《道德真經疏義(一)》Vol. 8

The Dao (the ultimate origin and truth of the cosmos) has neither fixed direction nor form, while De (the manifestation and function of the Dao) exhibits distinctions between perfection and deficiency. When De fully merges with the Dao, it transcends the very name "De"; only when De separates from the Dao can it be distinguished by specific terms. Virtues like humaneness, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom are all received according to individual endowment and practiced in accordance with circumstances—these belong solely to the realm of De.

Those who truly comprehend the Great Dao differ fundamentally from this perspective, which is why the second part of the Daode Jing specifically addresses this distinction. The so-called Dao manifests through transformation and cannot be sought in fixed directions; as a metaphysical existence, it cannot be grasped through concrete forms. The Dao is omnipresent: look up and it's above, look down and it's below, look ahead and it's before you, turn around and it's left behind. It has no fixed entry or boundaries, extending freely in all directions—this is its "directionless" nature. It can manifest as Yin or Yang, soft or hard, short or long, round or square, appearing empty yet remaining perpetually invisible—this is its "formless" essence.

De, by contrast, has definite form and inevitably involves perfection and deficiency. De exists in higher and lower states—only through reverence can it ascend toward perfection; it comes in greater and lesser measures—only through diligent cultivation can it expand. Zhuangzi states that "perfected De is called establishment," showing that De can indeed reach completion; he also says "righteousness may be deficient," demonstrating that De can indeed become impaired.

From the perspective of unity, when De merges with the Dao, it cannot be named as "De"—just as Yang Xiong said "in union it becomes an undifferentiated whole," or as Zhuangzi described "De being subsumed within the totality of the Dao." Viewed through the lens of differentiation, when De separates from the Dao, it becomes distinguishable—like Yang Xiong's "in separation it scatters," or the Daode Jing's "when the Great Dao declines, humaneness and righteousness appear." Humaneness means loving others, righteousness means appropriateness, propriety means putting into practice, wisdom means understanding—the wise grasp the root while ordinary people focus on the branches, the humane see humaneness and the wise see wisdom, each attaining according to their capacity. All these represent De as manifested through individual endowment and circumstance.

The Dao, however, is utterly different: it universally encompasses without distinction, circulates everywhere without lack, excels at giving and perfecting yet never depletes—how could there be any division between perfection and deficiency?

This passage primarily discusses the relationship between De (Virtue/Power) and the Dao (the Way). It first explains the meaning of "superior De does not appear as De" — genuine superior virtue doesn't deliberately showcase itself, which constitutes true possession of De. Like Confucius who embodied sage qualities yet never proclaimed himself a sage, thereby truly attaining the sage's realm.

The text points out that all things exist and grow through receiving the Dao's influence ("attaining the One"). This "One" manifests as De. As Zhuangzi stated, "That by which things live is called De." When human nature fully aligns with De's requirements, one naturally merges with the Dao (silently uniting with the Way). Those with true De act completely according to cosmic principles — acting when appropriate, stopping when necessary, neither regretting mistakes nor becoming complacent about successes.

Confucius exemplifies this superior De. He consistently declined disciples' praises with humility, yet could be aloof when needed, take responsibility when required, or be accommodating as circumstances demanded, synthesizing various sages' strengths. Mencius praised him as "the timely sage," declaring no one in human history had surpassed him.

Conversely, "inferior De never lets go of De" refers to those who deliberately maintain virtuous appearances while having lost true De. Since the Dao is fundamentally formless and imageless, clinging to possess it or flaunt virtue actually deviates from the Dao's essence. This selfish possessiveness contradicts the Dao's inherently public and selfless nature (turning away from selfishness constitutes public-mindedness).

This passage explores the distinction between "superior virtue" (shangde) and "inferior virtue" (xiade). True superior virtue—the highest level of moral excellence—arises spontaneously without deliberate pursuit. It manifests when one comprehends without conscious thought, aligns with righteousness without strain, and achieves goals without forced action. Those embodying superior virtue appear to practice wuwei (non-action), yet precisely because they fully accord with nature, they attain the pinnacle of virtuous conduct.

