariness). "Yu" means maintaining vigilance before events occur, while "you" refers to sustaining reverence after events unfold. Like someone cautiously crossing a winter river—not because they enjoy it, but because prudence is necessary. One should maintain this circumspect awareness as if constantly alert to one's surroundings, never allowing oneself to become unrestrained.

"Yan ruo rong" describes a dignified and composed demeanor. As Zhuangzi said, those with true virtue command respect from afar yet remain approachable up close. This solemnity isn't affected but naturally radiates calm composure.

"Huan ruo bing jiang shi" speaks of transcending attachments. Water freezing into ice or melting back into water remains fundamentally the same. Those bound by attachments resemble congealed ice, while awakened individuals flow like thawing water. One should release worldly entanglements like ice on the verge of melting.

"Dun xi qi ruo pu" portrays innate simplicity and genuineness. Like uncarved wood retaining its natural, unadorned texture, cultivators should return to this uncontrived, authentic state.

"Kuang xi qi ruo gu" depicts vast, open-mindedness. One's heart-mind should be as boundless as an empty valley—capable of embracing all things while remaining responsive to change. This represents unity with the emptiness of heaven and earth.

"Hun xi qi ruo zhuo" describes complete harmony with all existence. Without ostentatiously proclaiming purity or deliberately setting oneself apart, one merges with all things like turbid flowing water. Unlike those who pretentiously claim superiority, this represents true integration with the myriad beings.

Who can be like turbid water that gradually clears when allowed to settle? Who can maintain stability while gradually coming to life through movement?

Emperor Huizong of Song explains: Those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way) preserve inner stillness even in action, appearing unrestrained yet inwardly restrained. Their minds remain tranquil while responding to endless changes, seemingly empty yet perfectly sufficient. Thus when settling, they clarify naturally—no external disturbance can disrupt them; when moving, they grow spontaneously—no external force can halt them. The term "gradually" in the Book of Changes describes this state of unhurried ease. The mindset of Dao-realized individuals isn't about forced stillness being superior, nor artificial effort creating vitality, but rather following natural disposition, allowing free development without tension, anxiety, or frantic striving.

Stillness isn't forcibly converting motion into rest, but motion naturally containing stillness; movement doesn't exist separately from stillness, but stillness inherently holding movement. This harmonious unity of motion and stillness manifests the Great Dao in all things. Therefore ancient cultivators moved amidst chaos without losing their still essence, naturally clarifying until nothing could disturb their serenity; appearing stable yet never ceasing movement, naturally growing until nothing could arrest their progress. If constrained by external things into stagnation, one cannot speak of "endless transformation."

Those maintaining this Dao principle never seek fullness. Emperor Huizong notes: Deliberate accumulation leads to insufficiency, while non-hoarding brings abundance. Dao-realized people don't forcibly accumulate, but maintain receptive emptiness. To believe all beautiful things under heaven reside within oneself reflects petty-mindedness. Thus the Dao De Jing states: "The purest white appears sullied, the most abundant De (Virtue) seems insufficient."

Cultivators must forget their grasping attitude toward the Dao. Those who become prideful upon gaining something will ultimately lose it, even if temporarily retained. Fullness leads to toppling—this inevitable principle denies lasting preservation. Only by not seeking fullness can one preserve the old without forcibly pursuing the new. The old gives rise to the fresh, completion leads to dissolution. This alternation mirrors seasonal cycles, as successions of achievement and ruin reflect universal birth and decay—all natural manifestations of the Great Dao.

This scripture primarily discusses the importance of "emptiness and stillness" (xujing). The text points out that all tangible things inevitably undergo cycles of prosperity and decline—just as trees flourish then wither, or flames blaze brightly before extinguishing. The sun begins its descent after reaching its zenith, and the moon wanes after becoming full. These phenomena occur because once anything reaches a state of "fullness," it must inevitably decline.

Yet the Dao (the cosmic origin) is different—it has no concrete form and eternally maintains an empty, never-full state. Precisely because it never becomes full, it never truly decays or perishes, transcending the cycles of birth and destruction in the material world. Practitioners of the Dao must emulate this characteristic, cultivating a mindset of emptiness and stillness.

