《道德真經疏義(一)》Vol. 5

This passage explains how society only emphasizes benevolence, righteousness, and morality after deviating from the fundamental "Great Dao (the Way)." The original text progressively illustrates: when the most essential Dao is lost, people turn to De (Virtue/Power); when De is also lost, they emphasize humaneness; when humaneness is lacking, they finally rely on righteousness to maintain order. Though benevolence and righteousness can regulate human behavior, they are already far removed from the true Dao.

Han Yu (a Tang Dynasty literary figure) failed to grasp the sages' original intent regarding Dao and De, treating benevolence and righteousness as fixed standards while viewing Dao and De as abstract concepts. The reason Laozi downplayed benevolence and righteousness was that he observed matters from a higher, more profound perspective. What Zhuangzi called "the people blinded by delusion" refers precisely to those obscured by worldly conventions.

Fundamentally, Dao is an undivided whole. The relationship between Dao-De and benevolence-righteousness resembles that between the whole and its parts—combined they form the complete Dao, separated they lose their wholeness. Laozi wasn't truly asserting that benevolence and righteousness couldn't govern the world; his devaluation of them was precisely to genuinely honor them. Later scholars, blinded by conventional learning, couldn't comprehend Laozi's profound thought, even considering his teachings arrogant and unbelievable, remaining lifelong in shallow understanding as pedantic Confucians.

The passage continues with "when wisdom emerges, great artifice appears." In the era of perfect Dao-De, people lived spontaneously without deliberate effort. Only when desires and calculations arose, when external things tempted the human heart, did insufficient wisdom lead to confusion and inadequate strength to indolence. At this point, after exhausting their cunning and strength, people began resorting to deception.

(Note: "Great Dao" refers to the supreme truth in Daoism; "De" is the concrete manifestation of Dao; "benevolence-righteousness" are the moral norms advocated by Confucianism; "people blinded by delusion" comes from Zhuangzi, referring to those obscured by worldly conventions.)

People are often troubled by worldly behaviors—this is what is meant by "the common people exhaust their cleverness yet still fall into falsehood." The sage governs the world by desiring that the people return to their original nature, and thus does not rely on cunning to rule. As Liezi said: "The sage relies on the teachings of the Dao, not on clever schemes."

When family relations are disharmonious, filial sons and loving mothers become conspicuous; when the state is in chaos, loyal ministers stand out. Emperor Huizong of Song commented: "These titles arise precisely because true virtue is lacking." Zhuangzi also said: "A truly filial son does not flatter his parents, and a truly loyal minister does not fawn upon his ruler—this is the highest standard of a subject."

The commentary explains: Reputation is the shadow of reality. Where true virtue exists, reputation naturally follows. Yet reputation often emerges precisely where virtue is deficient. For a noble person, the greatest reputations are loyalty and filial piety: Serving one's parents with equanimity regardless of circumstances—this is true filial piety; blindly agreeing with every word and action to please them is not. Serving one's ruler with full dedication in all matters—this is true loyalty; currying favor by echoing every opinion is not. Only by neither flattering parents nor fawning upon rulers can the heart of loyalty and filial piety be fully revealed—this is indeed the highest attainment of a subject.

Regarding the chapter "Reject Sageliness and Discard Wisdom" (Chapter 19): "When sagely wisdom is abandoned, the people benefit a hundredfold." Emperor Huizong commented: "The nature bestowed by the Dao is originally pure and unadulterated. When one departs from the Dao to pursue virtue, the concept of 'sagely wisdom' emerges. Once sagely wisdom is glorified, the world begins to see eccentric behaviors—startling the world to display superiority, praising Yao and Shun while denouncing Jie and Zhou. Thus sagely wisdom brings few benefits but much harm to the world. Abandon these empty titles, return to unity with the Dao, and let all things rest in their nature—only then will the benefits be truly vast."

The commentary further explains: In the primal state before worldly influences, human nature is one with the Dao; after worldly influences, nature separates from the Dao. Unity with the Dao knows no distinctions—this is the meaning of "the Dao and one's nature are one and unadulterated." Separation from the Dao creates divisions—this is "departing from the Dao to pursue virtue is called sagely wisdom." Tracing the origin of nature, it was originally whole and complete—originally there was no difference between sagely wisdom and foolishness. Those who stray from the Dao establish external standards of virtue, losing their true nature and drowning in falsehood. Folly makes cleverness conspicuous, hence the title "sage" emerges. Once standards of sagely wisdom are established, the natural state of original nature can no longer be followed.

This passage discusses how when society begins to value contrived originality and deliberate artifice, chaos inevitably follows. The term "qiao ji zhuo zhi" refers to four unnatural behaviors: arrogance (qiao), sophistry (ji), forced originality (zhuo), and antisocial eccentricity (zhi)—all deviations from the balanced and upright way of being.

People begin flaunting cleverness to deceive the simple, polishing their own image while exposing others' flaws, paying lip service to the virtues of legendary sage-kings Yao and Shun while secretly emulating the tyranny of Jie and Zhou. They fail to realize that only by relinquishing these artificial distinctions can one harmonize with the Dao. When the wisdom of sages is deliberately employed, it often brings more harm than benefit to the world—echoing Zhuangzi's warning that "venerating sages breeds hypocrisy, while prizing cleverness fosters fault-finding."

