《道德真經疏義(一)》Vol. 2

The Dao (cosmic origin) appears empty yet functions inexhaustibly, never becoming full. Emperor Huizong of Song explains: Though the Dao truly exists (you qing you xin), it can function effectively; yet being non-active and formless (wuwei wuxing), it never overflows. The Daode Jing states all things carry Yin on their backs and embrace Yang in their fronts, with these two vital energies (Qi) blending to form harmonious states. The principle governing all things is this: Leaning toward Yang leads to excessive rigidity, while favoring Yin results in excessive softness. Only perfect balance can be called "chong Qi" (harmonizing energy). "Chong" means centered equilibrium—this represents supreme harmony. The Dao operates by lowering what is high and raising what is low, reducing excess and supplementing deficiency. Whether applied extensively or sparingly, it always achieves perfect measure. Like pouring water into a vessel that never fills, or drawing from it that never runs dry—the more one assists others, the more one becomes fulfilled; the more one gives, the more one gains abundance. The Dao's essence resembles vast emptiness, encompassing the entire cosmos—how could it ever reach fullness?

Further explanation: The Dao can be transmitted but never possessed. Precisely because it can be transmitted, it remains authentically real (you qing you xin) and functionally effective. Consider how a slender grass root, when nurtured, grows luxuriant foliage, or how a tiny insect, when sheltered, takes vigorous flight—is this not "having authentic feeling" (you qing)? The seasons never err in their cycles, all beings follow their natural courses—is this not "having constancy" (you xin)? Because it cannot be possessed, it remains non-active and formless (wuwei wuxing), thus never overflowing. Unfathomably deep yet serenely still (yuan hu qi ju er zhan ran bu nao), perfectly pure yet eternally unchanging (liao hu qi qing er ji ran bu dong)—this is "non-action" (wuwei). Dark and silent (hun hun mo mo), invisible to the eye, intangible to touch (yao yao ming ming)—this is "formlessness" (wuxing).

The Daode Jing describes all things carrying Yin while embracing Yang, with these two energies blending into harmony. Yin energy descends and settles—all things bear its weight; Yang energy ascends and flows—all things cradle its movement. Yet if one emulates only Heaven (Yang) while neglecting Earth (Yin), one becomes excessively rigid; if one follows only Yin while ignoring Yang, one becomes overly yielding. One must grasp the balancing point between them—this is "chong Qi." The essence of "chong Qi" takes heavenly unity (Yang number) as foundation and heavenly centrality (median number) as function—"chong" means maintaining equilibrium. This harmonizing principle connects Heaven and Earth, constituting supreme harmony. Herein lies the Dao's marvelous function: restraining the excessive, supplementing the deficient, regulating the surplus—such is the way of the great Dao's operation.

The Dao's function appears subtle yet is never lacking. It permeates all things yet always maintains the Middle Way, hence it is said "though empty, the Dao functions." Precisely because it is empty, it never overflows; precisely because it functions, it never exhausts. Only the Dao can transcend concepts of fullness and emptiness, skillfully nourishing all things and accomplishing everything without ever depleting its efficacy. The more it gives to others, the more abundant it becomes; the more it aids others, the more it gains. Like the vast void that encompasses heaven, earth, and the six directions (up, down, and the four cardinal points), boundless and immeasurable, how could it be confined by concrete vessels? When could it ever be full?

Profound indeed, it resembles the source of all things. Emperor Huizong of Song quotes Zhuangzi's explanation: where giant fish dwell forms an abyss, where still waters gather forms an abyss, where flowing waters swirl forms an abyss. The abyss is empty, tranquil, and clear, never mixing with external things—this is the very substance of the Dao. Because it is empty, it can contain all substance; because it is tranquil, it can govern all movement. It is where all things depend, the basis of all transformation, hence "it seems the ancestor of all things." Yet the Dao itself depends on nothing—all things naturally revere the Dao, hence the word "seems" indicates a metaphor.

Further commentary elaborates: Zhuangzi says "the Dao abides like an abyss." The waters of the abyss swirl and flow yet maintain constant depth and stillness, clear within yet obscure without. Whether giant fish swim or waters grow still, the abyss remains unchanged—the deeper one probes, the more profound it seems; the further one investigates, the more distant it appears. We may call it supremely empty—ripples on its surface don't count as flaws, nor does clarity count as perfection. We may call it supremely still—such is the very substance of the Dao. Precisely because it is empty, it can encompass all substance under heaven; precisely because it is still, it can govern all movement under heaven. Unattached to particular things yet it perfects all things, it is the reliance of all existence; itself unchanging yet it facilitates all transformation, it is the basis of all mutation. Thus Wenzi says "emptiness and tranquility are the ancestors of all things," conveying the same meaning here. However, the Dao merely responds spontaneously without attachment—when it operates through all things, they naturally revere it. To call it "ancestor of all things" is metaphorical rather than literal.