In contrast, inferior virtue requires conscious effort. Without contemplation, one cannot attain it; without exertion, one cannot reach it; without deliberate action, one cannot accomplish it. Herein lies the difference between sages and worthy individuals. Those with superior virtue transcend physical constraints and clever calculations, achieving unity with the Dao, where even concepts like humaneness (ren), righteousness (yi), ritual (li), and wisdom (zhi) become superfluous. Those with inferior virtue, however, must establish rituals and music, promote humaneness and righteousness to pacify people's minds—while effective, such efforts remain deliberate and contrived.

The text further explains: Virtue that naturally emerges from inner sincerity is the "Dao" itself, while virtue cultivated through external teachings constitutes "instruction." The former represents the realm of sages; the latter, the cultivation of worthy individuals. Those with superior virtue remain unburdened by physical form or clever stratagems, forgetting even the forms of humaneness, righteousness, and ritual. Those with inferior virtue cling to ritual ceremonies and moral doctrines—though they may influence others, they ultimately remain within the realm of purposeful action.

The highest form of benevolence arises spontaneously, without deliberate effort.

Emperor Huizong of Song explains that sage-kings like Yao and Shun embodied benevolence (De) by nature—their compassion embraced the world without seeking personal gain, thus being described as "acting without purpose" (wuyiwei). This resembles Zhuangzi's concept of "great benevolence appearing non-benevolent"—not implying absence of kindness, but demonstrating it without affectation. Benevolence manifests in two modes: natural benevolence (anren, rooted in one's essence) and utilitarian benevolence (liren, performed for gain). Mencius observed that Yao and Shun practiced benevolence as their innate nature rather than conscious cultivation, thus their virtue permeated the world without expectation. Zhuangzi teaches that sages dwell in natural harmony, never forcing what is unnatural. The Book of Documents praises Emperor Yao's character as "serenely natural" (an'an), embodying benevolence's supreme expression.

The highest righteousness (Yi) involves discerning action and restraint.

Huizong clarifies that distinguishing friend from foe and weighing advantages constitutes righteousness—it requires both establishing personal principles and engaging with affairs. How could this involve non-action (Wuwei)? Righteousness fundamentally concerns discernment: differentiating relationships while assessing appropriateness. Mencius states that when one becomes invulnerable to others' contempt, righteousness becomes inexhaustible; Xunzi advocates applying righteousness to navigate change. Establishing selfhood without attachment, engaging with affairs without entanglement—these demonstrate righteous action. The Book of Songs' "Wild Ducks" section depicts ritual banquets attracting blessings precisely through righteous observance.

The highest ritual propriety (Li) persists even when met with silence, requiring one to roll up sleeves and persevere.

Huizong expounds that rituals facilitate interaction, model conduct, and regulate benevolence-righteousness dynamics, with reciprocity being paramount. When full ritual observance meets no response, resentment breeds chaos. During the Spring-Autumn period, even an unanswered greeting or minor ritual lapse could spark wars—rolling up sleeves symbolized modest protest. The sage...

This passage examines the relationship between "benevolence" (仁), "righteousness" (义), and "ritual propriety" (礼), and their manifestations in practice. The author argues:

An excessive emphasis on benevolence while neglecting righteousness and ritual propriety, using ritual merely to constrain behavior, does not represent the proper way of conduct. The highest form of benevolence merges with De (Virtue/Power), the highest righteousness involves active engagement, while the highest ritual propriety may paradoxically receive no response.

The text explains: Distinguishing status requires weapons (symbolized by the dagger-axe), while social interaction requires ritual vessels (symbolized by the ceremonial stand) - this demonstrates ritual's function in host-guest relations. External courtesies like bowing, kneeling, and ceremonial gestures are all ritual displays for social presentation. The foundation of human conduct lies in benevolence and righteousness: benevolence manifests in serving one's parents, righteousness in deferring to elder brothers, while ritual serves to regulate and refine both.

Ancient ritual systems were extremely elaborate, encompassing ceremonies for heavenly deities and ancestral spirits in various contexts. Yet fundamentally, what matters most is the principle of giving and reciprocation. Ritual emphasizes mutual exchange - unilateral giving without receiving, or receiving without giving, both violate ritual propriety. When giving meets no reciprocation, resentment arises. During the Spring and Autumn period, an unanswered remark or ritual misstep could spark wars precisely because actions received no proper response.

