《道德真經三解》Vol. 3

Chapter 38 of The True Classic of Dao and De in Three Explanations primarily discusses the distinction between "superior De (Virtue)" and "inferior De," as well as the relationship between Dao-De, humaneness, righteousness, and ritual propriety.

Genuinely superior De (shangde) makes no conscious display of virtue—that is why it constitutes true De. Those who deliberately maintain virtuous conduct (xiade) conversely lose De's essential nature. The person of superior De follows natural spontaneity through wuwei (non-action), while the person of inferior De acts through deliberate effort.

Humaneness (ren) arises spontaneously from the heart and requires no forced expression. Righteousness (yi), however, demands conscious effort. As for ritual propriety (li), when it meets no response, people will even roll up their sleeves to enforce compliance. Thus it is said: Only when Dao is lost does De become emphasized; only when De is lost does humaneness arise; only when humaneness is lost does righteousness appear; and only when righteousness is lost does ritual emerge. Ritual actually signifies the thinning of loyalty and trustworthiness, becoming instead the beginning of disorder. Those who consider themselves farsighted merely grasp at superficial aspects of Dao—this in truth marks the onset of foolishness.

Therefore, the truly great person takes their stand in substantial simplicity rather than pursuing superficial elegance; they grasp the solid core rather than chasing empty appearances.

The commentator Deng Qi further explains: The Qian hexagram (representing Heaven) possesses the firmest quality—its De remains constant and simple yet can foresee difficulties. The Kun hexagram (representing Earth) possesses the most yielding quality—its De remains constant and unadorned yet understands obstacles. The upper classic discusses the eternal Dao and its manifestations, belonging to the primordial Dao of pre-Heaven. The lower classic's teaching that "superior De does not appear as De" belongs to the manifested Dao of post-Heaven. Just as the Book of Changes divides into upper and lower classics, the insights of Master Heshang (noted Daoist commentator) are truly extraordinary. Heaven and Earth make no display of their De—thus they possess genuine superior De. The myriad things cannot exist apart from Heaven and Earth's beneficent De, yet appear to lack independent virtue—this constitutes inferior De. The wuwei of superior De operates like the four seasons moving naturally, requiring no deliberate action.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "action" (youwei) and "non-action" (wuwei), as well as the hierarchical transformation of Dao and De (Virtue/Power).

The natural operation of heaven and earth effortlessly brings all things to fruition—this spontaneous state is called "action." All beings in heaven and earth possess their inherent De, yet humans, as the most spiritually endowed creatures, stand alongside heaven and earth as the "Three Powers" (sancai), governing the generation and development of all things. Among humans, sages are the most outstanding, guiding the rise and fall of societal order.

The highest form of benevolent De appears as non-action yet accomplishes everything, much like the reigns of Yao and Shun, where rulers merely sat upright in court yet brought peace to the world. The next level, righteous De, requires deliberate action, as seen in Tang of Shang and Wu of Zhou, who followed the Mandate of Heaven through revolution. The third level, ritual De, became difficult to sustain by the late Zhou dynasty. By the time of the Five Hegemons, it was reduced to a pretense of benevolence and righteousness for personal gain, even descending into mutual slaughter.

The decline of Dao and De follows this sequence: when Dao is lost, De is emphasized; when De is lost, benevolence is emphasized; when benevolence is lost, righteousness is emphasized; and when righteousness is lost, ritual is emphasized. By the time only superficial rituals remain, loyalty and trust have already faded—this marks the beginning of chaos. Excessive pursuit of cleverness is but a superficial display of the Great Dao and the onset of folly. Thus, a true noble person seeks inner substance rather than outward ornamentation.

Those with superior De (the highest level of virtue) are like merchants who conceal their treasures—gentlemen with profound inner virtue yet simple outward appearances. Even after attaining the Dao, they remain humble; this is true superior De. Those with inferior De deliberately maintain virtue, making it appear unnatural. Superior De embodies non-action yet accomplishes all things, reflecting the innate natural Dao; inferior De involves action and deliberate effort, belonging to the realm of acquired human artifice.

Benevolent De takes the primordial Qi (the cosmic source energy) as its foundation, while righteous De operates through the "fire phases" (a Neidan term referring to the circulation of vital energy) as its support. When rituals are enforced but no one responds, it leads to reckless action and disaster. This is the gradual decline from heaven to earth, from earth to humanity, and from humanity to mere objects.

This passage expounds the fundamental Daoist principle of the importance of "One" (yi). All phenomena in heaven and earth rely on this "One" for their proper functioning: Heaven attains clarity through the One, earth achieves stability through the One, spirits gain efficacy through the One, valleys maintain fullness through the One, all beings flourish through the One, and rulers govern the world effectively through the One. Should this essential unity be lost, cosmic disorder ensues: without clarity heaven would collapse, without stability earth would quake, without efficacy spirits would vanish, without fullness valleys would dry up, without growth all beings would perish, and without proper governance rulers would fall.

True wisdom therefore lies in understanding that nobility must be rooted in humility, and lofty positions must be founded upon basic principles. This explains why ancient rulers referred to themselves with self-deprecating titles like "the Solitary One" (gu), "the Virtually Virtueless" (gua ren), or "the Unworthy" (bu gu) - demonstrating their grasp of this profound truth. The pursuit of excessive external honors leads to loss of essence, much like attempting to manufacture numerous carriages results in none being well-made. The truly wise do not display themselves like precious jade, but remain as unassuming as common stone.

In Daoist philosophy, this "One" refers to the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), the primordial source from which Yin-Yang emerges, giving rise to the Four Symbols and Bagua (Eight Trigrams), ultimately manifesting the myriad things of creation. Heaven, earth, spirits, valleys, all beings, and rulers - all originate from this fundamental unity. Genuine great De (Virtue/Power) is not constrained by official titles, just as the great Dao is not limited to any particular form.

The scripture emphasizes returning to the root rather than pursuing superficial splendor. Just as a great tree must be deeply rooted in the earth, nobility must be based in humility, and strength must be founded upon softness. This embodies the core Daoist teaching of "maintaining softness and dwelling below."

This scripture primarily discusses the fundamental importance of "the One" (the origin of Dao) to heaven, earth, and all things, as well as the principles by which sages conduct themselves in the world.

If heaven loses "the One," it will collapse; if earth loses "the One," it will sink; if spirits lose "the One," they will perish; if valleys lose "the One," they will dry up; and if all things lose "the One," they cannot survive. Similarly, if a ruler does not hold fast to this root of "the One," no matter how exalted their position, they will fall. Thus, true nobility is founded on humility—just as ancient rulers referred to themselves as "the solitary one," "the unworthy one," or "the grainless one" (self-deprecating titles of emperors), which precisely demonstrates taking lowliness as their foundation.

Counting the parts of a carriage does not equate to possessing the carriage itself, and clinging to external forms leads to losing the essence. What sages value is not whether something appears lustrous like jade or coarse like stone, but its inner practical function. They pursue substance over superficial beauty.

"The One" is a wondrous state beyond deliberate thought and contrivance. When differentiated within Dao, it is called "ming" (destiny); when manifested in an individual, it is called "xing" (nature); when generating all things through the transformations of Yin-Yang, it is called "life"; and when the qi is exhausted, it is called "death." "Ming" refers to the primordial qi. The human head gathers the six yang qi (symbolized by the Qian trigram representing heaven), so heaven attains clarity by obtaining "the One." The five viscera gather in the abdomen (symbolized by the Kun trigram representing earth), so earth attains tranquility by obtaining "the One." The heart is the ruler of shen (spirit), so spirits attain luminosity by obtaining "the One." The "valley spirit" (referring to the qi of the Dantian) is eternal and indestructible, so valleys attain fullness by obtaining "the One."

