《道德真經四子古道集解》Vol. 10

The ancient sages brought stability to the world through the Dao (the Way). They remained yielding without forcing anything, and their accomplishments naturally manifested. True governance of people's hearts comes not through force but through De (Virtue/Power), which lies in giving rather than taking. Only those who know how to cherish themselves can earn respect, and only by caring for the people can one win the allegiance of the world.

When the people cease to fear authority, greater chaos will follow. To demand respect from others while failing to respect them is impossible. Do not constrict the people's living space (just as ancient rulers, whose vast hunting parks gradually shrank to cramped palaces, saw their De decline alongside them), nor oppress their means of survival.

Governing a great nation requires a broad mind, as vast as the earth itself. A ruler who loses the people's hearts will struggle to maintain the realm; even if they gain the people's hearts but stray from the Dao, their rule will not endure. Only by not oppressing the people can one avoid their rebellion. Human relationships are reciprocal: if others treat me well, I will naturally treat them well in return; if others despise me, I will inevitably despise them as well.

Thus, the sages (such as Tang of Shang and King Wu of Zhou) achieved kingship because they cherished the world, while Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang perished because they harmed the people. The wisdom of the sages lies in this: before demanding anything of others, they first examine themselves; they do not force themselves into prominence, knowing self-love but not self-exaltation. By discarding superficial extravagance and embracing fundamental principles, calamity naturally recedes, and blessings naturally arrive.

(Chapter 73) During the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, states waged wars, slaughtering innocent people to sustain unjust rulers—this was the greatest of calamities.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "bravery" and "non-bravery," as well as the operating principles of the heavenly Dao (the Way).

Those who act with reckless aggression and willful violence may appear courageous, but in truth invite calamity upon themselves. Like the warriors of the Warring States period, whose minds were consumed by calculations of gain and loss, harboring murderous intent—this so-called "bravery" only leads to destruction.

Those who have truly attained the Dao remain unharmed even when attacked. Not because they lack the power to resist, but because they never entertain thoughts of violence. Like the sages of old, they inspire such reverence that even the bold dare not offend them, and the skilled dare not harm them. This state of "non-bravery" preserves life. Because sages hold no murderous intent, their natural benevolence shines forth, drawing all people to them in trust and devotion.

Understanding the distinction between these two approaches is crucial: aggression invites disaster, while yielding preserves life. A fondness for martial prowess leads down the path of ruin—history shows that those who dominate by force often meet untimely ends.

What does the heavenly Dao truly despise? Laozi once told Guan Yin this question is difficult to answer. For virtuous deeds come easily, requiring only stillness and wuwei (non-action); but wickedness is arduous—acts like usurpation, regicide, deceit, and treachery all violate human nature.

The Dao operates by diminishing excess and supplementing deficiency. The ways of spirits and deities follow the same principle—they do not favor the arrogant and self-satisfied. By not contending with others, one naturally prevails. Just as secret acts of goodness bring visible rewards, and planting virtuous seeds never yields bitter fruit.

This passage elucidates the natural operation of the heavenly Dao and the principles of governance through punishment, which can be understood in modern terms as follows:

Regarding retribution and the heavenly Dao:

Evil deeds cannot escape cosmic justice even if unseen by others (the Tongxuan Jing states: "Evil done openly invites human punishment, while evil done in darkness invites punishment from spirits"). The Dao operates like winter sunlight and summer shade—all things naturally gravitate toward it without coercion, with the subtlest resonances arriving unbidden and departing unforced. Though seemingly expansive, the heavenly Dao is meticulously precise (the Dongling Jing observes: "Human laws may be loose and evadable, but the celestial net, vast and seemingly sparse, lets nothing slip through").

On governance through punishment:

The Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) critiques how the Five Hegemons of the Spring and Autumn period abused penal codes and rewards (referring to Legalist governance through harsh punishments), failing to achieve true statecraft. In decadent eras, laws often set impossibly high standards (like measurement tools placed beyond reach), impose unbearable burdens (loads too heavy to carry), and create insurmountable risks (obstacles too perilous to confront). When oppressed by these three tyrannies, people resort to deception against superiors and desperate measures—just as cornered beasts gore and trapped birds peck, humans under duress turn to fraud.