Blunting sharp edges, untying tangles, harmonizing radiance, merging with the dust. Emperor Huizong comments: protruding edges easily injure, excessive complexity easily confuses. When edges are blunted there's no contention; when tangles are untied there's no confusion. "Harmonizing its radiance" is what Zhuangzi calls "having light but not shining."

This passage elucidates the Daoist wisdom of "harmonizing radiance and blending with dust" (heguang tongchen). Zhuangzi describes this state as "following the winding course of things while moving with their waves" - like water flowing naturally, harmoniously coexisting with all beings without asserting oneself.

The text reveals that true sages conceal their sharpness (cuo qi rui), thus interacting with all things without mutual harm. They dissolve entanglements (jie qi fen), eliminating the need for scheming wisdom. With tranquil hearts attuned to all existence, they maintain composure in any circumstance.

The commentary further explains: Sharpness resembles fire that cannot endure indefinitely, while entanglements resemble tangled threads of complexity. Eliminating sharpness creates harmonious adaptability; resolving entanglements preserves mental clarity. True "harmonizing radiance" means containing brilliance without display, while genuine "blending with dust" means conforming to worldly conventions without seeking novelty.

The text criticizes those with inner fixations (nei cheng bu jie) and deliberate posturing (xing die cheng guang) - as conspicuous as carrying sun and moon while walking - which fundamentally violates this principle. Those who flaunt intelligence (shi zhi yi jing yu) or parade moral superiority (xiu shen yi ming wu) equally betray the Daoist ideal of "great wisdom appearing foolish."

The passage concludes with the trigram symbolism (Dui representing metal's sharpness in the Bagua), suggesting true wisdom lies in sheathing one's edge like concealing metal's锋芒.

This scripture expounds the Daoist wisdom of "blunting sharpness and untangling complications" in dealing with worldly affairs, as well as the cultivated state of "a mind like dead ashes."

Regarding the principle of "blunting sharpness": edges that are too sharp easily break. Only by withdrawing one's sharpness can harm be avoided. This is how sages conduct themselves in the world—neither harming external things nor being harmed by them. Like silk threads, gathered together they form a single strand, but separated they become countless tangled ends. Only by resolving complications can one maintain inner peace undisturbed by external influences. Achieving this state eliminates the need for deliberate scheming—one naturally responds to all things without being moved. Without self-praise, there is no arrogance; without self-promotion, there is no haughtiness. As the Doctrine of the Mean states: "harmonious yet not drifting"—maintaining unity with all things without following the crowd.

Concerning the cultivation of "a mind like dead ashes": when mental stillness resembles extinguished ashes and the body appears as withered wood, natural wisdom spontaneously emerges in this state of profound tranquility. Seemingly dull yet truly awake, formless yet containing divine subtlety. The mind is the dwelling place of spirit (Shen), like fire among the Five Phases. When the mind is present, it illuminates all things like flame; when absent, it resembles ashes after the fire has died. Attaining this "withered wood and dead ashes" state transcends attachments to life and death. Within this great stability, wisdom manifests naturally—neither deliberately contrived nor completely inert, seemingly non-existent yet truly present. This is the realm of the Dao (the Way).

Finally, the origin of the Dao is addressed: the Dao (referring to supreme truth) cannot be known from whence it came, seeming to exist even before the emergence of heaven, earth, and all things. "Images" refer to the initial manifestations of things, and "divine responses" (Di) denote the deities' answering of worldly affairs, yet the Dao precedes even these.

After all things emerged, they acquired concrete forms; only after the Celestial Emperor (referring to the Creator or supreme deity) manifested could the myriad beings be transformed and nurtured. This "Xiangdi" (Image-Emperor) actually represents the primordial state of all things, while the Dao is what truly predates all existence. This is what Zhuangzi meant by "animating ghosts and spirits, giving birth to heaven and earth."

The Dao cannot be seen, heard, or touched. Though it manifests its function, no gateway to its emergence can be found—who can truly comprehend it? Thus it is said, "I know not whose child it is, only that it existed before the Celestial Emperor."

The so-called "image" refers to the initial manifesting state of things, while the "emperor" denotes the divine response to all beings. When entering the realm beyond birth and death, no concrete form can be found; when falling into the cycle of coming-to-be and passing-away, forms become visible. Only after all things emerge do forms appear, while the Celestial Emperor manifests or withdraws along with the birth and demise of beings, never refusing nor resisting. Only when the Celestial Emperor manifests can the myriad things be subtly transformed.

Form is the outward sign of things; the Celestial Emperor is the sovereign of all beings, thus regarded as the origin of the multitude. Yet both form and emperor originate from the Dao, which alone truly precedes all. This is what Zhuangzi meant by "making ghosts and spirits divine, causing the Celestial Emperor to appear, generating heaven, earth, and the myriad things."