When a practitioner absorbs the Golden Elixir (a Neidan term) into the five viscera, the primordial qi will permeate the entire body like wind and rain, making one's countenance radiant. All things grow by obtaining "the One," and rulers can govern the world only by obtaining "the One." Thus, heaven maintains eternal clarity, earth remains forever stable, spirits endure, valleys never run dry, all things multiply, and rulers govern long—all because they grasp the mystery of "the One."

Sages discover the root in the humblest things, thereby attaining the same loftiness as heaven. Just as rulers use self-deprecating titles to remind themselves of their foundation, if cultivators cling only to form and appearance, they will lose the true essence of Dao. Therefore, sages do not pursue external brilliance like fine jade or roughness like crude stone, but focus on inner cultivation, preserving simplicity and authenticity.

This scripture elucidates the core principle that "reversal is the movement of the Dao, and weakness is the function of the Dao," revealing two fundamental characteristics of the Dao (the cosmic law) in operation.

The Dao operates through cyclical return. Just as the four seasons alternate and the sun and moon revolve, all phenomena exist in constant cyclical transformation. For instance, yang energy revives from its weakest state (the "return of solitary yang"), gradually reaches its zenith, then returns to its origin. This law of cyclical movement embodies the fundamental principle of cosmic operation.

The Dao functions through softness and weakness. Like water that appears yielding yet nourishes all things, the power of the Dao often manifests through non-contention and adaptation. This weakness is not impotence, but rather contains tremendous vital force.

Regarding the generation of all things, the scripture points out: all tangible phenomena originate from intangible "being" (primordial energy), which in turn arises from the more fundamental "non-being" (the essence of the Dao). This process of "being born from non-being" continuously cycles, constituting the arising and ceasing of all phenomena in the universe.

Through symbols like yin-yang, Kan-Li (water and fire among the Eight Trigrams), and the sun-moon duality, the text illustrates how all things contain unified opposites. For example, the Li trigram (fire) belongs to yang yet symbolizes the middle daughter, while the Kan trigram (water) belongs to yin yet symbolizes the middle son. These seemingly inverted phenomena precisely reveal the profundity of the Dao. True wisdom lies in understanding these apparently contradictory yet fundamentally unified laws, rather than clinging to superficial perceptions.

Note: The "return of solitary yang" refers to the initial rebirth of yang energy at the winter solstice; "Kan-Li" are two of the Eight Trigrams representing water and fire respectively; "Ziyang" likely refers to Zhang Boduan (the Ziyang Patriarch), founder of the Southern Lineage of Daoism.

The wise who hear of the Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle) will diligently practice it; those of average capacity will listen with partial belief and doubt; while the foolish will laugh at it—if it were not laughed at, it could not truly be called the Dao. The ancients observed: The luminous Dao appears dim; the advancing Dao seems to retreat; the level Dao appears rugged. The highest De (Virtue) resembles a valley; the purest white seems sullied; expansive De seems lacking; steadfast De appears indolent; unadorned genuineness seems changeable. The most square has no corners; the most precious vessel takes the longest to craft; the grandest sound is nearly inaudible; the most magnificent form has no shape. The Dao remains hidden and nameless, yet it alone excels in nurturing all things effortlessly to completion.

Here humanity is divided into three types: the superior are the virtuous, the middling are gentlemen, and the inferior are ordinary people. When first transmitted, the Dao is slandered by ordinary folk; midway, gentlemen grow doubtful; only ultimately is it deeply believed by the virtuous. Because people differ in innate capacity, their receptiveness to the Dao divides into superior, middling, and inferior. Yet slander cannot harm the Dao, nor can doubt affect it—believers believe naturally, doubters doubt naturally, slanderers slander naturally, all leaving the Dao itself untouched. Diligent superior practitioners believe without doubt; the wavering middling may either ascend or decline; the foolish who mock the Dao remain unchanged even when ridiculed. Thus "if it were not laughed at, it could not be called the Dao"—this is the genuine essence of cultivation.

The ancients used natural phenomena as metaphors: The seemingly dim luminous Dao resembles the primordial chaos at creation’s dawn; the apparently retreating advancing Dao mirrors the waxing and waning interplay of the Zhen (Thunder) and Xun (Wind) trigrams; the rugged-seeming level Dao reflects nature’s principle where all things follow their kind. The highest De resembling a valley parallels the unfulfilled nature of the Kan (Water) trigram; the purest white appearing sullied uses obscurity to reveal radiance; expansive De seeming deficient mirrors the earth’s way of reducing the full to supplement the humble; steadfast De appearing indolent reflects heaven’s principle of decreasing excess to augment insufficiency; unadorned genuineness seeming changeable embodies heaven’s inconstant nature; the square without corners shows how supreme things transcend conventional forms.

Heaven and Earth embrace all things, just as a great vessel takes time to take form. The pairing of the Thunder trigram (Zhen) and the Marsh trigram (Dui) mirrors the natural principle of Yin-Yang interaction in the cosmos. The grandest sound is actually inaudible—just as thunder, wind, water, and fire, though seemingly opposing forces, mutually generate and harmonize despite their apparent conflict. The grandest vision has no fixed form: the sun, moon, and stars appear tangible yet follow the Dao's movement, while the Dao itself is profound and mysterious, present in all things yet beyond description.

Only those who awaken to the Dao can harmonize with Heaven, Earth, and all beings, mutually fulfilling one another until uniting with the cosmos. Thus, those skilled in aligning with nature naturally accomplish great deeds.

Ancient immortals said: Ordinary people must undergo nine lifetimes to hear the Dao. Those of superior capacity (shangshi) are such nine-life cultivators, so upon hearing the Dao, they diligently practice. Those of middling capacity (zhongshi) are ordinary folk who hear the Dao with half-belief. Those of inferior capacity (xiashi), having cultivated only a lifetime or two, laugh upon hearing it. The sages taught: To those above average, profound truths may be spoken; to those below, such teachings invite mockery—yet if none laugh, it is no true Dao.

The Dao is the purest Qi of Yin-Yang between Heaven and Earth. Even the smallest creatures possess this nature—how much more so humans? The interaction of Heaven and Earth's Yin-Yang Qi gives birth to all things, just as the union of man and woman creates life. The Pure Yang Perfected (Lü Dongbin) once said: Reflecting on how our parents conceived us, one ought to clap and laugh at the world's blindness—for this is the subtlest truth, not to be taken lightly. When Yin-Yang Qi interact, moving forward births mortals, while reversing cultivates the Golden Elixir (Neidan terminology for refining Jing, Qi, and Shen). Forward motion yields a baby in ten months; reversal yields a sacred embryo in ten months. Inferior hearers laugh heartily, unaware they first mock their parents' act of creation, then their own existence, and ultimately bequeath this folly to their descendants.

The Mysterious Feminine Gate (referring to the Dantian or cosmic origin) is the root of Heaven and Earth. Thus, the ancients said, "If not laughed at, it is not the true Dao." Hence this maxim: Those who understand the Dao seem dull, yet theirs is great wisdom; the level path seems rugged, yet reveals De (Virtue); the advancing way seems yielding, conquering hardness with softness; lofty virtue seems empty, overcoming strength with humility; the purest seems dusted, knowing glory yet abiding in humility; vast De seems insufficient, embodying the preservation of primordial nature.

This passage elucidates the generative principles of the Dao and the philosophy of Yin-Yang balance.