During the Five Hegemons' era, the more intricate the laws and severer the punishments, the more citizens deceived their rulers. The more superiors micromanaged, the greater the resentment below; excessive demands yielded diminishing returns, and proliferating prohibitions weakened enforcement. It resembles trying to stop boiling water by adding hot water—only intensifying the turmoil. Those who grasp the root of Wuwei (non-action, the Daoist approach of governing through natural harmony) need only remove the firewood (address root causes) to restore calm. Thus, the Hegemons' abuse of punishment was like usurping the executioner's blade—rarely does such overreach fail to wound the wielder (metaphor for how power abused ultimately rebounds).

(Note: All specialized Daoist terms follow the prescribed glossary with pinyin provided at first occurrence.)

This passage contrasts ancient and modern governance methods, revealing the pitfalls of harsh laws and punishments. When the sage-kings of antiquity ruled the world, their laws were lenient and penalties mild, prisons often stood empty, and the people naturally refrained from wickedness. But in times of chaos, rulers who abuse punishments (referring to draconian legal penalties) only teach their people deceit; when those above make endless demands, those below will fight endlessly—the more prohibitions are enacted, the fewer can actually be enforced.

The text employs vivid analogies: a beast driven to desperation will charge, a bird with no escape will peck, and humans in dire straits will resort to deception. No matter how severe the punishments, such behavior cannot be forbidden. In ancient times, those skilled in governance accumulated De (Virtue, referring to the ruler's moral cultivation), and the people were naturally transformed. But the abuse of punishments only leads to turmoil—a sign of a doomed state.

It particularly emphasizes the principle of proper roles for ruler and ministers: officials are established to restrain the people, the ruler is established to restrain officials, and laws and regulations (referring to the state's legal system) exist to restrain the ruler. Just as a whale out of water is subdued by ants, a ruler who abandons their proper duties and vies for power with ministers will instead be controlled by officials. If a ruler fails to employ the worthy but insists on micromanaging, their wisdom will diminish daily; if their authority is insufficient to enforce punishments, they cannot govern the world.

The passage concludes with a warning: to take the executioner’s place is like taking the carpenter’s axe—few escape unharmed. If a ruler openly displays their likes, dislikes, and temper, subordinates will flatter and enforcers will bend the law. When rewards do not match merit and punishments do not fit crimes, ruler and ministers will grow estranged, officials will fall into chaos, and even the wisest mind cannot resolve such problems. Slander and empty praise will then flourish unchecked.

This passage primarily discusses the social problems caused by excessive governance, which can be understood as follows:

When a ruler fails to discern others' faults yet constantly blames himself, it only leads to the ruler becoming increasingly exhausted while ministers grow more negligent. It's like someone who tries to chop wood in place of a carpenter—rarely does such a person avoid injuring their own hand.

Chapter 75 addresses the reasons for the people's hunger (this aligns with the Zhuangzi's discussion on how the Zhou dynasty's emphasis on cunning intelligence led to chaos in the world): When people invent too many bows, arrows, and bird traps, the birds in the sky become disordered; when they design too many fishhooks and nets, the fish in the waters become chaotic; when they set too many snares and traps, the beasts in the mountains and marshes are thrown into disarray. When all manner of clever tricks and deceitful theories flourish, social morality deteriorates. From ancient times to the present, the root of the chaos during the reigns of tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang lay in their glorification of cunning intelligence. Now that the people of Zhou have mastered various clever techniques, they have become even harder to govern.

The people go hungry (the Tongxuan Jing states that the famished appearance of the people is not due to short lifespans but to starvation) because the upper class imposes excessive taxes (the Tongxuan Jing explains: A farmer toils in the fields, and even with a moderate harvest, the yield is no more than four dan of grain, which must support an entire family. When floods or droughts strike, they must still pay taxes—the ruler ought to show them compassion).

