《道德真經疏義(一)》Vol. 4

The truly adept practitioners of ancient times who cultivated the Dao attained a state so subtle and profound, so mysterious and penetrating, that its depths were unfathomable.

Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty commented: The Dao cultivators of antiquity differed from those of today, just as those who were skilled in cultivation differed from those who were not. What is called "subtle" (wei) refers to becoming one with the Dao; "marvelous" (miao) means sharing the same essence as the divine; "mysterious" (xuan) describes a state that aligns with the workings of Heaven; and "penetrating" (tong) signifies the wisdom to foresee the sagely mind. Such profound cultivation reaches depths beyond measurement. The Book of Documents states, "The mind of the Dao is subtle," illustrating that "subtlety" is the very nature of the Dao. The Book of Changes says, "The divine marvelously transforms all things," showing that "marvelous" is the characteristic of the divine. The same classic also states, "Heaven is mysterious, Earth is yellow," indicating that "mysterious" is the intrinsic quality of Heaven. The Zuo Commentary notes, "To be unimpeded in all affairs is called sagely," demonstrating that "penetrating" is the mark of a sage. The depth of water can be measured, and the depth of a cave can be explored, but the attainment of ancient Dao adepts defies even conceptual description. Their profound mystery arises from the very foundation of their practice (symbolized by the heels), and this hidden cultivation truly cannot be fathomed. It is like how Liezi (Lie Yukou) lived in obscurity in the state of Zheng for forty years without anyone recognizing him, or how Laozi told Confucius, "The skilled merchant hides his treasures, and the noble man with full virtue appears dull"—these sayings capture this very principle.

Jiang Cheng further explained: The Dao cultivators of high antiquity differed from those of middle antiquity, and among practitioners, there were superior and inferior distinctions. Those skilled in cultivation belonged to the superior class—their abilities were extraordinary, their aspirations focused on seeking the Dao. They could commune with the divine, harmonize with the workings of Heaven, and attain the realm of sages, so deep that it was beyond measure. What is called "subtle" arises because the Dao has no form and cannot be seen with the eyes; only those who understand "subtlety" can unite with the Dao. "Marvelous" refers to the divine having no fixed image and not being something that can be deliberately pursued; only those who enter the "marvelous" state can share the same body with the divine. "Mysterious" encompasses the colors red and black, symbolizing the transformations of Yin and Yang—this is the true nature of Heaven. And "penetrating" means moving without obstruction.

This passage elucidates the unfathomable realm of Dao-realized individuals and their concealed virtues that elude ordinary comprehension.

True sages act with the unconstrained flow of the Dao (the Way), unimpeded by worldly obstructions. The ancient masters who attained the Dao, from subtle realizations to profound mystical penetrations, synthesized all into a state beyond measurement. Unlike water whose depth can be plumbed or caves whose recesses can be explored, they concealed their De (Virtue/Power) without display, withdrawing the wellspring of wisdom to appear simple and unadorned. Like ashes after a fire, their inner cultivation runs too deep for the world to fathom—how could ordinary people truly grasp it?

Consider Liezi (Lie Yukou), who dwelled in obscurity for forty years in the marshlands of Zheng, unknown to his contemporaries. This was because he shed superficial brilliance and concealed genuine wisdom. Mencius remarked that the conduct of noble individuals inherently transcends common understanding, while Laozi once told Confucius: "The most skilled merchants hide their treasures, and the most virtuous gentlemen appear dull in demeanor." This principle explains why Yan Hui, seemingly slow-witted, earned Confucius' highest praise.

The profundity of heaven and earth cannot be measured in a single glance. When people describe the sky as round and the earth as square, these are but crude approximations. Similarly, those who embody the Dao are subtle, mysterious, and unfathomable—as inscrutable as the cosmos itself. The descriptions that follow are merely tentative attempts to articulate the ineffable.

The conduct of Dao-realized individuals is marked by meticulous prudence: cautious as one crossing a winter river (yu xi), wary as if fearing neighboring eyes (you xi). They prepare against calamity before it arises (yu) and remain vigilant even after events unfold (you). The ancient masters who comprehended the great Dao prioritized inner cultivation over outward distinction.

This passage discusses how Daoist practitioners should maintain an attitude of caution and reverence. Like carefully crossing a river in winter, one should anticipate potential risks beforehand ("yu") and remain vigilant afterward ("you"). True cultivators focus on inner refinement, undisturbed by external matters. They never act rashly when encountering situations, but wait until action becomes truly necessary before responding.

The Yijing (Book of Changes) states that noble persons should observe purification rituals (referring to mental clarity and bodily preparation) before undertaking affairs, all to make their De (Virtue) more luminous. Just as winter river crossings demand caution and neighborly interactions require proper boundaries, these represent the necessary ways of navigating worldly matters.

