《宋徽宗道德真經解義》Vol. 6

This passage presents Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary on the Daode Jing, primarily exploring the relationship between De (Virtue/Power) and the Dao. The Dao (the cosmic origin and universal principle) itself has no fixed form or boundaries, while De (the concrete manifestation of Dao) can be either complete or deficient.

Genuine "superior De" (the highest level of Virtue) does not deliberately pursue Virtue, and thus truly possesses it. All things originate from the Dao, each acquiring partial characteristics of it. When humans achieve complete unity with the Dao, they reach the state of "non-Virtue"—just as Confucius, without consciously pursuing sagehood, naturally became a sage. This kind of Virtue permeates all things without becoming constrained.

"Inferior De" (lower levels of Virtue) persistently clings to maintaining Virtue, thereby losing authentic Virtue in the process. The deliberate pursuit of Virtue and treating it as personal possession actually distances one from the Dao.

Those with superior De practice Wuwei (non-action) naturally, requiring no conscious effort. They comprehend without thinking, achieve balance without striving, and attain without acting—because they have returned to the Dao's fundamental emptiness.

In contrast, those with inferior De always act deliberately, needing thought and effort to accomplish anything. They must think to understand, strive to find balance, and act to achieve. This distinction between superior and inferior De marks the difference between sages and ordinary people.

The crucial insight here is: authentic Virtue is the natural state of unity with the Dao, not the result of conscious pursuit. Trying to forcibly maintain Virtue ironically causes the loss of true Virtue—much like how gripping too tightly makes something slip away.

This passage discusses the hierarchical descent of five concepts in Daoist thought: Dao (the Way), De (Virtue/Power), benevolence, righteousness, and ritual propriety. The supreme state is Dao; only when Dao is lost does one need to emphasize De. When De is lost, benevolence becomes necessary; when benevolence is lost, righteousness is invoked; and when righteousness is lost, ritual propriety becomes the last resort.

The text notes that the highest form of benevolence ("superior benevolence") arises spontaneously, exemplified by figures like Yao and Shun, who widely practiced kindness without seeking reward—a state close to Wuwei (non-action). Superior righteousness, however, requires deliberate effort to establish principles for managing affairs. Ritual propriety, being the lowest in this hierarchy, often leads to conflict when formalities go unreciprocated, provoking people to roll up their sleeves in dispute.

The author argues that while ritual propriety can regulate behavior, excessive emphasis on elaborate formalities becomes a source of contention. Just as in the Spring and Autumn period, a single misplaced word or breach of etiquette could ignite wars between states. Thus, ritual propriety is seen as a sign of fading loyalty and sincerity—the beginning of chaos.

In conclusion: Dao stands as the highest realm, beyond deliberate pursuit; De comes next, yet remains difficult to fully attain; benevolence can be strived for; righteousness will inevitably have shortcomings; and when even righteousness fails, ritual propriety serves as a superficial cover. The further one descends this hierarchy, the farther one strays from the natural Dao.

When society loses the Dao (the Way), people begin to emphasize rituals. Excessive focus on etiquette only drives them further from the great Dao, causing greater loss. Just as yin and yang cannot flourish simultaneously, authority and benevolence also wax and wane. Genuine, profound emotions often require no elaborate formalities—such as the natural affection between father and son. This shows that the more elaborate the rituals, the less authentic feeling remains; when sincerity diminishes, hypocrisy arises, leading to conflict and chaos. Thus, ritual propriety is actually a sign of fading loyalty and trustworthiness—the beginning of disorder.

Emperor Huizong of Song observed in his commentary: Clinging to cleverness to speculate about things, exhausting one's spirit (shen) in wild conjectures—this is what is called "foreknowledge." Such pursuit of superficial wisdom leads people astray from the root; though it may appear refined, it is ultimately foolish. As Confucius criticized Zigong, even frequent correct guesses do not constitute the true path.