The people are difficult to govern (the Zhuangzi says it's because they have learned too many clever tricks) because the rulers are overly active in governance (the Tongxuan Jing points out: Later rulers attempted to govern through action, only making the world harder to manage. When those above have many desires, those below suffer more punishments; when those above undertake many tasks, those below resort to more opportunism. Trying to resolve conflicts by creating more conflicts is like trying to extinguish a fire by fanning it—it only makes the water boil more fiercely. Those who understand the root of governance know that they need only remove the firewood).

The people disregard death (the Tongxuan Jing states: When the ruler governs through action, the ministers follow suit. Using documents and scholarship to open the door to deceit among the people, then indulging in wicked behavior only to suppress it with harsh laws—even if they devastate the world, they cannot stop the spread of evil).

The Scripture of Penetrating Mystery states that people often meet untimely deaths because of insatiable greed and endless demands. They relentlessly pursue pleasure without restraint, ultimately perishing by their own excesses. All this stems from an obsessive attachment to life's indulgences.

The foolish rulers of chaotic times impose taxes without regard for the people's livelihood, exploiting their labor without measuring their capacity to endure. Men and women cannot peacefully till the land or weave cloth, living in constant insecurity. Though rulers and subjects resent each other, they still scramble to amass wealth, exhausting the people's strength and draining resources. Thus, the people cease to value life and death.

When rulers greedily demand more, the people fight endlessly over material gain. Plunged into poverty and suffering, with strife erupting everywhere, they naturally grow indifferent to survival. Only those who do not treat life as a tool for pleasure can truly preserve it.

The Scripture of Southern Florescence says the ancient sage-kings valued life profoundly, and because they valued life, they held material gain lightly. In later ages, when resources grew scarce, thieves arose—but who is to blame for this theft? The fault lies with rulers who coveted wealth without treasuring life. Those who do not deliberately chase pleasure understand life's value better than pleasure-seekers.

The Nine Preservations chapter of the Scripture of Penetrating Mystery observes that those who do not treat life as an instrument of enjoyment are the ones who attain longevity.

Chapter 76 explains that during the Warring States period, exhausting the world's resources to satisfy one man's desires created unparalleled disaster. Indulging a single person's cravings while multiplying suffering across the land is intolerable to the Dao of Heaven. What the people detest, Heaven will destroy. Thus, those who rely on force and tyranny inevitably perish—what is rigid and unyielding belongs to the realm of death. How could it not perish?

In life, the human body is soft and pliant, as the Scripture of Southern Florescence describes: human life is the harmonious coalescence of Yin and Yang Qi (vital energy). In death, it becomes stiff and rigid, for the life-force dissipates, and when Qi scatters, death follows.

All living plants and trees are tender and supple when growing but dry and brittle when dead. Thus, hardness and strength belong to death, while softness and fragility belong to life. The Dao Origin chapter of the Scripture of Penetrating Mystery makes this clear: unyielding rigidity is the mark of approaching death.

The Tongxuan Jing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) states that softness and pliancy are the fundamental principles of life's continuity. Thus, an army that is excessively strong finds it difficult to achieve victory, for those who seek strength must guard it with softness, and those who seek power must sustain it with weakness. When softness and weakness accumulate to their utmost, they transform into strength and firmness. By observing this process of accumulation and transformation, one can foresee the principles of survival and demise. Just as overly rigid trees are prone to breaking and overly stiff leather is prone to cracking, excessive hardness leads to vulnerability.

Strong things often occupy low positions. The Tongxuan Jing·Shangde Chapter (Chapter on Superior Virtue) records that Laozi once observed houses and trees, noting that sturdy trees often grow in low places, and the large timbers used in constructing houses are always placed at the bottom. Conversely, soft and weak things tend to occupy high positions—like the slender branches at the top of a tree or the smaller pieces of wood used in the upper parts of a house. Similarly, when stacking firewood, the smaller pieces are always placed on top.