Though heaven and earth can complete all forms, the Dao is their root; though the Celestial Emperor can wonderfully transform all beings, the Dao is their master. Though the world's things are numerous, what could have existed before the Dao? The Dao has no color and thus cannot be seen, no sound and thus cannot be heard, no form and thus cannot be touched. Though it manifests its function, when it appears there is neither root nor boundary—no gateway to its emergence can be found. Who can truly comprehend it?

Chapter Five "Heaven and Earth" states: "Heaven and earth are not partial; they regard the myriad things as straw dogs [sacrificial objects]. The sage is not partial; he regards the common people as straw dogs."

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: "Kindness brings harm, and harm brings kindness. If one takes humaneness as kindness, harm will follow. The way heaven and earth treat all things, and the way sages treat the people, is to follow spontaneity, without deliberate care or calculated benefit. True humaneness cannot be defined by names."

Straw dogs are made for sacrifices—taken when needed, discarded when used. The myriad things grow naturally, the people govern themselves—why impose deliberate intervention? What is called humaneness means caring for people and benefiting all beings. Deliberate care for people makes such care insufficiently broad; deliberate benefit to things makes such benefit insufficiently complete. Taking humaneness as kindness inevitably involves subjective intention.

The root of calamity often stems from things that appear beneficial, while hidden within blessings often lie misfortunes. This is the natural order of operation—heaven and earth show no partiality toward the myriad beings, and sages govern the people without deliberate action (Wuwei). They follow the natural Dao, refraining from forceful interference, thus achieving universal love and benefit. Those who receive grace need not express gratitude, and those bathed in virtue (De) require no thanks. This beneficence that blesses all generations transcends the concept of "humaneness," reaching the realm Zhuangzi described as "perfect humaneness appears inhumane."

Consider the straw dogs used in ancient sacrificial rites—before being placed on the altar, they were carefully stored in bamboo boxes, draped in embroidered silk, and honored by priests who fasted and purified themselves. Yet after the ceremony, passersby would trample their heads and backs, and woodcutters would gather them for kindling. All things grow naturally, and the people govern themselves—why should human intervention be necessary?

The operating principle between heaven and earth resembles a bellows—its hollow center allows it to contain air, producing endless wind when pumped. If stuffed full, it becomes obstructed everywhere. The essence of Dao is complete; clinging to particular things leads to partiality.

The greatness of heaven and earth, and the sage's ability to emulate them, lies in maintaining the fundamental state of emptiness and stillness. Viewed from its root, the cosmos is silent and unmoving; from its function, it responds infinitely. Like sages governing the world—seeming neither to speak nor act, yet responding to all stimuli. The more they give to others, the more they themselves become fulfilled. This state of profound emptiness enables them to speak and act all day without fault, appearing to do nothing yet accomplishing everything.

Zhuangzi's discourse on imperial achievements actually refers to incidental accomplishments that sages complete without conscious effort. Rather than exhausting one's vitality through excessive speech, it is better to maintain inner emptiness and stillness (shouzhong, "guarding the center").

Emperor Huizong of Song explains: Just as the yuè (a wind instrument) produces sound through its hollow interior—resonating when air passes through it and remaining silent otherwise—so too are the words of a sage. Those skilled in debate become trapped in their own verbal cages; excessive speech inevitably leads to exhaustion, making inner stillness preferable. One must carefully attend to internal nature, close external senses, withdraw the gaze, and listen inward to rediscover the original truth of heaven and earth. This is the true meaning of "guarding the center."

The commentary notes: All music originates from emptiness. The yuè instrument serves as the source of musical measurement, embodying the foundation of sound. The Book of Songs states, "With the yuè, there is no excess," illustrating this principle. Sages understand the true intent behind words—their utterances harmonize with natural rhythms, responding when questioned yet remaining unattached. Confucius's preference for silence and Mencius's reluctant debates both reflect this wisdom. Those who cannot forget words drown in rhetoric, producing tens of thousands of phrases and filling five carts with books—mere cages for the eloquent. What purpose does such volubility serve?

Those who guard the center differ: They penetrate phenomena to preserve the root and observe transformations to grasp the source. Externally cautious yet unbound by objects, internally closed yet free from delusion. Withdrawing the gaze means seeing the formless realm; listening inward means hearing the soundless world. Through self-awareness, the original heart-mind of heaven and earth naturally manifests. Maintaining this state without loss, even lifelong silence expresses everything—why then engage in ceaseless chatter? For the "center" is the pivot connecting above and below, the foundation of all under heaven. All speech arises from it, making stillness superior to verbose exchange.

Chapter Six of the "Valley Spirit" section ("The valley spirit never dies"): Emperor Huizong clarifies: Physical forms inevitably wax and wane; what has fixed measure must decay. When form and measure are complete, life and death separate—this is the pattern of all things. Yet the valley echoes all sounds while remaining empty; the spirit miraculously nurtures all while staying tranquil. Unified with the Dao in eternal constancy, it neither clings to form nor submits to measure. Ceaseless as the sun and moon's motion, unchanging as the Polar Star's course—thus "the valley spirit never dies."

