《宋徽宗道德真經解義》Vol. 4

In his commentary on Chapter 20 of the Daode Jing, Emperor Huizong of Song explains: The pursuit of learning originally aims to investigate truth, yet in the process of scholarly inquiry, people often become entangled in judgments of right and wrong, good and evil, examining the rise and fall of order and chaos—how could this not generate anxiety? Those who truly comprehend the Dao gradually relinquish such deliberate study, continuously reducing artificial effort until they reach the state of wuwei (non-action) that accomplishes all things. Thus they align with their natural disposition, maintaining joy in all circumstances, thereby remaining free from sorrow.

Zhang An further elucidates: Those who fully conform to the Heavenly Dao need not seek externally, and thus transcend the disputes over right and wrong in worldly learning. Human delusions and discriminating thoughts are endless, which is why people are plagued by excessive worry. Ceasing this deliberate study eliminates the need for forced contemplation, allowing one to preserve the shen (spirit), no longer driven by cleverness and intellect. Returning to the original state of life, one naturally finds peace and joy everywhere.

Regarding the question, "How much difference is there between a polite 'yes' and a harsh rebuke? How great is the distinction between good and evil?" Emperor Huizong observes: Both "yes" and "no" are responses from the mouth, and both good and evil arise from human nature. Those with narrow vision selfishly separate them into opposites, while the enlightened perceive their essential unity, recognizing that fundamentally they are no different. The sage engages with the world—when interacting with officials in court, they respond appropriately to different situations, restraining evil and promoting good with utmost diligence, for what the people collectively revere, the sage must also revere.

Zhang An adds: Polite assent and harsh rebuke, good and evil—these are all artificial emotional distinctions, with little real difference. Responses come from the mouth; good and evil arise from the heart—they are fundamentally one. To regard a "yes" as respectful and a rebuke as arrogant, to see good as right and evil as wrong—these are illusory distinctions. The truly enlightened perceive the profound unity of all things—where is there any separation?

On the phrase "What the people fear, I too cannot but fear," Emperor Huizong explains: The Dao nurtures all things yet does not worry like the sage—this is the nature of the Dao. But sharing in the fortunes and misfortunes of the people—this is human affairs. Those who embody the Dao are free from worry, yet in practical matters they must still maintain reverence. If one remains unaware of what the people collectively fear, few can avoid calamity. Thus the noble person cultivates themselves with reverence, as the Book of Songs says: "Stand in awe of Heaven's majesty."

Zhang An reflects: Those who attain wuwei and embody the Dao forget both self and things—what fear could they have? Yet in governing the world and aiding the people, they must share in the joys and sorrows of the masses, revering what the people fear—this is not setting oneself apart but joining in the collective concerns of the people.

This scripture speaks of the different realms between Dao practitioners and ordinary people. Emperor Huizong of Song and his ministers explain: The myriad things in the world undergo endless transformations, and standards of good and evil are difficult to define. Only enlightened Dao practitioners can perceive the essence and understand that all things are fundamentally one.

Ordinary people bustle about all day, pursuing sensory pleasures like attending grand feasts (where "tai lao" refers to the sacrificial oxen used in ancient rituals), or chasing aesthetic enjoyment like springtime mountain excursions. Deluded by external things, they drift ever further from the original truth of the Dao. Worldly affairs are endlessly complex ("boundless and without conclusion"), which Dao practitioners find profoundly wearying.

Those who have attained the Dao maintain a state as pure as an infant ("like a baby that doesn't yet smile"), harboring no desires or calculations in their hearts, making no distinctions between closeness and distance, maintaining inner peace and harmony. Though they may appear aimless ("riding along as if having no destination"), they have in fact returned to the original state of their nature, forgetting the self while preserving perfect simplicity.

Here the infant metaphor represents the Dao practitioner's return to original purity. "Not yet smiling" refers to the stage before an infant develops social responses, symbolizing the practitioner's freedom from worldly desires and discriminating mind.

This passage contrasts the states of ordinary people and Daoist cultivators, revealing the wisdom of Daoist philosophy in dealing with worldly affairs.

