《道德真經疏義(一)》Vol. 12

The Dao is the most profound and subtle essence of all things. Emperor Huizong of Song explained: The mystery of Heaven lies in the northwest (the position of the Qian trigram in the Bagua), where the vital Qi (Qi) for nurturing all things is stored; the mystery of Earth resides in the Yellow Springs (the deepest underground), where the energy that nourishes all things is concealed; the mystery of humanity lies in consciousness, containing the most refined spirit (Shen). Though Heaven, Earth, and humanity each have their own mysteries, all are governed by the Dao.

As the most fundamental existence, the Dao is like the innermost corner of a house or the hidden depths of the Qi River. Whether manifest or concealed, all things possess their intrinsic mysteries. The Taixuan Jing (Classic of Supreme Mystery) discusses three methods of deduction, each revealing its own profundity.

Specifically: The mystery of Heaven manifests in its formless nature. The northwest corresponds to the Qian trigram (symbolizing pure Yang), returning to a state of perfect stillness—this is where vital Qi is cultivated. This cultivation implies the subtle transformation of Yin and Yang (Yin-Yang), where Yang Qi encounters Yin Qi and becomes restrained. Thus it is said, "The mystery of Heaven lies in the northwest, where restrained energy nurtures vital Qi."

The mystery of Earth manifests in its unmanifested form. The depths of the Yellow Springs are unfathomable, existing in utmost obscurity—this is where the essence (Jing) of all things is nourished. This nourishment implies the hidden germination of Yang Qi, concealing its true form. Thus it is said, "The mystery of Earth lies in the Yellow Springs, where hidden energy nurtures essence."

The mystery of humanity resides in the workings of thought within the heart-mind. Human contemplation can survey the four seas in an instant and engage with all things in a moment of reverie—this is the dwelling of the most refined spirit. This divine subtlety cannot be measured by any fixed direction. Thus it is said, "The mystery of humanity lies in thought, containing the supreme spirit."

Though the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and humanity) occupy different positions and possess distinct mysteries, the Dao generates Heaven, the Dao generates Earth, and humanity itself exists within the Dao. The Dao cannot be measured by form or quantity—it is inexhaustible, unfathomable, and eternally maintains infinite potential. Though formless and nameless, the Dao gives birth to Heaven and Earth and nourishes all things, making it the fundamental mystery of existence. As the origin of all things, the Dao manifests the myriad phenomena from emptiness, revealing all things clearly while remaining itself beyond concealment.

This passage describes how the Dao manifests differently in people. For the virtuous, the Dao (the Way) is like the most precious treasure. Emperor Huizong of Song explained that persistent virtuous practice gradually forms a virtuous nature, ultimately reaching a state of communion with the divine.

Virtuous people do not regard jewels or jade as treasures—what they truly cherish is the Dao. From ordinary individuals to sages, from virtuous deeds to enlightenment, one attains genuine fulfillment at every stage. This is because the Dao is the principle of Yin-Yang transformation: inheriting this principle is virtue, and fulfilling it is one’s true nature. The virtuous understand that goodness originates from the Dao and is perfected in one’s nature, which is why they persist in virtuous conduct without weariness. Through such sustained cultivation, one penetrates the workings of heaven and earth and attains communion with the divine. From the initial accumulation of virtuous thoughts to the final attainment of an ineffable, wondrous state—this is the process of "accumulating virtue to perfect one’s nature."

For those who lack virtue, the Dao serves as their protection. Emperor Huizong stated that opposing the Dao leads to harm, while aligning with it ensures preservation; reckless action leads to deviation, while stillness maintains correctness. The Dao itself is Wuwei (non-action), yet nothing is left undone. Those who defy the Dao invariably suffer harm; those who act recklessly invariably stray. Only by relinquishing cleverness and preconceptions and aligning with the Dao’s principles can one preserve oneself. By maintaining inner emptiness and stillness, one’s nature remains undisturbed, allowing one to hold fast to the true path. In this way, one safeguards oneself and avoids danger. The Yijing (Book of Changes) states that only by thoroughly investigating principles and fully manifesting one’s nature can destiny be mastered. Aligning with the Dao brings understanding of principles, and preserving one’s nature ensures self-preservation.

This passage expounds on the principles of self-cultivation and governing the world.

When one maintains inner emptiness and stillness, virtuous thoughts naturally arise. But frivolous speech disturbs the mind like wind and waves, while superficial actions cause one to lose their true nature—these are all deviations from the Dao (the Way). Truly refined speech earns respect, and noble conduct influences others—how much more so for those who truly comprehend the Dao?

Those who grasp the profound mysteries of the Dao embrace all things like the heavens sheltering creation, accommodating everything like the ocean receiving countless rivers. Though people differ, all ultimately unite within the Dao. Thus, even those with unvirtuous conduct—why should they be cast aside? As the ancient saying goes: "True sages embrace all people."

Institutions like establishing the Son of Heaven and appointing the Three Dukes (highest ancient offices), even when recruiting talents with precious jade discs and chariots drawn by four horses, miss the essence if they neglect comprehending the Dao through self-cultivation. Far better to quietly cultivate this Way—for the true Dao resides within oneself. When sages revere the Great Dao, the people follow as naturally as crowds flock to a marketplace.

The foundation of governing the world lies in the Dao; the key to pacifying all lands rests in the heart. The supreme discipline is self-cultivation—guarding this root generates far-reaching influence. Ancient practitioners of statecraft all began with diligent self-cultivation; through prolonged refinement, they extended personal cultivation to governing the realm. Thus, when noble persons cultivate their nature and life (Xingming Shuangxiu), they bring peace to all under heaven.

