《道德真經疏義(一)》Vol. 14

This passage comes from the Commentary on the Authentic Scripture of Dao and Virtue (Daode Zhenjing Shuyi) by Jiang Cheng, a National University student during the Song dynasty, explicating Chapter 75 of the Laozi. It examines why people suffer hunger, become difficult to govern, and recklessly court death.

Regarding "the people's hunger," the commentary cites Mencius to illustrate that when sages govern, they reduce taxes and regulate farming according to seasons, ensuring prosperity. Ancient sage-kings taught agriculture suited to local conditions and established fair reward systems, enabling people to live contentedly without want. In contrast, contemporary rulers impose heavy levies that force farmland abandonment, leaving people destitute.

On "the people being hard to govern," the annotation clarifies that sages rule through the Dao (the Way), employing simple governance that preserves innate simplicity. Excessive regulations breed cunning and hypocrisy, corrupting the people's natural integrity. As the text states: lenient governance fosters淳朴 (chúnpǔ, rustic honesty), while harsh measures provoke crafty evasion.

Finally, the "people courting death" phenomenon arises when rulers excessively pursue lavish living (sheng sheng zhi hou—overindulgence in material comforts). By hoarding wealth, they impoverish the masses, who then risk death in desperation. The commentary stresses returning to Dao-governance (daohua—transformation through the Way) with minimal interference, allowing people to flourish naturally.

(Note: Sheng sheng zhi hou denotes extreme materialism; daohua refers to educating through Dao-principles; yuan xu zhi zong describes the Dao's fundamental attributes—profound emptiness and stillness.)

Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty, in his commentary on the Dao De Jing, observed that those excessively attached to life often become reckless in their pursuit of profit. They will do anything to survive, indulging in unrestrained, wicked, and extravagant behavior, completely disregarding moral boundaries.

Here’s the reasoning behind this: Life is undoubtedly precious, but there are things more important than life itself (referring to righteousness and the Dao), which is why true noble individuals do not cling to life at all costs. Death is certainly fearsome, but there are things more detestable than death (referring to betraying the Dao), which is why they do not flee from calamity. Ordinary people, however, fail to distinguish what truly matters—they overvalue life and fear death while neglecting the Dao, daring to do anything for profit. Precisely because they regard life as too important, they desperately chase after gain. Like those who fight over fish and end up soaked or those who chase wild beasts and exhaust themselves, these individuals lose their equanimity, acting recklessly and immorally without restraint. They take dangerous risks and treat death lightly, appearing to cherish life, yet in reality, they hasten their demise.

The truly wise are those who do not treat life as private property (referring to those who have attained the Dao). Zhuangzi once said: "Those who understand the true nature of life do not pursue what life does not require." To "not regard life as private" means not forcibly seeking things beyond life’s needs. Such people can let go of worldly affairs and transcend life and death, ensuring their bodies are not exhausted and their spirit (Shen) is not depleted. By maintaining physical wholeness and spiritual vitality, they become one with nature—a far superior approach to those who obsess over preserving life. Those who cling to life inevitably fear death, while those who transcend it reach a higher state of being.

Extending this principle to governance, a ruler should reduce taxes, simplify punishments, and ensure the people are well-fed and clothed. Even if symbolic punishments (such as using patterns in place of actual penalties) are employed, the people will not commit crimes—this is the highest ideal of imperial rule.

The fundamental truth is this: The Great Dao (Dao) itself has no concrete form, and your body is illusory. The most precious thing in human existence is life, yet life does not truly belong to you—it is merely the harmonious Qi (vital energy) temporarily bestowed by heaven and earth. Only by not claiming life as your own can you truly preserve it. Those who understand the essence of life—why should they pursue what life does not need? Tragically, ordinary people believe that nurturing the body ensures the preservation of life, unaware that caring for the form does not guarantee the survival of the spirit. In truth, when one is not burdened by external things, the mind remains pure, and no harmful Qi can invade—naturally harmonizing with heaven and earth. To be free from external entanglements is to not regard life as private; to not regard life as private is to not forcibly seek what lies beyond it. Only then can one let go of worldly concerns and transcend life and death. Letting go of worldly affairs preserves the body without exhaustion, while transcending life and death restores the spirit without depletion. With a whole body and a vibrant spirit, one’s virtue (De) becomes one with heaven and earth.