Emperor Huizong of Song employs the Classic of Changes' imagery of "harnessing six dragons" to illustrate that true wisdom lies in following the tides of time and adhering to natural laws without rigid attachment, appearing to hold no fixed position. Daoist practitioners can adapt to the transformations of phenomena without being bound by external things, maintaining a transcendent attitude.

Ordinary people constantly pursue material abundance because they are immersed in sensory pleasures, craving wealth, status, and fame, indulging in extravagance without restraint. Yet to cultivators of the Dao, these are merely unnecessary burdens. The sage transcends worldly concerns as if having forgotten external things entirely—even monumental achievements seem unrelated to themselves.

The truly wise appear outwardly dull, much like Confucius' description of Yan Hui: "All day long he never opposes me, seeming simple." This "simplicity" is in fact the highest wisdom, for it involves no deliberate display of cleverness—the mind remains pure and uncluttered, naturally aligned with the great Dao. While worldly people flaunt their shrewdness, Dao cultivators seem dim-witted; where ordinary minds haggle over trifles, those who have attained the Dao embrace all with profound tolerance. This seemingly muddled state actually transcends the petty cleverness of the mundane world.

The realm of Daoist practitioners resembles the deep, tranquil ocean (the sea of innate nature)—vast beyond measure and unfathomably profound—manifesting the essence of the Dao. Like an untethered wind that never settles, it demonstrates the Dao's marvelous function: only by remaining unconfined by particular things can one move without obstruction and reach everywhere.

This passage explores the dialectical relationship between "utility" and "non-utility," as well as the divergent pursuits between Daoist practitioners and worldly people.

Worldly people constantly chase after useful things—just as cinnamon trees are felled for their edible bark and lacquer trees tapped for their usable sap. People only recognize the value of "utility," failing to grasp the profound wonder of "non-utility." Daoist practitioners may appear dull and uncouth (stubborn and coarse), yet they embody the realm of "the usefulness of the useless." In this state, their inner selves remain unattached to moral norms (not conforming to the classics of De and righteousness), their outward appearance unadorned (stubbornness means no embellishment), naturally simple and plain (coarseness means no beautification)—this very quality allows them to align with the Great Dao.

What sets Daoist practitioners apart is their pursuit of the fundamental Dao (valuing nourishment from the Mother). Like an infant clinging to its mother, practitioners understand all things rely on the Dao's nurturing (the Dao gives them life, rears them, develops them, cultivates them). Ordinary people lose their innate nature in worldly pursuits (losing their nature to customs), while practitioners return to the source (returning to the Dao to recover their nature), cultivating their true nature through realization of the Great Dao (nourished by the Dao to perfect their authenticity).

Chapter 21 further elucidates the relationship between De (Virtue/Power) and the Dao. The highest form of De (supreme De) completely follows the Dao's patterns (only the Dao is followed). The Dao itself has no form or appearance (constantly nameless), manifesting through De (the Dao becomes evident through De). When cultivation reaches its pinnacle, De returns to the primal state of unity with the Dao (De at its zenith becomes identical to the origin).

As the source of all things (the Dao as substance), the Dao appears both existent and non-existent (only indistinct, only hazy). "Indistinct" refers to perceptible forms, while "hazy" indicates graspable patterns. Though the Dao's substance is utterly empty (supreme nothingness), it generates marvelous function (its function is wondrous existence), with all things manifesting the Dao's presence (nothing exists that isn't the Dao).

This scripture explores the essential nature and manifestation of the Dao. Though the Dao is formless and without image, it reveals shape and substance in the state of indistinct haziness. Just as the heavens transform into thunder, lightning, wind, and clouds, and the earth generates water and fire, this process of transformation from emptiness to substantiality embodies the profound mystery of the Dao.

Within the deep and obscure darkness lies the subtle primordial Qi (Jing), which serves as the fundamental origin of all things. This vital essence is supremely pure and authentic, eternally unchanging, maintaining its essential nature from ancient times to the present. It is through comprehending this eternal essence that sages gain insight into the patterns of transformation in all phenomena.