Chapter 77 speaks of the patterns of the Dao of Heaven. The wise rulers of antiquity levied taxes with moderation and lived within limits. They calculated the year's harvest, understood the people's reserves, and only imposed reasonable taxes after knowing the exact amounts of surplus and deficiency. In this way, they received the blessings of Heaven and Earth and avoided the suffering of hunger and cold. They empathized with the hardships of the people—when they saw the people starving, they ate simple meals; when they saw the people freezing, they refrained from wearing furs in winter, sharing both joy and hardship with the people. Thus, there were no resentful subjects in the world. In later ages, who could offer their surplus wealth to the world? Only the ancient rulers who embodied the Dao could do so. They emulated the Dao of Heaven, aiding the widowed, the orphaned, and the destitute.

The Dao of Heaven is like drawing a bow to shoot an arrow. The Tongxuan Jing says that a bow requires a string to shoot, yet the Dao of Heaven needs no bow to strike its target unfailingly. The law of the Dao of Heaven is this: it lowers what is high and raises what is low; it reduces what is excessive and supplements what is lacking.

The Tongxuan Jing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) states that the Dao (the Way) of heaven operates by reducing excess to supplement deficiency. The celestial principle naturally diminishes what is overflowing to nourish what is lacking. Yet human practices do precisely the opposite—depleting the already insufficient to further enrich those who have surplus.

The Tongxuan Jing observes that common folk labor in the fields to sustain their families, yet when floods or droughts strike, they are still burdened with heavy taxes. Meanwhile, rulers relentlessly exploit the people’s resources to satisfy their insatiable desires, leaving the masses in hunger and cold. Who, then, would willingly share their surplus wealth with the world? Only a sage who has attained the Dao would act in such a manner.

The Nanhua Jing (Classic of Southern Florescence) records that the ancient sages showed particular concern for the elderly, weak, orphaned, and widowed, ensuring that all were cared for. They nurtured the myriad beings and bestowed blessings upon the people, performing virtuous deeds without claiming credit (just as Heaven and Earth transform and nourish all things without seeking recognition—how much more should a sage refrain from boasting?). Precisely because they remained humble and ever aware of their own shortcomings, they achieved true De (Virtue/Power).

Chapter 78 illustrates this with a metaphor: The vast ocean does not reject small streams—that is how it attains its immensity; the towering mountain does not scorn gnarled trees—that is how it manifests its majesty. The sage follows this principle, never dismissing the counsel of ordinary people, for it broadens their wisdom. If the words are correct, even the advice of a woodcutter or shepherd should be heeded; if they are mistaken, even the opinions of nobles and ministers should not be blindly followed.

This passage uses the characteristics of water to expound the Daoist governing principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong." The text points out that judging right and wrong should not be based on social status. When the people suffer hardship yet the ruler remains unconcerned, it reveals the ruler's lack of virtue. While sacrificing oneself for duty is the fundamental obligation of ministers, in times of chaos truly loyal officials are rare—most prioritize their own interests.

The ancient sages emulated water's soft and yielding nature: though water appears weakest (the Tongxuan Jing's "Origins of Dao" chapter states nothing in the world is softer than water), it can penetrate metal and stone, and destroy the most solid objects (the Tongxuan Jing notes water can pierce through metals and rocks, possessing power sufficient to overturn the world). Water cannot truly be destroyed (the Tongxuan Jing describes how water leaves no scar when struck, suffers no wound when pierced, cannot be severed when cut, nor charred when burned). Thus, softness ultimately overcomes hardness (the Tongxuan Jing's "Superior Virtue" chapter uses the example of teeth falling out before the tongue despite being harder), and weakness conquers strength (the Tongxuan Jing explains accumulated softness becomes strength—without accumulation, success is impossible).

Though this principle is widely known (the Tongxuan Jing observes people in chaotic times prefer hardness and despise softness), few practice it (the Tongxuan Jing states rulers who ignore truth and heed slander, and ministers who withhold counsel, betray their duty). Therefore, the sages (the Tongxuan Jing describes ancient enlightened rulers modeling water's softness) could endure a nation's humiliation (the Tongxuan Jing says sages avoid blameworthy acts and remain undaunted even when the whole world condemns them), thereby becoming true sovereigns. Only those who bore their country's misfortunes (the Tongxuan Jing states sages embrace all things) could become kings of the world.

