《宋徽宗道德真經解義》Vol. 5

This passage presents Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary on Chapter 28 of the Daode Jing (Scripture of the Dao and De), focusing on the wisdom of "knowing the masculine but guarding the feminine."

The original text uses masculine and feminine as metaphors for the Dao's principles of firmness and yielding, movement and stillness. The masculine represents yang vigor, active engagement, and purposeful action (youwei), while the feminine embodies yin softness, quiet receptivity, and non-action (wuwei). The truly wise, though understanding how to prevail through strength, consciously adopt a gentle and tranquil attitude. Like mountain streams that gather all tributaries by remaining low, the sage's humble self-containment paradoxically enables the embrace of all things. This "constant De" (changde, enduring Virtue) returns one to an infant's pure state—where Qi flows harmoniously without agitation, and the heart-mind (xin) remains rich in essence (Jing) without dissipation.

The commentary then explains "knowing the white but guarding the black." White symbolizes manifest virtue, while black represents the Dao's profound mystery. Sages both illuminate moral excellence and silently unite with the Great Dao. Like the flawless progression of seasons, this virtuous standard ("the world's measure") never errs, ultimately returning to the boundless origin—the Dao's infinite reality (wuji, the Limitless). While the Book of Documents teaches that royal governance should return to "having limits" (specific balanced standards), Laozi speaks of "limitlessness"—these perspectives complement each other.

The supplementary notes by Zhang'an clarify: The masculine yang nature drives action, while feminine yin qualities govern stillness. Movement and stillness must coordinate appropriately—knowing when to act yet mastering its timing, while guarding stillness as the root to restrain restlessness. Just as low-lying streams contain all waters, maintaining constant De enables return to primordial authenticity.

This passage elucidates the Daoist concepts of "knowing the white yet keeping to the black" and "returning to simplicity and authenticity." Using the symbolism of colors: white represents pristine purity like unbleached fabric, radiant as if illuminated by heavenly light; black signifies the profound and unfathomable mysterious darkness, silently harmonizing with the Dao in stillness. Practitioners should comprehend the principles of illumination (knowing the white), yet maintain their dwelling in obscure realms (keeping to the black). Only thus can they preserve inner emptiness, refrain from flaunting their cleverness, and concentrate single-mindedly on uniting with the Great Dao.

Regarding perspectives on honor and disgrace, ordinary people view gain/loss and wealth/poverty as matters of honor, while sages perceive them equally. Like valleys that remain empty yet contain all things without becoming full, this perfected virtue is called "constant De (Virtue)." Only by returning to "pu" (the authentic state of the Dao) can one fully comprehend the Great Dao. Ancient kings and lords referred to themselves as "the solitary, the bereft, the unworthy"—precisely by maintaining this simple-heartedness that attracted the world's allegiance.

The text distinguishes between "Dao" and "qi (vessels)": Dao is the metaphysical whole, while qi represents concrete, physical objects. When the integrity of Dao (pu) disperses, it manifests as various specific utensils. Sages who employ these implements become true administrators (officials) because they grasp the relationship between Dao and vessels—maintaining the wholeness of Dao while skillfully utilizing concrete things. This embodies the Daoist principle of "unity of substance and function," emphasizing the importance of returning to the source of Dao even while engaging with practical matters.

This passage expounds Daoist wisdom on governing the world. The core teaching states: The complete Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle) is what sages use for self-cultivation, while its dispersed manifestations are employed to order the world. All things under heaven possess their own forms and functions—the sage governs by establishing offices and directing subordinates, much like the Book of Changes teaches the interplay of the hidden and manifest, the soft and the strong.

True mastery of governance never forcibly disrupts nature. The sage assigns positions according to each person's ability while maintaining a state of wuwei (non-action, or non-forced intervention). Those who attempt to seize the world by force are doomed to fail, for the world is a mysterious "divine vessel" (an ineffable, elusive existence) that cannot be obtained through scheming or violence.

All worldly things are bound by form and space, yet the Dao's movement remains unfathomable. Forced action leads to failure; clinging to control results in loss. Only those who truly embody the Dao can naturally win the people's hearts—this cannot be achieved through cunning or might. The genuine ruler must transcend the limitations of concrete forms and instruments.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles of governing the world. Emperor Huizong of Song and his ministers discussed how rulers who cling to specific methods (qi, "vessels") may instead be manipulated by those more adept. The truly wise approach is to follow natural spontaneity (wuwei, "non-action"), whereby the world naturally aligns with one's governance.