The sages understood this principle: Benevolence requires extension, hence De must be inclusive; righteousness demands steadfastness, hence principles must be clear; while ritual is like footprints in water - they vanish after being made and shouldn't be clung to. Ancient Dao-realized individuals disregarded ritual forms, having merged with the Great Dao. Thus the highest benevolence unites with De, following nature's course; the highest righteousness engages actively to establish selfhood; while the highest ritual propriety may paradoxically receive no response, becoming instead a burden.

The passage concludes: When Dao is lost, people speak of De; when De is lost, they speak of benevolence; when benevolence is lost, they speak of righteousness; when righteousness is lost, they speak of ritual. Ritual actually signifies the thinning of loyalty and trustworthiness, marking the beginning of disorder.

In his commentary on the Dao De Jing, Emperor Huizong of Song explains: The Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe) cannot be deliberately pursued, which is why we speak of De (natural virtue) only after losing connection with the Dao. Similarly, De cannot be forcibly obtained - it's only after losing De that we emphasize humaneness (conscious benevolence). While humaneness can be actively practiced, such practice already approaches righteousness (artificial norms), hence we turn to righteousness after humaneness is lost. Righteousness admits compromise, and when it becomes incomplete, we resort to ritual (etiquette norms) for refinement - thus we focus on ritual after righteousness declines.

This progressive descent from Dao to ritual represents increasing distance from the original Way, with each step losing more essential substance. Just as yin and yang energies cannot both flourish simultaneously - their waxing and waning follows natural law - so too do authority and kindness mutually constrain each other. Genuine deep affection often requires no elaborate rituals, much like the simple manners yet profound bond between father and son. This demonstrates that when ceremonial formalities become excessively elaborate, the inner sincerity inevitably diminishes, giving rise to pretense and affectation that ultimately lead to conflict and chaos. As the Dao De Jing states: "Ritual is the thinning of loyalty and trust, and the beginning of disorder."

Further elaboration reveals: The Dao eternally maintains its state of wuwei (non-action), having no fixed form and thus cannot be deliberately sought. De manifests the Dao concretely, becoming the foundation after the Dao is lost. When De embodies inclusiveness, it appears as humaneness, which carries the quality of active care and can therefore be consciously practiced. Yet this practice already nears the standard of righteousness, which requires case-by-case consideration and inevitably involves compromise, making ritual necessary for supplementation.

This hierarchical descent from Dao to ritual precisely illustrates how deliberate action breeds artificiality, while wuwei remains the authentic state. Like the alternating wax and wane of yin and yang energies, governance similarly balances kindness and authority - when ruling through humaneness, authority recedes; when governing through authority, humaneness temporarily withdraws. This resembles how father and son may appear casual in manners yet share profound affection. Zhuangzi's analogy applies: Stepping on a stranger's foot demands solemn apology, on an elder brother's requires brief explanation, but on a parent's needs no explanation at all - demonstrating how ritual formality inversely correlates with substantive relationship. Like a tree, excessively luxuriant foliage often indicates weakened roots.

This passage explains how when De (Virtue/Power) declines, hypocrisy follows, leading to conflict and chaos. People often struggle to distinguish genuine loyalty from superficial integrity. The reason ritual propriety degenerates into empty formalism is precisely because it loses its foundation—thus we must abandon pretense and return to essence. The ancients taught that only those with loyalty and sincerity could truly master ritual, emphasizing the necessity of moral grounding.

What is called "foresight" (referring to petty cleverness in predicting outcomes) may appear as the essence of Dao, but actually marks the beginning of foolishness. Using cunning to speculate about affairs, exhausting one's Shen (spirit) in wild conjectures—this constitutes so-called foresight. It chases trivial details while forgetting the root, thus representing merely the surface of Dao. When mental schemes are exhausted, confusion only deepens—this is how foolishness begins. Confucius criticized his disciple Zigong (renowned for intelligence) precisely for over-relying on such petty cleverness.

True wisdom should flow from Dao like the virtues of humaneness, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom. But people despise cunning because it violates natural spontaneity, forcibly altering things like a chisel. Those who demonstrate prescience through guesswork merely pursue Dao's appearance rather than its substance. Petty cleverness damages De, while erroneous understanding harms Dao. The "foresighted" flaunt intellect while forgetting fundamentals—though not yet reaching the point of damaging De or Dao, they certainly miss Dao's true meaning. Continued this way, pretense exhausts the heart-mind until intelligence becomes bondage—this marks the beginning of foolishness.