All things reach their zenith and then decline; decline to their nadir and then flourish again—this is the natural law of physical forms. What has taken shape will ultimately decay, and from decay new forms emerge—this is the inevitable trajectory of finite existence. Once something becomes a concrete entity, it cannot escape the laws of physical dissolution and the exhaustion of its allotted Qi. Thus, all that lives must inevitably die.

When Yin energy descends and Yang ascends, all things bound by these two forces follow this pattern. Yet the "Valley Spirit" (the mysterious, empty nature of the Dao) stands apart: it contains all things without accumulation, responds to all movement while remaining eternally tranquil. It renders the transformations of Yin-Yang unfathomable, governs all things yet abides in constant stillness. In the realm of true constancy, it merges with the Dao—unknowable through form, incalculable through numbers. Other things have limits to their forms, but it has none; other things exhaust their allotted Qi, but it is boundless. It gives birth to the myriad beings in ceaseless succession—this is what is called the "state of never dying." Like the sun and moon in their perpetual motion, or the Big Dipper revolving unerringly between north and south—where can their end be found?

This is the "Mysterious Feminine" (the enigmatic womb from which heaven and earth generate all things). As Emperor Huizong of Song commented: All things receive life from "non-being" and take form through "being." The function of the "valley" is formless and imageless; the essence of "spirit" is omnipresent—this is the source from which all things receive life. "Mysterious" is the color of the heavens, "feminine" is the nature of earth—this is the root from which all things take shape.

To elaborate: "Life" refers to the natural continuity of things—but what is the origin that bestows this continuity? It is the Valley Spirit. "Life" also refers to the patterns of generation—but what is the source that grants concrete form? It is the Mysterious Feminine. Empty yet miraculously responsive, invisible in shape—this is the formless function of the "valley." Perfectly revolving without cease, without fixed orientation—this is the omnipresent body of "spirit." Herein lies the mystery of how all things receive life.

Crimson and black intermingled is called "mysterious." The Book of Changes states, "Heaven is mysterious, earth is yellow"—thus "mysterious" represents the color of heaven. The masculine is called "male," the feminine "female." The Book of Changes says, "The Kun hexagram benefits from the perseverance of the mare"—thus "feminine" symbolizes earth's nature. Herein lies the origin of all concrete forms. "Valley Spirit" and "Mysterious Feminine" differ in name but share the same essence: from the perspective of eternal existence, it is called "Valley Spirit," symbolizing the constancy of the Dao; from the perspective of generating all things, it is called "Mysterious Feminine," revealing the wonder of creation. These two concepts appear contradictory yet are mutually complementary.

The "gate of the Mysterious Feminine" is the root of heaven and earth. This mysterious portal is both the source from which all things receive life and the foundation from which concrete forms arise. Like an eternally turning pivot, through the opening and closing of Yin and Yang energies, it ceaselessly gives birth to the ten thousand phenomena of the world.

Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty, in his commentary on the Zhuangzi, stated: All things have their origin of generation, yet people cannot perceive this origin; all have their gateway of emergence, yet people cannot find this gateway. Only the sage can truly see these things. Therefore, the Daode Jing here explicitly points out the "gate of the Mysterious Feminine" (xuánpìn zhī mén, referring to the mysterious portal through which the Dao gives birth to all things) as the very root of heaven and earth. Heaven and earth constitute the spatial dimensions above and below all things—in reality, there is no inherent sequence between them and the myriad beings. Yet observing the Dao's order of operation, heaven and earth indeed precede the myriad things. That which gives rise to heaven and earth is the "Mysterious Feminine" (referring to the generative capacity of the Dao). As for that primordial source existing prior to heaven and earth—who can truly perceive it?

The commentary further explains: The generation of all things lacks any visible origin, hence we cannot see its root; their emergence leaves no trace, hence we cannot find its gate. Only the sage can perceive what ordinary people cannot see, penetrating the formless essence, thus comprehending this "gate of all mysteries" (zhòngmiào zhī mén, referring to the Dao) which is itself both source and foundation. As the Zhuangzi states—all things have birth yet show no root, have emergence yet reveal no gate—this precisely conveys the principle. Heaven opens above, earth opens below, with humanity positioned between, thus heaven and earth form the spatial dimensions encompassing all things. From the Dao's perspective, heaven/earth and I coexist simultaneously; the myriad things and I are originally one substance—how could any sequence exist? The statement "first heaven and earth, then the myriad things" merely describes the Dao's operational sequence. That which generates heaven and earth is called the "Mysterious Feminine"—can this primordial existence truly be perceived?