Forced action leads to failure, as Zhuangzi observed: excessive reliance on cunning ultimately backfires. Using brute strength exhausts one's power, and persisting in difficulty invites defeat. Clinging stubbornly to outdated ways misses opportunities, for the Dao operates through temporal changes—adhering rigidly to old methods contradicts heavenly principle.

All things in the world follow their own rhythms: some advance while others follow; some require warmth (xu, "to nurture"), others cold (chui, "to diminish"); some flourish while others wane; some grow (zai, "to bear") while others decay (hui, "to collapse"). Like the movement of sun and moon, the cycle of seasons, the rotation of the Five Phases (Wuxing), or the withering and blooming of plants—all are governed by fate and predetermined patterns. Only sages transcend external constraints, maintaining inner constancy while responding serenely to change.

Thus, sages guard against three extremes: excess (shen, "going too far"), extravagance (she, "luxury"), and overabundance (tai, "prosperity"). They understand that things decline after reaching their zenith, so they preserve moderation, never pursuing overflowing fullness. In this way, they remain unburdened by external things.

Chapter 30 specifically states: those who assist rulers with the Dao do not rely on military force to dominate the world. For using violence inevitably invites calamity—armed might is no path to lasting peace.

This passage discusses the principles of military engagement. Emperor Huizong of Song and his ministers deliberated that armies and weapons are but auxiliary means to moral governance. Though the ancients possessed military might, they never prioritized it. Those who truly assist rulers through the Great Dao (Daode) grasp the fundamental principles rather than relying on force to dominate the world.

Weapons are instruments of violence, which sages employ only as a last resort—thus they remain subordinate to virtue (De). Sage-kings like Yao and Shun dared not lightly discuss military affairs before their lords, preferring instead to assist through the Great Dao.

Resorting to force often invites retribution. As Mencius said: "As you treat others, so shall you be treated." Those who forcibly seek hegemony inevitably decline—this is an inexorable tendency. How can dominion seized by violence maintain lasting strength?

Where armies encamp, desolation follows; after great battles, lean years must come. War exhausts the people's strength, leaving fields untended, while violating natural cycles brings calamity. The Book of Songs declares: "When all states are tranquil, abundant harvests come year after year"—only when all under heaven live in harmony do heaven and earth respond accordingly. War devastates livelihoods causing desolation; its killing energy disrupts cosmic harmony, inviting famine.

Therefore, those skilled in warfare seek only to achieve their aim, never presuming upon military might. The sage's art of war lies in overcoming many with few, relying on internal unity rather than numerical superiority. Ordinary men mistake brute force for decisive courage, but true courage manifests in avoiding arrogance, boastfulness, and ostentation, resorting to arms only when unavoidable.

The supreme military wisdom is this: achieving objectives without pride, succeeding without boasting, prevailing without flaunting victory, acting only when compelled by necessity. This is succeeding without presumption. The sage's warfare follows the Middle Way—only righteous armies avoid calamity. Without boasting comes endurance; without claiming merit comes achievement; without arrogance comes sustained victory. Understanding these four principles enables success without presumption. Why must one rely on force at all?

When things reach their peak of prosperity, they inevitably decline toward decay, just as nature's lush summer inevitably gives way to autumn's withering. All phenomena follow this law of "what flourishes must wane," yet this is not the intrinsic nature of the Dao. The Dao transcends temporal cycles, remaining eternally constant and unaffected by external changes. Taking softness and pliancy as its fundamental characteristic, the Dao achieves perpetual constancy; whereas concrete things that pursue hardness and strength end up exhausting themselves—precisely because they deviate from the Dao. Once separated from the Dao, things cannot escape the process of decline from vigor to senescence.

The chapter on superior weapons (jiabing) makes clear: Fine weapons are instruments of ill omen, so despised that even ordinary objects detest them—thus those who have attained the Dao never employ them lightly. Weapons are tools prepared for violent affairs, while true Daoists manifest virtue (De) rather than flaunt martial prowess. Where armies encamp, fields turn barren; where great battles rage, years of calamity follow—such is the ominous nature of weaponry. Hence the noble person in peacetime honors the left (symbolizing yang virtue that nurtures life), but in warfare honors the right (symbolizing yin punishment that governs killing). These instruments of slaughter should never be cherished by noble individuals.