The text first explains paradoxical statements like "establishing De (Virtue) appears like stealing" - those of true virtue may seem indolent, the most perfect things may appear flawed, yet their function never wanes; the simplest truths may seem chaotic, the fullest states may appear empty, yet their efficacy is inexhaustible. The most square objects have no corners, the greatest vessels take the longest to complete, the grandest sounds are inaudible (referring to natural phenomena like dragon roars and tiger growls), and the greatest form is formless (indicating the state of unity with the Dao).

It then describes the generative process of the Dao: The Dao first gives birth to the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the One), which generates the two polarities of Yin-Yang (the Two). Through their interaction emerges the harmonizing Qi (the Three), from which all things are born. All beings carry Yin on their backs while embracing Yang in their fronts, with these two energies interacting to create harmonious states. Though people dislike being called "orphaned" or "widowed," rulers adopt these terms for themselves - illustrating the principle that "things reverse upon reaching their extremes," where apparent diminishment brings increase and apparent increase leads to loss.

The passage particularly emphasizes: "The violently domineering die unnatural deaths - this I take as the foundation of teaching." This reveals the core Daoist principle of overcoming hardness with softness.

Finally, it employs Yi (Change) philosophy for further clarification: Taiji generates the two polarities (Yin-Yang), which produce the four phenomena, which in turn generate the Bagua (Eight Trigrams). Through their interactions emerge the sixty-four hexagrams, thereby generating all things. The intermingling of heaven's and earth's Yin-Yang Qi forms humanity, completing the triad of Heaven, Earth and Human - the three fundamental powers. What common people disdain as lowly titles, rulers use to demonstrate the virtue of humility, embodying the truth that "humility receives benefits while fullness invites loss."

This scripture expounds the core Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong," illustrating the transformation of Yin-Yang through natural phenomena and philosophical insights.

What appears as diminishment may actually bring increase, for lowliness is the root of nobility, and humility forms the foundation of greatness. What seems like gain may lead to loss, just as the sun begins its descent at high noon, and the full moon starts to wane after reaching its peak. The teachings people follow, I too instruct using this principle, yet few comprehend the profound mystery that diminishment leads to growth while accumulation brings decline. Therefore, in scholarly pursuits one accumulates knowledge daily, but in cultivating the Dao one must reduce attachments each day. The soft and weak endure longest - this demonstrates how diminishment brings increase. The violent and forceful meet untimely ends - this shows how gain results in loss. Thus I take this principle as the foundation of my teaching, never transgressing its boundaries.

The foundation of Dao and De (Virtue/Power) lies in emptiness - from nothingness emerges being, which is the "One" (primordial manifestation of Dao). Before the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) took form and parents were born, where did humans exist? This reveals the essential emptiness of Dao. Upon activation, images emerge between - this is "Dao giving birth to the One." Ancient perfected beings said: Grasp that point of true nature within emptiness, and you'll endure eternally. Understanding the principle of "One" enables comprehension of all things. From One comes Two (Yin-Yang energies), from Two comes Three (Jing-Qi-Shen, the three essential energies), and Three returns to One before giving birth to all phenomena. Embracing both Yin and Yang makes one adaptable to all circumstances. Harmonizing Qi (vital energy) to achieve balance constitutes the internal "fire timing" (regulation of energy during cultivation). The human body's fire timing resembles an incomplete, solitary state that worldly people despise most. Thus inferior scholars laugh upon hearing these teachings, while nobles consider themselves exalted. Why? Because nobility takes humility as its root, and height depends on depth as its foundation.

In worldly affairs, diminishment brings increase - just as contraction requires prior expansion. Increase leads to diminishment - like giving before taking. The teachings people follow, I too instruct using this principle, yet none perceive as I do that inversion is normal and reversal is progression. Alas! The violent meet untimely ends precisely because they mistake the normal for inverted and progression for regression. Therefore I take this principle as my teaching's foundation - this is no empty claim.

The softest thing under heaven can penetrate the hardest. "Nothingness" can enter where there are no gaps. Thus I know the benefits of Wuwei (non-action). The teaching without words, the advantage of non-action - few in the world comprehend these. The scripture states: The softest thing under heaven moves freely through the hardest, because "nothingness" enters where no gaps exist. Thus I understand how non-action enables accomplishment.

This passage elucidates the profound principles of "teaching without words" (不言而教) and "governing through non-action" (无为而治), which few in the world truly comprehend.

Take water as an example: though the softest substance under heaven, it nourishes all things. From the perspective of Qi (气), water is also the hardest substance, for Qi flows freely within it, ensuring its clarity. Consider grass: though the most pliant thing on earth, it bends with the wind. Yet from the wind's perspective, grass is the firmest substance, as wind moves effortlessly through it, eventually calming itself. Wind is audible Qi, while Qi is silent wind; water is visible Qi, and grass is tangible wind. Hence the saying "the formless enters where there are no gaps" (无有入于无间), just as clouds follow dragons and winds follow tigers—when sages appear, all things return to their proper places.

Thus we understand the benefits of Wuwei (无为): Heaven speaks not yet the four seasons revolve; the sage needs only sit upright in court to govern the world—this is "teaching without words." Earth follows Heaven's will and all things grow; the sage need only fold his hands for peace to prevail—this is "benefiting through non-action." Few in the world attain such understanding.

Regarding De (德): The soft overcoming the hard and the weak prevailing over the strong occurs not because weakness itself triumphs, but because pliancy moves freely through the hardest substances. Knowing masculine strength yet abiding in feminine gentleness, understanding brightness yet dwelling in darkness—this prevents excessive striving. When Yin rests above and Yang below, with firmness at both ends and softness in between, one surpasses mere striving. Cultivation resembles racing through danger. Thus a nation's sharp weapons should not be lightly displayed—to reveal them invites misfortune. Appearing both present and absent, one naturally enters where there are no gaps.

"Having" refers to the violent meeting untimely deaths; "not having" means the ignorant cannot change their nature. Seeming to possess while actually empty, appearing empty while truly full—this demonstrates true understanding of the Dao. Those ignorant of the Dao who act recklessly will suffer loss, while those who understand and practice natural non-action will benefit. Therefore we recognize Wuwei's advantages: when movement and stillness unite, the body grows strong and the spirit (神) becomes steady—this is "teaching without words." Practicing morning and night, meeting at noon and returning at midnight, with natural fire and water circulating within—this is "benefiting through non-action." Truly few attain such states.

Chapter 44 discusses fame versus life: Which is dearer—reputation or life? Which matters more—possessions or vitality? Which brings greater harm—gain or loss?

Excessive desire inevitably leads to great expenditure, while excessive accumulation must result in severe loss. Those who know contentment avoid disgrace; those who understand moderation steer clear of danger—this is the path to lasting preservation.

The scripture states: Which is more precious—fame or life? Which is more important—life or material possessions? Which brings greater suffering—gain or loss? Thus, excessive attachment inevitably leads to great depletion, and overaccumulation must bring significant loss. Contentment prevents disgrace, and knowing when to stop averts danger—only then can one endure.

The Dao (the Way) reveals to us: Giving the world to another does not feel reckless, as if one never possessed it; accepting the world does not feel burdensome, as if it were always one’s own. This state of "original non-possession" means not treating things as personal property. If one clings to ownership, even the gain or loss of a single hair can stir greed—let alone the entire world. Those who truly understand that the world belongs to all, not to individuals, are rare—perhaps only the Five Emperors (Huangdi, Zhuanxu, Diku, Yao, and Shun). Thus, Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang all abdicated their thrones in accordance with the Mandate of Heaven, treating governance as lightly as discarding worn-out shoes. They valued life over empty reputation. King Zhou of Shang amassed wealth at Lutai and hoarded grain at Juqiao—yet when his army turned against him, blood flowed so freely it floated pestles, and all his treasures became another’s. So, which is more important—life or possessions? Which brings greater suffering—gain or loss? Excessive desire inevitably leads to great expenditure, and overaccumulation must result in severe loss—this is the inevitable retribution. The contented are forever satisfied and thus avoid disgrace; those who know moderation recognize boundaries and thus avert danger. The greatest calamity lies in insatiability and lack of restraint—understanding this principle ensures longevity.