This scripture explains that the fundamental principle of governing the world lies in following the Dao. Even for those as exalted as the Son of Heaven or the highest-ranking officials (the Three Dukes in ancient times), if they guide the people with the Dao, the world will naturally submit. Though one may possess precious jade disks and chariots drawn by four horses (symbols of power and wealth) to attract worthy talents, without cultivating the Dao to perfect oneself, one ultimately cannot maintain their foundation.

Yangzi (Yang Zhu) said: Only by first governing oneself can one govern others—this is the mark of true greatness. Self-cultivation is not imposed by external forces but sought within. Ancient sage-kings like Emperor Yao manifested their De (Virtue), bringing harmony to the people; King Wen of Zhou grasped the Dao first, enabling him to rule the state well. All this was because they understood the true meaning of the Dao.

The essence of the Dao is first applied to self-cultivation, then to governing the state, and finally to bringing peace to the world. Thus, the sages revered the Dao because they embodied it. The people followed the sages as naturally as gathering at a marketplace, for the Dao of the sages could unite their hearts. The sage is like a parent to the people—when those above honor the Dao, those below naturally follow. This is the principle behind "holding fast to the great Dao, and the world will turn to you."

The reason the ancients treasured the Dao was that through seeking it, one could be absolved of faults. Emperor Huizong of Song commented: Seeking the Dao inwardly leads to attainment, for it lies within one’s grasp; seeking it outwardly through the techniques of Yin-Yang (divination and prognostication) makes it difficult to obtain. The wicked can reform and become good, the foolish can gain wisdom—such is the miraculous salvific power of the Dao.

The mind is the master of the Dao, and the Dao never leaves us. Yet the Dao cannot be pursued through worldly emotions, nor is it confined by external things. Precisely because the Dao does not depart from the self, turning inward allows one to attain it; precisely because the Dao is not bound by externalities, those who seek it through divination for five years or through Yin-Yang for twelve years still fail to grasp it. Seeking the Dao inwardly brings true attainment, while seeking it outwardly is futile.

This passage elucidates the nature of the Dao and how to realize it.

It begins by noting that people often fail to find the Dao precisely because it is ever-present, yet they persistently seek it in distant places. Those truly skilled in pursuing the Dao understand it resides within their own hearts. Through sincere contemplation, the wicked may become virtuous and the foolish may attain enlightenment—such is the miraculous power of the Dao. Thus, the Dao is the most precious treasure under heaven.

The text then explains the concept of "action through non-action" (Wuwei). The essence of the Dao is "non-creation" (without forced effort), manifesting as Wuwei; it is "formless" (without fixed appearance), manifesting as "effortless engagement"; it is "desireless" (free from craving), manifesting as "flavorless." Though sages (those who have realized the Dao) engage with concrete matters, they always maintain the fundamental "nothingness" at the Dao's core.

Specifically: The profundity of the Dao lies in its "nothingness"—it cannot be grasped through concrete forms. Because it neither moves nor creates, it is Wuwei; because it has no fixed appearance, it is "effortless engagement"; because it is content in simplicity, it is "flavorless." Though sages perform actions, employ their senses, and taste flavors, all these spring from the realm of "nothingness"—acting yet rooted in non-action, engaging yet grounded in effortlessness, tasting yet free from desire. This is the wondrous function of the Dao.

Finally, the passage mentions "great and small, much and little," referring to how all things vary in form (size) and quantity, yet from the Dao's perspective, they are fundamentally interconnected.

From the perspective of material existence, all things manifest distinct forms. Consider the hollow of a wine vessel (lei) compared to the vast expanse of a lake, or the tip of a hair measured against the body of a steed—differences in shape create distinctions of size, constrained by physical form; variations in quantity produce measures of abundance, limited by calculation. Yet when viewed through the lens of the Dao (the Way), all things fundamentally share unity. Those who deem the Northern Sea immense fail to recognize it gains nothing from its greatness; those who consider mountain streams insignificant overlook how they lose nothing by their smallness. This is because material standards can never exhaust the boundless nature of existence.

Resentment and favor appear as clear opposites, yet both attitudes—though seemingly justified—deviate from the Great Dao (the Way). The sage embraces all phenomena with the empty, valley-like heart-mind of the Dao, neither harming others nor deliberately bestowing favors. Thus they unify all things in the realm of "non-being" (wu), gathering infinite minutiae to achieve true greatness. Like heaven and earth that encompass all creation without boundary, the enlightened ruler emulates this cosmic model to become the world's supreme embodiment.

Those perfected in De (Virtue/Power) remain unmoved by worldly praise—no official rank or salary can sway them. Neither do they fear public censure—no executioner's axe can humiliate them. Neither glory nor disgrace affects their authentic nature, allowing them to transcend distinctions of right/wrong and large/small, attaining the state of undifferentiated unity. How could such individuals harbor resentment? Only those with supreme De (Virtue/Power) achieve this.

Yang represents favor, while yin signifies resentment. By responding to resentment with De (Virtue/Power), one dissolves opposition to reach the non-dual state—this constitutes the highest virtue. Approach difficulties through their simplest aspects; accomplish great deeds by starting with the smallest steps. All worldly challenges begin in ease, all monumental undertakings accumulate from minutiae.

(Note: "Lei" denotes an ancient wine vessel; "narrow streams" (jingliu) refers to small brooks; "boundary" (ni) indicates limits; "detached manner" (tangran) describes transcendence; "axes" (fuyue) symbolize punishment)

Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty employed a vivid analogy in his commentary on the Dao De Jing: A thousand-mile dike may collapse due to tiny ant holes, and a hundred-foot tower might be consumed by flames sparked from a chimney's crevice. Bai Gui, the hydraulic engineer of the Warring States period, always sealed every ant nest when constructing dikes, so his embankments never breached; cautious elders preventing fires would plaster over wall cracks, ensuring their homes remained unscathed. All calamities under heaven originate from minute beginnings—once they escalate, they become uncontrollable. Thus, the sage always nips problems in the bud.