One may resort to arms only when absolutely compelled, and even then must maintain detachment. To take pleasure in warfare is fundamentally to delight in killing. True military action should solely aim to stop violence and rebellion—a last resort when all alternatives fail. Using killing to end killing remains a grievous necessity, never to be glorified. Those who rejoice in slaughter can never truly win the world. A ruler who honors benevolent virtue (De) becomes invincible, whereas one who mistakes danger for safety, disasters for benefits, and indulges in ruinous conduct will become the focal point of collective resentment and the gathering place of calamities.

This passage elucidates the Daoist understanding of warfare, humaneness, and the Dao (the Way):

Regarding warfare and humaneness, it points out that those who delight in killing are the least humane. The truly humane regard all things under heaven equally, thus considering weapons to be inauspicious objects. Even when victorious in war, one should observe funeral rites, as warfare inevitably brings harm. In ancient military protocols, the lieutenant general (偏将军) stood on the left while the commanding general (上将军) took the right position—this arrangement followed funeral customs to acknowledge warfare as an ominous affair.

The discussion on the Dao (道) explains that it is the origin of all things in heaven and earth, yet remains nameless in itself. The "Uncarved Block" (朴), representing the primal state of the Dao, may appear insignificant, yet nothing in the world can subordinate it. If rulers can maintain this state of pristine simplicity, all things will naturally submit. Just as the yin and yang (阴阳) energies of heaven and earth harmonize to produce evenly distributed sweet dew without human intervention.

Here, the "Uncarved Block" is a crucial Daoist concept denoting the most primordial and authentic state of the Dao before its dispersion into particular phenomena. What Zhuangzi calls the "True Lord" (真君) similarly points to this eternally existing noumenon. When rulers preserve this state of natural simplicity without resorting to force or punishment, all things submit spontaneously, much like the dew naturally distributes itself evenly.

When the Qi of Heaven and Earth's Yin and Yang intermingles, it creates a state of harmony that nourishes all things. The sweet dew (ganlu) is precisely this harmonious Qi of Heaven and Earth condensed into form. Ancient texts state that when a ruler's De (Virtue) reaches up to the Supreme Purity (Taiqing) above and extends down to the Great Peace (Taining) below, while benefiting all living beings in between, sweet dew will naturally descend from Heaven.

The feudal lords and kings who can maintain the "One" (the origin of Dao) are thus able to harmonize the relationship between Heaven and humanity without obstruction. Therefore, when Heaven and Earth interact and Yin-Yang blend in harmony, sweet dew falls evenly upon the world—this is the natural operation of Dao's principles.

When all things first take form, they acquire names. Once names are established, one must understand the principle of knowing when to stop. Only by knowing when to stop can danger be avoided. In the sequence of Dao's transformations, after five evolutionary stages, forms and names become fixed. Once nameable forms emerge, Dao begins to decline, and the pristine nature starts to dissipate. Benevolent scholars anxiously observe the world's calamities, while the unvirtuous indulge their nature in pursuit of wealth and status. The sage, however, remains different—though all things have names, he does not change with external phenomena, maintaining instead a mindset of quiet contentment. Who then could bring him harm? This is why it is said: "Knowing when to stop avoids peril."

Dao exists wholly in its most primordial state as the "One." From this primordial origin, all things acquire names. Names begin with the "One," from which the myriad things emerge, each with its own designation. By rectifying names and conforming to heavenly principles, one thereby understands when to stop. If one becomes constrained by names, attached to external things, drifting with the current without turning back, one becomes entangled in worldly burdens, forgetting life's true essence and losing one's foundation—is this not perilous indeed?

Dao's movement through the world is as natural as small streams flowing into rivers and seas. All things under Heaven share the same fundamental nature, and Dao unites them through this nature. Just as streams and seas converge through water—like attracting like, and Qi resonating with Qi—what then must the sage do in governing the world? Nothing more than following nature's course.

Nature is unified, all originating from Dao's wholeness. Both nature and Dao are concealed within the "One"—dispersed, they resemble small streams; gathered, they become rivers and seas, yet the essence of water remains unchanged.

Understanding others is a manifestation of wisdom. Wisdom is like the eyes—it can perceive objects a hundred paces away, yet cannot see its own eyelashes. Discerning others' righteousness and wickedness is as clear as distinguishing black from white—this is wisdom, but it pertains only to understanding others. Using one's own insight to comprehend others and accurately judge them—this is why it is called wisdom.