The text then addresses the importance of dignified demeanor. Quoting the Lunyu (Analects), it mentions appearing solemn and dignified; the Liji (Book of Rites) advises maintaining composure as if deep in thought. Zhuangzi teaches that when encountering unreasonable people, proper bearing alone can transform them. Those with perfected De command reverence from afar while remaining pleasant in close interaction. Their manner strikes perfect balance—neither arrogant nor overly familiar.

The commentary explains that social interactions require attention to posture and bearing. "Yan ruo rong" refers to maintaining dignified presence in company. As Zhuangzi suggests, correct demeanor can dissolve others' hostility. Those with profound De influence people simply by standing still—how much more through conscious speech and action. Thus one should dress neatly, gaze solemnly, inspiring respect from afar while remaining agreeable up close.

The true Daoist adepts of ancient times maintained integrity without forming cliques, never flattering others to seek favor. Their state was as natural and uncontrived as ice on the verge of melting.

Emperor Huizong of Song explained: Water freezing into ice and ice melting back into water are fundamentally the same substance. Those attached to singular forms resemble water solidifying into ice, while those comprehending the unity of all things resemble ice returning to water. The Book of Changes describes "dispersion" as liberation—transcending material concerns, distancing from the crowd yet remaining unbound—this constitutes true spiritual freedom.

Further commentary: When clear water freezes, it loses transparency, just as primordial consciousness (innate awareness) becomes obscured when embodied. Yin qi (the contracting, condensing force) turns water to ice, analogous to consciousness taking form; Yang qi (the expanding, dissolving force) melts ice into water, like form returning to consciousness. Though water and ice share the same essence, form-bound individuals cling to physicality without realizing transcendent consciousness, like frozen water. Those who understand universal oneness forget physical form and commune with consciousness, flowing freely like melting ice. The Book of Changes uses "wind moving over water" to symbolize dispersion—the liberation from attachments described in the Explaining the Trigrams commentary. Achieving this state means dissolving obstructions completely, utterly unlike the binding cold that freezes water. The Scripture of Great Mystery states "the sage remains unbound by external things"—this melting ice metaphor reveals the path to sagehood.

Their simplicity resembled uncarved timber. Emperor Huizong annotated: Genuine simplicity represents the ultimate in substance—original nature in its purest state, like raw wood before crafting into utensils.

The Book of Changes speaks of "profound benevolence" as virtue's highest expression; the Book of Rites describes "profound transformation" as education's deepest influence. Human nature is inherently pure, only becoming shallow through worldly influences. True Dao cultivators alone return to their original state, unaltered by externals—like uncarved timber maintaining natural form while containing infinite potential. This contrasts sharply with ornate ritual vessels carved, lacquered and painted.

Their minds were vast as mountain valleys. Emperor Huizong explained: Boundlessness represents the ultimate expanse—the originally limitless mind resembles valleys: empty yet containing all things, responsive to everything.

The text primarily explains the attitude toward life and mental cultivation of Daoist practitioners.

"Vast wilderness" describes the utmost expanse of space, while "prolonged days" describes the utmost extension of time—illustrating that "vastness" represents the extreme of boundlessness. The mind of a Daoist practitioner can be as limitless as the void, seemingly encompassing all things yet remaining unattached, thus maintaining a state of constant inner stillness. Those who are truly skilled in Daoist cultivation can attain the ultimate state of emptiness and tranquility, preserving the purity of their original nature. Like a valley that embraces all things without accumulation and responds to all without attachment, this expansive state is the pinnacle of attainment. In contrast, those disturbed by the desires of the six senses (sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and thought) confine their own hearts, obstructing the Dao with attachments. They create barriers at every turn, creating a separation from the Great Dao.

Daoist practitioners move through the world with a simplicity akin to turbid water. They do not deliberately flaunt purity, nor do they affect eccentricity—they are simply natural and unrefined. This stands in stark contrast to those who elevate themselves by belittling others. Those who have attained the Dao live in the world, dimming their brilliance to harmonize with the mundane, smoothing their edges to become perfectly rounded. They possess great virtue yet do not boast of it; their actions are effortless, never harming others to prove their integrity, nor seeking novelty—always flowing with the crowd. They interact with the world harmoniously, blending seamlessly with all things without revealing sharpness. While others appear perceptive, they alone seem dull; outwardly murky yet inwardly clear—utterly different from those who cultivate themselves by disparaging others.

Who can remain still like turbid water and naturally clarify? Who can maintain stability yet act at the right moment, spontaneously brimming with vitality? The Daoist adept remains tranquil even in action, seemingly unrestrained yet always returning to their original nature. They are steady yet responsive to all things, appearing empty yet fulfilling every need. Thus, stillness brings natural clarity—no external thing can disturb them; action brings natural vitality—no external thing can constrain them. The Book of Changes speaks of "advancing unhurriedly"—where "unhurried" signifies ease and naturalness. Those who have attained the Dao cultivate their minds not by forcibly pursuing stillness, nor by artificially generating vitality, but by following nature's course—free from tension, anxiety, haste, or toil. Hence it is said, "Stillness brings natural clarity"—because nothing can unsettle their hearts; "action brings natural vitality"—because nothing can bind their thoughts. "Stability" implies cessation—once constrained by external things, stagnation sets in—how then can one respond to things without harm?