The commentary by Chen Yi further explains: Emptiness and stillness are the root of all things. Only through emptiness can one contain the myriad phenomena; only through stillness can one respond to all changes. By attaining the ultimate state of emptiness and stillness, even amidst the complexity and chaos of the world, the mind remains clear and undisturbed. This state is called "heavenly joy" (tianle, the bliss of union with the Dao), achievable only by those who truly embody the Dao.

The key to cultivation lies in "reaching the utmost emptiness and guarding perfect stillness" (zhi xuji, shou jingdu)—pushing the state of emptiness to its limit and perfecting the practice of stillness. Emptiness is where the Dao gathers; stillness is where the Dao returns. By maintaining emptiness and stillness, one avoids being burdened by external things, becoming instead a mirror to all phenomena—reflecting everything without disturbance. The ultimate state of emptiness and stillness is the highest realm of the Dao, attainable only through persistent and dedicated practice.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles governing all phenomena and how Daoist practitioners observe and comprehend these laws.

All things in existence undergo constant transformation and growth, yet adepts must transcend surface appearances to perceive their ultimate return to the origin. Just as plants sprout in spring ("emerging from Zhen" signifies the vernal equinox in the east), flourish in summer ("manifesting in Li" indicates the summer solstice in the south), bear fruit in autumn ("ripening in Dui" represents the autumnal equinox in the west), and withdraw underground in winter ("resting in Kan" denotes the winter solstice in the north) - all must eventually return to their roots. By observing these cyclical patterns, practitioners apprehend the eternal principles of cosmic operation ("the Heart of Heaven and Earth").

The text introduces several key concepts:

"Life" (Ming) represents the fundamental source of existence, akin to a tree's roots; "Nature" (Xing) manifests as life's distinctive characteristics, comparable to branches and leaves. Though all things appear luxuriant ("teeming") in their outward display, they ultimately return to their origin ("reverting to the root"). This process of returning to essence constitutes "the return to Life."

The Daoist method involves relinquishing cleverness and attachments ("discarding wisdom and artifice") to enter a state of profound stillness ("returning to quiescent stability"). Through this practice, one experiences the eternal nature of life's source. Like the seasonal cycles that appear as change yet follow unchanging laws, those who truly comprehend the Dao can perceive, amidst the flourishing phenomena of creation ("amidst concurrent growth"), the inevitable principle of all things returning to their origin.

All the myriad transformations and complexities of existence are but external manifestations of movement and the results of physical differentiation. Returning to the root (referring to the Dao) represents the highest state of stillness and the restoration of life's original source. All things receive life from emptiness (xu) and take form through substantiality (shi). Thus, life precedes growth, growth gives rise to inherent nature, and inherent nature gives rise to emotions. When emotions follow external objects, one becomes mired in the material world, chasing trivialities at the expense of the fundamental, indulging in external things while losing one's inherent nature—ultimately leading to the dissipation of life's original essence.

Only by forgetting physical form and not clinging to the source of life, by relinquishing mental constructs and not questioning their origins, and by observing the principle of return to the origin amidst the flourishing growth of all things can one thoroughly comprehend the truth of the great Dao. When the myriad complexities each return to their root, inherent nature is fully revealed. Understanding this truth and fully manifesting one's nature allows one to return to the pure and unified state, to the ultimate emptiness (xu)—this is what is called "returning to the origin of life."

Returning to the origin of life is called "the constant" (chang, the eternal principle). The "constant" stands in contrast to change; once returned to the origin, no transformation can unsettle it. It is without interruption or cessation, unified with the Dao, in harmony with heaven and earth, and sustained by the primal Qi of all things. The "constant" knows no favoritism or distinction, has no beginning or end, does not depend on form, and is not limited by quantity. Unified with the Dao yet unaffected by change, this is the true eternity of the Dao. Without returning to the origin of life, one cannot attain this state.

Understanding the principle of the "constant" is true wisdom. This wisdom is not obtained through ordinary intellect but through direct realization of the Dao's eternity; it is not seen with physical eyes but perceived with the illumination of one's inherent nature. True wisdom remains unaffected by external things, and true clarity can reflect all phenomena between heaven and earth.