Therefore, the noble person establishes themselves in substantial depth rather than shallow cleverness, grounding in essence rather than superficiality. One must discard flashy artifice and choose fundamental De. What Dao values is substance over form, the substantial over the ornamental. Only those whose wisdom suffices for self-knowledge—who can return to their original nature unentangled by worldly trivialities—truly embody this principle. The Yijing states "Returning with depth brings no regret," teaching us to examine ourselves and maintain profound integrity.

This passage elucidates the paramount importance of two core concepts in Daoist cultivation: "profound simplicity" (hou) and "primordial unity" (yi).

Regarding "profound simplicity": Human beings are innately endowed with pristine, unadorned nature. The path of cultivation involves returning to this fundamental simplicity. Behaviors that rely on ritual pretense or intellectual artifice are far removed from the Dao. Those with genuine De (Virtue) follow natural spontaneity without forced action, while benevolent people act purposefully without compulsion - both states approximate the Dao. Those distant from the Dao chase trivialities while neglecting essentials, whereas those near the Dao seek profound simplicity. Only those with clear discernment, resolute will, and wisdom sufficient to recognize their true nature can cultivate virtue without being misled by external temptations. As the Yijing states: "Returning to one's fundamental nature with profound simplicity brings no regret" - this describes the ideal state. The foundation of a great person's complete embodiment of Dao and De lies precisely in this principle.

Concerning "primordial unity": In ancient times, those who attained this "One" (the Dao) witnessed its transformative power - heaven attained it and became clear, earth attained it and found stability, spirits attained it and gained efficacy, valleys attained it and filled with water, all things attained it and flourished, rulers attained it and brought peace to the world. Zhuangzi observed: "Comprehend the One and all things are accomplished." Singular focus prevents fragmentation, while maintaining unity prevents deviation. To know the One is to understand everything; to not know the One is to truly understand nothing. Ancient Daoist masters who realized this principle perceived the most subtle essence of cosmic unity - thus those in high positions maintained purity without adulteration, those below remained tranquil without change, and the most subtle formless reality manifested as Shen (spiritual consciousness).

This passage elucidates the pivotal role of "the One" (the fundamental principle of the Dao) in heaven, earth, and all things. All phenomena originate from this root "One"—even rulers govern effectively by grasping this singular principle.

The clarity and tranquility of heaven and earth, the exemplary status of rulers—these aren't achieved through external pursuits but through holding fast to "the One." Using the metaphor of a "valley" (emptiness), the text illustrates how maintaining stillness allows resonance with all things, and preserving "the One" ensures inexhaustibility.

All beings manifest through the transformation of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), thus only by attaining "the One" can they endure. Similarly, rulers unify the multitude precisely because they embody this singular principle as the correct path of governance. Though heaven, earth, and rulers differ in rank and manifestation, their foundation remains "the One."

"The One" constitutes the fundamental pattern of Jing and Qi. Like the Yi Jing's teaching that of the fifty Great Expansion numbers only forty-nine are used—leaving one empty—or the Hong Fan's nine categories of governance rooted in the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) where water takes primacy, this "One" is the origin of all things. Mastering it grants comprehension of the myriad phenomena.

Zhuangzi's assertion that "through unity with the One, all affairs are completed" captures how this principle encompasses the Dao's essence. Shen (spirit) arises from the Dao, while physical form emerges from shen. To preserve bodily integrity without depleting vital energies, one must concentrate on guarding this "One": pursuing it single-mindedly, grasping it firmly, and protecting it steadfastly. Only thus can form remain whole, essence abundant, and harmony with nature achieved.

The Yi Jing advocates "attaining oneness," the Daode Jing urges "embracing the One," and Zhuangzi advises "guarding the One"—all emphasizing unwavering mental focus. Achieving this prevents the dispersal of shen and maintains one's authentic state of being.

This passage expounds the paramount importance of "One" (the fundamental essence of Dao). Comprehending three key points allows mastery of "One": While attaining "One" is not difficult, truly understanding its nature proves challenging. Those who grasp the principle of "One" can perceive all things clearly; those who fail to understand "One" remain perplexed by everything.