Only by abandoning such affectations and returning to natural simplicity can the world achieve governance through Wuwei (non-action). Wuwei doesn't mean inaction, but allowing all things to abide in their authentic state. When people regain their original simplicity, society attains harmony and peace—benefits beyond measure.

Regarding "rejecting benevolence and righteousness to restore filial piety": Filial devotion is innate human nature. But when benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi) become contrived ideals (forced like strained steps or tiptoed postures), they distort our true nature. Only by discarding these external standards can people rediscover genuine filial love. This doesn't mean abandoning respect for parents, but reaching the natural state where "one treats elders with the reverence due one's own parents, and cares for others' children as one's own"—people love sincerely without calling it "benevolence," act rightly without labeling it "righteousness."

Concerning "rejecting cleverness and profit to eliminate theft": Those who scheme lack shame; profit-seekers disregard morality. These are the roots of banditry (like tunneling thieves). When people lose their sense of shame, they know no disgrace; without disgrace, nothing is forbidden.

A person should take practicing righteousness as the foundation, value the sense of shame that comes with self-restraint, and consider righteousness first when facing personal gain. Understanding this principle ensures one refrains from improper actions and avoids coveting what should not be possessed—thus walking the path of a noble person. Those who indulge in cunning schemes and opportunism lack integrity in their innate nature, which is unacceptable to the Dao, for they fundamentally lack any sense of shame.

Those driven by greed may outwardly feign virtue while secretly pursuing selfish interests, blurring the line between truth and falsehood, completely disregarding righteousness. Without shame or regard for righteousness, they transgress their proper boundaries, coveting what does not belong to them—behavior scarcely different from theft. These three tendencies (lack of shame, disregard for righteousness, and coveting what is improper) cannot be restrained by mere ritual codes alone; thus, they must be rectified at their root.

Emperor Huizong of Song commented: The ancient sage-kings governed the world with the principles of benevolence and righteousness, but by the Zhou dynasty, ritual had become excessively elaborate. At its extreme, form overshadowed substance, leaving excessive ornamentation but insufficient simplicity—causing people to lose their innate purity and sink deeper into selfish desires and habits. Laozi, living in the decline of the Zhou dynasty, sought to dismantle these corruptions and return humanity to its original truth. Hence, he advocated discarding benevolence and righteousness, abolishing ritual learning, and even rejecting sagely wisdom—not because these were incapable of governing, but because the Way of the ancient kings moves in cycles. To correct the excesses of superficial refinement, the best method is to return to simplicity. "Rectifying at the root" means preserving one’s innate purity and reducing selfish desires.

Further elaboration: The bitter cold accumulates before the height of summer—it is not the work of a single day. Observing the transformations of heaven’s timing allows us to understand human affairs. The ancient kings governed the world through human principles, progressing from simplicity to completeness, until the Zhou dynasty, when ritual reached its peak of elaboration. At that time, rules were established for every matter, precautions set in every place, and the rites and music system flourished. But when form reaches its extreme, flaws emerge—excessive ornamentation overshadows substance, and the people lose their innate purity, becoming lost in artificial refinement, blinded by selfish desires and petty cleverness. Faced with such a state, how could one not seek to correct it? Laozi, in the late Zhou period, advocated dismantling these corruptions to restore humanity to its original truth—this was his intent. Thus, he called for discarding benevolence and righteousness to return people to their natural state and abandoning ritual learning so they might forget themselves in the great Dao. These teachings were all aimed at addressing the excesses of the time.

This passage expounds the Daoist philosophy of returning to simplicity in governance. It suggests that even the wisdom of sages must sometimes be relinquished, guiding people to disregard trivial matters and focus on the fundamental Dao. This doesn't imply that benevolence, righteousness, and sage wisdom cannot govern the world, but rather mirrors how the Xia dynasty valued loyalty, the Shang prized simplicity, and the Zhou emphasized ritual refinement—each adapting governance to its historical context. Just as the autumn's austerity naturally follows summer's exuberance, the best remedy for excessive ritual refinement is returning to primal simplicity. Thus, people must have something authentic to return to, which leads to the subsequent teaching: "Manifest plainness and embrace simplicity; reduce selfishness and diminish desires."

"Manifest plainness" is like preparing undyed silk before painting—maintaining a state of pure potential, untainted by artifice. This metaphor describes how one should cultivate clarity and purity of mind, free from cunning, achieving a state of unadulterated simplicity. This resonates with Zhuangzi's concept of "clarity entering plainness," both advocating the preservation of one's innate nature uncontaminated by external influences.

"Embrace simplicity" refers to how raw, unworked wood (pu) transforms into utensils when carved. By preserving wood in its natural state, one safeguards its essential character. Similarly, humans should maintain their innate authenticity like uncarved timber—cultivating sincerity, returning to the tranquil, unadorned nature of the Dao. This aligns with Zhuangzi's notion of "unspoiled simplicity." Plainness and simplicity constitute our fundamental nature; returning to it fosters detachment from desires and spontaneous realization of true virtue.

"Reduce selfishness and diminish desires" identifies self-interest as the root of selfishness, while the supreme method of self-cultivation lies in desire reduction. The entire passage emphasizes the paramount importance of returning to authenticity and minimizing selfish desires—the very foundation of Daoist self-cultivation and governance.