To elaborate: The Dao as existence is undifferentiated unity, which may be called "the thing that is no thing." Hazy and indistinct, it seems to have form yet cannot be seen; it appears to follow patterns yet remains elusive. Within this state of apparent nothingness, it contains both formless omens (Xiang) and tangible entities (Wu). Natural phenomena such as thunder, lightning, wind, clouds, water, and fire all emerge from emptiness and ultimately return to emptiness—this cyclical transformation perfectly manifests the profundity of the Dao.

In the deepest and darkest realm of "profound obscurity" (Yaoming), the purest vital essence (the Jing of Heavenly Unity) is stored, serving as the root of all creation. This essence is utterly authentic and unchanging, preserving its fundamental nature throughout time. Sages do not need deliberate thought to naturally comprehend the patterns of transformation in all things, precisely because they have grasped this eternal and unchanging Dao.

This passage from Emperor Huizong's Commentary on the Dao De Jing elucidates Daoist wisdom for cultivating life and navigating the world, illustrating the principle of "maintaining softness without contention" through complementary opposites.

The section on "resonating with all under heaven" explains: When the human mind remains in a state of serene stillness, it paradoxically becomes capable of perceiving and comprehending the patterns of all things. This subtle cognitive ability can only be achieved by those possessing supreme wisdom. While all phenomena undergo constant transformation, only by maintaining undivided inner purity can one perceive the essence of these changes.

Chapter 22 employs everyday phenomena to demonstrate principles for worldly conduct:

"To yield is to be preserved whole" resembles how supple grasses bend with the wind to avoid breaking. If humans can adapt to external changes without rigid insistence, they naturally preserve themselves. What Zhuangzi called "external yielding" refers precisely to this harmonious outward flexibility in human interactions.

"To be bent is to become straight" operates like the inchworm that must first contract to propel forward. Temporary accommodation doesn't signify abandoning principles, but serves the ultimate realization of proper Dao. Uncompromising rigidity often obstructs achievement.

"To be hollow is to be filled" mirrors how low-lying areas naturally accumulate water. Maintaining humble receptivity paradoxically leads to greater fulfillment.

"To be worn out is to be renewed" follows nature's rhythm as withered winter vegetation prepares for spring's rebirth.

"Less brings attainment, more creates confusion" emphasizes the Daoist cultivation of essential unity. Pursuing fragmented knowledge disperses focus from the root. Thus the sage embraces the fundamental principle of Dao (holding to the One) as life's compass. This undivided state generates marvelous efficacy—by conserving energy without dissipation, the sage's every word and deed naturally becomes the world's standard.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "non-contention" (bu zheng). When Emperor Huizong of Song and his minister Cui Yan (style name Yi) annotated the Daode Jing, they elucidated several key insights:

By seeking fewer external things, one can comprehend life's true essence; greed only leads to confusion in worldly affairs. The sage adheres to the fundamental principle of the Dao (embracing the One), remains unswayed by emotions, fully realizes the nature of the Great Dao, achieves the state of unity between self and all things, and becomes a model for the world.

Not displaying oneself allows for clear perception of affairs. Only by not clinging to personal views can one see things comprehensively. Those who are self-righteous have narrow vision, while those who remain open-minded can embrace all perspectives.

Not asserting oneself manifests true Virtue (De). By not insisting on personal opinions and accepting correct counsel, achievements naturally become evident. Self-righteous individuals lose people's hearts, while those skilled in employing others' talents accomplish great deeds.

Not boasting establishes lasting merit. As the Book of Documents states, "When you do not praise yourself, no one in the world can contend with your achievements." Self-praise breeds arrogance, making others unwilling to assist.

Not exalting oneself ensures longevity. The Book of Documents says, "Because you are not arrogant, no one in the world can contend with your abilities." Flaunting talents invites resentment, causing others to withhold support.

Precisely because the sage does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with him. While others rush ahead, he willingly stays behind, bearing the world's reproaches, always maintaining a non-contentious position. Self-awareness breeds conflict; those who forget themselves find no one to contend with them.