This passage discusses the self-cultivation and spiritual state of Daoist practitioners. Laozi believed true wisdom lies not in scheming against others, but in understanding oneself. The ability to perceive others is mere cleverness, while self-knowledge constitutes great wisdom. Practitioners should calm their minds and return to their original nature, becoming like mirrors that reflect all things between heaven and earth.

Conquering others merely demonstrates physical strength, but overcoming one's own desires represents true power. Daoist cultivation doesn't glorify martial prowess, but pursues inner transcendence. When a person remains unmoved by temptations and adversities—whether wealth, poverty, or life-and-death trials—this constitutes genuine self-mastery.

Contentment brings true abundance. Those perpetually dissatisfied will never attain real fulfillment, no matter how much they pursue. Only those who persevere unceasingly in cultivation possess authentic aspiration.

Practitioners must guard their fundamental nature without drifting with the current, thus achieving enduring stability. Just as trees remain rooted in earth, humans must preserve their original heart-mind. Even when the physical body perishes, the enduring spirit constitutes true longevity. The concept of "dying without perishing" refers to accomplished practitioners whose spirits merge with the Dao (the Way), eternally abiding between heaven and earth despite bodily death.

This passage expounds profound truths concerning life-death and the Great Dao (the fundamental law of the universe).

Regarding life and death: All beings have their beginnings and endings, yet sages understand that death and rebirth are as natural as the alternation of day and night. Though the physical form may transform and perish, the primordial spirit (Yuanshen) never vanishes—it coexists with heaven and earth. Ordinary people, trapped in ignorance and attachment, live as if already dead; while those who attain clarity see through the transformations of form, preserving their innate nature's purity to achieve unity with the Dao. This constitutes true "longevity."

Concerning the Great Dao (Chapter 34): The Dao permeates all existence, flowing like water without constraint, adapting effortlessly to all circumstances. All creatures depend on it for growth, yet it never claims merit or asserts dominance. Like the four seasons that complete their cycles and withdraw unnoticed, the Dao nurtures the myriad things without presuming lordship. When subtle and imperceptible, it appears infinitesimal; when manifesting its operations, it becomes immeasurably vast.

The essential insight is this: The Dao is simultaneously too subtle to name yet vast enough to embrace all existence. Through non-striving action (Wuwei), it accomplishes both the minute and the magnificent. Sages embody this principle by harmonizing with nature's flow, transcending life-death constraints to attain the eternal state of Dao unity.

The Dao (the Way), as the cosmic origin and ultimate truth, envelops all things like the celestial canopy yet shows no trace of dominion. Like nourishing dew that moistens all beings without claiming merit, it never asserts itself as the ruler of creation. It propels the movement of all things without leaving tracks, thus creatures remain unaware of its governance. The Dao itself transcends the limitations of size—what humans can describe are merely its manifestations in concrete phenomena.

The Dao permeates all existence yet remains concealed in the ultimate state of emptiness, never actively revealing its dominant position. When the Dao maintains a desireless, unattached state, it distinguishes itself from all things and returns to the profound abyss—this may be called its "small" aspect. When all beings operate spontaneously under the Dao's impetus and return to it without knowing what guides them—this may be called its "great" aspect. The Dao never competes with creatures for dominance, nor can beings fully comprehend it. What humans perceive is only the boundless, all-encompassing nature of the Dao.

Therefore, the sage (one who has attained the Dao) never claims greatness, yet thereby achieves true greatness. Just as heaven covers all things without taking credit, Mencius said: "Only what is so great as to nurture all creation without leaving traces may be called sagely." The sage emulates the Dao's characteristics—not deliberately pursuing greatness, yet attaining greatness precisely because of this unity with the Dao.

Chapter 35 states: "Hold fast to the symbol of the great Dao, and the world will naturally follow." Here "symbol" refers to the natural, wuwei (non-action) state of celestial movements. When governing the world, the sage handles affairs through wuwei and teaches through wordless example, making people follow as naturally as children returning to their parents. The sage grasps the Dao's operational principles without forced action, and the world is naturally transformed by their virtue (De).

When yin and yang harmonize in tranquility, when ghosts and spirits cease disturbances, when no harm befalls living beings and all things find their proper place—this is the vision of Great Peace. The sage holds fast to the Dao and receives the world's allegiance precisely through this method—harming no life and disturbing no natural order.