Diminishing selfish thoughts and reducing desires allows one to clearly distinguish between inner cultivation and external pursuits, discerning true nature from artificial constructs. When virtue (De) becomes complete and original nature is restored, even titles like "sage" or "wise one" naturally fade away.

The commentary explains: Focusing solely on personal gain severs one's connection with the unity of heaven, earth, and all things—thus self-serving calculation constitutes selfishness. Being entangled by material desires disrupts the empty stillness of the heart-mind, making desire reduction the supreme method of self-cultivation. Both selfishness and desires represent outward grasping rather than inward contemplation; they foster artificial striving rather than returning to authentic nature. Only by reducing selfish desires can one distinguish between internal and external priorities, recognize what's fundamental versus secondary, and discern truth from illusion. Preserving virtue (De) requires not deviating from it; restoring original nature demands not indulging desires. Acting through non-action (Wuwei) and engaging with the world through non-interference—even honorific titles like "sage" or "wise one" become irrelevant. Why then would deliberate governance be necessary?

Chapter 20 ("Cutting Off Learning") states: "Abandon conventional learning and be free from worries."

Emperor Huizong of Song annotates: Learning originally seeks truth, but when people devote themselves to scholarship, they inevitably ponder right and wrong, examine order and chaos—how could this not generate worries? Authentic learning should lead to the Dao (the Way). Upon realizing the Dao, one transcends accumulated knowledge. Continuously diminish acquired knowledge until reaching non-action (Wuwei) that nevertheless accomplishes all things. By following life's innate authenticity, one finds joy in any circumstance—thus becoming worry-free.

Further explanation: "Principles" resemble milestones on a road—quantifiable through study—while the Dao is the universal path accessible only by transcending conventional learning. Investigating principles through study marks the beginning of cultivation (hence Laozi's "pursuing learning means increasing daily"). But when examining principles, people exhaust their minds weighing gains and losses, analyzing order and chaos—this remains within the realm of artificial striving. How could it not bring worry? Confucius' concern about "learning without reflection" speaks to this. Realizing the Dao through learning represents cultivation's ultimate goal (hence Laozi's "practicing the Dao means decreasing daily"). Upon truly perceiving the Dao and transcending scholarship, one releases bodily attachments, silences sensory disturbances, and surpasses form and cleverness—all affairs naturally resolve themselves. Through continuous diminishment, one returns to primordial purity before the ten thousand things arose. In this state of no-self and non-being, one achieves non-action (Wuwei) that accomplishes everything—the mind becomes serenely still yet spontaneously responsive. Following life's authentic flow, joy dissolves sorrow, and contentment arises in any situation. As Confucius observed: "With coarse rice to eat, water to drink, happiness exists right there."

Laozi teaches that when the mind is free from attachment to pleasure, one can naturally act without forced joy, ultimately achieving true realization of the Dao (the Way). The path of cultivation involves daily reduction of attachments, through which genuine happiness is attained—this principle is profoundly clear.

How far apart are the respectful "wei" and the dismissive "a"? What truly separates good from evil? Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Both "wei" and "a" are sounds; both good and evil arise from innate nature. Those with petty cleverness cling to selfish distinctions, forcibly dividing them into opposites, while the enlightened perceive their fundamental unity, recognizing no inherent difference.

When sages govern the world, their manner of speech varies between ancestral temples and court halls when addressing officials. They suppress wrongdoing and promote virtue, ever concerned about falling short. This is because what people fear, even sages cannot disregard.

From the perspective of the Dao, all things are fundamentally one, and distinctions dissolve; yet from the concrete view of phenomena, differences emerge. Emotionally, people consider "wei" respectful and "a" dismissive, loving good and hating evil—these distinctions feel real. But in principle, both "wei" and "a" are mere sounds; both good and evil stem from the same nature—where lies any essential difference?

Petty minds indulge personal biases, stubbornly imposing artificial divisions, thus fragmenting what is inherently whole. The enlightened follow cosmic principles (Tianli), perceiving that all phenomena, despite their myriad forms, ultimately manifest the profound Dao. While sages immerse themselves in cultivation, free from attachments, they cannot remain indifferent to worldly good and evil, lest they become completely detached from human affairs.

Thus when sages govern, they adapt their speech appropriately: warm and approachable with subordinates, respectful and dignified with superiors. This demonstrates harmonizing with human relations through ritual propriety (Li), using ceremony to distinguish hierarchy. Wrongdoing must be restrained, virtue must be encouraged—judging worldly matters with impartiality to clarify standards of good and evil, ever vigilant against inadequacy. What people fear, sages too must heed, bending to maintain solidarity with the multitude.

Emperor Huizong further explains: The great Dao nurtures all things without the sage's anxiety—this is the Dao's realm; sharing joys and sorrows with the people—this is the sage's work. Those embodying the Dao remain unworried; those handling worldly affairs maintain vigilance. Without heeding what people fear, how could calamities be avoided?

This passage primarily discusses the attitude and wisdom of Dao practitioners when facing worldly affairs.

Those who truly understand the Dao (the Way) have minds aligned with the heavenly principles, thus remaining free from worries. The Dao operates spontaneously, never troubling itself with worldly matters as sages do. While the Dao itself is silent and unmoving, its manifestation in concrete matters produces myriad transformations. Those handling practical affairs must deliberate and plan, sharing both fortune and misfortune with the common people.