De (Virtue/Power) teaches us: Fame represents status, while the body represents the root. To attain status without losing one’s nature is supreme wisdom; to lose the root and fail to secure one’s position is profound folly—this is an unchanging truth. In the world, men and women marry, with fame symbolizing familial standing; within the body, Yin and Yang unite, with the body symbolizing the foundation of life. The union of man and woman produces ordinary mortals—this is the manifestation of losing the root; the harmony of Heaven and Earth generates primordial Qi (vital energy)—this is the state of preserving true essence. Harmonious couples bear mortals, borrowing human form; the reversed union of Heaven and Earth refines the Golden Elixir (Jindan), achieving the state of a true person. Mortals ultimately perish by the path of marriage, while true persons endure eternally between Heaven and Earth. Which is closer—fame or life? Within the human body lies 384 zhu (an ancient unit of weight) of innate primordial Qi, each zhu...

This scripture expounds two key teachings: warnings about cultivation and health preservation, and an exposition of Daoist wisdom exemplified by phrases like "Great perfection seems defective."

Regarding cultivation and health preservation, the scripture cautions against excessive pursuit of material possessions. Whether using common cinnabar (a common alchemical material) in large or small quantities, abandoning one's inner spirituality (symbolized by the spiritual turtle representing innate wisdom) while indulging in sensual pleasures leads to peril. Which is more important—the body or material wealth? Indulging in wine and lust while giving free rein to desires exhausts one's vital essence (Jing) and energy (Qi). Some attempt to replenish themselves with minerals, herbs, or breathing techniques (such as swallowing, absorbing, clenching, and stabilizing), but these practices only hasten death. Excessive attachment to reputation invites great loss, while hoarding wealth invites disaster. Knowing contentment prevents disgrace; withdrawing after achieving success demonstrates wisdom; understanding moderation ensures longevity.

The second part elucidates Daoist wisdom through paradoxical concepts like "Great perfection seems defective": What is most complete appears lacking (yet its function never fails); what is most full seems empty (yet its function is inexhaustible). True straightness appears bent; true skill appears clumsy; true eloquence seems inarticulate. Movement overcomes cold, while stillness overcomes heat—only the serenity of non-action (Wuwei) is the proper way of heaven and earth.

Astronomical and geographical metaphors follow: The celestial sphere measures 365 and a quarter degrees without reaching 366, while the earth spans nine thousand li without reaching ten thousand—demonstrating the principle that "Great perfection seems defective." Heaven and earth, sun and moon selflessly shelter and illuminate all things. All beings rise and transform within emptiness; when things reach their limit, they change; through change comes continuity; through continuity comes endurance—this embodies "Great fullness seems empty." When Qian (heaven) is still, it remains unified; when active, it manifests unwavering strength. Kun (earth) cannot take form without squareness—this reveals the deeper meaning of "Great straightness seems bent." Water nourishes all things without contention; the four seasons operate naturally without words—these exemplify "Great skill seems clumsy" and "Great eloquence seems inarticulate."

This passage from the Threefold Commentary on the Dao De Jing expounds two core principles: the attitude of serene non-action (Wuwei) in engaging with the world, and the life wisdom of contentment.

Regarding the Way of serenity, natural phenomena serve as metaphors: agitation can overcome cold (just as movement generates heat), while stillness can overcome heat (like the natural cooling of a tranquil mind)—this reflects cosmic patterns. Thus, sages perpetually maintain this state of serene non-action as the standard for all under heaven. Terms like "Six Jia" (a Daoist concept referring to six celestial stems in the sixty-year cycle) and "the Dipper" (the Big Dipper constellation) mentioned here represent crucial spatiotemporal concepts in Daoist cultivation. Practitioners should emulate the moon's phases: during the waxing moon when it appears incomplete yet remains potent, and the waning moon when it seems dim yet retains its pristine essence—achieving the state where "great straightness seems crooked" and "great skill appears clumsy."

On the principle of contentment, the text employs warhorses as allegory: in times of peace, warhorses retire to fertilize fields; in chaotic eras, they give birth on battlefields. The gravest sin is indulging desires, the greatest calamity is insatiability, and the deepest fault is unbridled greed. Like Kings Tang and Wu who followed celestial timing and popular sentiment—returning warhorses to Mount Hua after victory—whereas the Spring-Autumn period's feudal conflicts brought endless warfare. Cultivators must understand that the human body mirrors the cosmos: when true lead and true mercury (Neidan terms for Yin-Yang energies within the body) harmonize, one can "embrace the primordial and guard the One" (preserving innate vitality), attaining inner fulfillment.

This scripture integrates statecraft with self-cultivation—external peace corresponds to internal Qi-blood harmony, just as external warfare mirrors inner desire's chaos. Whether governing nations or refining oneself, mastering these twin keys of "serenity" and "contentment" remains essential.

This passage expounds the Daoist principles of contentment and inner cultivation. When a nation lacks proper governance, even warhorses appear in suburban fields, and human minds become easily disturbed by desires. The greatest transgression lies in insatiable greed—those who know contentment avoid disgrace, and those who understand moderation steer clear of danger. Master Ziyang (a renowned Daoist practitioner) taught that failure to accumulate virtuous deeds and cultivate hidden virtue (Yinde) invites demonic obstacles to spiritual practice. The gravest fault manifests when encountering true elixirs yet responding with covetousness. Thus, only those who comprehend sufficiency attain lasting fulfillment.

Chapter 47 reveals the wisdom of "knowing the world without leaving one's door." The truly wise understand cosmic affairs without venturing abroad and grasp heavenly principles without peering through windows. Paradoxically, those who travel farthest comprehend least. Therefore, sages attain understanding without direct action, perceive essence without visual confirmation, and accomplish merits without forced striving.

From the Dao perspective: Sages penetrate celestial destiny by exhaustively investigating phenomena and fully realizing their innate nature. Regarding matters beyond ordinary perception, they achieve complete comprehension through deductive reasoning—even a thousand-year calendar can be calculated while seated. The further the mind pursues external objects, the less true understanding it gains. By grasping fundamental principles, one masters all phenomena. Thus sages open the four gates of perception, illuminate all directions, adopting the world's wisdom without self-assertion, embracing collective honor without self-promotion, and recognizing universal achievements without claiming personal credit.

From the De (Virtue) perspective: Advanced practitioners forget worldly concerns whether sitting or standing, moving freely without obstruction, requiring no deliberate observation of heavenly patterns. Like the divinatory yarrow stalks—whose round perfection holds no fixed orientation yet approaches essence through distance—or hexagrams whose square wisdom lacks fixed form yet deepens understanding through apparent ignorance. Thus sages comprehend truth without travel by observing celestial patterns and terrestrial configurations; perceive essence without sight by studying ancient divinations. Heaven endows complete form and wisdom, yet one must investigate lunar cycles to understand material principles and trace the Celestial Root (life's origin) to know human nature. When Qian (Heaven) meets Xun (Wind), lunar mysteries become visible; when Earth encounters Thunder, the Celestial Root manifests—between this Root and Lunar Cavern (Yin-Yang foundation) flows an eternal rhythm of interaction.

This passage from Three Explanations of the Dao De Jing primarily discusses the distinction between "pursuing learning" (为学) and "pultivating the Dao" (为道), as well as how to attain the state of "non-action" (Wuwei) through the practice of "diminishing."