Those who do not understand the eternal principle and act recklessly invite misfortune. The sages, understanding the eternal laws of the Dao, act in accordance with heavenly principle and always meet with auspiciousness. Those ignorant of the eternal principle are led by external things, creating troubles everywhere, arbitrarily distinguishing beauty and ugliness in opposition to the Dao, fabricating right and wrong in defiance of truth—unable even to preserve their own lives, thus courting calamity. The Yijing states, "Returning to the correct path prevents reckless action." To lose one's way and not know how to return—this is true recklessness.

Understanding the return to the origin of life means comprehending the eternal principle. Ignorance of this truth leads only to outward pursuit, entanglement with material desires, forgetfulness of the roots of life, virtue, and the Dao, obsession with trivial distinctions of beauty and ugliness, right and wrong, and abandonment of one's true nature for illusion—this is the source of calamity.

This scripture discusses how spiritual practitioners should recognize the importance of the "constant Dao" (changdao) - the eternal, unchanging principle. Those who lose their innate nature and vital Qi (qi) without returning to the right path will inevitably encounter misfortune. One who truly understands the constant Dao possesses a vast mind capable of embracing all things, having returned to the state of "ultimate nothingness" (zhiwu), becoming one with the Dao.

When a person attains this all-encompassing state, they achieve impartiality, free from personal biases. This quality of selfless fairness naturally attracts people's allegiance, much like the sage-kings of antiquity. Such enlightened rulers comprehend the triad of heaven, earth and humanity - their virtue (de) resembles the all-covering firmament, all stemming from their realization of the Dao. By completely emulating the way of heaven, one becomes unified with the Dao.

The Dao is eternal and indestructible; all things flourish through attaining it. Even when the physical body perishes, those who have realized the Dao never truly die, nor do they suffer calamities brought by reckless actions.

Chapter Seventeen describes how the most enlightened ruler (taishang) governs the world - the people merely know of his existence. He lets the world operate naturally, neither artificially creating joy nor inflicting suffering, allowing all things to follow their course. Thus the people neither excessively praise him nor fear insult. This represents the highest manifestation of "governing through non-action" (wuwei).

In the most well-governed era of Great Peace, the ruler (referring to the sovereign) adopts the method of governing through Wuwei (non-action). Though the people live within this system, they do not know who enables their existence; though all enjoy stability, they remain unaware of its source. The people merely sense there is a ruler above them, yet feel no tangible force being exerted upon them.

A lesser form of governance makes the people feel close to and praise their ruler. As imperial commentaries explain: when benevolence reaches the populace and teachings spread through society, the people cherish their ruler as they would their parents, hence feeling closeness; his illustrious reputation shines like the sun and moon, hence eliciting praise. However, this governance that emphasizes intimacy and acclaim has already deviated from the perfect harmony of the Great Dao. Zhuangzi observed that Emperor Shun's benevolent governance was like the natural fragrance of mutton that people instinctively loved. The "Lingtai" chapter in the Book of Songs describes how people voluntarily submitted during King Wen's reign—both examples illustrate this principle.

An even lesser form employs policies of benevolence and righteousness. This governance through youwei (conscious action) makes people draw near out of gratitude and offer praise moved by virtue. While effective in the short term, the complete Dao and De (Virtue/Power) become fragmented in specific affairs, losing their primordial wholeness.

Worse still is governance that makes people fear and despise their ruler. Using decrees to guide and punishments to regulate creates fear; rewards fail to encourage goodness while punishments cannot curb wickedness. Like when the Chu king inquired about the royal cauldrons (coveting Zhou authority) or when Yang Hu stole Lu's precious jade and great bow—these are signs of a decaying era that invite public contempt.

When governance misses the essence and focuses on superficial forms—promoting benevolence and righteousness without genuine transformation—it resorts to punitive deterrence and legal constraints. The result: stricter laws breed more deceit; complex edicts spawn greater fraud. When feudal lords covet royal power and ministers brazenly steal national treasures, we witness the chaos of "fear and contempt."