People often fear certain things without knowing true vigilance—few can avoid calamity this way. Only by maintaining constant reverence and acting with cautious prudence can one ensure auspicious actions without regret. The Book of Changes states "the noble person cultivates self-reflection through awe," while the Book of Songs says "revere the majesty of heaven"—both represent the highest form of circumspection. Just as Boyi (the sage minister of Emperor Shun) remained ever vigilant against contingencies, and King Wuding of Shang (Gaozong) maintained the Mandate of Heaven through reverent caution, these examples demonstrate what humans ought to hold in awe.

The transformations of worldly phenomena are endless, their complexity defying orderly arrangement, while standards of good and evil remain elusive. Ordinary people invariably judge right and wrong by their own standards, affirming what they deem good and rejecting what they consider bad. But do "good" and "bad" truly possess fixed criteria? Only those of penetrating understanding realize all things share the same essence, attaining the wisdom that dissolves attachments and distinctions. When returning to one's natural state, one discovers no fixed boundaries between "that" and "this" in the fundamental nature of things.

This scripture conveys two main teachings:

The first explains the principle of "non-discrimination." When one relinquishes fixed perceptions of things, all phenomena are inherently undifferentiated. Concepts like beauty and ugliness, good and evil are artificial distinctions—no clear boundaries truly exist, so why insist on dividing them? Ordinary people chase sensory pleasures, attending grand feasts (the "Great Sacrifice" refers to ancient rituals offering oxen, sheep, and pigs) or enjoying spring outings, yet they remain enslaved by external desires. In the movement of Yin-Yang (the two fundamental energies in Daoist cosmology), Yang Qi fosters growth and vitality, while Yin Qi brings stillness and consolidation. Most people lose their original nature, pursuing fleeting pleasures without realizing the Dao's subtle nourishment—its flavorless essence surpasses any feast, and its profound wisdom offers deeper joy than any excursion. Those addicted to sensory delights drift further from the Dao. By quietly observing one's true nature, the principles of all things become clear, revealing genuine contentment within stillness and movement alike.

The second uses an infant as a metaphor for the realized state. True practitioners resemble a baby who hasn't yet learned to smile ("unresponsive" describes the pre-conscious state), preserving primordial purity. The Daode Jing advises "returning to the state of an infant," while Zhuangzi notes that babies, before developing self-awareness, remain closest to natural authenticity. Such infants harbor no desires or schemes, treating closeness and distance equally with serene harmony—all virtues remain inwardly contained without display. Like an infant's spontaneous, uncalculated actions free from deliberate choice, this is the state cultivators should maintain.

This scripture elucidates two core principles:

First, it explains the concept of "following the natural disposition" (因性自然). Like the pure and innocent state of an infant, free from external desires that disturb the mind, one should preserve their original, authentic nature. Laozi (Lao氏) teaches people to return to this childlike simplicity. Though the Daode Jing employs different expressions such as "concentrating the Qi (气) to become supple" (专气致柔) and "embracing the fullness of De (德)" (含德之厚), the fundamental purpose remains the same—to guide people back to their original, unadorned nature.

Second, it interprets the meaning of "riding upon riding, as if with no destination" (乘乘兮若无所归). Here, "riding upon riding" refers to an attitude of conforming to natural laws without stubbornly clinging to personal views. As the Yijing states, "timely riding the six dragons to traverse heaven" (时乘六龙以御天), one should act like a dragon, moving in accordance with changing circumstances. The truly wise adapt to the transformations of all things without bias, appearing as if they hold no fixed position—precisely because they embrace the myriad things.

The text then addresses the issue of "the multitude all have surplus" (众人皆有余). Ordinary people often excessively pursue wealth, pleasure, and material gain. They value salary and status over righteousness, indulging their desires without restraint. In contrast, the sage values moral cultivation above material comforts. Yang Xiong (a Han dynasty thinker) poses a rhetorical question: the wealth of Jin and Chu (晋楚之富) represents material abundance, yet it cannot compare to upholding virtue; the nobility of Zhao Meng (赵孟之贵) signifies high status, yet it cannot match spiritual nobility. Ordinary people see only material things and miss the great Dao (道), so they remain perpetually insatiable.

(Note: "Concentrating the Qi to become supple" and "embracing the fullness of De" are cultivation methods from the Daode Jing; "riding the six dragons" comes from the Qian hexagram of the Yijing; Jin, Chu, and Zhao Meng are historical allusions representing figures of wealth and nobility.)

This scripture discusses the distinction between Dao cultivators and worldly people. Those who have truly attained the Dao appear dull-witted yet embody great wisdom in seeming foolishness, while worldly people appear clever yet fundamentally deviate from the great Dao.

Dao cultivators (referring to realized sages) may have achievements that benefit the world, yet remain as if uninvolved. They nourish all things with the Dao without claiming benevolence, shape heaven and earth without boasting of skill. As Zhuangzi said: "When enlightened rulers govern the world, their accomplishments seem unrelated to themselves." This is because sages respond to all phenomena through "non-being" (the mysterious function of the Dao) - imperial achievements become mere byproducts rather than sources of pride.