From "as cautious as crossing a winter river" to "as simple as turbid water," all describe this very state of Daoist cultivation.

This passage describes the way of being for those who have attained the Dao. Having truly comprehended the essence of the Dao, their movements and stillness are perfectly attuned, never burdened by external things.

Those who embody the Dao maintain inner tranquility yet act in accordance with the proper timing when action is required. Their movement isn't a blind pursuit of external objects, nor is their stillness rigid obstinacy. Like turbid water that gradually clarifies through settling (xu qing), or still objects that slowly generate new vitality (xu sheng), these transformations between movement and stillness occur naturally without forced effort.

True stillness isn't the deliberate pursuit of motionlessness, but maintaining one's essential nature amidst chaos; true action isn't forced creation, but responding naturally to the opportune moment. As the Yijing says, "proceeding unhurriedly," everything follows its inherent patterns—neither defying heavenly principles nor suppressing natural tendencies. Thus one lives with ease and freedom, unburdened by anxiety or haste.

Those who maintain this Daoist practice don't pursue perfection. As Emperor Huizong of Song noted in his commentary: Clinging to accumulation leads to insufficiency, while maintaining emptiness brings abundance. The perfected person (deren) doesn't cling to accumulation but remains as open as an empty valley. To think all the world's beauty could be concentrated in oneself reflects narrow-mindedness. Hence the Daode Jing states: "The purest seems sullied, the most abundant virtue seems insufficient."

Consider a granary storing grain—it empties when depleted; a vessel holding water—it voids when used up. Clinging to accumulation leads to insufficiency, while maintaining emptiness can respond endlessly. The great Dao operates without exhaustion; perfected persons maintain this way of emptiness, thus responding to all things without ever being depleted.

This passage expounds the core Daoist concept of "being empty yet never full." The general meaning is: If someone believes all the finest things in the world are concentrated in themselves, it's like being content with monopolizing a small ditch—such narrow-mindedness resembles the River God (He Bo) in the "Autumn Floods" chapter who became smug during flood season, only to be mocked by the Ocean God. The scripture states, "The purest appears tarnished, the most abundant De (Virtue) appears insufficient"—truly enlightened individuals never fall into the trap of self-satisfaction.

Emperor Huizong of Song annotates: Where there is old, there must be new; where there is completion, there must inevitably be decay. Just as the seasons rotate and all things wax and wane, anything with concrete form cannot escape this law. Only the Dao has no fixed form, maintaining an empty and never-full state, thus simultaneously encompassing both old and new, completion and decay while transcending these changes. Like trees flourishing in spring and withering in winter, flames bright at first but destined to extinguish, the sun reaching its zenith only to decline, the moon becoming full only to wane—these are all manifestations constrained by form.

Further commentary explains: Things with physical form inevitably undergo renewal and replacement; things bound by fixed patterns cannot escape cycles of completion and destruction. The rotation of seasons and the rise and fall of all phenomena follow this principle. Only the Dao, having no fixed form and being unconstrained by appearances, can embrace both old and new without being trapped by either; unattached to fixed patterns, it encompasses both completion and decay without being limited by either. This is because it perpetually maintains an empty, never-full state. Trees sprout in spring and wither in winter, flames eventually extinguish, the sun's course inclines, the moon waxes and wanes—these are all consequences of being bound by form and fixed patterns. Enlightened individuals, preserving this empty state, transcend the limitations of form and pattern, thus embracing all transformations without being confined by them.

This scripture discusses the importance of "emptiness and stillness" (xujing) in Daoist cultivation. "Emptiness" (a state of luminous unobstructed awareness) and "stillness" (a realm of unwavering tranquility) represent the most fundamental characteristics of all things.

Emperor Huizong of Song commented: Nothing is more precious than "emptiness," nothing more beautiful than "stillness." Emptiness and stillness are the origin of all things. Only through "emptiness" can one contain all phenomena; only through "stillness" can one respond to all changes. "Utmost" (ji) refers to the convergence of all things at their highest point, while "steadfast" (du) means persisting in practice to reach perfection. When one attains the ultimate emptiness and maintains pure stillness, even amidst complex phenomena the mind remains clear; facing ever-changing circumstances, the spirit stays serene. This is what Daoists call "heavenly joy" (tianle), a state only truly understood by those who have realized the Dao.

The commentary further explains: Harmony with the Dao is "emptiness," and emptiness allows boundless accommodation. As Liezi said, the most precious thing is "emptiness"—from emptiness comes stillness, from stillness comes clarity, and clarity leads to penetrating insight. Being undisturbed by external matters constitutes "emptiness," yet all substantial things in the world are contained within it; maintaining unchanging purity is "stillness," yet all transformations depend upon it. This is why Zhuangzi identified emptiness and stillness as the origin of all things, and why the Daode Jing describes the Dao as "so profound, it seems the ancestor of all things."