Ancient Dao-realized sages could perceive the most subtle principles between heaven and earth, merging with the most profound spiritual realms (Shen), standing transcendent above all phenomena. Nothing could rival them because they never departed from the root of "One". Just as the Qian trigram (representing heaven) appears lofty yet maintains pure simplicity, and the Kun trigram (representing earth) seems complex yet returns to tranquil stillness—heaven achieves clarity through "One", earth attains stability through "One".

Though spiritual beings (Shenming) remain profoundly mysterious, their manifestations of fortune and misfortune become discernible through "One". Empty valleys appear devoid yet, through "One", echo all sounds. Heaven and earth condense vital energy (Qi) to form Yin-Yang, whose movements generate the four seasons, whose transformations give birth to all things—all phenomena take form through condensed essence (Jing), all originating from the creative power of "One".

Only emptiness can contain substance, only stillness can govern movement, only "One" can master infinite changes. That rulers can govern the people follows this same principle. From heaven and earth to sovereigns—though their positions differ—all adhere to the law of "One": heaven clarifies through "One", earth stabilizes through "One", rulers rectify the world through "One".

This "One" cannot be sought externally—it inherently resides within nature, containing the purest truth within supreme stillness. Should heaven lose clarity it would collapse, should earth lose stability it would quake, should spiritual beings (Shenming) lose efficacy they would vanish, should valleys lose fullness they would wither, should all things lose vitality they would perish—this demonstrates how "One" sustains all existence.

This scripture elucidates the fundamental principles governing the operation of heaven and earth and the cycle of life and death, as well as the proper way rulers should govern their states.

Heaven and earth each have their distinct functions: Heaven is responsible for creating and sheltering all beings, while earth bears and nurtures them. If this natural order is disrupted (when cracked, it cannot shelter; when broken, it cannot bear), they lose their inherent capacities. The divine workings (referring to natural laws) manifest through human actions—if humans deviate from the Dao (when exhausted, nothing is revealed), these workings cannot be expressed. Just as a valley receives all yet hoards nothing, if it runs dry (when depleted, it cannot respond), it can no longer sustain life.

When Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) gather, life is formed (attaining the One gives birth); when they disperse, life perishes (losing the One brings death). Only by abiding in the correct path (only through uprightness) can one adapt to all changes and stand transcendent above the myriad things. If rulers (sovereigns and kings) fail to uphold this principle, merely clinging to lofty status (exalting the high), they will inevitably collapse (fearing they may topple).

The scripture particularly emphasizes: nobility must have humility as its root (the noble take the lowly as their foundation), and height must rely on depth as its base (the high are founded upon the low). This is an unchanging truth (an immutable distinction). To stabilize a nation's foundation (securing the state's roots), one must value the lowliest among the people; to establish enduring peace (laying the groundwork for great peace), one must first solidify the base. Ordinary people see only surface phenomena (gazing at the branches), while sages (those who embody the Dao) perceive the essence (probing the root); ordinary minds fixate on outcomes (observing the completion), but sages discern the subtleties (examining the minute). Thus, sages always grasp the fundamental principle (constantly attaining the One).

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "taking humility as the foundation." Through vivid metaphors, Laozi illustrates how just as polishing jade requires rough stones as a base, and towering mountains are formed by accumulated foothills, all things in the world follow the principle of "attaining height through lowness." Yet ordinary people often chase superficial splendor, thereby drifting further from the Dao (the Way).

The difference between sages and commoners lies in this: ordinary people see only surface appearances, while sages perceive the underlying essence; commoners cling to old conventions, but sages grasp subtle transformations. Like the ruler-subject relationship depicted in the Book of Songs's "Heavenly Protection" chapter: a ruler must remain humble toward subordinates to stabilize governance, while ministers must attribute achievements to their superiors to endure. This embodies the principle that "nobility takes humility as its foundation, height takes lowness as its root."

The text particularly highlights the profound meaning behind ancient kings' self-designations as "the solitary one," "the unworthy one," or "the inept one" (ancient royal modest terms). As Emperor Huizong of Song noted in his commentary: these seemingly lowly titles precisely demonstrate rulers' understanding of fundamental principles. Like Xunzi observed: true wisdom appears foolish, and those whose merits overshadow the world remain humble. Such an attitude of humility and downward orientation is key to maintaining noble status.