Confucius once praised Yan Hui: "All day listening to my teachings without objection, like a simpleton." This exemplifies great wisdom appearing as foolishness. Yan Hui comprehended the profundity of "heart-fasting" (a Daoist mental purification practice) and "sitting-in-forgetfulness" (meditative state transcending physical form) - his apparent dullness actually reflected harmony with the Dao. Such pure innate nature, preserved in stillness and wuwei (non-action) while silently aligning with heavenly principles, constitutes true wisdom. As Xunzi remarked: "Without dedicated study there can be no brilliant achievement; without silent cultivation no glorious accomplishment."

Worldly people display cleverness outwardly, while cultivators seem dim-witted; worldly people nitpick over details, while cultivators embrace inclusiveness. This stems from cultivators transcending worldly habits - their apparent muddleheadedness actually preserves fundamental authenticity. This seemingly confused state precisely represents abandoning petty cleverness to attain great wisdom.

This passage describes how the realm of those who have attained the Dao differs from ordinary people. The truly wise appear simple and dull, yet possess profound inner clarity—a state utterly incomprehensible to worldly minds.

Maintaining inner radiance without outward display represents the highest wisdom. Those who play at cleverness in mundane affairs may seem astute, but their understanding remains superficial. Those who truly embody the Dao possess unfathomable depth—they transcend material desires and remain unmoved by worldly temptations. Though appearing muddled, they exist with true substance; though seeming slow, their great skill appears as clumsiness. As Mencius observed, the actions of noble individuals remain beyond ordinary comprehension.

The Dao resembles the deep serenity of the ocean ("vast like the sea")—this is its fundamental nature. Though the Dao's essence remains invisible, we glimpse it through the sea's boundless expanse—unchanging through time, unaffected by water's ebb and flow. This was the realm of the Dao grasped by ancient sages.

The Dao also moves like the ceaseless wind ("howling yet seeming not to exist")—this is its marvelous function. Though the Dao's workings remain unseen, we perceive them through the wind's movement—stirring all things without visible form, passing through crevices without leaving traces. This formless efficacy perfectly manifests the Dao.

Worldly people chase after usefulness (like the cassia tree felled for its edible bark or the lacquer tree wounded for its sap), yet fail to comprehend the true value of uselessness. Those who attain the Dao may appear stubborn and foolish, but in truth they've realized the supreme wisdom of "the usefulness of uselessness."

This passage elucidates the profound Daoist principle of "the usefulness of the useless." Ordinary people in the world constantly pursue seemingly useful talents, unaware that such "usefulness" can actually bring calamity.

Consider how the cassia tree is felled for its edible bark and the lacquer tree wounded for its useful sap—these are the harms brought by being "useful." People often flaunt their cleverness and chase superficial talents, not realizing that maintaining a state of plain simplicity constitutes true "great usefulness." While ordinary people pursue obvious abilities, I maintain a seemingly foolish and unadorned appearance—appearing "useless," yet this is in fact the greatest talent.

The text employs the terms "stubborn" (愚钝) and "coarse" (粗俗) to describe this state: stubbornness prevents clever posturing, and coarseness avoids chasing superficial elegance. Those who attain the Dao (道) achieve genuine "great material" precisely through this state of "being unremarkable." Zhuangzi illustrates this in the "Human World" chapter with examples like the sacred altar tree and giant timber, showing how seemingly useless things endure longest.

The passage then presents the metaphor of "seeking nourishment from the mother." Just as an infant clings to its mother, all things naturally depend on the nurturing of the Dao (道). The Dao gives birth and nourishes all beings like a mother rearing her children—nothing exists apart from the Dao's sustenance. As Yang Xiong noted in his "Inquiry into the Dao," all creatures' reliance on the Dao mirrors an infant's natural attachment to its mother.

The Dao of Heaven (天道) generates all things from emptiness and stillness, allowing each to follow its nature while providing abundant nourishment for growth and fulfillment. All things depend on the Dao of Heaven without ever experiencing lack—this is the significance of the Dao as the mother of all under heaven.

This scripture primarily elucidates the relationship between the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), as well as the essential characteristics of the Dao.

First, it describes the Dao as being like a mother who nurtures all things. All beings originate from the Dao, making the Dao the mother and all things her children. Yet ordinary people not only fail to recognize this "mother" but also abandon what is genuine in pursuit of illusions, drifting further away from the Dao. Only those who wholeheartedly seek the Dao differ from worldly individuals who have lost their original nature.

Chapter 21 states that "great De manifests entirely in accordance with the patterns of the Dao." Here, the relationship between the Dao and De is explained: the alternating movement of Yin-Yang constitutes the Dao, while all things coming into existence by attaining the Dao constitutes De. The Dao itself has no name or form and cannot be concretely described, yet it enables De to appear wondrous. De has tangible manifestations that everyone can attain. By cultivating one's nature to return to De, one ultimately merges with the primordial Dao. Thus, great De fully follows the patterns of the Dao.

Regarding the state of the Dao's existence: in essence, the Dao is absolute emptiness (Wu); in function, it produces marvelous transformations. Though it may seem to have perceptible forms and discernible patterns, this "presence" is simultaneously close to "absence." This is the unique characteristic of the Dao as an existent—its substance is emptiness, yet its function is mysteriously real. The empty substance manifests as wondrous function, and the wondrous function originates from the empty substance.

(Note: The term "Huizong" refers to Emperor Huizong of Song, Zhao Ji, who personally annotated the Daode Jing; "Xuande" denotes profound and mysterious virtue; "Taichu" refers to the primordial state of the cosmos.)