All beings are constrained by form and limited by quantity. Only "emptiness and stillness," transcending form and surpassing measurement, remain unbound. Emptiness accommodates all precisely because it isn't confined by physicality; stillness responds to change exactly by remaining beyond quantification. Though the nature of emptiness and stillness is spontaneous, reaching their perfection requires cultivation. By refining emptiness to its utmost and stillness to its purest, one truly realizes their essence.

"Utmost" resembles a roof beam where all materials converge; "steadfast" resembles a horse running its utmost to cover a thousand miles. Achieving ultimate emptiness clears all mental clutter—not only eliminating concrete objects but even the concept of "absence." Maintaining pure stillness preserves eternal peace—not merely avoiding disturbance but sustaining serenity within disturbance itself.

This scripture elucidates the Daoist cultivation state of "reaching the ultimate emptiness (xu) and maintaining profound stillness (jing)." It conveys that when practitioners attain this state of supreme emptiness and tranquility, they remain undisturbed by external phenomena, and their deep serenity remains unshaken by worldly changes. Even amidst the myriad transformations of all things, the mind retains its clarity and peace.

The text employs "myriad forms" (wàn tài) to describe the diverse manifestations of all beings and "myriad changes" (wàn biàn) to denote ceaseless transformations. Practitioners embrace all things through the state of "emptiness" (xu) and respond to changes through the state of "stillness" (jing). "Penetrating clarity" (chè) refers to the lucidity of the mind, while "profound tranquility" (jì) signifies the serenity of the heart. Attaining this state means grasping the equilibrium of heaven and earth and the root of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue), harmonizing with the Dao of heaven.

Zhuangzi's sayings—"With a settled mind, one becomes sovereign of all under heaven" and "With a settled mind, all things submit"—emphasize precisely this ability to stabilize the spirit. Only when the mind is truly settled can the state of emptiness and stillness extend to all things between heaven and earth, allowing one to experience genuine joy.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary notes that all transformations of things originate from the periphery of the Dao. Those who embody the great Dao transcend all things, observing both the sprouts of their growth and their ultimate return. When all things sprout simultaneously, one perceives that movement will eventually return to stillness, and birth will ultimately revert to the source, thereby comprehending the heart of heaven and earth. Thus, though engaged with all things, one is never assimilated by them—this is the state of "observing the return" (guān fù).

Further exegesis clarifies: The transformations of Qi (vital energy) give rise to form, and the transformations of form generate life. In the realm of tangible phenomena, nothing remains unchanged. The sages grasp the great Dao, unifying the patterns of all things. The growth of all beings is governed by creation (zaohua), unfolding in orderly sequence: forms emerge from karmic conditions and ultimately return to their source. Though there seems to be a ruler, no trace can be found. When all things sprout, it is as though they set forth from the narrow path of Gen (the Mountain trigram), ultimately leading to the great way of Zhen (the Thunder trigram).

At the inception of all things, their budding vitality manifests, unfolding in diverse displays of life, tending toward states of movement and transformation. The sage comprehends the patterns underlying the operation of all phenomena, observing serenely from a state of emptiness and stillness, understanding that while the myriad things appear chaotic and ever-changing, they all ultimately arise from wuwei (non-action, the natural state of spontaneity). Though all things move, they never depart from their essential stillness; though they manifest, they ultimately return to their source. By observing how moving things eventually settle into stillness and manifest things return to their origin, one may perceive the fundamental heart of heaven and earth.

The Fu hexagram (symbolizing return) in the Book of Changes states: "In returning, one sees the heart of heaven and earth." The Fu hexagram represents the moment when subtle things reveal their essence amidst complexity—a time when the mind achieves profound stillness, undisturbed by external phenomena. The sage harbors no fixed personal desires but fully aligns with the principles of heaven and earth. Though encountering turbulence, they remain tranquil; though engaging with all things, they are never assimilated by them. There is no need to deliberately distance oneself from phenomena to discern their essence—clarity emerges precisely through engagement. Thus, by observing the collective movement of all things, one discerns their inherent tendency to return to the source.

Laozi's concept of "observing the return" (guanfu) points to the principle of "neither forcing action nor cessation" (wu zuo zhi) underlying the collective movement of all things. Though expressed differently, this fundamental insight remains consistent.

All things flourish in growth but ultimately return to their roots. Emperor Huizong of Song comments: "The term 'yunyun' describes the scene of all things sprouting into motion." Phenomena first manifest through the Zhen hexagram (symbolizing the east, spring, and germination), reach full flourishing in the Li hexagram (south, summer)—when life bursts forth in exuberant outward display—then gradually withdraw through the Dui hexagram (west, autumn), before settling into quiescence with the Kan hexagram (north, winter), when all things shed external splendor to return to their intrinsic nature. Life is the root of innate nature (xing), while nature is the foundation of life; vital essence (jing) is the source of spirit (shen), while spirit is the expression of essence. When essence is abundant, spirit flourishes; by fully developing one's nature, one comprehends heavenly mandate (ming).