The genuine principle lies in preserving one's simple nature, not valuing cleverness. Just as a tree's excessive flowering depletes its vitality, the pursuit of cleverness and anticipation of events only distances one from the essence. Thus, those of great wisdom choose to hold fast to their honest, substantial nature rather than chase superficial brilliance. They understand what should be discarded (ornamentation) and what should be upheld (solidity).

Returning to one's nature means safeguarding life's most precious treasure. This state of returning to simplicity can only be achieved by those truly awakened—the great person. The Yi Jing's (Book of Changes) phrase "returning with sincerity brings no regret" perfectly captures this truth. Humans are born with an innate sincerity; preserving this nature means grasping the root of the Dao.

This scripture expounds the vital importance of "the One" (the fundamental manifestation of the Dao) to all existence. All things in heaven and earth attain their essential nature by obtaining "the One": Heaven gains clarity through "the One," earth achieves stability through "the One," spirits and deities become efficacious through "the One," valleys remain full through "the One," all beings grow through "the One," and rulers govern effectively through "the One." This "One" is not sought externally but constitutes the intrinsic foundation of all things.

Emperor Huizong of Song, in his commentary, quotes Zhuangzi: "To comprehend 'the One' is to accomplish all things." Holding fast to "the One" prevents deviation from the Dao, and knowing "the One" grants omniscience. Though heaven, earth, and the myriad beings differ in position and form, their ability to maintain intrinsic nature stems from obtaining "the One" — heaven becomes pure and clear through undivided simplicity, earth remains tranquil through unchanging stillness, spirits stay luminous through "the One," valleys never exhaust through "the One," creatures flourish through intact Jing-Qi (essence and vital energy), and rulers command the world by grasping this root.

Minister Ma Yi further explains: "Ancient times" refer to the era close to primordial antiquity, when the Dao was near. This "One" represents the Dao in its unadorned state — the supremely empty and refined origin. When heaven obtains it, purity results; when earth obtains it, steadfast tranquility follows; spirits gain unfailing efficacy, valleys maintain perpetual abundance, beings achieve complete vitality, and rulers rectify the realm. All these stem from returning to the Dao, hence the saying "their attainment is one."

A final warning states: Should heaven lose clarity, it would rupture; should earth forfeit tranquility, quakes would ensue; spirits deprived of efficacy would perish; valleys lacking fullness would desiccate; beings stripped of vitality would vanish; rulers abandoning rectitude would collapse. This underscores the critical importance of preserving the fundamental "One."

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles governing the operation of heaven, earth, and all things, as well as the proper way rulers should conduct themselves in governance.

All celestial and earthly spirits have their respective functions: Heaven is responsible for nurturing and covering all things, while Earth bears the forms of all beings. If Heaven and Earth were to separate, they could not fulfill these duties. Spirits manifest through human affairs; if they cease activity, their divine manifestations disappear. Valleys accommodate all things without partiality, but if they dry up, they can no longer respond to creation. When essence (Jing) and vital energy (Qi) gather, life is formed; when this unity is lost, dissolution and death follow. Only by maintaining the correct Dao can one master all transformations and stand transcendent above the myriad things. If rulers fail to uphold the Dao, merely pursuing lofty positions, they will ultimately struggle to preserve even themselves.

The serenity of Heaven and Earth originates from the unifying principle of the Dao. Without this foundation, Heaven would crack and lose its covering capacity, Earth would quake and lose its bearing power, spirits would cease their manifestations, valleys would dry up and become unresponsive, all things would perish, and rulers would fall from power.

Nobility must have humility as its root; elevation must have lowness as its foundation. Ordinary people see only surface appearances, while sages perceive the fundamental principles. When the noble forget their humble origins, they topple; when the elevated neglect their foundations, they court danger.

Thus, feudal lords and kings refer to themselves as "the solitary one," "the unworthy one," or "the unvirtuous one" (ancient royal self-deprecations meaning lonely, lacking virtue, or unkind). This demonstrates their understanding of humility as the foundation. They maintain noble positions without collapse precisely because they comprehend this truth.