The opening employs metaphors: though the "thirty-six palaces" (referring to the body's meridians and acupoints) brim with vitality, the true "Celestial Heart" (one's innate nature) resides in a state of no-mind. Deliberately seeking this "no-mind" will render it elusive—just as gold naturally emerges from water (symbolizing the spontaneous manifestation of Dao-nature). The allusion "seeking the blue sky by traveling to Wu and Yue" illustrates that the Dao is ever-present, right before one's eyes. Even a sage like Shao Yong (Yao Fu) could comprehend the heavenly Dao without leaving his home—how much more so for a true sage?

Chapter 48 emphasizes: the pursuit of knowledge involves daily accumulation (为学日益), while cultivating the Dao requires daily diminishment (为道日损). One must persistently reduce until reaching the state of "non-action." This Wuwei is not passive inaction but rather the capacity for unimpeded action. Thus, governing the world should follow natural spontaneity (无事)—forced interference (有事) only leads to failure.

Detailed explanation: Learning demands daily accumulation of knowledge (日益), while Dao cultivation necessitates daily shedding of attachments (日损). Though related, their essence differs. Cultivation begins with study but must ultimately transcend knowledge itself—clinging to scholarship obstructs enlightenment. Only by continually diminishing intellectual attachments, until the distinction between self and object dissolves, can genuine Wuwei be realized. In this state, the principles of all things become self-evident, requiring no deliberate effort. Hence, when sages govern the world, they achieve it through serene clarity of body and mind—forced action proves inferior.

The conclusion returns to spiritual practice: daily cultivation belongs to "pursuing learning" (日益), while the wondrous state of Wuwei belongs to "cultivating the Dao" (日损). Though methods abound (3,600 approaches), true Dao lies beyond specific techniques. One must persistently diminish attachments to attain Wuwei that enables all action. Like the metaphor of "gold born from water," Dao-nature spontaneously reveals itself in non-action.

The best way to govern the world is through non-action (Wuwei). If one waits until problems arise before addressing them, it's like digging a well only when thirsty—too late. Thus, those who wait for issues to emerge before handling them are unworthy of governing the world.

The sage (one who has attained the Dao) has no fixed personal desires but takes the will of the people as his own. To the virtuous, I show virtue; to the non-virtuous, I also show virtue—thus transforming all toward goodness. To the trustworthy, I show trust; to the untrustworthy, I also show trust—thus transforming all toward integrity. In governing, the sage remains reverently cautious, returning all hearts to primal simplicity. The people focus intently on the sage's words and deeds, while the sage cherishes them like infants.

Consider Emperor Shun: from farming, pottery-making, and fishing to becoming ruler, he consistently excelled at learning from others' strengths. Great Yu said: "Observing the common people of the world, each may surpass me in some way." Therefore, the sage holds no preconceptions—the people's heart becomes his heart. Showing virtue to the virtuous is easy, but why also to the non-virtuous? Through transformation, the non-virtuous may become virtuous. Trusting the trustworthy is easy, but why also the untrustworthy? Through influence, the untrustworthy may become trustworthy.

In governing, the sage maintains reverent caution, unifying all hearts in primal wholeness. Like Emperor Yao—serene, humble, and respectfully yielding—his virtue illuminated all directions. The people gazed upon him as sun and moon, revered him as parents, and devotedly followed his governance. The sage, in turn, protected the people like infants, ever attentive to their hardships.

From the perspective of Daoist cultivation, the sage is the ruler of spirit ("master of Shen"), whose "constant heart" is the primordial spirit (innate consciousness), while the people resemble the body's internal organs. By cultivating this primordial spirit, the sage naturally harmonizes all under heaven, just as the spirit harmonizes the five viscera with effortless unity.

Within the human body, the six hollow organs (liufu) and five solid organs (wuzang) each have their corresponding spiritual guardians. The heart, as the sovereign among the five organs, houses the most vital spiritual presence. True sages—those who have attained the Dao—possess no fixed personal desires, but instead take the people's hearts as their own, thereby mastering the spiritual forces within. Thus it is said: only through thoughtless non-action (wuwei) and natural spontaneity can one attain the mystical state of spiritual unity.

When the vital Qi flows smoothly within the body, the spiritual guardians naturally assume their governing roles; even when Qi encounters blockages, these divine agents can still regulate its movement. Therefore, when the spirits are harmonious, the heart-mind finds peace; when the heart-mind is tranquil, the breath achieves equilibrium; and when the breath is balanced, the Five Phases (wuxing) interact productively while the nine orifices and three treasures (jing, qi, shen) each find their proper place. As the scripture states: "Moderation in nourishment brings health to all bones; seizing the proper timing brings stability to all things."

To smoothly flowing Qi, I respond with benevolence; to obstructed Qi, I likewise respond with benevolent harmonization. Nourished by virtuous power (de), even the most chaotic Qi will return to equilibrium. The sage resonates with all beings under heaven, just as the spiritual guardians within commune perfectly with the Qi of the five organs. While ordinary people focus on sensory stimulation through eyes and ears, the sage returns to the purity of an infant's state—this represents the highest achievement of self-cultivation.

Like Emperor Shun appointing Gaoyao or King Tang employing Yi Yin, when those lacking benevolence are kept from positions of power, the world naturally achieves peace. Chapter Five's "Emerging into life, entering death" reveals: "Three in ten people live out their natural lifespan, three in ten die prematurely, and three in ten—though destined for longevity—actually shorten their lives through excessive cultivation practices. Why? Because their desperate pursuit of longevity instead damages life." Those truly skilled at nurturing life encounter no rhinoceroses or tigers when traveling by land, nor suffer wounds from weapons in battle. Rhinos find no place to gore, tigers no place to claw, weapons no place to pierce. Why? Because such adepts never place themselves in harm's way.

This passage illuminates the wisdom of "governing through non-action" (wuwei zhi) by demonstrating the microcosm-macrocosm correspondence between the human body and the cosmos. Excessive interference disrupts natural balance—only by aligning with heavenly patterns and maintaining spiritual serenity can one achieve true longevity.

This scripture reveals the profound mysteries of nurturing life. Those who truly understand the laws of existence walk on land without fear of rhinoceros or tigers, and enter battlefields unharmed by weapons. Why? Because rhinos find no angle to gore them, tigers no place to sink their claws, and weapons no opening to strike. The fundamental reason is their mastery of the Dao (the Way), which allows them to avoid the perilous realms of death.

The text employs the celestial stems and earthly branches (an ancient calendrical system) to explain life-death cycles: Heaven's cycle spans 129,600 years. The seven stems from Jia to Geng represent 97,200 years—the period of "life," while the three stems Xin, Ren and Gui represent 32,400 years—the period of "death," precisely three-tenths of the whole. In Earth's cycle, when the sun rises from the Yin position and sets at the Xu position during summer solstice, these nine earthly branch periods signify "life," while the three periods of Hai, Zi and Chou represent "death," again constituting three-tenths.

Within a 360-day year, the 270 days from the Yin to Xu months mark vigorous vitality, while the 90 days of Hai, Zi and Chou months indicate waning life force. Human respiration follows the same pattern: of the 13,500 daily breaths, 9,720 occurring between Yin and Xu hours represent active life, while the 3,240 breaths during Hai, Zi and Chou hours correspond to life's ebb—both adhering to the "three-tenths" principle.

This reveals a fundamental truth: life and death are interdependent. The beginning of life contains seeds of death, while death's extremity nurtures new life. Like the alternation of day and night or the revolution of seasons, this constitutes the universe's foundational rhythm. As Song dynasty philosopher Shao Yong (Kangjie) observed, "Heaven and Earth intersect at three-tenths." Even Buddhism's "108 afflictions" originate from this cyclical pattern's Kun-number 108.