When others slander you, the root cause lies in your own inner faults. Words once spoken are like water poured out—impossible to retrieve; actions taken nearby cannot prevent their distant consequences. The truest principles often sound like paradoxes.

The "Chapter on Supreme Benevolence" in the Scripture of Penetrating the Mysteries (Tongxuan Jing) states: Some rulers of later ages silence the people with words and punish those who offer remonstrance. Yet they still hope to win the hearts of all under heaven—this only takes them further from true wisdom.

On the principle of resolving deep-seated enmity (this is from Chapter 79 of the Tongxuan Jing): Forcibly mediating a great feud will inevitably leave lingering resentment—how can this be considered a true resolution? The sage-kings of antiquity governed not by empty words to win over the people, nor by commands to attract distant lands. When those nearby are joyful, those far away will naturally submit. Harmony comes from sharing virtue (De) with the people, and stability arises from standing firm together with them. Those who understand the people’s hearts gain their support; those who win the people’s hearts prosper, and those who earn their trust achieve prominence.

Yet rulers of degenerate ages often bring calamity upon themselves through their words and deeds. Careless speech is like a trigger for disaster, and reckless words cannot be taken back even by four galloping horses. This admonishes the Warring States period to dissolve grievances, cease warfare, and refrain from contention—only then can peace prevail.

The truly virtuous (De) in resolving conflicts (as the Subtle Illumination Chapter of the Tongxuan Jing says) are like holding the left half of a contract—they do not harshly demand from others. Accumulating virtue builds kingship, just as piling stones forms a mountain; accumulating resentment leads to ruin, like pooling water becomes a river. Heaven shows no partiality—it eternally favors those who cultivate goodness and accumulate virtue (De).

This scripture describes the vision of an ideal society in high antiquity. During the golden age when the Dao (the Way) flourished, from the era of Rongchengshi to the reign of Xuanyuanshi (the Yellow Emperor), people lived in simple purity. They used knotted ropes for record-keeping, content with their food, clothing, and dwellings, delighting in local customs. Neighboring states were within sight of each other, their roosters' crowing and dogs' barking audible across borders, yet people lived out their days without unnecessary interaction. This primitive life of knotted ropes represented the highest state of universal peace.

The concept of "small states with sparse populations" refers to societies of modest scale and limited inhabitants. The Tongxuan Jing states: Better than commanding ten thousand troops is hearing a single truth; better than possessing treasures like the Marquis of Sui's pearl is understanding the root of things; better than obtaining flawless jade like the He Shi Bi is comprehending the patterns of existence. Though the world may be vast, warmongers inevitably perish; though a nation may be secure, those who glorify militarism court danger. Therefore, the ideal society maintains small states with sparse populations, where even when tools and implements exist, they are seldom used.

The Dongling Jing records how ancient sage-kings prioritized farming and weaving as foundations of moral transformation. They encouraged agricultural work because land was the source of prosperity. In such a society, people valued life too highly to undertake distant migrations.

The Tongxuan Jing depicts Fuxishi's (the mythical first emperor) governance as nurturing all beings without destruction—an era when people knew no concept of profit or harm, and universal peace prevailed. Though carts and boats were invented, there was no need for long journeys; though armor and weapons existed, there were no occasions to use them. When Xuanyuanshi (the Yellow Emperor) ruled, he mastered the movements of sun and moon, harmonized the Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang, established seasonal rhythms, corrected the calendar, and clarified gender distinctions.

This passage depicts an idealized vision of society in high antiquity. According to the Nanhua Jing (the Zhuangzi) and Tongxuan Jing, during the era of the Three Sovereigns, people lived in simple harmony with nature. Social order prevailed naturally—no one contested field boundaries, unattended lost articles remained untouched, and the populace recorded events through knotted ropes.