Those who constantly elevate themselves while belittling others, who remain rigid without understanding yielding, who display brightness without preserving darkness, who deliberately pursue fame—such people invite excessive praise and false slander, ultimately losing their true reputation.

To comprehend the "One" (the essence of Dao) is to grasp the fundamental principle. Thus, those who truly attain the Dao willingly embrace humility, concealing their noblest qualities within. Those who exalt themselves and deliberately pursue empty fame will inevitably invite misfortune.

The true sage neither strives to shine like precious jade nor deliberately appears as coarse as a common stone. That jade is esteemed while stone is deemed lowly reflects worldly conventions. But the sage adapts to circumstances and responds to the myriad changes without rigidity, maintaining inner harmony with the "One." This is the realm of those who have truly realized the Dao—it cannot be measured by worldly standards of nobility or baseness. Mencius said: "To cling stubbornly to one extreme while neglecting all others is inadvisable." Only the sage, who understands the way of transformation, can transcend such distinctions between noble and base—this is the highest virtue (De).

While the nature of jade remains unchanging, the Dao-realized person flexibly responds to infinite transformations without losing the root. Ordinary people judge jade as noble and stone as lowly—such fixed valuations belong to the conventional realm, not the penetrating insight of the "One." Therefore, the sage does not deliberately pursue the superficial distinctions between jade and stone.

Chapter 40 speaks of "the movement of Dao": the Dao's operation often manifests through reversal, and weakness is precisely how the Dao functions. All things under heaven arise from "being" (you), yet "being" itself originates from "non-being" (wu).

The principle governing all things is the mutual generation of movement and stillness, the complementary nature of strength and weakness. The myriad phenomena ultimately return to their root, where new vitality gestates within utmost stillness. Though the Dao appears weak, it penetrates all things—hence "reversal is the movement of Dao." Like water's softness overcoming hardness, or winter's withdrawal preparing for spring's renewal. Zhuangzi said accumulating countless small advantages leads to great victory—a truth only sages comprehend.

The mutual transformation of "being" and "non-being" forms a cycle: from "non-being" arises "being," and when "being" reaches its limit, it returns to "non-being." Just as east and west seem opposite yet are inseparable. Those who rigidly cling to extremes of "non-action" (wuwei) or "action" fail to truly apprehend the profound mystery of the great Dao.

This passage elucidates the characteristics of the Dao (the Way) and different human attitudes toward it from two perspectives.

First, it explains the nature of the Dao: the Dao takes emptiness and stillness as its fundamental state. Though it manifests movement and transformation ("反" signifies motion), it ultimately returns to tranquility, just as all things return to their roots and fulfill their destiny. The highest expression of the Dao lies in softness and non-contention—seemingly weak yet overcoming the rigid, a paradoxical quality that reveals its profound mystery. All things under heaven arise from emptiness, manifest as tangible existence, and eventually return to emptiness in an endless cycle where being and non-being perpetually transform into one another.

Next, it analyzes three types of people in their approach to the Dao: those of superior capacity hear the great Dao and immediately believe, diligently practicing it; those of middling capacity waver between belief and doubt, advancing and retreating intermittently; those of inferior capacity instead mock the Dao precisely because it transcends sensory perception (being formless and imageless) and contradicts worldly understanding—if it were not ridiculed, it would not be the true Dao.

Finally, through three contrasting pairs, it illustrates the Dao’s apparent paradoxes: the truly luminous Dao appears dim ("明道若昧"), for its wisdom remains deeply concealed; the perfectly smooth great path seems knotted ("夷道若纇"), as the Dao’s impartiality differs from worldly notions of uniformity. These seemingly contradictory phenomena precisely demonstrate the Dao’s transcendence beyond ordinary perception.

(Note: The character "纇" originally refers to knots on a silk thread, symbolizing how the Dao appears uneven on the surface; "夷" denotes smoothness; "昧谷" is where the sun sets, representing obscurity—these images all illustrate how the Dao often manifests in ways contrary to conventional understanding.)