The root problem lies in insufficient sincerity. The highest sincerity needs no glue or ropes to bind. When Shang dynasty rulers relied on oaths, the people began to rebel; when Zhou rulers employed alliances, suspicion arose. The best governance leaves people merely aware of their ruler's existence without feeling governed. But when fear and contempt dominate, all manner of cunning schemes emerge. If governance isn't rooted in the Dao, and the ruler himself lacks faith in it—relying solely on legal authority while expecting fear without contempt—this very approach demonstrates a fundamental lack of sincerity.

This passage primarily discusses the relationship between rulers and the people, as well as the relationship between the "Great Dao" and "benevolence and righteousness."

When rulers lack sincerity and trustworthiness, the people will lose faith in them, social customs will gradually deteriorate, and ultimately lead to great chaos. Truly wise rulers speak with great caution, never carelessly voicing their opinions. Since the ruler's words and actions become the standard for the entire world, they must be handled with utmost prudence. When a ruler governs with the Dao (the Way), achievements are accomplished, yet the people feel they achieved these naturally themselves, unaware of the ruler's role. This represents the highest form of governance.

Regarding the relationship between the "Great Dao" and "benevolence and righteousness": only after the "Great Dao" is abandoned does the need arise to emphasize "benevolence and righteousness." The Dao is the most fundamental—only when the Dao is lost does one speak of De (Virtue/Power); when De is lost, one speaks of benevolence; when benevolence is lost, one speaks of righteousness. To treat others with "benevolence" and demand "righteousness" from oneself is already far removed from the Dao. Han Yu criticized Laozi for belittling benevolence and righteousness precisely because he failed to comprehend the fundamental meaning of the Dao. What Zhuangzi called "the people obscured by blinders" refers precisely to those who are deluded by superficial concepts like benevolence and righteousness.

The true "Great Dao" cannot be confined by names—it transcends the distinction between "self" and "things." When people begin speaking of "benevolence and righteousness," they have already deviated from the Dao. While "benevolence" may show love for others, it still maintains the distinction between "self and others"; while "righteousness" may establish the self, it still involves attachment to ego. Once concepts like "benevolence and righteousness" are established, people become constrained by notions of "self and others."

When the great Dao (the Way) is abandoned, people begin to esteem cleverness, and this leads to rampant hypocrisy. Emperor Huizong of Song explained that when the people exhaust their intellectual capacities, they resort to deception in response. His minister elaborated that when knowledge is treated as wisdom and scheming as intelligence—using these to manipulate worldly affairs—people begin competing with each other through cunning, resulting in the rise of falsehood and disorder.

When families are disharmonious, filial sons and loving mothers become conspicuous; when the state is in chaos, loyal ministers stand out. Emperor Huizong quoted Zhuangzi, saying that a truly filial son does not flatter his parents, and a truly loyal minister does not fawn upon his ruler—this is the highest standard of conduct for subjects. The minister added that when families are harmonious, people do not deliberately display filial piety or maternal kindness; when the state is well-governed, the loyalty of ministers does not draw special attention. Only when harmony is lost do the names of filial piety and kindness emerge; only when loyalty is lacking do people gain the reputation of being loyal.

Regarding the chapter on "Renouncing Sageliness and Discarding Wisdom" (Chapter 19): If the titles of sages are rejected and clever stratagems abandoned, the people will benefit a hundredfold. Emperor Huizong explained that the Dao endows human nature with pure simplicity, but when people deviate from the Dao in pursuit of virtue, the concept of "sagehood and wisdom" arises. Once sageliness and wisdom are established, the world begins to see eccentric behaviors, with people competing in novelty—praising Yao and Shun while condemning Jie and Zhou. In truth, sageliness and wisdom bring more harm than good to the world. If these are renounced and discarded, returning to the original state of the Dao, people will rest content in their innate nature and gain true benefit.

The minister further explained: These titles of sageliness and wisdom emerge only when people stray from the Dao. When the people lose their simple, genuine nature, theories of sageliness and wisdom appear. Sages take educating the people as their foundation; the wise take understanding human nature as their function. When rulers use sageliness and wisdom to govern, the people compete to imitate their superficial forms while forgetting their own intrinsic value. By rejecting the names of sageliness and wisdom, the people can return to their natural state—no longer blindly worshipping but resting in their true nature, thus gaining the greatest benefit.