Winter and spring cannot simultaneously make all things flourish, nor can humans remain ceaselessly active day and night. Daylight affairs require discerning proper timing—thus at night one dares not act recklessly, for movement during this time easily leads to perilous circumstances. Why then do some still dare to act in dangerous moments? Because they excessively cling to life.

It is said that those skilled in nurturing life walk on land without encountering rhinos or tigers, and enter battlefields without need for armor. Their inner De (Virtue) runs deep, pure as a newborn infant—venomous insects won't sting them, fierce beasts won't pounce, nor will birds of prey seize them. The reason? Rhinos find no place to thrust their horns, tigers no spot to sink their claws, weapons no opening for their blades. This doesn't mean such dangers don't exist, but rather that neither party holds intent to harm the other.

When swallows fly into human dwellings they're welcomed, yet sparrows soaring high may meet misfortune. As for those so selfless they can tread through fire and water, so sincere they penetrate metal and stone—all achieve this through such attainment.

The Dao of cultivation states: When Jing-Qi (essence-vitality) radiates outward (three), life emerges; when exhausted inward (ten), death follows. The force of life occupies three-tenths—the first "three" corresponds to the half-catty of golden lead refined during the waxing moon (alchemical terminology), hence lead must be gathered promptly when encountering Gui-water (alchemical term). The force of death likewise occupies three-tenths—the latter "three" corresponds to the half-catty of silvered mercury during the waning moon, thus when metal Qi peaks, harvesting becomes inadvisable. Humans live by obtaining lead-gold's essence through the first three; reckless movement plunges them into mercury-silver's harm of the latter three. Each "three" contains tenfold significance—thus outward radiation of three brings life, inward exhaustion of ten brings death.

Most worldly actions—seven-tenths of them—invite self-destruction. Why so many? Precisely due to excessive clinging to life. Those truly skilled in nurturing life traverse the world without adversaries. As Master Ziyang said: "Taming the White Tiger (symbolizing primordial Qi) to bring it home, the refined luminous pearl (internal elixir) becomes full as the moon." Without encountering danger, all is well; encountering it, one transforms it for personal use—how then could harm occur? In the Dao of warfare, gentlemen value the left in peacetime, the right in war—how could remaining clear of perilous positions bring harm? The world's softest overcomes its hardest.

Though rhinos surpass tigers in ferocity, their horns find no purchase; though tigers have sharp claws, they find nothing to grasp; though weapons have keen edges, they find nothing to cut. This isn't lack of capability, but complete absence of opportunity to act.

This passage explains how the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) jointly nurture all beings. The Dao, as the cosmic origin, generates all things, while De, as the concrete manifestation of the Dao, nourishes them. Material forms give things their shape, while temporal conditions facilitate their maturation. Thus, all beings naturally revere the Dao and cherish De—this reverence isn't imposed but arises spontaneously.

The Dao gives birth to all things yet claims no possession, accomplishes all yet claims no merit, guides all yet asserts no control. This represents the profoundest "mysterious De" (profound virtue). Just as Heaven (Qian) creates all beings, Earth (Kun) supports them, thunderstorms nourish plants, and autumn brings things to fruition—these all follow nature's inherent patterns.

Specifically: Heaven (Qian yuan), as the source of all things, begets three daughters—Xun (Wind), Li (Fire), and Dui (Marsh)—like a father. Earth (Kun yuan) embraces all beings like a mother, containing everything within. All things sprout amid thunderstorms and mature in autumn, with the entire process occurring naturally without human intervention.

The sage emulates this natural principle—nurturing all beings without possessing them, achieving without boasting, guiding people without domineering. This embodies the true meaning of "mysterious De." Such virtue isn't forced but emerges from harmony with the natural Dao.

This passage elucidates the generative principles of heaven, earth, and all beings, along with methods of Daoist cultivation, using cosmological concepts like heaven-earth, yin-yang, and the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) to illustrate the workings of the Dao (the Way).

The Kun trigram symbolizes the earth, nurturing all things like a mother. It encompasses the yang qualities of the Zhen (thunder), Kan (water), and Gen (mountain) trigrams. The rotation of heaven and earth generates the Eight Trigrams, manifesting natural phenomena like thunder, wind, water, fire, mountains, and marshes, while establishing the cyclical patterns of the four seasons. Thus all growth follows the Dao's principles and honors De (Virtue). Master Zhang Boduan (founder of Neidan/internal alchemy) taught: First take Qian (heaven) and Kun (earth) as the alchemical cauldron, then refine with solar and lunar essences (represented by the crow and rabbit), guiding yin and yang qi through the celestial pathway (the internal alchemical circuit in the body) to spontaneously generate the Golden Elixir. The Dao's nobility and De's preciousness emerge naturally, not through forced effort. The heavenly Dao (Qian) creates, earthly De (Kun) nurtures, thunder-wind (Zhen-Xun) stimulates growth, water-fire (Kan-Li) matures, and mountain-marsh (Gen-Dui) nourishes—thus completing heaven-earth's generative functions.

Sages emulate the Dao of heaven and earth: creating without possessing, assisting without claiming merit, guiding without dominating—this constitutes the profoundest De (Mysterious Virtue).

Chapter 52 discusses "the beginning under heaven": All things have an origin (the Dao) like a mother. Understanding this origin reveals all phenomena (children); knowing phenomena while returning to guard the origin ensures lifelong security. Blocking sensory openings ("mouths") and closing desire's gates brings freedom from care; indulging desires while chasing worldly affairs leads to peril. Discerning subtleties is true wisdom; maintaining softness is true strength. Using wisdom's light to return to original clarity avoids self-inflicted harm—this is following the constant Dao.

The scripture explains: The origin (beginning) of all things is the Dao as mother, with phenomena as children. Understanding this relationship while guarding the root brings lifelong stability. "Mouth" signifies desires of speech, "gate" denotes sensory portals. Indulgence creates entanglements. Seeing the subtle is true wisdom; overcoming hardness through softness is true strength. Applying wisdom (child) to return to origin (mother) prevents misfortune—this is following the eternal Dao.

Finally, it clarifies: The formless Dao is heaven-earth's origin (metaphysical), while formed objects are all things' mother (physical). Sages understand the Dao as source (mother) and phenomena as manifestations (children). Cultivators should know the children while guarding the mother, returning to the fundamental.

This passage elucidates the core principles of Daoist cultivation, using the transformations of Yin-Yang to explain both cosmic laws and self-cultivation practices.

The text employs the Zhen trigram (representing the eldest son, thunder, and the east) and Dui trigram (representing the youngest daughter, marsh, and mid-autumn) from the Bagua (Eight Trigrams) to illustrate the generative patterns of all things. Zhen symbolizes creation while Dui represents completion, much like how an elder brother initiates and a younger sister perfects. The reference to "Guimei" (Returning Maiden) is a hexagram from the Yijing (Book of Changes) denoting the fundamental principle of heaven-earth intercourse and universal procreation.

The crux of cultivation lies in mastering the timing of Yin-Yang's opening and closing: the winter solstice's Yang birth (midnight hour) marks the gateway's opening, while the summer solstice's Yin birth (noon hour) signals its closing. Practitioners must know when to "block the openings and close the gates" (sealing sensory channels) to preserve primordial Qi (vital energy) and remain unharmed throughout life. Conversely, indulging the senses (opening the gates) and worldly attachments depletes Yang energy, creating irreparable damage.