The passage concludes by emphasizing that those who exalt themselves while belittling others, who assert strength without preserving softness or purity without embracing darkness, will lose genuine honor in their deliberate pursuit of fame. This perfectly echoes the Daode Jing's core teaching: "The greatest music has the faintest notes, the greatest form is without shape."

This passage expounds the principles of personal conduct and cultivating virtue (De), emphasizing the importance of maintaining natural authenticity rather than deliberately pursuing empty fame.

The first part criticizes those who artificially elevate themselves while belittling others to gain reputation. When one constantly diminishes others to appear noble, or bullies the weak to demonstrate status, such hollow fame resembles rainwater puddles that quickly dry up. Unearned praise may suddenly pour in, but it will inevitably be followed by baseless slander. Mencius long ago condemned this pursuit of empty reputation—such inflated fame is fundamentally unsustainable.

The second part employs the metaphor of jade and stone. Though precious, jade remains eternally jade; though ordinary, stone remains eternally stone—both fixed in their nature. But the true Dao-realized person (the "sage") resembles water in its adaptability, responding flexibly according to circumstances without rigid obstinacy. This state represents "supreme virtue" (Shang De). Genuine virtue masters both fundamental principles ("substance") and their flexible application ("function"). The Dao-realized maintain inner purity ("Zhen Yi" or true unity) while manifesting infinite external variations, never becoming fixed like jade or stone.

Finally, it emphasizes how the sage's actions mirror water's nature—flowing around obstacles, becoming square or round as needed, adapting constantly without fixation. This constitutes true wisdom, incomprehensible to those stubbornly clinging to singular approaches without understanding flexibility.

This passage elucidates the operational principles of the Dao (the Way), with its core tenet being "Reversal is the movement of the Dao, and weakness is the function of the Dao."

The Dao moves in cyclical patterns ("reversal"), much like the changing seasons: winter's contraction and storage give way to spring's renewal. Water, though supremely soft and yielding, can overcome the hardest substances. All things under heaven originate from "being" (you), which itself emerges from "non-being" (wu). This mutual generation of being and non-being resembles how east and west are opposite yet inseparable.

The Dao operates through gentle yielding rather than contention. The accumulation of numerous subtle forces ultimately accomplishes great things—a truth only sages fully comprehend. Movement and stillness, strength and weakness are interdependent—movement arises from stillness and ultimately returns to it; strength develops through accumulated weakness. Though all things flourish in complex diversity during growth, they ultimately return to their origin—this is nature's immutable law.

The text critiques those stubbornly clinging to partial views ("rigid scholars"), who remain confined by limited perspectives and fail to grasp the greater truth of the Dao. Like unyielding jade, they become inflexible. True Dao attainees neither display themselves like fine jade nor remain obstinate like common stone, but achieve harmonious integration. As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states, comprehending the subtle transformations of all things constitutes supreme virtue. Sages understand these transformations precisely because they follow nature's course, practicing wuwei (non-action) to accomplish all things.

Through natural phenomena and philosophical reasoning, this passage reveals the Dao's cyclical movement and the principle of softness overcoming hardness, emphasizing the importance of returning to origins and aligning with nature's flow.

This passage elucidates the operational principles of the Dao through the dialectical unity of opposites such as movement and stillness, strength and weakness, being and non-being, using natural phenomena as illustrations.

When things develop to their extreme, they reverse—this is the movement of the Dao. What appears soft and weak is actually the Dao's manifestation of strength, hence the tender can overcome the rigid; what seems small and insignificant embodies the Dao's greatness, thus the weak can prevail over the strong. This state of suppleness represents the Dao's aspect of "non-being" (wu), which paradoxically generates great efficacy. Just as in the cycle of seasons—without winter's rigorous conservation, spring could not flourish abundantly—or like water's nature: though occupying the lowest, most yielding position, it can erode the hardest substances.

All things exist in concrete forms, yet the origin that bestows form remains formless. The formed must eventually return to the formless, which in turn gives birth to new forms—thus being and non-being perpetually generate each other in endless cycles. Like the four cardinal directions—each distinct yet all indispensable. Some, like Jizhen, cling solely to the Dao's static aspect, while others like Jiezi perceive only its dynamic nature—both are partial understandings.