This passage describes the seemingly existent yet non-existent nature of the Dao (the cosmic origin). The Dao appears indistinct and hazy—while it seems to exist, it has no concrete form; yet though it seems non-existent, traces of it can still be perceived. Just as thunder and wind suddenly arise in the sky, or as water and fire naturally emerge from the earth, all these transformations are wondrous manifestations of the Dao.

Before all things come into being, there are first signs (xiang), such as the changing seasons that herald the growth of all life. Concrete things (wu), on the other hand, possess fixed forms. Both these signs and things emerge from that indistinct, nebulous state. The wind blowing over mountains, thunder resounding across the heavens, water flowing downward, fire rising upward, the movement of insects and the withering and flourishing of plants—even the transformations from the tangible to the intangible, from the mindful to the mindless—all are expressions of the Dao in motion.

The darkest and most profound depths (yaoming) contain the purest essence of Qi (vital energy). The unfathomable depths of a cave are called yao, while places untouched by sunlight are called ming. In the extreme Yin region (the north, associated with water in Daoist cosmology), the celestial principle gives rise to water, which manifests in the human body as Jing (essence). This essence is utterly real (shen zhen) and unchanging (you xin), its fundamental nature remaining constant from ancient times to the present (qi ming bu qu). Just as the movement of heaven follows an infallible, perfectly correct principle (tian de zhi zhi zheng), the existence of this essence is absolutely certain.

This scripture expounds the significance of "Jing" (essence) in Daoist philosophy. "Jing" originates from the "One" (the primordial state of the Dao), and heaven maintains its clarity by attaining this "One." Thus, "Jing" represents heaven's supreme De (virtue/power), as pure as the seven virtues of the Qian hexagram in the Yijing. When "Jing" reaches its utmost purity, it becomes the genuine and unwavering "Ultimate One," where one's true nature is fully revealed without falsity—this is called "upright and free from delusion," the most authentic state.

Before all things take form, they already contain the differentiation of the "One." This state is termed "One without change," signifying truth and reliability. Therefore, the beginning and end of all things are inseparable from this principle. The subtlety of the "One" permeates everything without interruption, which is why the "name" (designation of the Dao) never vanishes. By contemplating this principle, one can comprehend the root of all transformations.

Emperor Huizong of Song remarked in his commentary: Though the transformations of all things flow ceaselessly day by day, the truth of "Jing" endures eternally. Sages value the profundity of "Jing," enabling them to discern the patterns of change in all things and understand their underlying principles. They appear thoughtless yet comprehend deeply, seemingly inactive yet resonate with all under heaven. When necessity arises, they naturally engage in thought and establish achievements. Who but those who grasp the most subtle principles of the universe could attain such a state?

The miraculous may decay, and decay may transform into the miraculous—the changes of all things never cease. Yet the subtlety of the "One" aligns with the Dao of heaven, ensuring the constancy of truth. Sages who cherish this "Jing" master the "Dao" that never fades from antiquity to the present. They understand the cycles of prosperity and decline, knowing that after an end comes a new beginning, and thus can elucidate the principles of all things and perceive the essence of transformation.

Sages use this principle to purify their minds, maintaining a state of thoughtless tranquility. In retreat, they remain hidden and often abide in Wuwei (non-action). But when they sense the needs of the world, their former "thoughtlessness" turns to thought, and their former "non-action" becomes action. Such thought arises from no-thought, and action emerges from non-action—thus, their monumental achievements naturally shine forth. Who but those who grasp the most subtle principles of the universe could reach such heights?

Finally, the text mentions the principle that "to bend is to be whole": by yielding to external changes and flowing with them, one preserves oneself. Just as bending ensures wholeness, this embodies a crucial Daoist wisdom for navigating life.

Zhuangzi observed that those with a harmonious exterior find it easier to get along with others. The deeper meaning here is: they dim their brilliance without being glaring, blend into the mundane world without losing their true nature. Though appearing to go with the flow, they actually advance by retreating. By placing themselves behind, they end up ahead; by not striving to preserve themselves, they endure. This outward compliance is precisely the method for preserving the wholeness of life.

Zhuangzi believed that yielding to the transformations of external things, like riding the undulations of water, is the key to nurturing life. The saying "those who bend outwardly walk with others" means that precisely because of their harmonious exterior, they do not violate human conventions—is this not the principle of "bending leads to wholeness"? What appears curved is in fact upright.

Emperor Huizong of Song commented: When abandoned, they bear no resentment; when in hardship, they feel no sorrow—their inner core remains steadfast. Like the inchworm in the Book of Changes that contracts its body to stretch forward more effectively. The explanation here: Though abandonment should provoke resentment, they feel none; though suffering should bring sorrow, they remain untroubled. Outwardly yielding, they maintain integrity without rigidity. Those who attack others to flaunt their righteousness, by contrast, end up harming the Dao (the Way). This outward yielding with inner integrity, like the inchworm's contraction enabling its extension, is none other than the principle of "the crooked becomes straight."

Only low-lying places can hold water. Emperor Huizong said, "By not hoarding, one finds abundance." The meaning: Hide a mountain in a marsh, or a boat in a valley, and they easily vanish; store grain in granaries or water in vessels, and they quickly deplete. Only by not deliberately hoarding, by letting the ten thousand things flow naturally, can one draw from an endless supply. This is the principle Zhuangzi called "having abundance precisely because one does not store." Viewed through the lens of nature's cycles, the truth of "the hollow becomes full" becomes clear.