Originally united with heaven, earth, and nature, this approach is more profound than mere life-nourishment practices. While valuing life is certainly better than disregarding death, transcending attachments to life and death altogether represents an even higher wisdom. When sages extend their self-cultivation principles to governing the world, they achieve benevolent governance and public wellbeing. This manifests as: lightened taxes that people willingly comply with; simplified penal codes that bring prosperity to every household; revering ancestors above while nurturing descendants below, guiding all toward virtuous longevity. Even punitive instruments become unnecessary—distinctions in ceremonial attire suffice to maintain order without legal violations. Thus each social rank finds its proper place, the worthy and ordinary each fulfill their roles, and great peace emerges naturally as in antiquity's pristine era. The foundation of such governance lies in understanding Wuwei (non-action)—simply extending perfected life-cultivation methods to the populace. Consequently, people enjoy abundant sustenance without hunger, return to simplicity for easy governance, and cherish life without fearing death. Is this not the ultimate ideal of imperial rule?

Chapter 76 "On Human Life" states: Living humans possess soft bodies that stiffen in death; growing plants are tender while withered ones become brittle. Thus rigidity characterizes death, while pliancy signifies life.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: All things contain Yin-Yang energies whose harmonious interaction creates balance. Yang qi governs growth and transformation, Yin qi governs contraction and harvest. When destructive Yin dominates, this harmony ruptures. Hence rigidity signals death, softness indicates life.

Further explanation: Liezi taught that Yin-Yang transformations create life and death. All beings between heaven and earth—whether odd or even in number, moving or still—contain these dual energies. Observing growth and decay: warm Yang fosters development, making the tender become firm and weak turn strong; condensed Yin brings withering, making the hard ultimately crumble and sharpness dull. As these energies covertly circulate, destructive Yin's ascendancy breaks harmony, returning all to profound darkness. Mortals governed by these cycles see only life-death alternations, failing to recognize pliancy as endurance's path while rigidity invites downfall.

This passage expounds the core Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong." All things follow the Dao's law of Yin-Yang transformation. While superficially the strong appear to conquer the weak, from the Dao's essential perspective, it is actually softness that ultimately prevails. Rigidity belongs to the nature of death, while pliancy embodies the way of life.

Consider military strategy: relying solely on brute force often leads to defeat. As Emperor Huizong of Song noted in his commentary, when armies clash, the side harboring compassion in their hearts tends to prevail. Truly enlightened rulers govern through spiritual power (xinshu), prioritizing fundamental virtues while treating force as a last resort. Such rulers naturally command respect without bloodshed, uniting the world through benevolence and righteousness—this is the path of enduring victory. Therefore, those who assist rulers with the Dao never seek dominance through military might.

The analogy of trees illustrates this principle: people carefully nurture the tender saplings of soft-wooded catalpa and chinaberry trees, yet when these grow into hard timber, they become lumber for construction. If even plants suffer premature destruction due to hardness, how much more so for humans? Thus, what appears strong often occupies the lower position, while what seems weak actually resides above.

Emperor Huizong quotes Zhuangzi to clarify: Daoism advocates manifesting outward softness and humility. Through accumulation, softness becomes true strength; through transformation, weakness becomes genuine power. Observe heaven and earth's operation—the seemingly soft heavens above contain all things, while the seemingly hard earth supports from below. The essence of Laozi and Zhuangzi's Daoist art lies precisely in this wisdom of "the soft and weak occupying the higher position."

This scripture primarily discusses the cosmic operation of heaven and earth, as well as the principle of "the soft and weak overcoming the hard and strong" in human conduct.

The movement of the heavenly Dao (the Way) resembles drawing a bow to shoot an arrow—what is high is lowered somewhat, what is low is raised somewhat; what is excessive is reduced, and what is insufficient is supplemented. The great Dao itself undergoes no increase or decrease, yet concrete things experience cycles of flourishing and decline. The sage maintains a state that is eternally unfillable and inexhaustible, while in the realm of tangible phenomena, the operation of heaven and earth must also follow the patterns of waxing and waning.

Observing natural phenomena: Water, the softest of elements, flows east when guided east and west when guided west, yet it can erode the hardest substances. The wind appears gentle, yet it can topple towering trees. This demonstrates that accumulating numerous small "non-victories" can ultimately achieve great triumph. Thus, Laozi advocates: knowing strength yet abiding in softness, understanding prominence yet willingly dwelling in obscurity, allowing others to rush ahead while remaining behind, neither contending with others nor striving to lead—this is the path of enduring victory.

The Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) repeatedly emphasizes this principle of the soft overcoming the hard: it speaks of "guarding softness" and "arriving at softness," opposes forceful contention for victory, and asserts that the violently aggressive meet untimely ends. Zhuangzi similarly advocates manifesting outward softness and humility. When Confucius answered Zilu's question about "strength," he also mentioned using gentle and tolerant methods to teach others and not retaliating against unreasonable behavior—this exemplifies the southerners' "strength," which aligns with Laozi's way of preserving softness. Who then can claim that Laozi's thought is incompatible with Confucius' Dao?