Regarding the phrase "continuous as if enduring, its use inexhaustible" (miánmián ruò cún, yòng zhī bù qín, describing the Dao's eternal existence and tireless operation), Huizong explains: The Dao itself is the origin, eternally existing since antiquity. Like fire passing from torch to torch, never extinguished—this is the meaning of "continuous as if enduring." Heaven and earth form spontaneously, allowing primordial qi (vital energy) to operate of itself; the myriad things transform naturally, allowing forms to propagate autonomously. The Qian (Heaven) operates through simplicity, the Kun (Earth) functions through easiness—neither acts through deliberate effort, so how could exertion be required?

The commentary elaborates further: "Continuous" (miánmián) indicates unbroken succession; "as if enduring" (ruò cún) suggests apparent non-existence that nevertheless truly exists. The Daode Jing's statement "profound! it seems to exist" (zhàn xī sì huò cún) conveys this same meaning. The supreme Dao has no beginning prior to heaven and earth, no end following them—seemingly non-existent yet genuinely present, we may say it has endured eternally since antiquity. Like fire's transmission: manifesting brilliance through kindling, returning to its source when fuel is exhausted—though the wood burns away, the flame's essence never ceases.

This scripture expounds the natural Dao (the Way) by which heaven and earth nurture all things. Heaven is composed of light and pure Qi (vital energy), manifesting as a circular form in constant motion, revolving ceaselessly high above. Earth is formed from heavy and turbid matter, presenting a square and stable form, solidly supporting all beings. The sun, moon, and stars are condensed from Qi accumulated in the heavens, while mountains, rivers, and valleys are shaped from forms amassed upon the earth.

The reason heaven and earth can endure eternally lies precisely in their absence of deliberate artifice. Heaven does not consciously strive to cover all things, nor does earth intentionally bear their weight—they simply follow the natural order. If heaven and earth were to act with human-like deliberation, using cleverness to shape creation, they would instead become strained. It would be like counting grains of rice with machinery or carving hairs—such forced efforts could never be sustained for long.

Emperor Huizong of Song’s commentary further clarifies: The vault of heaven arches above, nurturing all things through the movements of the sun, moon, and stars; the expanse of earth spreads below, supporting all beings through the forms of mountains and rivers. Precisely because heaven and earth harbor no selfish intentions toward creation and refrain from deliberate interference, they can maintain their eternal operation. If heaven and earth acted with human-like selfishness, striving to manufacture all things, heaven would soon grow shallow and earth would quickly become fragile—thus undermining their enduring existence.

Herein lies a profound truth: The greatest creative force (Qian, the Celestial Origin) operates through simple and effortless means, while the deepest nurturance (Kun, the Earthly Origin) accomplishes its work through natural spontaneity. True marvels require no forced effort—by following nature’s course, all is fulfilled. Why exhaust the spirit with laborious striving?

The profound mysteries of the celestial and terrestrial spirits, if merely speculated upon through calculation and intellectual scheming, would render their nurturing function toward all things shallow. Such existence that relies on external objects—how does it differ from ordinary things? Only by not deliberately pursuing survival and merging with the state of "non-birth" can one truly attain longevity.

Thus, the sage (one who has attained the Dao) retreats humbly yet ends up leading the multitude, and by placing himself beyond personal concerns, he preserves his life. Emperor Huizong of Song commented: Heaven moves above, Earth supports below, while the sage dwells between them. These three interconnecting principles form the "Three Powers" (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity), each with its independent manifestation called the "Three Ultimates" (Celestial Ultimate, Terrestrial Ultimate, and Human Ultimate). When they merge into the "Three Numinous Ones" (Celestial Numen, Terrestrial Numen, and Human Numen), infinite mystery is revealed. Though both Heaven-Earth and sages attain the Dao, the sage's method of self-cultivation precisely emulates Heaven and Earth.

This chapter first discusses how Heaven and Earth do not deliberately seek life, then explains how sages do not cling to themselves. While ordinary people rush ahead, the sage willingly stays behind, bearing the world's reproach. This attitude of "placing himself last" frees him from the struggle for material desires, making him beyond contention. Like walking without disputing ease or difficulty, or the four seasons not coveting the harmony of Yin and Yang, he transcends life and death, fortune and misfortune, his spirit forever at ease. This is the principle of "by not preserving the body, the body is preserved."

Further commentary explains: Heaven's function is to canopy and nurture, hence it moves above; Earth's function is to bear forms, hence it rests below; the sage's function is to teach humanity, hence he dwells in the center harmonizing. Their interconnected functions are called the "Three Powers," their independent essences the "Three Ultimates," and their inseparable numinousness the "Three Numinous Ones." Though Heaven-Earth and sages differ in form, their fundamental principle is the same. The sage need not seek externally for self-cultivation—observing the patterns of Heaven and Earth suffices. Therefore, this chapter first discusses Heaven and Earth before speaking of the sage.