If the empty reputation of benevolence and righteousness is discarded, the people will recover their natural filial piety and kindness. Emperor Huizong pointed out that filial piety and kindness are innate, but when people deliberately promote benevolence and righteousness, human nature is distorted. By abandoning these artificial labels, the people return to their true nature, caring not only for their own kin but extending love universally—thus naturally achieving genuine filial piety and kindness.

This passage elucidates that filial piety (xiao, reverence for parents) and parental love (ci, kindness to children) constitute the true substance of humaneness (ren) and righteousness (yi). When people deliberately emphasize the labels of "humaneness and righteousness," they ironically lose their innate simplicity. The people inherently possess filial devotion and parental care in their nature, yet these become constrained by the artificial constructs of "humaneness and righteousness." The conflict between names and reality disrupts their fundamental character. Only by relinquishing attachment to the formal trappings of "humaneness and righteousness" can the people return to their complete natural disposition, interacting with genuine sincerity rather than calculated pretense—thus restoring authentic filial piety and parental love.

Regarding "reject cunning and abandon profit, then thieves and robbers will disappear": Those who pursue crafty schemes feel no shame, while profit-seekers disregard moral duty—both constitute theft. Valuing cunning leads to unrestrained scheming without compunction; how could shame remain? Chasing profit prioritizes material gain by any means; how could righteousness be upheld? Only by eliminating cunning will the people work diligently with contentment; only by abandoning profit-seeking will they live frugally with abundance. How could thieves exist then?

These three (sagely wisdom, humaneness-righteousness, and cunning-profit) are superficial constructs insufficient for governing the world. Ancient kings ruled through civilizing rituals, but by the Zhou dynasty, excessive focus on form overshadowed substance. People lost their pristine nature, increasingly mired in selfish desires. Laozi, living in the late Zhou era, sought to dismantle these distortions and restore humanity's authentic state—thus advocating discarding humaneness-righteousness, abolishing ritual formalism, and even rejecting sagely wisdom. This doesn't imply these cannot govern, but recognizes that the ancient kings' Dao requires returning to unadorned simplicity. Therefore, one must have an anchor: preserving innate purity while reducing selfish cravings.

"Manifest plainness" (jian su): Like painting requiring plain silk as its foundation, su represents the undyed state of pristine whiteness. Human nature is originally simple, becoming disordered through external influences. Sagely wisdom, humaneness-righteousness, and cunning-profit—these external constructs make people lose their filial devotion while thieves proliferate, precisely because excessive formality lacks substance. Hence Laozi advocates dismantling artificial distortions to return to authenticity: anchoring in pure simplicity while diminishing selfish desires.

This passage presents Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary on the phrase "See simplicity and embrace plainness, reduce selfishness and lessen desires" from the Dao De Jing. The core meaning conveys:

Human nature manifests in a state of pure unity when in tranquil stillness, undisturbed by external things. In this state, one can perceive the authentic self—this is the meaning of "seeing simplicity" (jian su). "Embracing plainness" (bao pu) resembles uncarved wood maintaining its natural wholeness. Zhuangzi said achieving desirelessness constitutes "simplicity and plainness"—only in this state can human nature fully reveal itself.

"Plainness" (pu) refers to wood in its unworked, complete state. Human nature operates similarly: when wholly aligned with the natural way and unswayed by external temptations, it maintains unified constancy—this embodies "embracing plainness."

"Reducing selfishness and lessening desires" means decreasing personal interests and diminishing cravings. Emperor Huizong considered pursuing personal gain as "selfishness" (si), while the optimal method for cultivating one's heart-mind lies in reducing desires. Achieving this enables distinguishing inner from outer, discerning truth from falsehood, thereby restoring complete Virtue (De) and returning to original nature. At this stage, labels like "sage wisdom" become meaningless.

Minister Zhao Yi supplemented that excessive selfish desires trap people in external attachments. By reducing these cravings, one can introspect while devaluing material things, recognizing what is truly precious—thus preserving innate Virtue. When Virtue becomes whole, nature returns to its primordial state; what need remains for pursuing reputations of sagely wisdom?