People were content with basic sustenance (gathering acorns and chestnuts by day for nourishment), wore humble garments (piling firewood in summer for winter warmth), and dwelled in natural shelters. The world was at peace without warfare; neighboring states coexisted harmoniously, their chariot tracks never extending beyond a thousand li. Communities flourished in tranquil simplicity, customs were pure and joyful, and wickedness found no foothold.

Adjacent states remained within sight of each other, yet mountains bore no artificially carved paths, nor were bridges erected over marshes. The sounds of roosters and dogs echoed between villages as all beings coexisted in harmony. Throughout their lives, people never encroached upon one another—the strong didn't oppress the weak, the many didn't bully the few, and all lived out their natural lifespans. They dwelt peacefully alongside creatures like deer, sustaining themselves through farming and weaving, harboring no thoughts of mutual harm. This life of non-interference embodied the highest expression of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue).

Chapter 81 of the Dao De Jing teaches that truthful words are often unadorned ("信言不美"), while ornate rhetoric is often untrustworthy ("美言不信"). This principle is illuminated through references to multiple Daoist classics.

Ancient practitioners of the Dao revered governance through wuwei (non-action, 无为), which means acting in accordance with nature without forced interference. Laozi (Lao Dan, 老聃) greatly admired this approach. They took "constant non-being and being" ("常无有") as their foundational principle and the "Supreme One" ("太一," the cosmic origin) as their guiding force. Outwardly, they appeared soft and humble, yet inwardly, they embraced all things without harm. Laozi said: "While others rush ahead, I alone hold back; while others seek substance, I alone dwell in emptiness; while others pursue blessings, I prefer to yield and remain whole." He believed that hard things are easily broken, sharp things are easily blunted, and the seemingly clumsy way of wuwei ultimately surpasses clever maneuvering.

The Tongxuan Jing (《通玄经》) states: In ancient times, people were pure and sincere, free from deceit ("至忠复朴"). Later, when contracts and documents came into use, trustworthiness declined; when intricate machinery was invented, true substance deteriorated. The Dongling Jing (《洞灵经》) observes: Those who truly understand the Dao do not argue ("知而不辩"), while those who argue endlessly do not truly comprehend it. The broadly learned are not necessarily wise ("知者不博"), and those who flaunt their knowledge often grasp only fragments ("博者不知").

The Nanhua Jing (《南华经》, also known as the Zhuangzi) says: The sage does not deliberately accumulate ("圣人不积"), for the movement of the great Dao never stagnates. Understanding this principle, the sage allows all things to unfold naturally. Their mind is empty and still, appearing to do nothing yet accomplishing everything. Without deliberate hoarding, they remain abundant; without deliberate concealment, they remain authentically full.

This passage synthesizes wisdom from multiple Daoist classics, primarily exploring the dialectical relationship between "giving" and "receiving." Both the Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) and Tongxuan Jing (Wenzi) state: When leaders follow the Yang way (the proactive approach to governance), all things flourish; when indulging in the Yin way (the passive retreating approach), the world declines. Just as Yang qi cannot descend to commune with Yin qi, all beings fail to grow; when rulers neglect their subjects, virtuous governance cannot prevail.

During Emperor Yao's reign, children sang an ancient ballad on the broad royal road: "You nurture us common folk, all through your boundless grace. Unaware we follow, Heaven's law we embrace." This exemplifies the governance through Wuwei (non-action). The more one gives to others, the more abundant one becomes. When rulers educate people through Dao and De (Virtue), distancing from evil and embracing goodness, populations won't migrate en masse, and society naturally stabilizes.

The Dao of Heaven operates without cease, thus perfecting all things. Like the rising sun nourishing creation, thunder awakening life, or rain quenching thirst—so flows the sage's way. When the emperor's path runs unobstructed, the world naturally aligns. The sage's mind, pure as a mirror reflecting heaven and earth, allows all beings to manifest their true nature when tranquility reigns.

True masters act in secret harmony with celestial patterns, where Yin-Yang transformations follow their inherent rhythms. Their actions never excessively deplete external resources, just as wind doesn't blow recklessly nor fire burn indiscriminately. They speak with measured words, thus avoiding reproach. As flames require fuel, a sage's speech must carry trustworthy weight. With such sincerity, what endeavor could remain unfulfilled?