This passage expounds on the Daoist wisdom of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" and "by placing oneself behind, one comes to the front." The core teaching reveals that by not obsessively pursuing survival, one attains true longevity; by not clinging to the self, one preserves the self. The greatness of Heaven-Earth and sages lies precisely in their understanding of yielding.

Several metaphors illustrate this principle: rivers and oceans can contain impurities, just as rulers endure humiliation (what the Daode Jing calls "bearing the disgrace of the nation"). Precisely because they willingly take the lower position, they become masters of the realm. Maintaining a soft and humble attitude, avoiding contention with external things—this empty-vessel approach to life ensures no one can harm you, and ultimately no one in the world can contend with you.

Ordinary people instinctively seek benefit and avoid harm—choosing smooth paths, pursuing warmth in winter and coolness in summer, clinging to life and fleeing death, chasing fortune while dodging misfortune. But those who have attained the Dao transcend these impulses. Understanding that the body will eventually return to dust, they don't regard their physical form as personal property, allowing their spirit (Shen) to transcend bodily constraints. Thus, though dwelling within a physical form, their spirit remains undisturbed by external things.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary notes: Heaven-Earth's greatest virtue (De) lies in nurturing all things, while the sage's most precious quality is maintaining fundamental integrity. Following the Dao means embodying perfect impartiality—Heaven-Earth manifests the Dao's patterns, thus operating without selfishness. Precisely because they harbor no private intentions, they achieve true self-realization. In this state, the body naturally becomes upright, self and objects merge into unity, and one's enduring vision coexists with Heaven-Earth. Existing earlier than Heaven-Earth wouldn't feel prolonged; being more ancient than antiquity wouldn't feel aged.

Heaven and Earth are the most vast of all tangible existences. What distinguishes them from the myriad things is their ability to endure eternally. Though sages and ordinary people both belong to humanity, what elevates sages above the common lies in their capacity for constancy. The Yijing (Book of Changes) states: "The great De (Virtue) of Heaven and Earth is giving birth." What makes sages precious is their spiritual attainment. The reason Heaven and Earth can continuously generate life and endure, the reason sages can maintain their state and achieve permanence—both stem from being utterly selfless.

If one forcibly mixes selfish desires with the Dao, true realization of the Dao becomes impossible. For the Dao itself is supremely impartial and selfless—only by comprehending the essence of Dao can one achieve this selflessness. Han Feizi observed: "Planning for oneself is selfishness; going against selfishness is public-mindedness." Genuine Dao cultivators don't pursue personal survival but place themselves beyond self-concern—how could this be considered selfish? Precisely through this approach they attain enduring existence, achieving what might paradoxically be called the "great selfishness" (referring to the state of unity with Dao).

On interpreting "The highest good is like water": The Yijing states "The alternation of Yin-Yang constitutes the Dao," and what can inherit the Dao is called good. Zhuangzi believed that once we label something as "good," we've already strayed from the Dao's original substance. Yet the cosmological principle that "Heaven's first creation is water" (water being primary among the Five Phases) shows water as a substance not too distant from the Dao. Water is profound yet empty, tranquil yet luminous—it may be considered the most refined substance under heaven, hence the saying that supreme goodness resembles water.

Yin-Yang represent the two fundamental modes of Qi. From the perspective prior to manifestation as Qi, the Dao transcends Yin-Yang; yet observing how Dao operates through all things, it never departs from Yin-Yang. When the Yijing says "Yin-Yang alternation is Dao," this describes the Dao from the perspective of concrete phenomena. After the Dao's differentiation, what humanity should most pursue is goodness—hence "what inherits the Dao is good." The Dao originally exists as undifferentiated wholeness; the moment we define it with "goodness," we've created separation. This differentiation then perpetuates itself, which is why Zhuangzi said "distinguishing goodness means departing from Dao"—because once the concept of "good" is established, the complete Dao becomes fragmented.

However, the Hongfan's nine categories place the Five Phases first, and among them water takes precedence. "Heaven's first creation is water" indicates water's relative proximity to the Dao. Though water appears formless, it maintains perfect balance (its surface always finding level); profound yet empty, when settled it becomes clear enough to reflect eyebrows, remaining luminous in stillness. If not the most refined substance in existence, how could it possess such qualities? Thus "the highest good is like water" differs fundamentally from conventional understandings of "goodness."

Water nourishes all things without contending with them, willingly settling in low places that people despise. Thus, its nature comes closest to the Dao (the cosmic origin and natural order). Emperor Huizong of Song explained: When water transforms into dew and rain, all beings receive its moisture; when it condenses as frost and snow, various fruits reach maturity. It divides to form rivers and streams, gathers to become lakes and marshes, emerges from deep springs, and returns to the vast ocean. It can be drawn for drinking yet also harbors resources to sustain life—all creatures depend on it yet it never exhausts itself.