This exegesis further elaborates: The Zuo Zhuan advises, "Do not let misfortunes grow like creeping weeds," for those with foresight never overlook simple details; the Book of Changes emphasizes "preparing before events unfold," as the truly wise discern the subtlest signs. A thousand-zhang dike may seem unshakable, but unsealed ant holes allow trickles to erode the entire structure; a hundred-foot tower appears secure, yet unpatched cracks may kindle a raging inferno. The stories of Bai Gui and the fire-preventing elder illustrate that those who grasp the patterns of transformation (the yuanji adept) apply wisdom to minute details—a principle Han Feizi also expounded.

The Book of Songs stresses "attentiveness to subtleties" during auspicious sacrifices, while the Book of Changes advocates "precaution" when discussing crises, for once events progress too far, reversal becomes impossible. The sage's wisdom penetrates the divine; they address issues early, aligning with Xunzi's dictum: "To consider calamities before they arise is foresight." Just as fertile fields form from accumulated clods of earth and rivers converge from gathered spoonfuls of water, great achievements begin with small steps. Kings Wen and Wu governed the realm by accumulating minor acts of De (Virtue), ultimately accomplishing grand deeds. Hence, the sage never covets greatness, yet attains true magnificence.

This passage expounds the principle of preventing problems before they arise in governance and personal conduct.

Managing both internal and external affairs of a state must begin with diligence and caution. If one waits until disorder has already taken shape before attempting to address it, it would be as futile as seeking warm clothing only after the bitter cold has set in. Mencius cites the Book of Songs ("Owl")—"Before the sky darkens with rain, strip the mulberry roots and mend the doors and windows"—to illustrate that a state should refine its laws and policies during times of peace, preparing in advance.

In the affairs of the world, minor matters can still be remedied, but major ones will be too late to fix. Those who make promises too lightly will inevitably lack credibility, and those who regard things as too easy will surely encounter greater difficulties. The sage always begins with the most challenging aspects, and thus ultimately encounters no true hardship.

Disasters often lurk in the smallest details and erupt when people are negligent. The sage approaches life by treating even the subtlest matters with care, so there is no recklessness from the start, and ultimately, no calamity becomes unmanageable. Just as fire arises from wood yet ultimately consumes it, misfortune often stems from minor oversights.

The sage observes the patterns of all things with supreme wisdom and foresees opportunities with long-term vision, handling matters with caution before any signs appear, consistently valuing what others tend to overlook. Therefore, they neither make promises lightly nor regard things as too simple. In this way, their words and actions align, and their endeavors proceed smoothly and auspiciously.

This way of conduct stems from embodying the Daoist principles of Wuwei (non-action), "having no affairs," and "being flavorless." By following the natural order of the Dao, no true difficulty remains. The final chapter of Book of Songs ("Wild Ducks") states, "There will be no future calamities"—expressing precisely this idea.

Stability is easily maintained when secure; matters are easily planned when signs have yet to appear; fragility is easily resolved when still tender; small things are easily dispersed when still minute. One must prepare before problems arise and govern before chaos takes hold.

Fragility stands in contrast to solidity, just as subtlety opposes conspicuousness. When maintaining vigilance during times of stability, one avoids danger; when planning ahead before events take form, their traces remain hidden. The sage perceives the subtle omens of transformation—when fragility is timely resolved, it never hardens into unyielding ice; when faint signs are promptly dispersed, they never grow prominent. Though the worthy fall slightly short of this perfection, they too can approach such realization.

Consider the carriage about to overturn or the ferry nearing submersion—the sage never waits for disaster to strike before applying wisdom, but rather takes preventive measures before wheels derail or hulls take water. This embodies the Dao De Jing's teaching: "Prepare before events arise; govern before chaos takes form."

Commentary further explains: Before manifestation, all things conceal natural patterns; once revealed, they inevitably follow developmental trajectories. These patterns lie deeply hidden—none but those with extraordinary insight can perceive them; these signs appear profoundly subtle—none but those with supreme wisdom can discern them. Stability and danger form a polarity—where stability exists, danger lurks; unmanifest signs stand opposite to formed appearances—before signs emerge, forms remain incomplete. This constitutes the principle of pre-manifestation.

Fragility foretells the formation of solid qualities; subtlety heralds the emergence of conspicuous signs—these mark the indications of post-manifestation. Maintaining vigilance during stability preserves nations; strategizing before signs appear prevents calamity. The sage foresees omens through divine perspicacity, discerning trends within minutiae and anticipating futures through refined perception. Though the worthy cannot equal sages, they still correct errors before amplification, applying wisdom through early recognition.

These "omens" represent the subtle manifestations of change and early appearances of fortune/misfortune. The second yin line of the Yu hexagram in the Yi Jing demonstrates the sage's prescience through attunement to patterns; the initial yang line of the Fu hexagram shows the worthy's near-prescience through post-manifestation realization. Precisely because sages foresee omens, they never delay until disasters occur; because the worthy approach this state, they avoid grave regrets, naturally preventing carriage wrecks or ferry sinkings. As Yang Xiong answered when questioned: True wisdom is applied before calamity strikes.

Governing should begin before chaos arises, so that even in great peril, the people may pass through safely.

A tree thick enough to embrace grows from a tiny sprout; a nine-tiered tower is built from baskets of earth; a thousand-mile journey begins with a single step. As Emperor Huizong of Song explained: All tangible things—what is great must grow from what is small, what is high must be founded upon what is low, and what is distant must start from what is near. At their inception, matters are often simple; only at their conclusion do they become complex. The sages, seeing the beginning, already contemplate the end; perceiving the signs, they understand the outcome. Thus, they do not rush ahead to seek fortune, nor do they become the source of calamity. Acting with prudence, they always succeed.