Emperor Huizong of Song, in his commentary on this passage, noted: The great Dao itself is perfectly balanced, yet when manifested in concrete things, it operates like the four seasons—advancing when it should advance, retreating when it should retreat, maintaining dynamic equilibrium. The Dao embraces all things; whether employed or not, it fills heaven and earth without increase or decrease. Once it materializes as the myriad things, it becomes constrained by form and Qi (vital energy), transforming into the movement and changes of Qi.

All things in the world are governed by natural cycles, flourishing and declining in perpetual motion. Only the Dao transcends these natural laws, serving as the fundamental source of all existence. All beings rely on the Dao for their existence, yet the Dao itself never diminishes—no matter how much is poured into it, it never overflows; no matter how much is given, it never increases; no matter how much is taken, it never depletes; no matter how much is reduced, it never lessens.

The sages understood this principle: the more they helped others, the more abundant they became; the more they gave to others, the more they possessed. This wisdom is the foundation of the sage—something no one can take away. Though heaven and earth are vast, they too change according to the movement of the Northern Dipper: when its handle points south, all things flourish; when it points north, all things decline. The waxing and waning of the myriad things in heaven and earth follow the passage of time, for they remain bound by natural laws. If even heaven and earth are subject to this, how much more so are human beings? Prosperity and decline, success and failure—these are simply the way of nature.

The Dao of heaven operates according to natural principles, always maintaining balance. Just as high mountains are worn down and valleys are filled in, deep waters dry up and trees shed their leaves. Creatures with sharp teeth often lack horns, and winged beings usually have only two legs. The Dao of heaven is like adjusting a bowstring: what is raised too high is lowered to avoid excess; what is pressed too low is lifted to avoid deficiency. Like the turning of the four seasons—spring and summer precede autumn and winter, each keeping to its proper time—all things ultimately return to equilibrium. Is this not the same principle as drawing a bow to shoot an arrow?

Thus, the law of the Dao of heaven is this: it reduces what is excessive and supplements what is lacking. As Emperor Huizong of Song commented, "Self-satisfaction invites loss, while humility brings benefit—this is the Dao of heaven." The Yijing (Book of Changes) states, "The Dao of heaven diminishes the full to benefit the humble," expressing precisely this idea. Only by reducing surplus to supplement deficiency can balance be achieved. The Shangshu (Book of Documents) says, "Fullness invites loss; humility receives benefit," speaking of this very principle of the heavenly Dao.

Yet the ways of men are contrary to this: they often take from those who have little to give to those who have much. Emperor Huizong noted in his commentary: human hearts tend to reject the humble while flattering the powerful, oppressing the weak while fearing the prominent.

This passage elucidates the distinction between the Way of Heaven (Dao) and the way of humans, and how sages emulate celestial principles to govern the world.

The Way of Heaven operates through spontaneous natural laws, while human ways stem from artificial constructs—these differ profoundly. Human governance persistently clings to forced intervention, causing imbalance in people's hearts—the lowly are further oppressed while the privileged are excessively elevated. Chasing external objects and drifting with the current, people lose their moral bearings. This creates a society where the vulnerable are mistreated while the powerful are feared.

The destitute are already pitiable; if further abused, none will be willing to practice virtue. The powerful deserve respect, but if they inspire fear instead, no one can restrain their wrongdoing. This resembles cutting from the insufficient to feed the excessive, completely violating natural Dao. Only the Dao can reduce surplus to supplement deficiency.

Emperor Huizong of Song commented: Only those who have attained the Dao can refrain from oppressing the vulnerable while offering them aid, and refuse to fear the powerful while curtailing their privileges. Those who embody Dao handle affairs with perfect fairness, without partiality—this is how sages govern without bias.

Zhuangzi declared the Way of Heaven the supreme standard. Therefore, sages act without claiming credit, achieve without dwelling on accomplishments, and avoid flaunting their wisdom. Transforming all things within emptiness, sages emulate this void to fulfill all needs, never boasting of their deeds. Nourishing myriad beings without claiming benevolence—this marks the realm of those who have attained Dao.

Through contrasting celestial and human ways, this text emphasizes that rulers should model themselves on natural Dao, maintaining impartial selflessness—neither bullying the weak nor fearing the strong—to preserve social harmony through balanced governance.

This scripture elucidates the core Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong," using the characteristics of water as a metaphor for the wisdom of those who have attained the Dao (the Way).

Though water appears soft and yielding, it can penetrate the hardest substances precisely because it maintains its unchanging nature ("wu yi zhi" - without alteration). If one attempts to substitute water's essential qualities with other attributes, its true nature would be lost, rendering it incapable of overcoming external objects. Just as a well's water nourishes all things yet never exhausts itself, regardless of how villages may change around it, the well's fundamental nature remains constant. Human nature follows this same principle - it should not be altered by one's social status or level of wisdom.