Water's virtuous conduct manifests as: transforming into heavenly rain to nourish all things above, and forming deep pools to sustain life below. It consistently maintains its gentle, non-contending nature, embracing filth and accepting impurity, never rejecting external things despite its own purity. This quality most closely resembles the essence of the Dao. "Close" here means approaching—not fully identical but remarkably proximate.

Regarding "dwelling in good places": Water follows the terrain's natural flow, moving through underground channels yet never overflowing. It adheres to its "moistening downward" characteristic, filling depressions before advancing further, thus maintaining constant movement without flooding.

Regarding "a mind as deep as an abyss": Even a thousand ren (ancient measurement) cannot fathom its depth; a thousand miles cannot trace its boundaries. The more one measures, the more profound it appears; the further one pursues, the more boundless it becomes.

Regarding "bestowing benevolence": Water acts like an impartial, altruistic benevolent person—its gifts show no partiality, universally nourishing all life. Like sunlight and rain equally shining upon the earth, it bestows the same grace without distinction between noble and base, good and evil.

When frost and dew descend, all things nurtured by the earth receive moisture equally, embodying the Dao's natural principle of universal beneficence without partiality.

Regarding "sincere trust" (善信), it resembles rivers circumventing obstacles to ultimately merge with the ocean, persisting eastward despite all hazards. Learning water's virtue to ultimately achieve the sea's vastness exemplifies "navigating obstacles to reach the ocean"; maintaining eastward flow through countless turns demonstrates "keeping faith through adversity."

On "governing with excellence" (政善治), it operates like water naturally cleansing impurities and leveling uneven terrain. Handling affairs by following their inherent nature, without personal bias, achieves governance through wuwei (non-action) - just as water purifies without effort and measuring vessels maintain balance naturally when conforming to principles.

Concerning "handling affairs skillfully" (事善能), water adapts its course to terrain curves and its form to container shapes. While infinitely mutable, it always seeks equilibrium, inspiring even master craftsmen. Though capable of leaping high banks or surging mountain peaks, it perpetually maintains centered balance - this adaptive capacity represents the highest form of "ability through non-forcing."

Regarding "acting with perfect timing" (动善时), it manifests like spring's yang energy melting ice naturally, or winter's yin condensation freezing streams spontaneously. Unbound to fixed positions, water flows east when channeled eastward, west when directed westward - its unconstrained movement perfectly synchronizes with seasonal shifts.

Thus the sage, like water, remains free from contention and consequently avoids resentment. Those embodying the Dao cultivate longevity through self-refinement while benefiting all beings from a position of non-competition. As Zhuangzi's "acting through non-acting" suggests, apparent action becomes perfect when aligned with nature's flow.

This passage elucidates the principles of "Wuwei" (non-action) and "the soft overcoming the hard" from the Daode Jing. When sages cultivate themselves, they follow the principles of the Dao (the Way), enabling them to endure like heaven and earth. When benefiting the world and its people, they position themselves like water—non-contentious. Though water appears soft and weak, it can overcome the hardest substances because it does not deliberately choose what to benefit nor contend with the myriad things, thus remaining free from fault.

When a noble person seeks to act, they must first purify themselves through fasting (a Daoist purification ritual before cultivation) to elevate their De (Virtue/Power). Pure Wuwei makes it easy to avoid mistakes, but to act without error is far more difficult. Like water, which flows without fixed direction, benefiting all things without discrimination and contending with none, nothing in the world can contend with it. This is why the Daode Jing states that water is the softest and weakest under heaven, yet nothing surpasses it in overcoming the hard.

Chapter Nine discusses the principle of "holding fullness": carrying a vessel filled to the brim is less sustainable than knowing when to stop. Excessive sharpness cannot be maintained for long. When things reach their zenith, they inevitably reverse. The wise understand the value of humility and emptiness in response to fullness. Indulging in desires only hastens decline. The transformations of the world are boundless, while human wisdom is limited. Relentless striving will eventually lead to obstacles. Thus, knowing when to stop is the path to enduring stability.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "maintaining fullness while embracing emptiness" (持盈守虚). When one's sharp edges are too exposed, they become vulnerable; when things reach their zenith, they inevitably decline—this is the natural order. Those who fail to apply the principle of humble withdrawal, maintaining an attitude of receptiveness to counterbalance fullness while adjusting to changing circumstances, but instead indulge in satisfying desires, will only hasten their downfall.

The scripture suggests that rather than forcibly maintaining a state of fullness, one should know when to stop. Those who truly embody the Dao (道) can remain full without toppling over, distinguishing themselves from ordinary people. When faced with worldly complexities, if one exhausts their intellect trying to manage everything, they will ultimately find themselves in dire straits. The transformations of things are endless, while human wisdom is limited. Overextending one's spirit (神) in futile speculation—what is called "premature judgment" (前识)—only leads to chasing trivialities while forgetting the root, exhausting the mind and growing increasingly inept.