Further explanation: When all things grow, their lush complexity gradually unfolds—this is the "yunyun" imagery of dynamic manifestation. Yet all movement follows temporal rhythms. By observing the four seasons and the subtle operations of the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), we understand that all manifestation and withdrawal accord with natural law. The progression from spring to summer represents the Dao of heaven expressing itself through human activity, while autumn to winter marks human activity returning to heavenly principle. From the perspective of manifestation: Zhen (east, spring) signifies initial germination; Li (south, summer) represents luxuriant growth—this is the "yunyun in collective motion, splendid blooms radiating outward." From the perspective of return: Dui (west, autumn)...

This scripture primarily elucidates the natural cycles of growth and harvest in all things, paralleling the cultivation of human nature (xing) and life (ming).

The text begins with seasonal metaphors: In spring, all things sprout forth ("spring qi arises and all grasses grow"); in summer they flourish vigorously ("seedlings blossom"); in autumn the fruits mature ("all treasures complete"); while winter sees their return to the root ("returning to their essential dwelling"). This mirrors the Yi Jing's teaching of "each properly ordering its nature and life," illustrating how all beings follow natural rhythms to complete their life cycles.

It then discusses human cultivation: Human life consists of Jing (material essence) and Shen (spiritual consciousness). Jing serves as the foundation of Shen ("essence is the mother of spirit")—only by preserving vital essence can one consolidate spiritual energy ("preserving one's essence enables harmony with spirit"). One must understand the relationship between xing (inherent nature) and ming (life's natural patterns)—by aligning with life's rhythms ("following one's ming"), one can cultivate true nature ("rectifying one's xing").

The text references Zhuangzi and Mencius: Zhuangzi teaches that maintaining primordial simplicity ("the way of pure simplicity") leads to abundant essence and vibrant spirit ("complete essence and flourishing spirit"); Mencius advocates cultivating heart-mind ("the way of exhausting the heart"), where self-cultivation ultimately establishes one's life purpose. Understanding these principles reveals the operating laws of all existence.

Finally, it explains "returning to the root is called stillness": All things returning to their origin enter quiescence ("returning to silent stability"), representing life's homecoming ("recovering life's mandate"). Like the seasonal rotation, comprehending that life's patterns reside within oneself ("life's mandate lies in me") allows natural alignment with the Dao's movement, just as autumn and winter inevitably follow spring and summer.

This passage elucidates the Daoist cultivation concept of "returning to life's origin" (复命). The core teaching emphasizes that winter should be a time for introspection and spiritual consolidation, where through self-contemplation one returns to life's fundamental state.

Although all things manifest distinct forms and characteristics, each inherently embodies the natural Dao. Zhuangzi teaches that all creation follows inherent patterns—this constitutes "form" (形); while preserving one's spiritual essence represents the innate principle within all existence—this is "inherent nature" (性). Before physical form takes shape, life already exists as latent potential differentiation—this primordial state is called "life mandate" (命).

Life receives its "inherent nature" from this "mandate." The "mandate" itself undergoes infinite transformations, transcending temporal constraints in perpetual existence. "Inherent nature" accompanies life throughout its journey, remaining unchanged by social status or mortality, persisting through countless transformations without dissipation. Only those who preserve both form and spirit can maintain physical integrity and unimpaired vitality. One must relinquish artificial cleverness and deceit, aligning with natural laws to attain serene stillness.

Consider the seasonal cycle: spring symbolizes nature's creative force, autumn represents human accomplishment, summer warns against artificial striving, while winter signifies return to heavenly Dao. Spring and summer depict the Dao's transformation into human affairs; autumn and winter symbolize humanity's return to cosmic principles. Gathering scattered elements into unity, abandoning superficiality to reclaim essence—thus all things unknowingly return to their source.

Through refining one's nature and returning to Dao-De (道德), one ultimately achieves unity with the primordial Dao-state. This constitutes the cultivation method of "embodying nature and embracing spirit" (体性抱神), using inner contemplation to restore life's authentic essence. Zhuangzi's "non-action returns to simplicity" (无为复朴) and the Yijing's "sincere return without regret" (敦复无悔) both reference this life-returning process achieved through maintaining the Middle Way (中道)—the principle of harmonious balance.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "constancy" (chang) and "change" (bian), and how returning to the source allows one to comprehend the eternal nature of the Dao.

"Constancy" exists in contrast to "change." By returning to the origin of life (fuming, "recovering one's innate nature"), one transcends the transformations of all things and attains unity with the Dao. This is likened to weaving: the warp threads remain fixed (symbolizing "constancy") while the weft threads shuttle back and forth (symbolizing "change"). What worldly things call "constant" will ultimately decay, yet the Dao's constancy remains eternal amid all transformations. Those who truly return to the source become like the ancient sage Xiwei who grasped cosmic laws, or Fuxi who communed with primordial Qi (vital energy)—their attainment of this eternal nature never fades.