The withering of the old allows for the birth of the new. Emperor Huizong remarked: If winter does not properly store vitality, spring cannot flourish. The explanation here: Only by returning to the root can new growth be expected; only through austerity can luxuriance emerge. The more fully winter withdraws, the more vigorously spring surges. Observing the rhythm of the seasons, the principle of "decay leads to renewal" becomes evident.

Seeking less brings attainment; craving more brings confusion. Emperor Huizong said: The essence of the Dao (the Way) lies in simplicity—broad learning is inferior to grasping the essentials. Taking branches for the root means never attaining understanding; this is the greatest delusion. The explanation here: The Dao is singular, so its essence is not complex. Rather than pursuing extensive knowledge, hold fast to simplicity.

This scripture primarily discusses the necessity of singular focus in cultivating the Dao (the Way), as well as the way of being for sages.

Regarding single-minded cultivation: If a Dao cultivator acquires extensive knowledge but fails to grasp its essential core ("returning from complexity to simplicity"), they will resemble those fond of debate—troubled by trivial matters and never comprehending the great Dao (the Way) in their lifetime. This is what Zhuangzi meant by saying "the Dao does not tolerate mixture." Sages hold fast to "the One" (the fundamental principle of the Dao) as the standard for all under heaven. When heaven and earth create the myriad things, they too adhere to this singular, undivided principle ("creating things without duality"), hence their mysterious generative power. Only the most refined and concentrated state can reach the highest spiritual attainment ("utmost refinement leads to utmost spirituality"). By maintaining this singular focus, the sage's spirit (Shen) can penetrate all directions and nurture all beings.

Concerning the sage's way of being in the world: Sages don't stubbornly cling to personal views, thus achieving perfect clarity of perception; they don't proclaim their own correctness, yet their virtue (De) naturally manifests. Like ancient sage-kings who "opened the four eyes and extended the four ears" to remain unobstructed by personal biases, they could perceive all things clearly. By not being limited by individual perspectives ("not obscured by personal views"), they illuminate truth completely; by not insisting on personal correctness ("not partial to personal truths"), their achievements naturally become illustrious, and the world naturally follows them.

The mentioned "embracing the One" (baoyi) is a crucial Daoist practice referring to focusing on the Dao's fundamental principle; "utmost refinement" (zhijing) and "utmost spirituality" (zhishen) denote different levels of cultivation attainment; "assisting heaven and earth in transformation and nurture" describes the profound state where cultivators participate in the mysterious creative process of the cosmos.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "non-contention" (bu zheng), whose core principle is that humility and yielding can ultimately achieve great things.

By refraining from self-praise, one can truly establish merit. As the Book of Documents states: "If you do not boast of your achievements, no one in the world will contend with you for them." Those who flaunt their accomplishments end up losing them, while those who do not claim credit find that no one disputes their contributions. Emperor Shun similarly advised Yu the Great with these words.

Only by avoiding self-importance can one endure. The classics warn that arrogance makes longevity difficult, and the Book of Documents records that pride leads to the loss of merit. Only those who do not flaunt their abilities earn the genuine support of the people. Emperor Shun's teaching to Yu—"If you do not boast of your talents, no one in the world can rival you"—expresses this same truth.

Precisely because the sage does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with him. While the masses rush ahead in competition, the sage willingly takes the rear, enduring the world's humiliations. This attitude resembles knowing brightness yet abiding in darkness, understanding glory yet accepting disgrace—remaining indifferent to praise and blame, never allowing personal preferences to disturb the mind.

Outwardly appearing soft and humble, inwardly maintaining an open and receptive mind, the sage occupies the position of non-contention. Seemingly yielding at every turn, he accumulates small victories into great ones. By constantly dwelling in non-contention, who could possibly contend with him? As the ancients said, "To bend is to be whole"—this is no empty saying, for those who truly embody it indeed preserve themselves.

The sage's actions flow like water, conforming to all things without harming their integrity; his responses follow the plumb line, adhering to principle without losing rectitude. Knowing that low places will inevitably fill, he bears no burden of pride; understanding that decay gives way to renewal, he avoids the flaw of ostentation.

The nature of water is to conform to the shape of its container without resistance. The way of the sage (one who has attained the Dao) follows this same principle—adapting to external circumstances while preserving one's essential life, merging seamlessly with all things like flowing water yet never losing its own integrity.

Consider a rope, woven from many strands yet fundamentally straight in nature. The sage interacts with the world similarly, bending with circumstances while maintaining inner uprightness, just as following the rope's twists never compromises its inherent straightness.

Understanding that low places will naturally fill teaches that true fullness appears empty. By humbly cultivating oneself, arrogance and complacency find no foothold. Recognizing that decay gives way to renewal allows one to conceal brilliance and blend with the mundane, never boasting and thus leaving no trace of ostentation. These are not forced achievements but emerge effortlessly, like the spontaneous expression of one's true nature.

Responding to all things with an open, valley-like mind—without conflict, simply following the natural contours of existence—ultimately leads to complete return to one's original essence. In this way, the body is preserved from harm, life reaches its natural span without premature demise, and one endures as enduringly as heaven and earth, without perceiving any end. Such a person may be called one of perfect Virtue (De), and this is no empty claim.