The ancient saying "yielding achieves completeness" is no empty phrase. The sage acts like water—blending with all things yet never losing its nature; responds like an inked string—conforming to heavenly principles while maintaining integrity. Understanding that low places become full prevents arrogance; knowing that discarding the old brings renewal prevents ostentation. What appears spontaneous is actually achieved through the practice of "yielding to achieve completeness" (zhi qu). Only thus can one preserve oneself, fulfill one's natural lifespan, and become a truly perfected individual.

Dwelling in the world with a mind as open as a valley, responding with flexible adaptability, harmonizing with the transformations of all things, walking with the Great Dao without deviation—this constitutes the complete realization of the Way.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "non-contention" (不争). By not self-displaying, not self-asserting, not self-boasting, and not self-exalting, one ultimately attains the state of non-competition with others. These are all pathways leading to the great Dao (道). When a person's virtue (德) shines brightly and their achievements remain steadfast through time, no one in the world can contend with them—this represents the genuine attainment of perfection.

Regarding the chapter on "Rare Words Are Natural" (希言自然), the term "rare words" refers to transcending worldly affairs and not clinging to particular things. It resembles what Liezi described as the "state of solitary doubt" (疑独), where one must abandon cleverness and artificial effort, following natural principles without forcing external manifestations. The truly natural state involves no deliberate action or affectation, just as celestial principles operate spontaneously.

A fierce wind cannot last all morning; a torrential rain cannot persist all day. What causes this phenomenon? Heaven and Earth. Even Heaven and Earth cannot sustain violent storms for long—how much less can humans? Heaven and Earth nurture all things: winds help beings unfold, rains moisten all creation—both follow the natural growth patterns of beings without forceful interference, hence their endurance. Violent storms disrupt yin-yang (阴阳) harmony and violate natural laws, thus they cannot last.

Therefore, those who pursue the great Dao must unite with the Dao; those who cultivate virtue must unite with De; those who are lost must unite with their lost state. Those united with the Dao will be embraced by it; those united with De will be fulfilled by it; those united with loss will remain in it. Genuine practitioners must transcend words and appearances, realizing their true nature in wordless silence.

This passage discusses common misconceptions among Dao cultivators. Those who truly comprehend the Dao become one with it, unbound by external things. Their virtue (De) requires no deliberate display, and their faults become no burden. Yet many fail to understand the principle of "solitary transformation" (the natural state of independent self-transformation), perceiving the Dao as both incomprehensible and unattainable—as distant as climbing to heaven.

Thus they engage in ascetic practices: some exhaust their heart-mind and torment their bodies, others cling to partial understandings, while some become blinded by superficial phenomena. The result is a fragmented comprehension of the Dao—those seeking the Dao become attached to the Dao, those pursuing virtue fixate on virtue, and those fearing loss obsess over potential loss. Such forced striving causes them to lose their original authenticity—what they call "gaining" is precisely true loss.

The Dao transcends distinctions between self and object, serenely illuminating the Great Void (cosmic origin), returning to the realm of "constant non-being" (eternal emptiness). Even the name "Dao" is but a forced designation—what is there to grasp after? The moment one seeks something, they depart from the Dao's essence, trapped in the artificial adornments of the material world. Those who consider the Dao difficult torment themselves daily with anxious calculations, exhausting their heart-mind with forced thinking and damaging their bodies through asceticism, squandering their innate nature without realizing they should turn back. They mistake the gains and losses of virtue for the Dao itself, distorting themselves to conform—what appears as attainment is precisely the greatest loss.

Only insufficient sincerity produces doubt. Those who truly believe in the Dao act without presumption and discern truth from falsehood—taking the Dao as true and objects as false. Thinkers like Hui Shi and Han Feizi, though originating from Daoist roots, strayed from the true Dao due to inadequate sincerity. Before the silent supreme truth, those who comprehend naturally believe deeply; those who cannot attain this state drift into delusion, moving ever farther from the Dao until finally losing their original nature.