Understanding this principle constitutes true wisdom (ming). The Dao's constancy remains unaffected by external things because it eternally maintains emptiness and stillness. Amid the myriad transformations of phenomena, the wise observe how all things ultimately return to their source. By preserving this state of tranquil emptiness, no worldly disturbance can unsettle one's spirit. Such wisdom perceives heaven, earth, and all beings with mirror-like clarity.

The scripture employs two key concepts to describe cultivation: "returning to the root" (guigen) and "recovering innate nature" (fuming). First one must return to life's fundamental essence, then one may realize the eternal Dao. This realization isn't achieved through forced striving, but by naturally arriving at a state of "detached wuwei (non-action)"—where every movement aligns perfectly with celestial patterns.

This scripture expounds the cultivation state of "sixfold penetration through mutual causation." The so-called "sixfold penetration" refers to the six human senses (eyes, ears, nose, mouth, heart, and intellect) remaining unclouded by external phenomena: when eyes aren't deluded by colors, they perceive truth; when ears aren't disturbed by sounds, they hear essence; the nose discerns scents; the tongue tastes true flavors; the heart attains genuine knowledge when unburdened by distractions; and wisdom achieves De (Virtue) when unclouded by appearances. These six capacities mutually reinforce each other, all stemming from maintaining a state of empty stillness and single-minded focus.

When practitioners reach this state of serene emptiness, their Shen (spirit) can penetrate all directions—connecting with heaven above and earth below, nurturing all things without leaving traces. Though heaven and earth are vast and the myriad things numerous, all become clearly illuminated within this tranquil state. This is the realm described as "heaven-and-earth's mirror, the myriad things' illumination." Yet those who don't truly comprehend the "constant Dao" (eternal, unchanging truth) will find this state difficult to attain.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary observes: Sages understand the patterns of the constant Dao, so their actions accord with heavenly principle and naturally bring good fortune. Those ignorant of the constant Dao are led astray by external phenomena, generating discriminating minds that distinguish right/wrong and beauty/ugliness—thus violating the great Dao and ultimately inviting misfortune. The Book of Changes states: "Returning to the correct path eliminates reckless action"—losing the true path without knowing to return is the root of reckless action.

Further exegesis explains: When heart and Dao unite, every action becomes authentic; when heart and Dao separate, every movement stems from delusion. Sages are Dao-realized beings who understand the constant Dao without being swayed by external changes, so their actions align with heavenly principle, everywhere manifesting authenticity that naturally brings auspicious fulfillment. Those ignorant of the constant Dao act from delusion—the further they stray from Dao, the more they're controlled by phenomena, scheming all day while generating private preferences for beauty/ugliness and likes/dislikes, becoming trapped in disputes over reputation and slander, completely deviating from the great Dao. Remember: the great Dao cannot be abandoned for even a moment—violating it exhausts Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), depleting life like encountering thieves.

Even the transformations of Yin and Yang cannot ensure lasting life—what greater calamity exists than this? Hence it is called perilous. The "Sequence of Hexagrams" in the Book of Changes states: "Returning to the proper path prevents reckless action." Though the return may be subtle, it discerns the essence of things—this is the state of "no falsehood" (wuwang). No falsehood is the law of Heaven, which all things follow. Thus the hexagram shows "thunder moving beneath Heaven, all things free from falsehood." When the state of no falsehood is achieved, all things preserve their innate nature. But if one strays without returning to the proper path, the innate nature is lost and hardship follows, preventing the ceaseless renewal of life—this is falsehood.

Those who understand constancy (heng) possess vast minds. Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Understanding constancy means not clinging to distinctions between right and wrong or beauty and ugliness, thus embracing all. The true constancy of Daoist teaching is fundamentally unified. Observing the world through this principle reveals profound mystery within all phenomena—why distinguish right from wrong? Rejecting error and upholding correctness stems from stubbornness; favoring beauty and despising ugliness arises from selfishness. The Dao-realized shed stubborn burdens to forget distinctions and dissolve selfish biases to regard all equally. There is no secret—it lies in understanding constancy. Understanding constancy allows one to dwell in emptiness, achieving flawless perfection where no judgments of right or beauty remain, naturally embracing all things. When sages govern the world, they maintain inner stillness—this is the principle.

A vast mind enables impartiality. Emperor Huizong explains: Without partiality, one does not favor only kin or love only one's children—where then would selfishness arise? External influences breed selfishness; forgetting desires attains selfless impartiality. Sages regard the world as their home, sheltering all people equally; they treat the populace as their children, nurturing all without distinction. Without partiality, they extend benevolence beyond kin and compassion beyond their own offspring—how could selfishness persist? Observe Heaven and Earth: Heaven does not favor covering one place, nor Earth bearing one thing alone—nothing between them escapes Heaven's canopy or Earth's support. A vast mind achieves impartiality like Heaven and Earth. Thus by observing them, one comprehends the sage's realm.