When all things do not harm the people, even if there is cleverness and skill, there is no place to employ it—what harm could there be? When all under heaven return to their source, followers will naturally be numerous. If one deliberately governs through external forms, it will instead cause harm. The sage governs from above through wuwei (non-action), following the natural development of all things, guiding their growth without claiming credit, allowing the yin-yang spirits of heaven and earth, as well as the myriad beings and people, to each find their proper place. Everywhere there is harmony, and thus no harm exists.

In the phrase "peaceful and prosperous," "peace" means freedom from the anxiety of peril, "calm" means freedom from the worry of obstacles, and "prosperous" signifies a state of smooth and orderly flow. Upon reaching the state of non-harm, wherever one goes, there is ease and tranquility. This tranquility ultimately returns to harmony, uniting with the Dao—this is the Dao's state of unimpeded flow. Thus, peace comes first, then harmony, and after harmony, prosperity naturally follows.

Music and fine food can make passersby linger. Ordinary people are often bound by sensual pleasures and delicious flavors, drowning in them and unable to free themselves, as if fettered by external things and unable to move forward. Music captivates people with sound, and fine food pleases them with taste. These external delights stir the human heart, making it difficult to attain self-liberation.

Yet when the Great Dao is spoken of, it seems bland and flavorless. Look for it, and it cannot be seen; listen for it, and it cannot be heard; yet when used, it is inexhaustible. What we taste are only specific flavors, but the source that creates all flavors never reveals itself—thus it appears bland. What we see are only specific colors, but the source that creates all colors never manifests—thus it is hard to perceive. What we hear are only specific sounds, but the source that creates all sounds never resounds—thus it is hard to hear. The Dao is like this: it can produce all opposites—sweet and bitter, dark and bright, the five musical notes—yet it seems unknowing yet knows all, seems incapable yet accomplishes all. Therefore, its function is boundless. The most profound Dao transcends sensory perception, returning to the most fundamental state of emptiness. It responds to the myriad things with emptiness, generating function from its essence, and thus its wondrous workings never cease.

Chapter 36 speaks of the laws of transformation: to gather something in, one must first let it expand; to weaken something, one must first let it strengthen; to abolish something, one must first let it flourish; to take something, one must first give it. These are the subtle principles of natural operation.

The two energies of Yin and Yang mirror and constrain each other, while the four seasons cycle in perpetual succession. All things in existence operate through mutual generation and mutual destruction. The rise and fall of human affairs, the gathering and scattering, the waxing and waning—these often begin with the subtlest signs, imperceptible to ordinary people. Only sages who penetrate the mysteries of transformation can foresee these omens.

Just as the nascent Yin energy begins to stir at high noon when Yang reaches its zenith in summer, and the budding Yang energy takes root at midnight when Yin congeals in winter, so too did King Goujian of Yue encourage Wu to attack Qi to weaken its rival, and how the strategist Zhi Bo deliberately gifted large chariots to the state of Chouyou as prelude to ambush. These exemplify the sage wisdom of "seeing the subtle to know the obvious"—perceiving the coming winter from the morning frost beneath one's feet. True wisdom understands the natural rhythms of flourishing and decline, fullness and emptiness. Thus, the brave cannot intimidate such a person, nor can the cunning shake their resolve.

The movement of Yin-Yang and the transformations of all things perpetually cycle between strength and weakness, success and failure. Sages gain foresight by observing minute signs, allowing them to employ strategies of "letting go to grasp"—yielding when the opponent expands so they collapse under their own weight, appearing weak when the opponent is aggressive so they exhaust themselves. Outwardly, the strong seem dominant, yet ultimately it is the soft and yielding that prevails. This is the principle of nature. The sage's ability to respond to all changes, accomplishing great deeds without leaving traces, stems precisely from this "subtle illumination" (weiming).

What we call "subtle illumination" refers to the imperceptible signs before phenomena manifest. As Yang Xiong observed: When water appears tranquil, the depths already gather momentum; when trees seem barren, new buds already take form. The wise discern this while the common remain oblivious. Within what seems void lies the pattern of all transformations. By probing the subtle and perceiving omens, the sage's wisdom aligns with the work of creation itself—yet ordinary minds cannot fathom strategies like "first expanding to contract, first strengthening to weaken."

The triumph of softness over hardness is nature's law. As the Daode Jing states: "Nothing in the world is softer than water, yet nothing surpasses it in wearing down the hard." Zhuangzi's parable of "the one-legged demon envying the millipede, who in turn envies the snake" illustrates this: the accumulation of countless slight advantages eventually forms an irresistible momentum. This supreme principle is grasped only by sages.