This passage elucidates the seemingly paradoxical yet profoundly insightful wisdom in Daoist cultivation. Emperor Huizong of Song and his minister Zhang Dun (styled Chengyi) employ a dialogue format to explain several key concepts from the Daodejing:

What appears as regression is in fact true progress. Like Yan Yuan (Confucius' disciple) whose apparent humility concealed genuine refinement, Zhuangzi's concept of "sitting in oblivion" (zuowang—the state of meditative self-forgetting) achieves elevation precisely through relinquishing attachments.

The highest virtue (De) resembles an empty valley. Though hollow, a valley echoes all things and never runs dry. As the Daodejing states: "Be the valley of the world," and eternal virtue will abound. Those who truly embody the Dao (Dao) maintain this receptive emptiness.

Purest whiteness paradoxically seems stained. One who has completely purified their mind (dichu xuanlan—cleansing the mystic mirror) perceives no blemish, willingly dwelling where others disdain. Thus they appear outwardly wronged. True purity doesn't reject colors but embraces all.

Boundless virtue seems insufficient. Like the River God (Hebo) smug at autumn floods, only to be mocked by the ocean's vastness. The more expansive virtue becomes, the more it feels lacking—only thus can it match the Dao's inexhaustibility.

Establishing virtuous deeds appears indolent. Sages act after deep contemplation, aligning with circumstances. Though seemingly inactive (wuwei), they succeed effortlessly. By never rushing, their virtuous achievements grow monumental.

Purest essence seems mutable. Like the hardest substance that cannot be worn thin, or whitest hues that cannot be darkened. Maintaining intrinsic purity amid external chaos, the true self remains unchanged. Precisely because it's deeply concealed, the world cannot perceive its constancy.

Perfect squareness has no corners. True "great squareness" (dafang) is formless—thus it never cuts. Only concrete objects have edges; the Dao transcends fixed shapes.

Most precious vessels are completed last. The "great vessel" (daqi) serves no single purpose. It neither forces growth nor hastens completion. Those eager for utility remain shallow implements.

These principles reveal: supreme realities often manifest contrary appearances precisely because they transcend ordinary perception's limitations.

This passage elucidates the characteristics of the Great Dao (cosmic origin): The grandest sound is actually inaudible. Emperor Huizong of Song explains this phenomenon by noting that the Dao operates in formlessness, only revealing itself through resonance, thus making it difficult to perceive. His minister further clarifies that the De (Virtue) of the Dao transcends sensory perception, rendering its sound subtle and imperceptible.

The grandest form has no concrete shape. Emperor Huizong observes that the Dao dwells in profound obscurity, invisible to the physical eye. His minister elaborates: The absence of fixed form constitutes the Dao's wholeness—it inherently exists in "constant non-being" (eternal emptiness), so how could it possess tangible form?

The Dao remains concealed and nameless, yet uniquely capable of nourishing all things and bringing them to fulfillment. Emperor Huizong points out that from "manifest Dao" to "great image," all are manifestations of the Dao. The Dao's profundity cannot be grasped through intellect nor pursued through form, hence its hidden nature. The sage, having realized the Dao, can give selflessly without depletion, respond to all things without exhaustion, and facilitate natural fulfillment without claiming possession. While the Dao's essence remains nameless and hidden, its function excels in nurturing existence. The minister adds that the Dao's substance returns to utter emptiness, while its operation remains unfathomable. Seemingly obscure and indistinct, when pursued it leaves no trace to follow. Like an interest-free loan, it fulfills all needs without demanding repayment, ceaselessly circulating to perfect the nature of all things, guiding them back to their source.

Chapter 42 describes the generative process: The Dao first gives birth to the "One" (undifferentiated primordial Qi). Emperor Huizong states that within cosmic primordial "non-being," the first existence emerges. His minister identifies this "One" as the Hunyuan (Chaotic Origin) Qi. The "One" then divides into Yin-Yang energies (heaven and earth). Emperor Huizong illustrates this through complementary opposites like water-fire and spirit-matter, while his minister emphasizes this as the foundation of cosmic formation. The interaction of Yin-Yang produces the "Three" (harmonious Qi), which Emperor Huizong metaphorically relates to mathematical progression, with the minister noting this completes the triad of heaven, earth and humanity. Finally, the "Three" generates the myriad things of creation.