Those who have truly attained the Dao (shenren - spiritual persons) never claim credit for themselves but attribute accomplishments to the collective. They conceal their wisdom, appearing dull and simple in outward manner ("rongmao ruo yu" - countenance like a fool), yet in reality they skillfully adapt to the transformations of all things. Like accumulating numerous small concessions to ultimately achieve great victory, this approach of "yielding leads to wholeness" succeeds precisely because it avoids deliberate displays of ability.

The text criticizes those who flaunt their intelligence and pursue novelty ("shi zhi jing yu" - adorning wisdom to startle the foolish), comparing them to someone carrying the sun and moon while walking - overly conspicuous and thus prone to inviting misfortune. In contrast, figures like Lie Yukou (a Daoist sage) who maintained humility and discretion, though refusing generous gifts, preserved their fundamental nature from harm. This exemplifies the way of natural harmony.

The passage concludes by emphasizing how water's proximity to the Dao ("ji yu dao" - nearly approaches the Way) stems from its soft, yielding and non-contentious nature - nourishing all things without claiming merit. Those who attain the Dao similarly maintain their unchanging essence amidst life's fluctuations, thereby achieving the state where "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong."

This passage expounds the Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong." Water adapts to the shape of any container, appearing gentle yet capable of wearing through solid rock. While all people under heaven know that softness conquers hardness and weakness overcomes strength, few truly practice it.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary notes that mere intellectual understanding of the principle is insufficient—one must uphold it with virtuous De (Power). Many comprehend this truth yet fail to persevere due to weak resolve. As the scripture states: "My words are exceedingly easy to understand and practice, yet none in the world can understand or practice them"—this precisely illustrates the point.

Therefore, the sages declared: Only those who can endure a nation's humiliation are worthy to be lords of the altars of soil and grain (rulers of states); only those who can bear a country's calamities may become kings of the world. Just as rivers tolerate impurities and mountains conceal venomous creatures, rulers too must embrace imperfections with magnanimity.

Water's strength comes from accumulating droplets; earth's height arises from gathering dust particles. In governing the world, sages maintain a mindset as open and receptive as an empty valley. When the spirits of the Five Directions safeguard the altars of state and the deities of the Five Graces bless the harvests, rulers must preserve humility and inclusiveness—only then can all beings return to them, and their reign endure with stability.

This scripture primarily discusses two core concepts: first, how rulers maintain stability by bearing the nation's humiliations and calamities; second, why forcibly mediating deep-seated hatred inevitably leaves hidden dangers.

Regarding statecraft, the text explains that a ruler wishing to preserve the nation's strength without decline must endure its humiliations (referring to public grievances and criticism) and misfortunes (referring to natural and man-made disasters) like the ocean receiving all rivers. This echoes Zhuangzi's notion of "bearing the world's filth," akin to ancient lords calling themselves "the solitary one" or "the bereft"—resolving conflicts through voluntary humility. Truly enlightened rulers perceive honor and disgrace as one, maintaining a mind free from discrimination, ever open and receptive. The Daode Jing states: "Know honor but keep to disgrace"—seemingly paradoxical (truth often appears contradictory), yet perfectly aligned with the Dao (the Way).

Emperor Huizong of Song noted in his commentary that profound truths often appear counterintuitive. People frequently mistake Dao-aligned teachings for paradoxes, much like Zhuangzi conveyed truth through parables. The most penetrating discourse, though sounding unconventional, comes closest to heavenly principles.

Concerning conflict resolution, the text warns that forcibly reconciling deep hatred ("harmonizing great enmity") inevitably leaves residues. Just as avengers don't blame mindless swords or tiles—mere tools, not instigators—the scripture cautions: excessive emphasis on benevolence may become the root of harm ("loving others breeds the seeds of harming them"), and superficial conflict resolution sows greater strife ("suppressing arms plants the seeds of war"). The ideal approach is for law enforcers to act impartially like mindless swords or tiles, preventing resentment and naturally achieving peace. Benevolence may provoke hatred; righteousness may incite chaos—these seemingly virtuous actions don't necessarily resolve issues.

This passage elucidates the fundamental distinction between how sages conduct themselves in the world and how ordinary people behave. The clever appear friendly with others, yet this very closeness becomes the root of harm; forcibly prohibiting conflicts and abolishing weapons only breeds new conflicts. How can such methods possibly resolve deep-seated grievances with favorable outcomes?

The true sage who has attained the Dao (referring to enlightened beings) is like holding the left half of a contract (ancient agreements were divided into left and right portions, with the left tally held by creditors) yet never demanding repayment. Emperor Huizong of Song explains: The sage harmonizes with natural transformations without disturbance, joyfully accepting all things, thus neither harshly blaming others nor being blamed himself. Holding the left tally symbolizes giving rather than taking.