Fish cannot survive without deep waters, just as the core authority of a state should not be recklessly exposed. The abyss provides shelter for fish, while sovereign power constitutes the foundation of governance. Like a great fish stranded in shallow water that even ants may harm, a ruler who prematurely reveals instruments of reward and punishment enables ministers to manipulate these mechanisms. The true sage holds the instruments of statecraft yet keeps them profoundly concealed—not relying on coercive means, but exercising the subtle art of governance. They administer the world without leaving traces, attain enduring mastery without chasing fame, and guide officials through the transformations of Yin-Yang, rendering their intentions unfathomable to all under heaven.

What appears soft and yielding seems non-contentious, yet nothing can contend with it; what shows no outward strength finds nothing to oppose it. The rigid breaks easily, and force meeting force brings mutual destruction. Herein lies the principle whereby gentleness overcomes hardness.

The eternal Dao abides in Wuwei (non-action), yet accomplishes all things. The Dao itself acts without deliberate action, yet through natural law brings all to fulfillment. Should a ruler hold fast to this way of non-action, the myriad things will transform and develop spontaneously. Like still water that naturally reflects all forms, no forced effort is needed to achieve the desired effect.

(Note: "Instruments of statecraft" refers to core state power and governance tools; "Wuwei" denotes the governing philosophy of following natural order without coercion; "transformations of Yin-Yang" indicates the flexible application of complementary hard-and-soft strategies in rulership.)

The principles governing heaven and earth operate like the compass and square - no thing can escape the laws of the Dao (the Way). Rulers should govern according to the great Dao, attaining the state of "wuwei (non-action) governance." This seemingly inactive rule actually nurtures all things spontaneously. Under this influence, the myriad things transform naturally as if by their inherent nature, unaware of what drives these changes - hence we call it "spontaneous transformation."

Heaven never speaks, yet the four seasons revolve of themselves. The ruler emulates heaven's way, governing through wuwei (non-action). What appears as doing nothing actually accomplishes everything. This results from aligning with the inherent nature of things and the trends of the times - not deliberate action, but the Dao's natural operation. When artificial desires arise among the myriad things, we must use the Dao's unadorned simplicity to settle people's hearts.

Mencius said that those who wait for King Wen to appear before rousing themselves are merely ordinary people. The masses easily transform under their superiors' influence - when artificial intentions arise, they stray from the great Dao. Only by returning to the Dao's nameless simplicity can these delusions be eliminated. This plain quality of the Dao serves as the perfect remedy for correcting deviations.

When rulers transform the world through the Dao, the myriad things naturally follow this guidance without realizing it, ultimately returning to their fundamental state. This condition originates from the realm of wuwei (non-action). Once artificial effort appears, hypocrisy follows. Using the Dao's nameless simplicity to settle the mind eliminates false thoughts and restores the original completeness of heavenly nature.

The very name "Dao" is but a forced designation. Forgetting our attachment to the Dao and eliminating artificial intentions means returning to the state of nameless simplicity. Even this concept of "nameless simplicity" must be released - only by completely abandoning all attachments can we return to the source of emptiness. When the boundaries between self and objects disappear, desires naturally cease.

When desires subside into stillness, the world spontaneously returns to its proper course. Like still water that becomes naturally level and serves as a carpenter's standard, this fundamental state manifests when artificial effort ceases.

This passage expounds the principle of governing the world through "stillness" (静) and "non-action" (Wuwei). It conveys that when rulers maintain inner tranquility (stillness) and refrain from forced interference (non-action), they naturally become exemplars. Just as the Book of Changes states about "the transformations of the Heavenly Dao" (乾道变化), all things follow their inherent nature without artificial manipulation.

Specifically: When rulers free themselves from selfish desires (不欲), their minds return to emptiness and stillness (复於无). By preserving this clarity (以静), they attain a state of focused purity (虚一而正). Once rulers rectify themselves, the world naturally aligns with the proper path. When all beings flourish according to their innate nature (各正性命), this represents the highest form of governance through the Dao (治之至).

Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty (a devoted Daoist practitioner) interprets this Laozi-inspired philosophy, suggesting that perfect governance arises not through coercion but when rulers cultivate stillness and non-action, allowing all things to develop spontaneously. This governing philosophy stems from the Daoist core tenet of "the Dao follows nature" (道法自然), emphasizing alignment with natural laws rather than human interference.