Regarding the chapter on "Rare words are natural" (Xiyan ziran): "Xi" refers to a state of transcendent independence above all things, not opposing any particular phenomenon. The Liezi's concept of "doubtful solitude" (yidu) expresses this same idea. Abandoning cleverness and artificial striving, following the natural order without forcing external manifestations—this is what is meant by "natural."

The Dao De Jing says the sound that cannot be heard is called "Xi," while the De Jing states the greatest sound is inaudible. "Xi" describes an elusive, barely perceptible state—this is the condition of transcendent independence that stands beyond all relative phenomena. When the Liezi speaks of "the ungenerated being in doubtful solitude," it means the source that generates all things is itself uncreated, thus appearing uniquely solitary. This is the meaning of "Xi." Therefore, only by discarding cleverness and artificiality can one align with the natural Dao.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "natural non-action" (Wuwei). The operations of heaven and earth follow their inherent patterns, and the growth of all things requires no artificial interference. Fierce winds never blow all day, nor do torrential rains last an entire day—these are manifestations of disrupted Yin-Yang balance in heaven and earth, and cannot endure. As Emperor Huizong's commentary notes, while heaven and earth nurture all beings—with winds responsible for stirring and rains for moistening—they always allow things to grow naturally, never deliberately assisting or hastening them. Forced intervention would disrupt natural equilibrium and cause harm.

The text further explains that wind and water are originally natural forces nourishing all things, yet when transformed into storms and downpours, they violate the principle of Yin-Yang harmony, becoming calamities. The truly enduring way lies in following nature's course—neither artificially accelerating growth nor forcibly achieving outcomes. Those who pursue the Dao (the Way) must merge with it; those cultivating Virtue (De) must walk its path; those who lose their way will remain companions of confusion. Emperor Huizong's commentary particularly emphasizes that the highest state is reaching the soundless, formless "Xi" (the supreme state of Dao), achieving complete unity with the Way. Ironically, those who aggressively pursue the Dao may become fixated on partial aspects, fragmenting its wholeness—what appears as attainment is actually the loss of true essence.

The entire passage underscores that the optimal state allows all things to develop naturally without human coercion. Like tending plants—moderate watering lets them thrive best, while excessive care backfires—so too in human affairs: aligning with natural principles is the enduring path.

This commentary elucidates the state of transcendent independence that Dao cultivators should embody. Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) can remain inwardly serene (the "Xi" refers to the empty stillness of Dao's essence) without relying on external things, neither displaying contrived wisdom nor forced knowledge, yet naturally perceiving the great Dao in silent communion. When one attains unity with the Dao, no phenomenon can disturb them—the Dao neither increases nor decreases, transcends verbal description, and remains unburdened by worldly affairs.

Yet the ignorant fail to realize this self-so (ziran) Dao of independent transformation during the clear morning meditation state ("Zhaoche" signifies the cultivated clarity of dawn-like awareness). Paradoxically, the Dao is fundamentally easy to understand, yet people consider it incomprehensible; inherently simple to practice, yet deemed difficult to follow. Some seek the Dao in lofty, distant realms as if attempting to climb heaven itself, unaware that the Dao becomes more evident in humble places ("the lower you go, the clearer it appears"—a Zhuangzi典故 illustrating Dao's manifestation in lowly things). When minds cling to externals and exhaust the body through artificial techniques in Dao pursuit, they ironically deviate further. Such partial cultivation fractures the integral Dao into fragments.

All humans inherently possess this self-so nature of independent transformation, unaltered by external conditions. True Dao cultivators preserve this transcendent autonomy. If one becomes constrained by the Dao during practice—though appearing to gain—it constitutes genuine loss. Consider historical figures like Hui Shi (Logician school) and Han Fei (Legalist school): though their philosophies originated from Daoist roots, lacking authentic realization ("insufficient faith") ultimately estranged them from the Dao.

Genuine sincerity ("Xin") transcends true/false dichotomies. Dao practitioners understand the Dao neither separates from phenomena nor dismisses them as illusory. Fixation on distinguishing the Dao's "truth" from worldly "falsehood" breeds prejudice. As the scripture states: "To the sincere I respond with sincerity; to the insincere I likewise respond with sincerity"—this embodies true faith. Though phenomena differ infinitely, all are authentically existent. Hui Shi's obsession with debate and Han Fei's fixation on penal codes stemmed from failing to perceive truth and illusion's fundamental unity, thus drifting ever farther from the Dao.

This passage comes from Volume 5 of Daode Zhenjing Shuyi (Commentary on the Authentic Scripture of Dao and De), conveying that the root cause of various problems in the world lies in people's lack of sincerity. The phrase "凡以信不足尔" can be directly translated as "all because of insufficient sincerity."

Here, the text highlights the importance of "sincerity" (信) in Laozi's philosophy. In Daoist practice, "sincerity" not only refers to honesty and trustworthiness but also encompasses devout faith in the Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe). The author points out that social conflicts, personal troubles, and other phenomena ultimately stem from people straying from their innate, genuine nature.

Daode Zhenjing Shuyi is a commentary on the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) by the Song Dynasty Daoist scholar Jiang Cheng, regarded as an important Daoist scripture. The work elucidates the essential principles of spiritual cultivation embedded in Laozi's original text through chapter-by-chapter explanations. Volume 5 primarily discusses how to approach the Dao through the cultivation of virtue.