Just as tiptoeing cannot be sustained long and giant strides cannot cover distance, actions violating natural constancy ultimately cannot endure. So too with Dao cultivation—only by following constancy can one return to the Great Dao. Those who display themselves cannot see clearly; the self-righteous struggle to manifest true virtue; self-promoters lack genuine merit; the arrogant cannot persevere. To Dao practitioners, such behaviors resemble leftover food and superfluous burdens.

Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty, in his commentary on the Dao De Jing, observed: When a person sees only themselves, such wisdom cannot fully comprehend reality, hence it is called "unenlightened" (buming). When one affirms only themselves, such benevolence cannot embrace all people, hence it is called "unmanifest" (buzhang). Deliberately flaunting one's virtuous deeds causes the loss of true virtue, hence it is called "without merit" (wugong). Flaunting one's abilities leads to the forfeiture of genuine accomplishment, hence it is called "without endurance" (buchang).

The root of the Dao lies in profound inward restraint and simplicity. Those who indulge in extravagant appearances and unrestrained desires—how could they align with the Dao? Just as overeating becomes a burden, and carrying too much while walking becomes a hindrance.

The minister Chen Jingyuan (styled Yi) supplemented: Those who truly attain the Dao can forget both themselves and others; they can relinquish both this and that. Only when one reaches the state of forgetting all things and uniting with the Dao can one truly be enlightened, manifest, accomplish merit, and endure. If one clings to the self and indulges in luxury and pleasure, for cultivation it is like leftover food and superfluous flesh—even the myriad things will detest it. Thus, those who attain the Dao do not act this way.

Emperor Huizong further explained: Indulging one's innate nature leads to excess. Heaven will diminish it, Earth will alter it, and people will detest it. Therefore, those who attain the Dao do not act this way. Chen Jingyuan elaborated: If one cannot empty the mind to embody the Dao but instead inflates the self, forgetting the constancy of innate nature and adding unnecessary burdens, the myriad things will detest it. This is the state that those who attain the Dao avoid.

Regarding the chapter "There was something undifferentiated and yet complete" (Chapter 25): Before Heaven and Earth took form, there existed an undivided, primordial state. Emperor Huizong explained: When Qi (vital energy), form, and substance were merged and undifferentiated, it was called Hunlun (the primal chaos of the cosmos). This is what the Yijing refers to as the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Even Heaven and Earth depend on it to arise, hence it is said to "precede Heaven and Earth." Though it gives birth to the myriad things, it itself possesses the profound mystery of neither arising nor perishing—hence it is called a "thing" (wu).

Chen Jingyuan explained: It is called a "thing" because it took shape in the hazy indistinctness of chaos. This is the state of the Dao's existence—a complete and undivided unity, the origin of Heaven and Earth, and that which gives birth to them.

"Silent and formless" describes the Dao as tranquil and empty, uninvolved in movement and unconnected to external things, eternally maintaining its pure, original state. Chen Jingyuan said: Uninvolved in movement is the ultimate stillness; unconnected to external things is the ultimate purity.

"Standing alone and unchanging" illustrates the Dao's absolute independence and eternal constancy. Emperor Huizong explained: The great Dao is eternally stable, unaltered by external things—this is the essence of the Dao. Chen Jingyuan added: The Dao stands in opposition to nothing; it exists alone, steadfast since antiquity—hence it is called "unchanging."

"Revolving ceaselessly without exhaustion" means the Dao cycles in perpetual motion, never wearying.

This passage explains the characteristics of the Dao (the Way) and its relationship with all things. The Dao is the universal principle followed by all existence, omnipresent and eternally active, thus revered as "the mother of all under heaven" (the source of all things). All beings depend on it for existence, though we cannot precisely define it—we can only tentatively name it "Dao" or "the Great."

The movement of the Dao manifests three distinctive features: first, "flowing" (endless circulation), as its operation never stagnates; second, "boundless" (infinitely profound), as its influence knows no limits; and third, "returning" (cyclical recurrence), akin to how all things ultimately revert to their origin. The Dao's motion appears to move away, yet in truth it completes its cycle by returning to the starting point.