Through multiple classical exemplars, this text reveals the profound principle that "benefiting others ultimately benefits oneself": the more one gives selflessly, the greater one's own harvest; the more one practices Wuwei (non-action), the vaster one's achievements. This philosophy embodies the core Daoist wisdom that "reversal is the movement of Dao."

I've heard that Zhuangzi, Liezi, Wenzi, and Gengsang Chu were all outstanding disciples of Laozi. During the Zhou Dynasty, they personally received the transmission of Laozi's five-thousand-character Dao De Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) and deeply grasped the essence of Daoist thought. Beyond these four, who else could truly comprehend its profound mysteries?

Nowadays, the various annotated editions on the market are mostly flashy but insubstantial, failing to grasp the root. Some indulge in ornate rhetoric, engaging in debates that stray from the main point; others cling to superficial interpretations, losing sight of deeper meanings. As a result, the great Dao is obscured by trivial opinions, like a door locked shut, long suppressed and unable to unfold. This leads people to mistake empty talk about innate nature as doctrine, deceived by false teachings and unable to return to the true path.

Since childhood, I (Gu Xiangkou) have aspired to seek the Dao, studying widely with a natural affinity for simplicity. From youth to adulthood, my mind has never been burdened by trivial matters, nor have I rushed after fame and profit—only immersed in the quiet joys of serenity. Though I’ve read extensively from the classics, histories, and philosophical texts, I’ve always held the Dao De Jing in special regard. Seeing how many old commentaries distorted its original meaning, I resolved to study diligently, day and night, until finally completing this book.

When discussing the fundamentals of the Dao, I dare not presume to be correct, often citing the words of Zhuangzi and the other three as evidence, hoping to dispel the world’s misunderstandings. The book consists of ten volumes, sometimes annotating the text line by line, other times interpreting whole chapters comprehensively. In total, it corrects over a hundred mistaken commentaries and critiques nearly eight hundred distorted editions.

The book upholds the simple purity of ancient times, expounding the principles by which sages awakened to the Dao. It mocks those who chase novelty at the expense of truth, while also rejecting rigid adherence to empty theories that neglect governance. The chapters are clearly structured and logically arranged. It firmly denies superstitious beliefs in ghosts and spirits and dismisses all heretical paths. It meticulously records the practical functions of the Dao, so that future seekers may open its pages and understand without wasted effort.

Long ago, Confucius praised Laozi’s teachings, marveling at his elusive wisdom like that of a dragon. Such profound virtue is indeed far-reaching. Whether tested by ancient or modern standards, it never fails to benefit those who study it.

This colophon was written on the Lantern Festival (15th day of the first lunar month) in the 20th year of the Dading era (1180 CE) under the Jin Dynasty by Liu E (courtesy name Tingzhi), a provincial graduate from the imperial examinations.

The essence conveys: The true Dao is remarkably simple to comprehend and practice, serving as an eternal standard for all generations. Were it not founded upon this principle, what more could I possibly say? Ah! The flourishing of the sages' Way indeed requires proper timing. I was fortunate to encounter this profound discourse, which suddenly illuminated my mind like dispersing clouds to reveal sunlight—surely this signifies Heaven's will to preserve authentic culture from extinction.

With reverent heart I take up my brush to append this postscript, humbly offering my admiration for the master author's profound dedication. Dated the Lantern Festival (Shangyuan), 15th day of the first lunar month in the gengzi year of Emperor Shizong's Dading reign (1180), respectfully recorded by provincial graduate Liu E (Tingzhi) of Fanzhi, Huyuan (present-day Hebei).

Notes: "Shangyuan" refers to the Upper Prime Festival, a major Daoist holy day. "Provincial graduate" denotes scholars who passed local-level imperial examinations. "Dading" was the reign title of Emperor Shizong of Jin. Through this text, the author expresses his grasp of Daoist truth and affirms the text's enduring value.