Further elaboration: All tangible things emerge from the formless, and all that exists must develop gradually from the minute. To fell a great tree, one might not even touch its smallest branches at first—yet that tree, thick enough to embrace, indeed grew from a tender sprout. To ascend heights, one must start from below; a towering mountain is formed basket by basket of earth. To reach afar, one must begin nearby; a thousand-mile journey is completed step by step. These three matters start simply but ultimately achieve greatness. All things have roots and branches; all affairs have beginnings and ends. The sages contemplate the end upon seeing the beginning to grasp the patterns of development; they discern the outcome upon observing the signs to master the final course. Watching the transformations of near and far, they silently align with the Dao (the Way). Thus, without rushing for fortune, fortune naturally arrives; without creating misfortune, calamity never befalls them. Acting in accordance with the moment and following the principles of the Dao, they begin only after deep reflection—hence their inevitable success. This is the natural response of resonance.

The affairs of the world appear before us daily. If we refuse them all, even seemingly trivial matters may contain what must be done. Yet is it truly easy to act? One must deliberate carefully before beginning, never treating simple matters carelessly. Precisely because they do not act rashly, their actions bear fruit, ultimately achieving great merit.

Those who force things often fail; those who cling often lose. Thus, the sages, by following spontaneity (Wuwei), do not fail; by not clinging, they do not lose. As Emperor Huizong explained: The sages do not act by force, so they do not fail; they do not cling to fixed views, so they do not lose.

This passage expounds on the fundamental principle that both spiritual cultivation and worldly affairs must align with natural laws rather than being forced through willful striving. The essential teaching is:

The principles governing heaven and earth can be followed but not coerced, trusted but not clung to. Forced attempts at success often lead to failure, and stubborn grasping results in loss. The sages (those who have attained the Dao) comprehend the essence of the Way, maintaining a state of emptiness, stillness, and wuwei (non-action). Without compulsively pursuing matters, they avoid failure; without rigid attachments, they remain free from error.

Those ignorant of this truth fail to recognize the ever-changing nature of circumstances. Clinging stubbornly to fixed methods is like carving a boat's gunwale to mark where a sword fell overboard, or gluing tuning pegs to adjust a zither's strings (classic metaphors for rigid thinking). Such approaches only distance one from the Dao, rendering them incapable of adapting—rarely do they escape failure.

Ordinary people often fail when success seems imminent. This occurs because initial diligence gives way to complacency midway. Like stopping halfway on a journey ensures one never reaches the destination, or abandoning a well dug ninety ren deep (an ancient measurement) just before reaching the spring. Confucius said, "I would never give up halfway"—this captures the principle.

If one maintains the same caution at the end as at the beginning, failure becomes impossible. King Cheng of Zhou admonished his ministers: "The loftiness of achievement lies in steadfast purpose; the greatness of enterprise stems from diligent perseverance." By preserving one's original intention and renewing it daily, what endeavor could possibly fail?

Through contrasting sages with ordinary people, this scripture emphasizes aligning with nature's flow and maintaining constancy in both spiritual practice and worldly affairs. Abandoning halfway or stubborn attachments leads to failure, whereas natural accord and perseverance ensure success.

When the mind is focused and one exerts full effort in action, this is called "resolve" (zhi); when outwardly one perseveres and devotes all one's strength, this is called "diligence" (qin). People often begin things well but rarely carry them through to the end, because their resolve slackens and their energy is exhausted—how could they avoid abandoning their efforts halfway?

Yi Yin (the wise minister of the Shang dynasty) once said: Only by maintaining constancy can one renew oneself daily. Precisely because of this constancy, sincerity remains unbroken. When planning an endeavor, one must consider its final outcome; maintaining this attitude allows daily progress, ensuring steadfast action without faltering. Even when rest is possible, one does not stop—with such an approach, one is certain to bring matters to completion. What could remain unachieved? This is the meaning of the saying, "If you are as careful at the end as at the beginning, there will be no failure." How true this is! The ancients said, "To begin and end well—this is perhaps the mark of a sage."

Thus, the pursuits of sages differ from those of ordinary people: they aspire to realms others do not seek and do not prize rare treasures; they study what others neglect, thereby correcting the faults of the multitude. As Emperor Huizong of Song commented: Those who crave profit trade their true selves for external things, while those who pursue learning lose their original minds in the clutter of knowledge. How can such people attain the state of wuwei (non-action, a core Daoist concept of effortless harmony with nature)?

Sages do not allow profit to burden body or mind. Their desire lies in "having no desire"—both others' and their own needs are met in moderation, so they do not covet precious objects. They do not let artificial striving disrupt innate nature; their learning consists in "not learning"—merely preserving the clarity and brightness of the heart-mind. Thus, they correct the faults of others. The reason the great Dao remains obscure is that even the worthy pursue it excessively—how much more so ordinary people? To correct faults and return to one's true nature—this is why those who renounce scattered learning remain free of worries.

Zhuangzi speaks of those who distort their true nature for wealth and status, trading their selves for external things and drowning in worldly desires. Liezi describes those whose excessive learning obscures life's essence, submerging their original minds in erudition until knowledge becomes chaotic. How can such people attain wuwei? There is nothing more precious in wuwei than emptiness and stillness (a key Daoist meditative state). Trading the self for external things leads to confusion in materialism, chasing outward movement without seeking stillness within motion. Drowning the original mind in learning scatters the spirit, clinging to form without realizing how to transform substance into emptiness. Thus, wuwei remains beyond reach.

Sages are different: they do not let profit burden their forms, for what they seek lies within, not without. Their desire is "no desire"—they delight in shared benefit for all and find peace in universal sufficiency. They do not hoard temporary gains for themselves but focus on satisfying the needs of the whole world.