The text identifies four great existences in the cosmos: the Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the Sovereign (ruler). The Dao encompasses and upholds Heaven and Earth; Heaven covers all things; Earth supports everything; while the Sovereign stands between Heaven and Earth, assisting them in nurturing creation. Heaven governs Earth, and Earth emulates Heaven—these four form the grandest system of existence in the universe. The Sovereign's inclusion alongside the Dao, Heaven, and Earth stems from occupying the central position between them, bearing the responsibility to harmonize Heaven and Earth while fostering all life.

(Note: Here, "Sovereign" does not refer to a concrete ruler but symbolizes the ideal governing figure, embodying the Daoist political ideal of "harmony between Heaven and humanity." Daoism holds that the ideal ruler should govern by emulating the Dao's operational principles.)

This passage elucidates the relationship between the Dao (the Way) and imperial governance. Emperor Huizong of Song notes in his commentary that when the Dao manifests in the world, it takes concrete form (方体) and permeates the three realms of heaven, earth, and humanity. A sage ruler who can quietly abide in the great Dao and act in harmony with celestial patterns becomes one with the Dao itself, sharing in the workings of heaven and earth—hence being called "great."

Minister Chen Jingyuan further explains: The Dao gives birth to all things yet remains unconstrained by any particular form, existing in a state between "being" (有) and "non-being" (无). Both heaven-and-earth and sovereign rulers exist within this operational framework of the great Dao.

Regarding the classic passage "Humanity models earth," the commentary clarifies: The ruler emulates earth (which in turn models heaven), earth models heaven (which follows the Dao), and the Dao models ziran (自然, spontaneous self-so). Heaven and earth act without deliberate intention yet nurture all beings; likewise, the emperor governs through wuwei (non-action) to accomplish worldly achievements. Here "modeling ziran" does not represent the Dao in its entirety, but rather how the Dao manifests when engaging with the myriad things.

Chen Jingyuan supplements: Ziran refers to things in their authentic, unforced state—transcending particular phenomena yet not constituting the complete Dao. Only when the Dao interacts with creation does it reveal this characteristic of "modeling ziran." The fourfold relationship of modeling between heaven, earth, humanity, and the Dao has no sequential hierarchy, being cyclical and without beginning.

Chapter 26 discusses the principle that "the heavy is root of the light": Substance serves as foundation for superficiality, and stillness masters agitation. Just as armies cannot march without supply trains (辎重), exemplary persons must maintain steadfast composure in worldly affairs. Substantiality makes one less susceptible to disturbance, enabling comprehensive consideration; stillness can restrain restlessness. Those who preserve inner gravity remain unshaken by external temptations, unmoved by power, and unchanged by life-or-death circumstances—thus even when treading dangerous paths (畏塗), they encounter no calamity.

(Note: "Supply trains" here metaphorically represent fundamental supports in human conduct; "dangerous paths" signify perilous life situations)

This passage describes maintaining a detached attitude even amidst worldly splendor (荣观). Emperor Huizong of Song explains that external magnificence is ultimately extraneous, while true tranquility resides within oneself—only with inner stability can one properly enjoy external pleasures. His minister adds that chasing external things scatters the Shen (spirit), whereas cultivating inner stillness preserves harmony. Thus, even when surrounded by dazzling sights, maintaining transcendent composure proves more essential.

The text then addresses how a ruler governing ten thousand chariots must never treat the realm lightly. The empire represents an immensely sacred trust—governing it resembles driving six horses with rotten reins, requiring utmost caution. The minister emphasizes that the sovereign bears heaven's mandate and must never act rashly. Recklessness forfeits ministers' trust, while impetuousness erodes regal dignity. Only through composed stillness can proper ruler-minister relations be maintained.

Chapter 27 discusses how those skilled in action leave no traces. Emperor Huizong explains this occurs because their deeds align with Dao's natural patterns, thus appearing effortless. The minister observes that supreme action resembles Wuwei (non-action) yet accomplishes all, like the golden age when harmonious coexistence required no forced measures.