Further commentary elaborates: Sages dwell in the world with minds clear as empty space—though facing complex phenomena, their inner clarity remains undisturbed; experiencing various changes, their hearts stay tranquil. They flow with the present moment, abiding in serene emptiness without obstruction. As Zhuangzi says, "Following the great transformations without impediment," they thus respond to all things with ease, embracing everything without rejection. Governing through wuwei (non-action, allowing natural unfoldment without force), they handle affairs without harming external things, and external things cannot harm them. Ancient people recorded events with knotted ropes; later sages replaced these with contractual documents for administration. The left tally represents giving, the right tally represents taking—the sage holding only the left means solely giving without taking. Thus all things naturally return with sincere hearts.

Those possessing De (Virtue, referring to individuals of noble character) resemble sages who administer contracts. Emperor Huizong quotes Guanzi: "Transforming others through Virtue is the way of sages." The commentary adds: Virtuous nature is inherent in all people; sages simply use this shared nature to transform others, thus achieving natural harmony. Xunzi similarly states that noble persons unite with others through clarity and wisdom, responding to kindred spirits with good words—the meaning aligns here.

Those lacking De (referring to the uncultivated) are entirely different. Emperor Huizong observes: "Indulging in external things is not the sage's way." The virtue-less remain unsatisfied with what they have, constantly seeking to possess others' belongings, scheming and calculating at every turn.

This passage discusses two core concepts: the relationship between humans and external things, and the relationship between the Dao of Heaven and virtuous people.

First, it explains the concept of "being obscured and deluded." Zhuangzi states that those who lose themselves in pursuit of external things are called "the obscured and deluded people." Ordinary individuals constantly chase endless external objects, attempting to comprehend all things, only to find their wisdom exhausted and spirit depleted. In contrast, sages (those who have attained the Dao) discard cleverness and preconceptions, follow natural laws without selfish motives, and only respond to external things when absolutely necessary. The deluded, however, mistake the pursuit of external things as life's purpose, even entertaining notions of reconciling grievances, believing themselves enlightened when in fact this represents the greatest delusion. Zhuangzi clearly points out that obsession with external things leads to the loss of one's true self—this is genuine obscuration.

Next, it addresses "the Dao of Heaven shows no favoritism, yet always supports the virtuous." The Dao of Heaven (natural law) makes no distinctions between closeness and distance; it simply follows principle. Though impartial, it nevertheless favors virtuous people. This is because the will of Heaven manifests through the will of the people, and since the people follow the virtuous, the Dao of Heaven naturally supports them as well. The Book of Documents states, "Performing good deeds brings a hundred blessings," and "Heaven has no favorites—it supports only those with virtue," both illustrating that accumulating good deeds attracts the favor of the Dao of Heaven. This aligns with the earlier metaphor of "holding the left tally" (symbolizing keeping one's word), demonstrating the harmony between sages and the Dao of Heaven.

Finally, the passage on "small states with sparse populations" observes that in large territories with dense populations, governance becomes overwhelming, wisdom proves insufficient, virtue declines, punishments proliferate, and chaos ensues. Laozi, living during the decline of the Zhou dynasty, despised such disorder, which is why his writings express his reflections on the Dao.

Note: The "left tally" refers to an ancient contract system where creditors held the left half of the tally and debtors the right, here symbolizing keeping one's word. "Small states with sparse populations" describes Laozi's ideal social structure, advocating a return to simplicity.

This passage explores the profound meaning behind Laozi's concept of "small states with sparse populations" in the Dao De Jing. The author suggests that Laozi advocated this idea because he recognized the detrimental effects of the overly complex ritual-music system during the late Zhou dynasty.

Moved by the moral decay of his time, Laozi traced back to the primordial origins of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue), expounding profound principles in his writings to counteract the superficial extravagance of the late Zhou era and return to the simplicity of antiquity. From ancient sage-rulers like Rongchengshi and Datingshi to Fuxishi and Shennongshi, the reigns of these twelve sovereigns were considered the most perfect governance precisely because they allowed people to remain in a state of no-knowledge and no-desire, collectively returning to unadorned naturalness.

The text explains the line "though the people have tools ten times more efficient, they do not use them" thus: People inherently possess constant natural tendencies—weaving clothes and farming for food represent their shared nature. Because this nature is universal, there's no need for competition, and contentment arises spontaneously. This embodies the meaning of "being unified without forming factions." Unity lies in humanity's common ground, while avoiding factions stems from having no need for mutual dependence. Thus, people forget each other in the realm of tranquility—even with abundant tools at hand, none are used. How could there then be the disturbances of crowded gatherings?

Therefore, sages always disliked large gatherings, for crowds inevitably breed comparison. Like Emperor Shun, who relocated his capital three times—when he reached Dengxu, a hundred thousand households followed him. Though the masses revered him, this very adoration brought troubles. Laozi's approach to governance seeks to return people to their most authentic state of being.