Zhuangzi's statement that "the nourishment of self and others should be satisfied when basic needs are met" means human desires should be content with fundamental requirements. Therefore, sages do not value rare treasures, nor do they distort natural dispositions through artificial means—this is how to eliminate human artifice and pretension. True learning lies in inner cultivation rather than superficial display; the highest attainment is achieved not through deliberate study but by following one's inherent nature, without relying on fragmented knowledge to augment so-called true understanding, ultimately reaching a state of sudden enlightenment and unique insight.

The Book of Songs says, "Learning leads to increasing brightness and illumination"—this expresses the same principle. Sages correct people's faults precisely because they excessively pursue exotic and rare objects. By not valuing such things, sages aim to prevent the common people from being enticed and distracted by external temptations. It can be said that when rulers are free from greed, the people will naturally be content. Ordinary people often mistake the branch for the root—sages rectify these errors to guide them back to the right path. This is the meaning of "constantly excelling in saving people and never abandoning anyone."

When the Dao is not manifest, even the worthy may err. If even the virtuous stumble, how much more so ordinary people? Correcting mistakes and returning to one's inherent nature allows for the cultivation of De (Virtue). When De is perfected, one returns to the source, ultimately comprehending the Dao and transcending deliberate study. Following spontaneity leads to universal contentment. Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) could forget the constraints of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and music, remaining joyful even with coarse food and drink—he nearly attained the sage's state of "being so joyful as to forget sorrow."

Sages assist the natural development of all things without daring to act willfully. As Emperor Huizong of Song commented: Heaven is high and Earth low; the myriad things each have their forms—all this arises from their natural dispositions. Assisting nature fulfills inherent qualities, whereas willful action leads to failure. Thus, sages dare not act arbitrarily—this is why they rely on the Dao's transformative power rather than clever artifice.

Heaven and Earth operate according to their natural patterns: Heaven moves above without deliberate production; Earth supports below without deliberate nourishment. The myriad things fill the space between, each plant and animal manifesting its unique form. Sages assist Heaven and Earth in nurturing all beings, allowing everything to follow its own path—this is not due to any deliberate compulsion but arises from their inherent natures. Assisting nature means neither forcing growth nor contriving outcomes, but simply complying with things as they are.

The natural operation of heaven and earth maintains clarity and tranquility without human intervention. All things grow and multiply by following natural laws, not through forced human effort. Deliberate interference only disrupts inherent nature, like the proverbial farmer who pulled seedlings upward to hasten growth—achieving the opposite effect. Thus, the sage follows the Dao's natural teachings rather than relying on clever methods. Aligning with natural principles eliminates selfish motives; abandoning cunning artifice returns one to heavenly truth. This seemingly Wuwei (non-action) approach accomplishes the transformation and nourishment of all things. Consider the craftsman who spent three years carving a single leaf—in doing so, he lost touch with the leaf's natural beauty. How could such a person comprehend the profundity of the Dao?

Ancient masters who truly understood the Dao's practice didn't use cleverness to educate people but guided them back to their original simplicity. Emperor Huizong of Song commented on this passage: "Let the people follow the Dao in their lives without needing them to grasp its subtleties." Those skilled in practicing the Dao enable others to follow it naturally, returning to their fundamental state. Thus, the Dao spontaneously sustains all things without deliberate cleverness—hence this is called the "foolish" realm. After the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou), people abandoned their serene Wuwei nature, becoming entangled in elaborate rituals and moral preachings. What appeared as civilizing the masses actually created greater disorder.

Sages govern the world through the Dao, nourishing all things as spring rain moistens the earth—their benevolence (De) manifests naturally, allowing people to follow effortlessly. Yet the Dao's subtle workings remain concealed, making full comprehension unnecessary. The Yijing (Book of Changes) states: "People use it daily without knowing it," while Mencius observes that many follow the Dao lifelong without understanding it—both express this truth. Ancient Dao practitioners embodied this wisdom: appearing foolish while actually embodying great wisdom. When worldly people schemed with cleverness, they maintained a state of primal simplicity. Influencing others this way, people naturally returned to their true nature. This "foolishness" isn't ignorance but harmony with the Dao—achieving effortlessly without clever means. Like measuring curves without strings, shaping squares without compasses, joining without glue, or binding without ropes: only by forgetting cleverness in Daoist practice can one preserve original authenticity.

This passage explores the wisdom of governing a state through the principle of Wuwei (non-action). Both Laozi and Zhuangzi believed that excessive reliance on cleverness and human intervention would only lead to social chaos.

After the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, and Zhou), people became obsessed with superficial practices—they spoke of Wuwei but failed to truly embody it, satisfied with formalized preaching while neglecting the importance of leading by example. Using elaborate rituals to regulate people’s behavior only harmed their innate nature, much like forcing a perfect shape with compasses and rulers. Promoting benevolence and righteousness to pacify the people became artificial, akin to relying on glue and ropes to hold things together. These methods all violated the natural Dao (the Way). Though framed as moral instruction, they only bred greater disorder.

Zhuangzi said, "I have heard of letting the world be at ease, but never of governing the world." Forcing clever governance upon the people is not the right way to rule. Simply allowing them to develop freely will naturally lead to peace and stability—why impose deliberate control?

The difficulty in governing people arises precisely because they have too much cunning. Emperor Huizong of Song commented: The root of great disorder in the world lies in the glorification of cleverness. Just as overly intricate bird traps make birds fly higher, overly dense fishing nets drive fish into deeper waters, and overly complex traps make beasts flee—if even animals react this way, how much more so humans? When scheming and sophistry prevail, society descends into chaos. Zhuangzi used natural phenomena to illustrate that all things follow the laws of the Dao, and human cleverness only disrupts this harmony.