Impartiality makes a true ruler. Emperor Huizong notes: When the Great Dao prevails, the world belongs to all, so the people gladly uphold it without resentment. Dao's nature is impartial—the shared standard for all. The Book of Rites records Confucius saying: "When the Great Dao prevails, the world is shared by all." Governing hinges on understanding this. The sage's Dao is the root of human nature. The sage...

This passage discusses how rulers should govern the world through the Dao (the Way). When a sovereign rules according to the Dao, the people will wholeheartedly accept and follow. The populace feels close to and admires such a ruler, submitting willingly and joyfully—this harmonious state can endure indefinitely, with all under heaven gladly supporting their ruler without weariness. As the Book of Changes states, people naturally follow virtuous rulers who embody De (Virtue/Power).

The ruler emulates Heaven, and Heaven emulates the Dao. Emperor Huizong of Song commented: "One who connects the three powers (Heaven, Earth, and Humanity) while occupying the central position between them is the sovereign." The numeral "one" represents supreme authority, while "great" signifies all-encompassing capacity—these are the attributes of Heaven. The universal principle followed by all things is the Dao. If a ruler fully embodies human virtue, they become attuned to Heaven's Dao; if they comprehend Heaven's Dao, they unite with the Dao itself.

Heaven and Earth maintain their proper stations, while sages perfect their abilities. Among the four great cosmic forces (Dao, Heaven, Earth, and Sovereign), the ruler holds pivotal importance. Though the sovereign remains a finite being, they govern all things; though Heaven has form, it embraces all existence. Heaven attains the Dao and circulates Qi (vital energy); Earth attains the Dao and sustains creation; sages attain the Dao and propagate teachings. As Zhuangzi states, a ruler who perceives Heaven's Dao becomes a true sovereign. Heaven is the Dao's origin—by taking Heaven as foundation, one unites with the Dao.

The Book of Songs describes King Wen of Zhou's virtue as harmonizing with Heaven's Dao, making him worthy of emulation. During the Zhou dynasty's flourishing, sage-kings and worthy ministers jointly upheld the Great Dao, establishing the most illustrious of the Three Dynasties (Xia, Shang, Zhou). The Dao is eternal and unchanging—all things that attain it will flourish.

This scripture primarily expounds on the eternal and universal nature of the Dao (the Way), and how sages comprehend the Great Dao to govern the world.

Regarding the characteristics of the Dao: The Great Dao nourishes all generations, existing even before antiquity, and thus never decays. It has remained steadfast since ancient times, perfectly sustaining all things without omission, transforming all existence without exhaustion. Whatever attains the Dao will flourish. Sages who fully realize the Dao become one with it, thereby transcending temporal limitations while embracing heaven and earth without cease. All things grow together without harming one another—how could such a Dao bring danger? Therefore, one who follows it will never encounter peril throughout life.

Concerning governance: The highest form of rule is when the people merely know their ruler exists ("The greatest rulers are those whose subjects barely know they exist"). Sages govern through the Dao, preserving the people's innate simplicity—neither overindulging nor over-restraining them. Thus people neither become addicted to pleasure and praise-seeking, nor develop fear from hardship. Without artificial interference, everything operates naturally; the people live in peace without conscious awareness of being governed. As Mencius told King Hui of Liang, the best governance makes people feel utterly ungoverned.

The essential principle here is: Danger arises from negligence ("Peril stems from slackness approaching misfortune"), while good fortune comes from vigilance ("Auspiciousness stems from caution approaching fortune"). Only those who truly understand the eternal principles of the Dao can act in harmony with celestial order, avoiding calamities brought by reckless action.

This passage discusses different levels of governance and how the people respond to their rulers accordingly.

The highest form of governance is when the people live in contentment, barely aware of the ruler's existence ("carefree and unselfconscious"). The next level is when the people feel close to their ruler and praise them. Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary explains: when benevolence benefits the people and good laws are established for posterity, the people will naturally cherish their ruler like parents and feel close to them; the ruler's reputation will shine like the sun and moon, naturally earning praise. However, this conscious pursuit of closeness and praise already deviates from the ideal state of "Great Harmony."

Zhuangzi mentions how Emperor Shun's virtuous conduct ("fragrant virtue" like the aroma of mutton) naturally attracted followers, while the Book of Songs describes people spontaneously praising King Wen for building the Spirit Terrace, showing voluntary allegiance.

Further commentary elaborates: Shun nourished the people's hearts with benevolence, while the Zhou dynasty benefited the people through humane governance ("blessings bestowed upon the people"); Shun established enduring laws, while the Zhou perfected institutions. Such governance makes the people feel cherished like infants, naturally loving their ruler as parents and spreading their good reputation. But deliberately pursuing such external fame creates distance from the "Great Harmony" ideal. In true Great Harmony society, the people remain simple and desireless, without even the notion of closeness or praise.

The next level down involves governing through decrees and intimidating through punishments, making the people merely fearful. Worse still is managing through rewards and punishments, where good deeds go unrewarded and evil remains unchecked, leading to chaotic situations like feudal lords coveting the throne (King Zhuang of Chu inquiring about the cauldrons' weight implied usurpation) or ministers stealing treasures (Yang Hu stealing precious jade and great bows), marking a degenerate age.