Those adept in speech invite no reproach. The emperor notes this stems from speaking in accordance with nature's principles. Sages perfectly harmonize words and deeds—their actions leave no tracks, their speech stirs no disputes. The minister adds that supreme communication needs no words, just as heaven's revolutions and earth's fecundity operate silently.

Master calculators require no counting rods. Emperor Huizong clarifies this signifies grasping fundamental patterns that make all phenomena transparent. The minister concludes that by following Dao's spontaneous principles, one navigates complexity effortlessly—what need then for deliberate calculation? This constitutes the highest arithmetic.

One who excels at closing doors uses no latch yet none can open them. Emperor Huizong of Song explains this as akin to sealing the sensory orifices and guarding the Shen (spirit), allowing consciousness to retreat into profound stillness. His minister elaborates: withdrawing outward vision to turn inward, returning the spirit to its origin where Shen merges with Qi, and Qi unites with Dao. Those adept at closing the doors of desire act thus—stopping improper thoughts before they arise and severing harmful intentions before they sprout, leaving no room for unwholesome notions to emerge. The same principle applies to skillfully engaging with external phenomena.

One who excels at tying knots uses no cords yet none can untie them. Emperor Huizong annotates: relying on physical bindings violates the intrinsic nature of things. The sage creates harmony without words and transforms others through mere presence—such connections require no constraints yet remain unbreakable. The minister explains: when sages uphold the world with utmost sincerity, the world naturally responds with trust. Like elders finding contentment and children receiving care—who could sever such bonds?

Therefore, sages always excel at rescuing people, so none are abandoned; always excel at utilizing things, so nothing is wasted. Emperor Huizong clarifies: "Excellence" is Dao's continuous expression—when fully aligned with Dao, distinctions of good and bad dissolve. Sages manifest great Dao to aid the world, achieving these five excellences (referring to skillful closing, tying, etc.), enabling all beings to fulfill their nature. Their care for people and benefit to things isn't forced—it's simply returning to original purity and following natural patterns. In this age where Dao is obscured and people lose their fundamental clarity, sinking daily into distress, who but sages can save them?

The minister adds: Sages transform the world through Wuwei (non-action), applying these five excellences—healing before illness strikes, protecting before harm occurs. Their aid leaves no traces; people remain unaware of the sage's actions, simply living in natural ease. This is called "inherent illumination" (light that doesn't outwardly shine). Emperor Huizong says "inherent" means not deliberately displaying—inner radiance without glare. The minister clarifies: Sages show no deliberate action, yet people unknowingly follow—this continuation of five excellences constitutes "inherent illumination."

Thus the virtuous person is teacher to the unvirtuous; the unvirtuous becomes material for the virtuous. Emperor Huizong observes: "Material" means even non-virtue has value—its existence highlights virtue's worth. The minister explains: Only through contrast with virtue can non-virtue be recognized, hence the virtuous become guides for transformation.

This passage elucidates the relativity of good and evil. Those who are not good can serve as mirrors (resources) for virtuous individuals, much like negative examples. However, those who truly comprehend the Dao neither excessively venerate models of goodness nor deliberately despise examples of unworthiness.

Emperor Huizong of Song (imperial commentary) explains: When all under heaven become fixated on distinguishing what is good, the very concept of "not good" arises. If one can transcend the duality of good and evil, maintaining a state of non-attachment and desirelessness, neither preference nor aversion will emerge. This represents the sage's state of oneness with all things.

The court scholar (Chen Yi) further elaborates: Excessive emphasis on distinguishing good from evil gives rise to all manner of affectation and pretense, making the world increasingly difficult to govern. Only by relinquishing attachment to these distinctions can one perceive the fundamental nature and attain the mysterious perfection of De (Virtue, 玄德).

The passage concludes by noting: The profundity of the Dao lies in not clinging to superficial acts of goodness. Those who consider themselves clever often remain profoundly confused about fundamental truths (though wise, greatly deluded). Even the Seven Sages (七圣) once found themselves perplexed by this, for the mysteries of the Dao cannot be grasped through ordinary wisdom. True wisdom consists in understanding the marvelous function of "non-being" (wu 无) — this constitutes the most essential principle (essential subtlety, 要妙).