This scripture elucidates the generative principles of heaven, earth, and all things, as well as the Dao of Yin-Yang balance.

All phenomena originate from the One: the northern water element represents the One, southern fire represents the Two, and humanity at the center completes the Three—thus forming the triad of heaven, earth, and humankind from which the myriad beings differentiate. Though worldly phenomena appear innumerable beyond any calendrical calculation, their essence remains rooted in this fundamental pattern.

All things embody both Yin (quiescent, contracting) and Yang (active, expanding) qualities, harmonized through "chong qi"—the harmonizing energy of their interpenetration. As Zhuangzi observed, only when supreme Yang and supreme Yin intermingle can creation flourish. All physical forms manifest through receiving and integrating these complementary energies, each entity necessarily containing both aspects.

While ordinary people shun descriptors like "solitary," "desolate," or "unworthy," rulers paradoxically adopt such humble titles. This reflects nature's principle that extremes inevitably reverse—what reaches fullness must decline. Wise rulers intentionally use self-deprecating terms to maintain equilibrium, much like fallen leaves nourish roots (apparent loss becoming gain) or the full moon wanes (apparent gain becoming loss). All existence maintains dynamic balance through cyclical waxing and waning, a truth humans must comprehend.

Thus what appears as loss may conceal gain, and apparent benefit may mask depletion. A ruler's humble self-designation embodies the enduring art of preserving noble status. This wisdom of gain-loss manifests the transformative law of Yin-Yang: when Yin culminates it births Yang, when Yang peaks it generates Yin—the essential art lies in maintaining their pivotal balance.

This passage elucidates the principle of Yin-Yang waxing and waning, and the transformation between strength and weakness. The reason nobility can maintain their high positions without falling is because they understand adjusting advance and retreat according to circumstances, comprehending the Dao of gain and loss.

Conventional teachings advocate suppressing the weak with force and overcoming softness with hardness. But I impart a completely different principle—those who act tyrannically often meet untimely deaths, and this negative example precisely serves as the fundamental teaching (the "teaching father").

Using coercive methods against the weak and suppressing softness with hardness is the common approach. But the tyrannical are always self-aggrandizing and contentious—this is actually a path to self-destruction. The wise observe such situations and take warning.

Such is the pattern of things: sometimes what appears as loss turns to gain, and apparent gain becomes loss. The mutual waxing and waning of Yin-Yang, where advance implies retreat, follows nature's principle. The tyrannical constantly seek to overpower others, unaware of self-reflection, until they're ultimately defeated by greater forces and meet untimely ends. Those who understand this principle take the cyclical patterns of Yin-Yang transformation and gain-loss as fundamental teaching principles, just as a father instructs his child.

Chapter 43 of the Dao De Jing states: "The softest things in the world overcome the hardest things in the world." Because hard things break easily, and sharp things dull quickly. Accumulating countless small advantages ultimately leads to great victory—this only the sage can achieve.

Hard things struggle to connect with all things, thus breaking easily, while the softest things harmonize with all existence, permeating even the hardest substances to work their effect without the hard object's awareness. It's like formless things entering seamless spaces.

Zhuangzi's Outer Chapters illustrate through the story of the one-legged Kui creature, the snake, wind, and eyes envying each other: where feet cannot reach and eyes cannot see, only formless spirit can be omnipresent. The Inner Chapters' story of Cook Ding carving an ox demonstrates: when skill reaches spiritual perfection, one can maneuver effortlessly where no gaps seem to exist. To attain this state of "the formless entering the seamless," unless one fully merges with the Dao and wanders the mind in infinite realms, who could possibly achieve it?