Note: "Fragrant virtue" metaphorically describes virtue as attractively as mutton's aroma; "inquiring about the cauldrons" refers to King Zhuang of Chu asking about the Zhou royal cauldrons' weight, implying ambitions to usurp; "Yang Hu" was a powerful retainer of the Ji Sun clan in Lu who seized power and caused turmoil.

The sage governs the world through the Dao (the Way), while rewards and punishments merely serve as auxiliary means to implement it. Through laws and decrees, the rules of the world are clarified, allowing the people to understand what must be obeyed; through rewards and punishments, the distinction between good and evil is demonstrated, making clear what is forbidden—yet all of these must be rooted in the Dao. If governance relies solely on decrees and punishments without following the Dao, it can only alter outward behavior, failing to truly transform the heart. The people will comply out of fear, and may even descend into contempt and rebellion.

When guided by Dao and De (Virtue/Power), decrees naturally take effect; when guided by decrees alone, the essence of Dao and De is lost. When propriety is used to regulate conduct, punishments naturally function as they should; when punishments alone are imposed by force, the meaning of propriety is lost. The reason people fear laws and punishments is because their hearts seek to evade them. Even if the rewards of the entire world were used to encourage good deeds, it might not truly inspire goodness; even if the punishments of the entire world were employed to suppress evil, it might not truly deter wrongdoing. Just as in the stories of Chu Zi and Yang Hu, some will respond with contempt and defiance—precisely because they fail to understand that the world must be governed through the Dao.

In truly enlightened governance, decrees are meant to be implemented, punishments are meant to serve as safeguards, and once laws are clearly established, rewards become unnecessary—people naturally incline toward goodness, and punishments become unnecessary—people naturally hold reverence. Encouraging virtue and restraining vice are achieved with fairness, all because the Dao is present. Such a state cannot be reached through force.

As for insufficient sincerity, it gives rise to distrust. Trust that is artificially maintained, like bonds of glue or ropes, is not the highest form of trust. When the people of the Shang dynasty swore oaths, the masses began to betray them; when the people of the Zhou dynasty held covenants, the masses began to doubt them—all because sincerity was lacking. The Zhuangzi states that true trust does not require glue or ropes to bind it, for it arises from the utmost sincerity of nature. The Book of Rites says that the greatest sincerity needs no agreement. Supreme trust stems from humanity’s innate nature, and where sincerity is insufficient, this natural state is lost.

This scripture primarily discusses the highest form of governance and the significance of words.

The first section explains that the supreme way of governance makes the people unaware of the ruler's presence. In ancient times, people's nature was pure and simple, living in harmony with the natural world without needing deliberate instruction. Later, when rulers began governing through authority and stratagems, the people's innate purity was corrupted, giving rise to cunning and deceit. Genuine trust is not established through words but through the ruler's virtuous influence (De). When governance relies on manipulation, people lose their sense of shame, and true trust becomes impossible.

The second section emphasizes the importance of cautious and valued speech. From the perspective of the Dao, words should not be spoken lightly. Ancient sage-kings were extremely prudent in speech because words, like wind and waves, create ripples of influence. Thus, ancient teachings used the allegory of the "golden man with three seals on his mouth" and the metaphor of the white jade tablet to warn people about the gravity of speech. When sages speak, the people believe them because their words align with cosmic principles (Fa), and their actions match their words, thereby transforming society through exemplary conduct.

The final section describes the ideal governance as making the people feel entirely ungoverned. Enlightened emperors treated ruling as a secondary matter, ensuring the people were well-fed, well-clothed, and content in their lives, while the people perceived this as entirely natural, unaware of the ruler's role. This represents the most refined state of governance—where the people say, "This is simply how we live," feeling no imposition of authority. It is the highest achievement when the ruler's presence becomes invisible within the natural order.

This passage describes the ideal state of governance by ancient sage-kings. The common people lived without resorting to petty cleverness, enjoying simple yet satisfying meals, wearing comfortable clothes, and dwelling in peaceful contentment. Food was considered delicious when it sufficed to nourish, garments appeared beautiful when fitting properly, communities thrived undisturbed, and work brought fulfillment by sustaining livelihood. These were the natural byproducts of sagely rule, yet they sufficed to establish imperial merit.

The people enjoyed this era of Great Peace in their daily lives without recognizing the sage-king's contribution, perceiving it all as perfectly natural. They might say, "What connection does the emperor's power have with me?" It recalls the legendary ballads of Kangqu—that fabled land of perfect harmony under Emperor Yao's reign—where folks sang "Nothing could be better than this." Such represents the highest attainment of governance.

(Note: The term "Taishang" [Supreme Purity] here refers to the highest level of rulership, derived from the Dao De Jing's "Under the highest form of governance, the people barely know the ruler exists." "Fahua" denotes splendor in accordance with natural law, unrelated to the Buddhist Lotus Sutra.)