This passage elucidates the ideal governance philosophy in the Daode Jing. The reason Emperor Shun could transform his people was that he focused on fundamental matters rather than trivial affairs. A truly enlightened ruler governs through Wuwei (non-action), enabling the people to live in peace and contentment.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: When people can dwell securely during their lives and receive proper burials after death, they naturally won't lightly abandon their homeland. Confucius said, "When rulers lose the Dao (the Way), the people become dispersed"—precisely referring to this situation.

Further explanation clarifies: The people's most fundamental needs are living well and being buried properly. During the golden age of the Zhou dynasty, the government nurtured the populace through six social welfare policies (ancient social security system) and stabilized communities with six grassroots governance measures. Neighbors helped each other in shared farming and living, making people naturally reluctant to migrate. In the ideal "Land of Established Virtue," folk customs remained simple with few desires—where mountain paths remained untrodden and marsh bridges unbuilt—making people even less inclined to leave their ancestral homes.

The key principle is that people are actually easy to gather: cherish them and they draw near, benefit them and they follow, but make them resentful and they scatter. Ancient people's unwillingness to migrate stemmed precisely from rulers practicing the Dao and cherishing their subjects. Confucius' saying "When rulers lose the Dao, the people become dispersed" conversely illustrates that settled populations result from rulers embodying the Dao.

Though the state possesses chariots and boats, they remain unused; though armaments exist, they need not be displayed. Emperor Huizong explains: This is because without treacherous mountain paths or marsh crossings, people maintain their simple nature with no need to traverse dangers—thus vehicles go unused. Without threats of war, weapons find no purpose.

Additional commentary notes: All beyond human nature constitutes externalities—attachment to which breeds desires, causing restless toil without peace. An ideal society should return to original simplicity, letting people abide contentedly in their essential nature.

To reach distant lands, mountains must be tunneled through; to cross treacherous waters, marshes must be bridged. Even those who wish to withdraw from the world find it difficult to achieve. Only in an era of perfect virtue (De) can people return to their original purity—when tunnels through mountains and bridges over rivers become unnecessary, and people live without interaction, as if in a state of innocent simplicity.

Human virtue does not stray from its innate truth, returning to the simplicity of an infant’s nature. At rest, they know not what to do; in motion, they know not where to go. Life is tranquil and uncomplicated, free from perilous paths. Thus, though chariots and boats may exist, there is no need to use them. When disputes and conflicts are forgotten, the calamities of war vanish—so though armor and weapons may exist, there is no occasion to display them. Each person remains content within their own station.

Let the people return to the practice of knotting ropes to record events. Emperor Huizong of Song comments: It is enough to note the essentials; there is no need for cumbersome written contracts. The subcommentary explains: Governing the world requires methods of record-keeping. In ancient times, knotted ropes sufficed; later, the sages replaced them with written contracts. When speech could not be recorded, writing was invented; when trust could not be secured, contracts were established. But in the perfection of non-action (Wuwei), customs are pure and affairs simple. Bonds require no glue or lacquer, and restraint needs no ropes—people naturally trust one another. At such a time, knotted ropes are enough to secure the faith of all under heaven. Why resort to elaborate contracts to guard against deceit? The return to knotted ropes is meant to restore the people to the pristine simplicity of antiquity.

The people find their food sweet, their clothing beautiful, their customs peaceful, and their occupations joyful. Emperor Huizong annotates: They plow for food, weave for clothing, play with food in their mouths, and wander content after eating—this is enough for the people. Content with their lot, they find it sweet; free from extravagance, they find it beautiful; undisturbed, they find peace; secure in their livelihood, they find joy. The subcommentary explains: When the people return to their true nature, they discard trivialities and focus on essentials. They do not engage in useless pursuits or crave exotic things, devoting their lives solely to farming and weaving. Those who plow are fed, so all devote themselves to farming; those who weave are clothed, so all devote themselves to spinning. They rise with the sun and rest at dusk, with no room for clever schemes—merely satisfying their daily needs. Playing with food in their mouths, untouched by profit or harm, they wander in carefree delight.

This passage speaks of what people can truly achieve—being content with their food, clothing, customs, and occupations. Contentment in food does not lie in lavishness but in moderation; the beauty of clothing is not in extravagance but in simplicity; stability in customs means not arbitrarily changing them, avoiding the fault of reckless action; joy in one's work comes from satisfaction, free from the greed of envying others. If people had not returned to their original nature, how could they reach such a state?