The text emphasizes the wisdom that "guarding softness is called strength"—the most yielding can control the most rigid. Cultivators should maintain infant-like pliancy, simultaneously employing wisdom's light (knowing its offspring) while returning to the root (guarding its mother), thereby avoiding self-inflicted calamities.

Finally, it reveals the "primordial Qi of pre-heaven" (cosmic source energy) as the origin of all things under heaven, called the "mother of all under heaven." Understanding this fundamental principle and single-mindedly preserving Qi until achieving perfect softness allows return to life's natural state. Losing this root through reckless action invites misfortune. When the mysterious feminine gate (the gate of the dark female) closes naturally without forced maintenance, the system operates spontaneously; but opening sensory gates to act recklessly, allowing Yin to extinguish Yang, becomes incurable without encountering an enlightened master.

This scripture primarily discusses how the cultivation of the Great Dao (Da Dao) requires steadfast practice and warns against the temptation of shortcuts. The text expounds this principle through three perspectives (scripture, Dao, and De):

The "scripture" (Jing) section states: If I can firmly uphold the orthodox path, I will naturally be wary of reckless actions. The Great Dao is inherently level and straight, yet people persistently seek shortcuts. Just as a court may appear well-governed while fields lie fallow and granaries stand empty; when officials clad in ornate robes and girded with sharp swords grow weary of delicacies yet hoard wealth—this is nothing but brigands flaunting their spoils, utterly divorced from the true path.

The "Dao" section elaborates further using principles from the Yijing (Classic of Changes): The noble person should be steadfast as stone, capable of discerning subtle omens in all things. Though the Great Dao is perfectly straight, people insist on taking byways, resulting in abandoned farmlands and depleted state treasuries. The extravagant indulgences of officials resemble thieves boasting of their plunder.

The "De" (Virtue) section emphasizes the importance of grounded practice. Master Ziyang (Zhang Boduan, patriarch of Daoist Neidan/internal alchemy) taught: Without comprehending the fundamental substance of cultivation (where "true lead" refers to primordial qi), all efforts are in vain. Extreme methods like abandoning one's spouse or grain avoidance (bigu) only create separation between yin and yang and empty the digestive system. External substances like herbs and metals are mere dregs, while chasing visions of clouds, rainbows, sun or moon reflects delusion.

The text concludes with a metaphor from the Yijing: When petty men occupy noble positions (like a porter trying to ride in a carriage), they invite robbers. When rulers grow lax and people turn violent, calamity follows. Failing to secure valuables teaches others to steal; dressing provocatively teaches licentiousness. These are all examples of inviting misfortune through one's own actions.

This scripture primarily discusses two key aspects:

The first part critiques the misguided practices of people deviating from the Dao (the Way). The great Dao is inherently smooth and straightforward, yet people persistently seek shortcuts. The text uses metaphors: comparing the imperial court to the human body, fields to human conduct, granaries to inner cultivation, and literary embellishments to external adornments. Today, people may have physically intact bodies but indulge in unrestrained behavior; their inner selves remain empty while excessively focusing on superficial decorations. They further exacerbate this tendency by carrying sharp swords (symbolizing contentious minds), indulging in gourmet pleasures, hoarding excessive possessions, and constantly flaunting extravagance. Such lifestyles inevitably lead to rapid decline and fundamentally contradict the true path. Master Ziyang (an important Daoist figure) remarked: "Those who fail to comprehend the principles of Yin-Yang (the complementary forces) as host and guest, who cannot distinguish intimate from distant relationships, and who blindly practice bedroom arts (a Daoist cultivation method) and focus on the coccyx acupoint (a vital point in the body) - how many in this world have they led to destruction?" This precisely describes such misguided practices.

The second part expounds the principle of "what is well planted cannot be uprooted." Those skilled in establishing moral foundations remain unshaken, while those adept at maintaining virtue never lose their integrity. Such families will enjoy unbroken ancestral sacrifices through generations. Beginning with personal cultivation, one's De (Virtue/Power) becomes authentic; extending it to the family, virtue becomes abundant; expanding it to the village, virtue endures; implementing it in the state, virtue flourishes; and universalizing it to the world, virtue becomes vast. Therefore, observe others through oneself, understand other families through one's own, perceive different villages through one's hometown, comprehend other states through one's nation, and grasp the patterns of past and present through contemporary circumstances. The method by which I understand the world's fundamental principles follows precisely this approach.

From a cultivation perspective: Those skilled in establishing virtue resemble the initial emergence of Yang Qi (vital energy) that remains humble ("the hidden dragon does not act"), standing firm and immovable. Those adept at maintaining virtue purify their hearts, practice fasting for self-cultivation, retreat inward to preserve tranquility, thus never losing their integrity. True establishers and preservers of virtue don't pursue worldly fame but maintain noble character. As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states: "Remedying the father's faults" (inheriting ancestral legacy while correcting its errors), thus ensuring the continuity of ancestral sacrifices through generations.

This scripture elucidates the principle that cultivating the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) must progress from small to large, step by step. It begins with personal self-cultivation, then expands to the family, community, nation, and ultimately the entire world. The broader the scope of one's virtue, the deeper its power becomes. Just as observing an individual's virtue reveals their sincerity, examining a family's virtue shows its prosperity, assessing a community's virtue demonstrates its endurance, evaluating a nation's virtue reflects its abundance, and contemplating the virtue of the world manifests its universality.

The author takes Fuxi (a legendary ancient emperor revered in Daoism as a primordial ancestor) as an example to illustrate that this method of Dao cultivation has been orally transmitted since antiquity. It does not rely solely on written words yet does not abandon them either, passing down through generations like an unbroken lineage. Sages take the world as their responsibility, observing the true nature of all people as if they were their own bodies, and perceiving the prosperity of all families as if they were their own households. By extending this principle, one can comprehend truths spanning countless millennia.

Later, the text quotes Chapter 55 of the Daode Jing, using the metaphor of an infant to describe a person of profound virtue: poisonous insects do not sting them, fierce beasts do not claw them, and birds of prey do not strike them. Though their bones and sinews are soft, their fists clench tightly; though ignorant of sexual union, their vitality arises naturally—this is the manifestation of abundant Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). They may cry all day without growing hoarse—this is the sign of harmonious and pure Qi. Understanding harmony is called the eternal principle; comprehending this principle is called wisdom. Excessive pursuit of longevity invites misfortune, and forcefully controlling Qi is termed coercion. When things become excessively strong, they age prematurely—this contradicts the Dao. What contradicts the Dao meets an early end.

This passage emphasizes that Dao cultivation must maintain the pure, natural state of an infant, avoiding excessive striving and instead following the natural course to achieve longevity. A person of profound virtue, like an infant, may appear weak yet brims with vitality, unharmed by external forces.

The Daodejing uses the metaphor of an infant to illustrate the state of purity a Daoist cultivator should maintain. A newborn baby possesses several remarkable qualities: its bones are soft yet its tiny fists clench tightly; it knows nothing of sexual union yet its genitals naturally become erect; it cries all day without ever growing hoarse. These phenomena reveal the infant's abundant vital essence (Jing at its peak) and perfect harmony of Yin-Yang (He at its ultimate).

Understanding this harmony means grasping the eternal principle (Zhihe yue chang), while comprehending this eternal principle constitutes enlightenment (Zhichang yue ming). Such realization brings auspicious blessings (Xiang), yet if one forcibly manipulates Qi through conscious effort (Xin shi qi), it instead depletes one's primordial energy (Qiang). Just as all things decline after reaching their zenith, persisting against the natural order (Bu dao) is inferior to timely cessation.

Those truly adept at nurturing life possess virtue (De) as profound as an infant's: they encounter no fierce beasts when walking nor suffer wounds on battlefields. This is because they never place themselves in perilous situations (Wu sidi). An infant smiles at three months, grows teeth at eight months, and only learns to speak and eat after three years—this state of no-knowledge and no-desire precisely avoids calamity.