A sage governs by keeping the people simple and desireless, responding to affairs with the empty stillness of the Dao—never resorting to manipulation. Those who truly understand governance speak of peace in terms of "no need for cunning" and the mysteries of the Dao’s transformations in terms of "no reliance on cleverness." The key to ruling lies in comprehending the Dao, not in exalting clever strategies.

Thus, governing with cunning is actually a disaster for the state. Emperor Huizong noted: The more detailed the laws, the more deceit flourishes; the more numerous the decrees, the more deception thrives. Zhuangzi observed that when cleverness becomes a tool for contention, people compete for profit and devise endless schemes. The very emergence of laws and ordinances signals the corruption of the natural Dao.

When harsh laws are used to restrain the people, it is like pulling a rope too tight—instead of truly regulating hearts and minds, it only breeds schemes to exploit loopholes and commit wrongdoing. The so-called difficulty in enforcing decrees does not stem from insufficient severity; even when decrees are forcibly imposed, people may submit outwardly while secretly nurturing deceitful intentions, a situation that can never be fully eradicated. The Daode Jing states: "The more numerous and stringent the laws, the more thieves and bandits proliferate"—clear proof of how cunning thrives. Governing the nation with clever stratagems is, in truth, a calamity for the state; ruling without such cleverness is its true blessing.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: "Burn the tally tokens and shatter the seals" (symbolizing the abolition of cumbersome decrees), and the people will return to simplicity. "Smash the measuring cups and break the steelyards" (symbolizing the removal of oppressive systems), and the people will naturally cease their strife. The Shuyi elaborates: Zhuangzi said the Dao is the universal standard of the world. When the Great Dao is upheld as impartial, the people need no restraints to submit willingly. "Burning tallies and breaking seals" does not mean literal destruction, but treating others with sincerity, so the people become guileless and no longer rely on such proofs. "Smashing measures and breaking scales" is not actual ruin, but dealing with fairness, so the people contend no more, rendering such tools useless. The Daode Jing says: "When the ruler is tranquil and acts through Wuwei (non-action), the people will rectify themselves; when the ruler is free of desire, the people will prosper of their own accord." When the people are upright and prosperous, that state of simple, contention-free harmony manifests naturally. This is the blessing of "not governing with cleverness."

To understand the distinction between these two approaches to governance—both worthy models to follow—Emperor Huizong notes: "Recognizing their difference reveals how to govern; knowing how to govern, the people will emulate and take it as their standard." The Shuyi further explains: "When the measuring pole is straight, the shadow is straight; when the source is clear, the stream is pure—this is the Dao of nature." The sage, positioned above the people, need only straighten the pole and clarify the source, governing through Wuwei to transform the world effortlessly. The key lies in discerning the difference between using cleverness and abstaining from it, understanding that governance values tranquility and Wuwei over reliance on cunning methods. When the state is not ruled by cleverness, the people follow as naturally as shadows obey the sundial or water conforms to the vessel. Who would not take this as their standard? "Standard" here means the norm, and "model" means the exemplar. It is precisely because of this norm and exemplar that the people emulate and uphold it. As Xunzi said, "Water in a round vessel becomes round; water in a square vessel becomes square"—the principle is the same.

This constant wisdom, this deepest standard, is the most profound "Xuan De" (the Virtue of the Dao). Profound and far-reaching, Xuan De stands in complete opposition to the worldly pursuit of clever stratagems.

This passage explains the concept of "Xuan" (the Mysterious) and the state of "Great Accordance" (Da Shun), focusing on how to achieve harmony with the Dao (the Way) by relinquishing artificial cleverness.

"Xuan" refers to the color of the heavens (deep azure) and represents a profound, unfathomable state. Those who truly understand the Dao, though aware of norms and principles, refrain from deliberately employing cleverness, thereby aligning with the De (Virtue/Power) of the Dao. This state is so deep and distant that it transcends all things, standing alone beyond comparison—hence it is said to be the opposite of ordinary phenomena. Like the state of "suspicious solitude" described by Liezi, only those who perceive the essence of all things and merge with the Dao can attain it.

"Great Accordance" means conforming to the natural order. The method to reach this state lies in abandoning artificial cleverness and contrived action, instead wholly following the laws of nature. The Zhuangzi describes this as merging with heaven and earth—seemingly dull and oblivious, yet embodying the highest form of Xuan De (Mysterious Virtue), perfectly attuned to the Dao. As the Yijing (Book of Changes) says in the "Yu Hexagram," heaven and earth follow their patterns, ensuring the sun and moon never stray from their course and the seasons never err. At its core, the vigor of the Qian Hexagram (symbolizing heaven) represents the simplest truth. To relinquish cleverness and conform to natural principle is to act as described in the Book of Songs: "Unknowing and unseeing, yet following the decrees of the divine."

In the Tiandi (Heaven and Earth) chapter of the Zhuangzi, when discussing cultivating one’s nature and returning to the Dao and De, it is said: The state of unity with heaven and earth is one of undivided wholeness, seemingly foolish and dim—this is the Mysterious Virtue, fully in accordance with the Dao. The space between heaven and earth is empty yet inexhaustible; the more it moves, the more it generates. To merge with heaven and earth is to penetrate the natural order; to be one with the Dao is to maintain stillness. This unity is not achieved through deliberate striving or intellectual understanding. "Seeming foolish" describes a mind empty of knowledge, while "seeming dim" describes eyes unclouded by perception—both depict the natural state attained by abandoning artificial effort.

This scripture conveys two key teachings: first, the cultivation state of "profound virtue" (Xuande), and second, the principle of humble governance illustrated through the metaphor of rivers and seas.

The first part explains the state of Xuande: When cultivation reaches the stage where one sees without looking and knows without conscious knowing, one enters the realm of Xuande—a profound and mysterious virtue. This state aligns perfectly with natural spontaneity, free from any resistance, as if returning to the primordial source of the Dao (the Way). Outwardly, it may appear simple or even foolish, but in truth, it signifies liberation from worldly cleverness. This resonates with Zhuangzi’s concept of "heavenly virtue" (Tiande) in the opening of the "Heaven and Earth" chapter, which similarly refers to the innate virtue of one’s true nature.