Neighboring states are close enough to see each other, and the sounds of crowing roosters and barking dogs can be heard from one to the other, yet the people grow old and die without ever interacting. Emperor Huizong of Song comments that although they live so near and their sounds reach each other, they do not visit one another. In this state, people have no desires or greed, act without deliberate effort, and everything unfolds naturally—this is the highest virtue (De). The commentary explains that even though they live close enough to assist and interact, they remain indifferent, growing old and dying without contact. This is because they have forgotten the constraints of ritual and relate to one another spontaneously. Even if there are no mountain paths or bridges over rivers, it does not matter. When their nature returns to simplicity, free from desire, and their minds forget external things, free from greed, they act without striving, and everything happens naturally—what could this be if not the highest virtue? Laozi says in the Supreme Chapter that the people find everything natural. If under the best governance they feel this way, then in an age of supreme virtue, where people act without deliberate effort and all unfolds naturally, this should come as no surprise.

Chapter 81 states that truthful words are not ornate. Emperor Huizong notes that when the Dao (the Way) is spoken, it is plain and flavorless, yet it leaves the sages of all ages without shame and remains timeless through the ages. The commentary explains that the Dao relies on words to clarify its profundity, and words must be rooted in the Dao. Spoken plainly and without embellishment, the Dao originates in principle and righteousness, unlike delicacies that delight the palate. It can be verified, it can resolve doubts—fitting together like tally tokens, correct and easy to follow, which is why the sages of all ages feel no shame before it. Firm as metal or stone, simple and easy to uphold, it remains unchanged through ten thousand generations. Since truthful words are grounded in the Dao, why should they seek ornamentation?

Ornate words are not truthful. Emperor Huizong remarks that superficial speech is adorned, using flowery language to fragment the essence.

This passage discusses the relationship between words and truth. It suggests that superficially ornate language often lacks substantive content, like flowers without fruit. If one becomes obsessed with embellishing phrases and pursuing elaborate expressions, they may deviate from the essence of the Dao (the Way). Speaking beautifully all day may please listeners, but upon closer examination, such words prove hollow—how can they inspire genuine trust? Hence the saying "not worthy of belief" (不足于信).

Those who truly understand the Dao (the Way) do not need clever arguments. Emperor Huizong's commentary notes that the value of words lies in grasping their essential meaning. The so-called "substance" (体) refers to complete expression, while the "essence" (要) is the convergence point of all elements. Mastering this principle allows one to speak in harmony with the great Dao (the Way). Even without engaging in debates, the profound truths they convey naturally satisfy people's thirst for knowledge. Just as Confucius emphasized "benevolence and righteousness" (仁义) as the core when editing the classics, Mencius—though compelled to debate—claimed he did so not out of fondness for argument but to clarify essential truths. Yang Xiong's phrase "knowing the essence of speech" (知言之要) refers precisely to this state of inspiring belief without resorting to contention.

Those who revel in debate do not truly comprehend the Dao (the Way). Huizong's commentary observes that excessive words are like superfluous branches on a tree, leading one astray from the proper path. Laozi said that speaking too much often leads to trouble, and it is better to maintain moderation. Figures like Gongsun Long with his sophistry or Hui Shi with his manifold arguments resemble mosquitoes pointlessly buzzing about—this is precisely what "lacking in goodness" (不善) looks like.

Those who grasp the subtleties of the Dao (the Way) do not pursue extensive knowledge. Huizong's commentary explains that those who understand the Dao's (the Way's) profundity ultimately return to fundamental truths. Zhuangzi also remarked that the key to the Dao (the Way) lies in simplicity—once the core essence is grasped, broad learning becomes unnecessary. Those who chase extensive knowledge may instead lose themselves in overwhelming information, unable to grasp true wisdom. As the Zhuangzi states, superficial understanding remains shallow, while deep realization constitutes genuine knowledge.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist principle of "cultivating the Dao through daily diminishment." It points out that while scholars pursue knowledge by seeking more to see and hear, genuine Dao practice moves in the opposite direction—reducing dependence on external senses. The highest form of perception doesn't rely on ears and eyes but observes through the inner Shen (spirit) and listens via Qi (vital energy). When Laozi answered Confucius' question about the ultimate Dao, he remarked: extensive learning doesn't guarantee true understanding, nor does eloquence ensure wisdom—revealing that the profound mystery of the Great Dao cannot be grasped through mere accumulation of sensory experiences.

Regarding the concept of "the sage accumulates nothing": ordinary people cling to hoarding yet perpetually feel insufficient, like bamboo baskets that always exhaust their contents. The sage maintains a state of emptiness, responding naturally like a mirror reflecting objects or an echo resonating in a valley, thereby possessing inexhaustible abundance. Zhuangzi stated that the sage's Dao never lingers in its movement, while Confucius described himself as "diminishing daily" (referring to non-attachment to forms). Crucially, this emptiness isn't passive nihilism but a transcendent state of existence beyond physical traces.