Cultivators should emulate infants in concentrating Qi (Zhuan qi zhi rou), allowing the body's Yin-Yang energies (represented as water-fire or lead-mercury) to naturally intermingle. After ten months of gestation-like refinement (Shiyue taiyuan) and three years of spiritual metamorphosis (Sannian tuoke), one reaches a state where poisonous creatures (the Three Corpses), fierce beasts (dragon-tiger), and birds of prey (jade rabbit) cannot harm them, having eradicated all mortal vulnerabilities (Wu sidi). Like an infant whose fragile bones conceal cosmic creativity, primordial Qi circulates effortlessly within (with golden lead and wooden mercury floating and sinking), never ostentatiously displaying spiritual powers.

When the fetus develops for three months in the womb, the kidneys begin to form (in Traditional Chinese Medicine theory, the kidneys store Jing/essence). An infant can cry all day without becoming hoarse because the Dantian (energy center in the lower abdomen) is stable, the Qi sea (where vital energy gathers) is perfectly rounded, achieving a state of Yin-Yang harmony. Understanding this harmony means comprehending the eternal law—the boundless, nameless Great Dao. Realizing this eternal law is enlightenment, a state beyond attachment to gain and loss. Maintaining this awakened state allows communion with the divine, bringing auspiciousness.

All these are achieved through Wuwei (non-action), by which everything can be accomplished. Governing the world requires maintaining constant tranquility; deliberate interference makes it difficult to manage. Forcing the Shen/spirit to drive Qi is like acting with brute force—such forceful exertion leads to exhaustion, just as things decline when pushed to extremes, all contrary to the Dao. Since this violates the Dao, it's better to stop early.

Those who truly understand the Dao don't engage in empty talk; those who chatter don't truly know. Close the sensory openings (referring to mouth, nose and other senses), sheathe your sharpness, resolve conflicts, harmonize your radiance without glaring, blend with the world without conforming—this is "Mysterious Unity" (the supreme state of oneness with the Dao). Once attained, external things cannot affect you: neither intimacy nor alienation, neither benefit nor harm, neither praise nor blame can sway you, making you the most revered under heaven.

Ancient cultivators studied for self-cultivation, thus understanding the Dao without idle speech; modern scholars study for show, thus talking much without true knowledge. Does Heaven speak? Yet the four seasons proceed. Does Earth speak? Yet all things grow naturally. Those who truly know the Dao are like wise calendar-makers, silently observing the sun and moon to guide agriculture. Rather than empty talk of benevolence that abandons the Great Dao, or flaunting wisdom that breeds hypocrisy, it's better to shut the mouth of idle speech, close the gates of desire, smooth the sharp edges of all things to let them ripen, untangle people's disputes to bring harmony—shining like sun and moon without dazzling, existing in perfect accord with the world. This is the state of "Mysterious Unity." Therefore, those who attain the Dao don't chase fame or profit but maintain noble character, becoming impervious to external influences.

This passage conveys two main layers of meaning:

The first layer discusses the realm of Dao cultivation. Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) neither deliberately pursue benefits nor avoid harm, nor do they care about nobility or humility. Not even emperors can make them submit, nor can feudal lords form alliances with them. Such individuals are the most noble in the world. Practitioners who reach the state of "recognizing the mind and seeing one's true nature" conceal their genuine wisdom deep within, cautious lest others discover it, while those with superficial understanding tend to flaunt their knowledge everywhere. Hence Laozi said, "Those who know do not speak; those who speak do not know." Authentic Dao-realized individuals close off sensory desires, withdraw their sharp edges, dissolve conflicts, and harmonize with worldly affairs, attaining the state of "mysterious unity" (the realm of merging with the Dao). This state transcends distinctions between intimacy and alienation, benefit and harm, nobility and baseness, thus enabling one to become the most revered person under heaven.

The second layer addresses the art of governance. Governing a state requires upright principles, employing military strategy demands unorthodox tactics, while attaining rulership of the world relies on Wuwei (non-action). Why is this so? Because the more prohibitions a state imposes, the poorer its people become; the more weapons among the populace, the greater the national disorder; the more skills people possess, the stranger occurrences emerge; the stricter the laws, the more thieves proliferate. Therefore, the sage says: "Through my non-action, the people transform themselves; through my non-interference, the people prosper naturally; through my tranquility, the people correct themselves; through my lack of desire, the people remain simple." All this stems from following the great Dao of Wuwei.

The "Three Sovereigns" mentioned refer to the ancient sage-kings Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor, who exemplified governance through Wuwei. "Ziyang" denotes the renowned Song dynasty Daoist Zhang Boduan, known as the Perfected Ziyang, founder of the Southern School of Daoism.

This passage elucidates the principles of governing a state and cultivating the self, with "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" as its core philosophy. Laozi observed that the more rulers establish intricate laws and pursue clever contrivances, the more chaotic society becomes. Just as in ancient times when people drank from earthen cups and used clapping rhythms for music, this simplicity could summon the presence of spirits (Shen); yet when ritual vessels became increasingly ornate, the spirits no longer partook—because later generations had lost their sincerity.

On state governance: The people fear not poverty, but instability; they worry not about scarcity, but uneven distribution. With equitable distribution, there would be no poverty; with harmony, scarcity would not be felt; with social stability, collapse would be averted. Yet contemporary rulers frequently impose prohibitions, only to impoverish the people further; the more detailed the laws, the more thieves proliferate; excessive ingenuity in tools breeds greater disorder.

On self-cultivation: Governing a state with upright methods parallels cultivating the self with proper techniques, just as unconventional military tactics resemble esoteric methods for gathering medicinal herbs (a Daoist alchemical term). Nourishing life should follow nature's course like governing the world—once the body declines, remedies come too late. The Great Dao (fundamental principle) is profoundly simple with few prohibitions, while lesser paths (heterodox methods) grow increasingly convoluted with numerous taboos. Today's excessive societal restrictions impoverish the people, just as misguided cultivation practices disorder the mind.

Thus the sage declares: "Through my non-action (Wuwei), the people transform themselves" (this is influencing through the Dao); "through my non-interference, the people prosper naturally" (this is teaching through Virtue (De)); "through my tranquility, the people rectify themselves" (this is encouraging through meritorious virtue); "through my lack of desire, the people return to simplicity" (this is leading by personal example). These principles encapsulate governing wisdom from the Yellow Emperor to the hegemon-kings.

Ultimately: Governing with upright methods mirrors cultivating with proper techniques; unconventional victories parallel esoteric herb-gathering; ruling through non-action resembles nourishing life by following nature's course. Once decline sets in, struggle becomes futile. More societal prohibitions bring greater poverty; more deviant cultivation brings mental chaos—just as excessive armaments lead to greater turmoil in states, and excessive personal defenses intensify lethal intentions, while stricter precepts breed more covert manipulation. All these stem from neglecting fundamentals while chasing trivialities.

Laozi here expresses his preference for governing through quietude and non-action (Wuwei), whereby the people naturally follow the correct path. By diminishing selfish thoughts and excessive desires within myself, the people naturally retain their simple and genuine nature. The reduction of greed—these are all natural outcomes brought forth by the operation of the great Dao (referring to the laws of the cosmos).

This passage emphasizes that rulers must lead by example, maintaining purity of heart and minimal desires, avoiding excessive interference in the lives of the people. When those in power do not seek personal gain or abuse authority, social customs naturally become simple and harmonious. This philosophy of governing through non-action embodies the Daoist political ideal of aligning with natural principles and minimizing artificial intervention.