The so-called "formless" refers to the state where both self and objects are forgotten. When boundaries between self and objects dissolve, one can move freely anywhere.

This passage elucidates the profound principles of the Daoist concept of "Wuwei" (non-action). Emperor Huizong of Song and his minister Cui Gongyi interpreted the subtle meaning of "doing nothing yet nothing is left undone" from the Dao De Jing from different perspectives.

First, it points out that those who truly comprehend the Dao can merge with "Shen" (the mysterious function of the Dao), transcending all material constraints. Just as water can overcome the rigid, the state of "nothingness" paradoxically encompasses everything. By relinquishing worldly affairs, the body is spared exhaustion; by freeing oneself from attachment to life and death, the spirit is preserved from depletion. These are the benefits of "Wuwei."

The Dao De Jing states, "The world is a sacred vessel, not to be tampered with," because the workings of the Dao are inscrutable. Deliberate action only exhausts the body and drains the spirit. The sage practices "wordless teaching," influencing others through his own De (Virtue); he embodies "the benefits of non-action," preserving the purity of his innate nature. Thus, the world naturally submits, and all things flourish spontaneously—yet few can attain this state.

In Chapter 44, the text contrasts: "Which is dearer, fame or life? Which is more valuable, life or wealth?" It illustrates: One’s arms are more precious than the whole world, and life itself is far more valuable than the legendary pearl of Marquis Sui. The true treasure lies in one’s intrinsic nature, not in external reputation or gain. Figures like Bo Yi, who starved to death on Shouyang Mountain for the sake of reputation, or the bandit Zhi, who died on Dongling Hill for wealth, were both deluded souls who failed to grasp the true meaning of life. Those who attain the Dao cherish the root of life, never chasing empty illusions.

Cui Gongyi further explains: Those obsessed with fame and profit lose their innate nature, unable to distinguish what truly matters. Life is one’s own priceless treasure, while reputation and wealth are mere externalities. If one is willing to sacrifice life itself, what value does fame hold? If the body is disregarded, material goods mean even less. Thus, a true Daoist cultivator understands what is truly worth valuing.

Those who pursue external fame and profit are actually depleting their most precious possessions. The martyrs who sacrifice themselves for reputation and the greedy who chase after material gains—what they obtain are empty titles and worldly possessions, while what they lose is the immeasurable purity of their innate nature and the priceless treasure of their physical body. Is this not the gravest affliction?

When you constantly chase after external things, these gains are ultimately trivial compared to what you forfeit within. By turning inward and reflecting, one learns to regard external gains and losses lightly, freeing oneself from the suffering of pursuit and the pain of deprivation. Insatiable greed leads to the depletion of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), leaving life incomplete, the body exhausted, and the Shen (spirit) unsettled—this is the most severe form of illness.

Excessive desire inevitably brings great waste, and hoarding too much invites significant loss. If one does not covet external things, one can conserve without squandering; if one is not burdened by material possessions, one can preserve one's true nature without losing it. Giving and receiving, accumulating and dissipating—these are natural cycles, like the endless turning of the wheel. How can one hold onto anything forever?

To know contentment is to avoid disgrace. By maintaining moderation and refraining from excess, where would disgrace arise? When the heart is fulfilled by what is inherently within, and one recognizes one's own worth, there is no room for shame.

To know when to stop is to avoid danger. By abiding in the natural order of things, one need not fear peril. Understanding where to halt within one's own boundaries, without forcing external demands, allows one to steer clear of worldly calamities.

Only then can one endure long. All things gather and scatter, but innate nature remains unchanging. Ordinary people often trade their true nature for external things—thus they crave fame and chase profit, only to end up humiliated and endangered. The sage, however, finds complete sufficiency in fully realizing their nature. Even when faced with the vastness of the world, they do not harm their own life, and thus they endure as long as heaven and earth.

To know contentment allows the mind to return to stillness; to know when to stop enables the spirit to dwell in tranquility. Stillness gathers the Dao (the Way), and tranquility returns to the Dao—this is why one can endure eternally.