The text concludes by emphasizing the wisdom of giving: the more one helps others, the richer one becomes; the more one gives, the more one possesses. This embodies the Daoist dialectical principle that "reversal is the movement of Dao," demonstrating how true possession arises from the state of non-attachment.

Emperor Huizong of Song, in his commentary on the Daode Jing, observes that the Great Dao (the cosmic origin) excels at giving to all things and perfecting them, yet never depletes itself. Though all beings draw resources from the Dao, its provisions remain inexhaustible.

He elaborates: The Dao fulfills the needs of all things through its state of "ultimate emptiness and non-being," much like pouring water into a vessel that never overflows, or drawing from it without exhaustion. It nourishes everything yet never diminishes. All beings between heaven and earth thrive because they continuously receive from the Dao without scarcity—precisely because the Dao never hoards or withholds in its operation. The sage, comprehending this truth, never monopolizes resources. The more they assist others, the more abundant they become; the more they give, the more they possess. This capacity to respond to all things arises from their tranquil and empty (serene and non-acting) essence—both all-encompassing and universal, ever-sufficient whenever drawn upon.

On the annotation of "The Way of Heaven benefits without harming": The Way of Heaven (natural law) resembles the Qian Yuan (the primal yang energy that initiates all things), bestowing the finest benefits upon all beings without proclamation. As Zhuangzi states, "Heaven and Earth possess great beauty yet speak no words"—how could such a benevolent nature, which benefits all, ever bring harm? Like the Book of Songs depicting a bountiful year, where millet thrives on high, dry land and rice flourishes in low, damp fields, the kindness and benefits of Heaven’s Way extend universally to all things.

On the annotation of "The Way of the Sage acts without contention": In governing the world, the sage assists the natural development of all things by following their inherent nature. Their actions flow like water, yielding to circumstance; their responses mirror reflections, perfectly true; their replies echo harmoniously, effortlessly aligned. Though they engage in action, this action stems from wuwei (non-forcing), wholly emulating the Way of Heaven—how could there be contention? Such virtue is in complete harmony with the Dao, which is why the Classic of Virtue (De Jing) concludes with this principle.

Further clarification: When the sage governs the world in accordance with the Dao, they support the natural course of things according to their characteristics. Their movements, like water, seize the opportune moment; in meeting needs, they generate from nothingness, while their inner stillness remains mirror-clear. They respond to all things with gentle spontaneity—acting without coercion, entirely aligned with the rhythms of Heaven’s Way.

This scripture elucidates the core Daoist concept of "Wuwei (non-action) yet nothing is left undone," along with the fundamental purpose behind the composition of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue).

Laozi asserts that the true Dao maintains a state of softness and humble receptivity ("guarding the feminine"). It neither forces deliberate action nor remains completely inactive. Like the natural movement of celestial Dao, all things grow spontaneously without need for artificial interference, maintaining clarity without contention yet prevailing effortlessly. The sage governs the world by emulating this heavenly principle, wandering with the Creator, harmonizing with all beings in both movement and stillness—thus achieving the state of "acting without contention."

The text clarifies that "De (Virtue/Power)" is the manifestation of Dao within the individual. Only by elevating De to merge completely with Dao can one attain its highest realization. Laozi composed the Daode Jing in eighty-one chapters because he observed the societal obsession with superficial refinement and sought to guide people back to their original simplicity. He reluctantly employed words to clarify the true meaning of the Great Dao.

Finally, the scripture emphasizes that genuine wisdom does not lie in mastering literary embellishments (such as the surface content of the Six Classics—poetry, rituals, etc.), but in comprehending the fundamental principles. Just as Zhuangzi's Tianxia ("Under Heaven") chapter critiques the doctrines of various schools, Laozi likewise advocates transcending the superficiality of words to reach the wondrous state of "forgetting speech" through scriptural guidance. Zhuangzi's thought aligns most closely with Laozi's, their works complementing each other as they jointly expound the profound truth of the Dao.

This passage elucidates the core philosophy of the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue). The author observes that those who pursue extensive knowledge without achieving true synthesis actually drift further from the Dao (the Way). Genuine sages—those who have attained the Dao—do not deliberately accumulate knowledge but maintain a mindset of emptiness and stillness.

Two essential characteristics of the sage are highlighted: first, like the Dao of Heaven, they nourish all things without seeking reward ("benefiting without harming"); second, they consistently preserve an attitude of softness, humility, and deference ("gentle, weak, and humble"). Though the writings of Laozi and Zhuangzi differ in expression, they ultimately point to the same truth—the way of being in the world that is "acting without contention" (engaging in action without striving against others).

The author concludes by emphasizing that careful study of the entire Daode Jing leads to an understanding of this central principle. The phrase "establishing it through constant non-being and being" mentioned here is a key concept in the text, referring to the fundamental principle of taking the eternal "non-being" (wu) and "being" (you) as the root.