The second part employs the metaphor of rivers and seas to illustrate governance: The reason rivers and seas become the rulers of all streams is that they excel at staying in the lowest position. Likewise, if a ruler remains humble and receptive, the people will naturally gather around them, just as water flows downward. A truly virtuous ruler, though positioned above, does not oppress others; though leading from the front, does not provoke fear. Thus, the world willingly supports them without resentment.

Here, the scripture invokes the wisdom of the Yijing (Book of Changes): "By humbling the noble to serve the lowly, one greatly wins the people’s hearts." This principle is particularly relevant in times of great difficulty, symbolized by the Zhun (Initial Difficulty) hexagram, which represents the challenges of a new beginning. Just as the first line of Zhun depicts thunder beneath clouds—a sign of impending change—truly wise leaders understand the importance of humility and self-effacement.

To forget one's noble status and treat the common people with humility is the true way to win their hearts. Can such genuine allegiance ever be won through mere preaching and commands? It is precisely through humble speech that a ruler may occupy the highest position without oppressing the people, who instead willingly support and follow him. As Mencius observed, his followers would become as numerous as market-goers. By maintaining a humble posture, such a leader may walk ahead without others feeling harmed; all will gladly adhere to him and benefit from his guidance. Zhuangzi remarked how multitudes naturally gravitate toward those embodying benevolence and righteousness. Thus the people of all lands will cherish him as parents, adore him like fragrant orchids, and with sincere hearts joyfully revere him without weariness. The Book of Changes states: "The people participate in accomplishment"—heaven and earth establish order, the sage perfects its function, and the people partake in it. This affectionate praise shall never diminish.

Precisely because he contends with none, none in the world can contend with him. Emperor Huizong of Song commented: "One who practices virtue without flaunting it—where would such a person not be beloved?" The Shuyi explains: "Assuming virtue while looking down upon others wins no true allegiance, whereas virtuous humility never fails to gain hearts." If even mere humility attracts people, how much more should genuine virtue without self-display naturally command devotion? Yang Ziju rightly said that achieving virtue without boasting enables one to dwell in non-contention, beloved wherever he goes, with external things naturally unable to oppose him.

The All Under Heaven chapter states: "All under heaven say my Dao is vast, yet it seems unlike anything." Precisely because it is vast, it resembles nothing. Were it to resemble something particular, it would long since have become insignificant. Huizong annotates: "What imitates particular things becomes small; what all things emulate becomes great." The Dao embraces and carries all existence—boundless and inexhaustible—thus appearing unlike any specific thing. Were it to resemble something, there would exist things beyond the Dao—how then could it be called great? The Shuyi elaborates: "Imitating human form is small; imitating objects is also small. Greatness lies in what the multitudes follow—thus what all things emulate becomes great." Observe how Confucius' seventy disciples modeled themselves after him—through them we comprehend the distinction between great and small. Yet the sage's capacity for greatness arises precisely because...

The Dao (the Way) is the fundamental source that sustains all things. As the progenitor of all existence, everything originates from the Dao. Though heaven and earth are vast and an autumn hair is minute, all are encompassed within the Dao's embrace. The Dao is boundless and all-inclusive, vast enough to contain everything. All beings follow the Dao's example, yet the Dao itself does not resemble any particular thing. If the Dao were like a specific object, it would become a limited, small entity - how then could it be called "great"? Beyond the Dao there exists nothing else, hence we reluctantly use the word "great" to describe it.

The sage possesses three treasures (referring to compassion, frugality, and not daring to be first in the world) which they firmly maintain. Emperor Huizong of Song comments: What differs from worldly views yet can be steadfastly preserved becomes my treasure. Sages transcend worthy persons, and worthy persons still fall short compared to sages, let alone common worldly views. Ordinary people, blinded by selfishness, mistakenly consider these three treasures insignificant, yet from the perspective of principle, they constitute true wisdom. To differ from worldly opinions and maintain unwavering commitment is like holding fast without letting go, never abandoning them for a moment. Confucianism values loyalty and trustworthiness over gold and jade as treasures, similarly showing these three treasures are internal rather than external, requiring complete dedication. Sadly, worldly people only cherish superficial treasures while failing to recognize true ones, instead making them burdens. Those who covet jewels and fine jade inevitably invite misfortune.

The first treasure is "compassion" (ci, benevolence). Emperor Huizong comments: Loving all creatures is the essence of humaneness (ren). Compassion takes benefiting all things as its heart, while humaneness takes caring for others as its root. In heavenly relationships, a father's compassion comes first; in feasts and gatherings, compassion serves as the model - both originate from loving hearts. Laozi says the Dao and De (Virtue) transcend humaneness yet value compassion, not to deny humaneness but to clarify its essence.

The second treasure is "frugality" (jian, moderation). Emperor Huizong comments: Frugality makes resources sufficient, representing ritual propriety's restraint. Frugality forms virtue's foundation, while ritual propriety emphasizes appropriate measure. Excessive frugality appears stingy, while proper frugality achieves perfect balance.

This passage discusses three essential principles for personal conduct: frugality, humility, and benevolence.

Regarding frugality, Confucius remarked that in rituals, simplicity and restraint are preferable to extravagance. This does not advocate miserliness but emphasizes moderation in ceremonial practices. Just as winter conserves energy to allow spring’s flourishing, even heaven and earth understand restraint—how much more should humans?