Those who rely on cleverness to predict events and rush forward will eventually reach the limits of their wisdom; even temporary gains will ultimately be lost. Those who truly comprehend the Dao proceed with ease, while those dependent on cunning labor in vain. Just as a hall filled with gold and jade cannot be guarded forever, wealth and arrogance only invite disaster.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary further explains: Gold, jade, and worldly riches are not the essence of life—they are unreliable external attachments. Those who treasure material possessions become burdened by them; how can they avoid loss? Wealth coupled with arrogance damages virtue (德); how can virtue's ruin escape calamity? The sage does not covet worldly gains nor take pride in ruling the world, thus attaining supreme wealth and honor without violating the Dao.

The supplementary interpretation adds: What comes from within is genuine; what is external is illusory. Gold, jade, and riches are external to life, not its true meaning. External things come and go unpredictably and cannot be relied upon. True treasure lies in self-cultivation, which remains wherever one goes. But if one places their treasure in external things, gaining them means simultaneously losing them. Those who value material wealth will ultimately be dragged down by it.

All things in the world inevitably fade—how can humans avoid loss? Thus nothing can be held forever. To remain humble amidst wealth and honor is the virtue (De) of noble persons, while arrogance, indulgence, and self-aggrandizement inevitably lead to misfortune. Wealth coupled with pride damages one's virtue; when virtue is impaired, others will turn away—how could disaster not follow? Such calamity is self-inflicted.

Sages do not hoard temporary gains for themselves but find joy in sharing benefits. They do not view ruling the world as personal glory but delight in cultivating the Dao (the Way), remaining indifferent to power. Why would they treasure rare jewels? Why be ensnared by fame and profit? To them, wealth and honor are merely burdens. Thus, though all things differ, they are all utilized by the sage; at the height of abundance, even a nation's riches can be shared. The wealth of Jin and Chu was not true wealth—true supremacy lies in mastering all things without being controlled by them. The nobility of the Zhao clan's Meng lineage was not true nobility—the highest nobility is peerless, the greatest wealth unmatched, enduring unchanged through all ages. Thus, the Dao is eternal and unchanging.

To withdraw after achieving merit and fame—this is the Way of Heaven. Emperor Huizong of Song commented: "What reaches its zenith must decline; what attains fame must suffer loss. The sun wanes at noon, the moon wanes after fullness—this is nature's law." Sages perceive how success and failure follow each other, understanding that prosperity and decline follow fixed patterns. Thus, they remain transcendent, unburdened by external things, free from the perils of arrogance. Who but those who comprehend the Way of Heaven could achieve this? Therefore, withdrawing after success is the natural principle. The four seasons cycle, withdrawing after fulfilling their roles—this is the Way of Heaven. To know only advancement without retreat, existence without dissolution, gain without loss—how could one avoid regret? Yi Yin said, "A minister should not grow arrogant by relying on favor and privilege."

Further commentary explains: Though accumulated merit may reach great heights, it will eventually collapse; though cultivated reputation may reach perfection, it will eventually suffer loss. Gazing at the heavens, the sun is the sovereign of Yang, the moon the ruler of Yin—yet even their movements wax and wane. How much more so for fleeting fame and achievement? Sages understand the patterns of all things, knowing that success swiftly turns to failure, seeing how the two are intertwined. They recognize that fullness leads to emptiness, comprehending the fixed rhythms of rise and fall. They do not chase what ordinary people call gain but remain serenely self-possessed, neither burdened by external things nor controlled by them. Maintaining humility and caution, they avoid the disasters of pride, embodying the natural law of flourishing and decline.

All things in this world are as illusory as shadows, and worldly riches and honors are like mosquitoes clinging to the body—gone in the blink of an eye. How could such things become true burdens? Only those who understand the laws of the heavenly Dao (the Way) can grasp this truth. Thus, when one achieves success and attains fame, it is proper to withdraw at the right moment—this is the way that aligns with the Dao.

Observe the transformations of nature: when Wu (the fifth Heavenly Stem, symbolizing flourishing Yang energy) appears, Ding (the fourth Heavenly Stem) retreats; when Jia (the first Heavenly Stem) thrives, Gui (the tenth Heavenly Stem) fades. The cycle of the four seasons operates in this way—once a thing fulfills its purpose, it naturally withdraws. Such is the law of the Dao.

If one only knows how to advance but not retreat, failing to recognize the proper timing for each; if one only knows existence but not disappearance, clinging to the present and resisting change; if one only knows gain but not loss, fearing to lose what has been obtained—how can such a person avoid regret? The wise minister Yi Yin of the Shang dynasty once said: "A minister should not rely on the ruler's favor and benefits to claim merit." For to claim is to invite eventual loss. Only by withdrawing after achieving success can one ensure that accomplishments endure.

Precisely because one does not dwell on past achievements, those achievements never truly vanish. Should not those who serve as ministers keep this principle firmly in mind?