Concerning humility, Daoist philosophy teaches that softness and yielding often prevail, while rigidity invites defeat. Those who remain gentle and uncontentious, maintaining modesty and reserve, ultimately face no opposition. In contrast, the forceful, always striving to surpass others, may excel temporarily but will eventually falter. To value strength without understanding softness is to prioritize martial prowess over virtue (De). Force breeds conflict, and reckless aggression multiplies enemies. Humility, however, is the foundation of virtue—as the Yijing (Book of Changes) states, heaven, earth, humans, and spirits all honor humility. Thus, rather than contending for supremacy, one should cultivate yielding, for only then can true virtue be refined.

As for benevolence, the truly compassionate are inevitably courageous. King Wen of Zhou treated his people as if tending to the wounded; when roused to anger, he could pacify the realm. Those with virtue (De) naturally command respect, enabling them to establish martial readiness. King Wen protected the vulnerable and cared for widows, orphans, and the solitary—his benevolence was unparalleled. Yet when he took up arms in righteous fury for his people, his courage was unmatched. Thus, genuine bravery arises from benevolence.

These principles reveal that restraint ensures longevity, humility fosters progress, and benevolence grants strength. Just as winter’s conservation prepares for spring’s growth, these virtues cultivate the foundation for greater achievements.

This scripture elucidates the principles governing celestial movements and human conduct. The sprouting of all beings in spring (symbolized by the Zhen trigram representing the eastern spring season) stems from the closure and storage of winter. The cyclical movement of heaven and earth's Qi (vital energy) follows natural patterns of flourishing and decline. Though the cosmos nurtures all things, it never squanders resources. The earth (Kun trigram) may appear miserly in its containment, yet it extensively fosters life—demonstrating how excessive consumption ultimately proves unsustainable.

In human affairs, true leadership (qi zhang) emerges precisely through non-contention. The Dao silently nurtures all beings without claiming merit, and the sage (Laojun) embodies this supreme principle by maintaining humility and non-striving, thereby becoming truly invincible. This illustrates the profound truth behind "daring not to be ahead of the world, thus becoming the leader of all vessels."

To abandon compassion for mere ferocity, discard frugality for extravagance, and forsake yielding to rush ahead—this path leads to ruin. Common human failings include: seeing only how aggression overcomes others while missing how compassion is the true source of courage; pursuing superficial grandeur while failing to understand how frugality creates genuine abundance; coveting leadership status while neglecting how yielding forms its foundation. These shortsighted behaviors of the forceful inevitably bring about downfall.

Note: The "Three Treasures" refer to fundamental Daoist virtues (typically compassion, frugality, and "daring not to be first in the world")—these represent humanity's innate nature rather than artificial cultivation.

This scripture elucidates the Daoist core principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong." It begins by addressing a common human fallacy: our persistent attachment to the dichotomy between self and external objects, chasing illusory appearances while straying from truth. People mistakenly believe they can surpass others through cunning or force, unaware that true courage springs from compassion (ci). They seek attention through lavish displays, ignorant that genuine abundance stems from frugality (jian). They strive to dominate others, failing to recognize that humility (bugan wei tianxia xian) is fundamental. Such aggressive pursuits lead down the path of death, as Laozi observed: "What is rigid and unyielding is a companion of death."

The text then cites Zhuangzi's description of perfected persons (zhenren): they maintain boundless tolerance toward all things (manifesting compassion), live simply without waste (embodying frugality), and willingly retreat rather than contend (demonstrating humility). Laozi taught these principles not only through words but through personal example. Yet humanity remains stubbornly attached to the way of force—a profound delusion indeed.

Finally, through annotations by Emperor Huizong of Song and classical commentaries, the text further clarifies: those who truly embody benevolent virtue (de) are invincible. As Mencius taught, rulers practicing benevolent governance become matchless because the people's hearts naturally incline toward them. Citizens will defend such leaders as they would their own limbs or parents—thus battles fought with compassion inevitably triumph, and defenses built upon it remain impregnable. Historically, King Cheng Tang of Shang dynasty exemplified this, winning the voluntary allegiance of feudal lords through his magnanimous virtue.

(Note: "Compassion" (ci) refers to the first of Daoism's Three Treasures (ci, jian, bugan wei tianxia xian); "perfected person" (zhenren) denotes one who has attained the Dao; "Cheng Tang" was the founding monarch of the Shang dynasty)

This passage expounds on the paramount importance of benevolence (ren). Ancient King Tai (grandfather of King Wen of Zhou) was so profoundly virtuous (De) that the people of Bin followed him as enthusiastically as attending a market fair, demonstrating genuine popular devotion to a sage ruler.

When a ruler governs with benevolent virtue, he becomes invincible under heaven, and the people willingly submit to him with heartfelt admiration. Such a state achieves victory in warfare and unshakable stability in defense. The treasure of benevolence yields benefits far beyond measure. When heaven intends to save someone, it shields them through benevolence.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Those resolved to practice benevolence find their hearts guided by heaven, while those harboring malevolence gradually have their fortunes stripped away by celestial will. Heaven employs benevolence to rescue and protect humanity, hence its primacy among the "Three Treasures" (in Daoism: compassion, frugality, and humility).

Further explanation reveals: Those who fully manifest their innate heart-mind comprehend their heavenly nature; understanding heavenly nature leads to apprehending celestial intent. Benevolent virtue is rooted in the human heart—an endowment of innate nature bestowed by heaven. Only through practicing benevolence can one fully realize their nature; only through such realization can one obtain heavenly assistance. Thus, benevolent practitioners receive celestial favor like nurtured plants and blessed virtuous individuals, while the malevolent lose divine protection like overturned vessels inviting calamity.

The Dao of Heaven consistently favors the virtuous, safeguarding and stabilizing them through benevolence. This explains why compassion stands first among the Three Treasures, and why benevolent virtue serves as the guiding principle of all goodness—the highest attainment of human virtue. For those who truly cherish benevolence, no higher excellence exists.