Chapter 41 mentions how superior individuals (shangshi) diligently practice the Great Dao upon hearing it. Emperor Huizong of Song commented that true scholars aspire to seek the Dao, and those of superior capacity can cultivate it with enduring sincerity. The commentary explains that ordinary people are like mere vessels, while scholars are talents capable of comprehending the metaphysical Dao. The term "superior individual" refers to those adept at self-cultivation and devoted to pursuing the Dao.

This passage describes how people of different capacities understand and approach the Dao. Those of superior aptitude, upon hearing of the Dao, devote themselves wholeheartedly to its pursuit. They diligently study what they don't yet comprehend and practice unceasingly, progressing from ordinary scholars to ultimately attain sagehood. As Xunzi said, "Through sincere accumulation and persistent effort," they steadfastly maintain this devotion, always fearing they might fall behind in their studies, never stopping until death. This is the state described in the Doctrine of the Mean as "utmost sincerity without cessation." Yan Hui (Confucius' most diligent disciple), who practiced earnestly upon hearing the Dao's principles, exemplifies this type of person.

Those of middling aptitude hear of the Dao with partial belief and lingering doubts. As Emperor Huizong of Song commented: "Such people harbor uncertainties in their hearts, their attention divided, their attitude toward the Dao wavering between advance and retreat." Not being the wisest, their understanding of the Dao lacks firm conviction. Because they entertain doubts, their focus remains scattered—like Confucius' disciple Zixia who rejoiced upon seeing worldly splendor outside, yet also found joy returning to hear the Master expound the Dao. This ambivalent attitude is described as "seeming to exist yet seeming to vanish."

Those of inferior aptitude burst into laughter upon hearing of the Dao. Emperor Huizong explains: "Such people possess neither steadfast conviction nor wisdom to comprehend principles." Since the Dao has no concrete form, color, sound, or taste—differing radically from what their senses ordinarily perceive—it strikes them as absurd. As Zhuangzi observed, "Elegant music cannot enter vulgar ears; profound principles cannot remain in common minds." When spoken, the Dao seems bland and flavorless to them. Limited in vision, drifting with the currents, lacking firm belief and sufficient wisdom, they find the Dao laughable. Confined by the material world, they cannot grasp what transcends form, color, sound, and taste.

The Dao (cosmic origin) is entirely distinct from concrete things because it follows its own inherent patterns. Precisely because of this, superficial people often mock it. If the Dao were constrained by form and sought to please the masses like ordinary things, it would be utterly insignificant. Therefore, if it weren't ridiculed, it wouldn't be worthy of being called the true Dao.

Zhuangzi said: Refined music finds no appreciation among common folk, and profound discourse escapes the understanding of ordinary people. Just as the most exquisite music has but a handful of true connoisseurs, and the subtlest words are grasped by few, so too is it with the highest Dao. Hence the Daode Jing states: "The fewer who understand me, the more precious I become"—this expresses precisely that truth.

The ancients observed: The truly illuminated Great Dao appears instead dim and obscure. As Emperor Huizong of Song commented: While the sun and moon brightly illuminate the earth—an obvious brilliance—the true wellspring of wisdom remains deeply concealed, gathering its radiance without dazzling, thus appearing obscure. The Yijing speaks of sun and moon alternating to create brightness, while Xunzi remarked that nothing in heaven shines brighter than these luminaries. The sun illuminates day, the moon lights night, suspended in the celestial vault to blanket the earth—this could be called ultimate brightness. The Dao is similarly manifest and visible, never hidden, like sunlight and moonlight upon the land—this is the "illuminated Dao."

Yet the most profound Dao is actually abstruse and mysterious; the ultimate Dao remains chaotic and silent. True wisdom doesn't readily reveal itself, treasuring its depths and begrudging display—appearing dim yet truly present, gathering radiance without glare, hence seeming obscure.

The smoothest path appears instead rugged and uneven. Huizong noted: "The destination is one though roads differ; the fundamental principle is single though approaches vary." What we call "level" means ease without obstacles, constancy without change. Though the Dao's essence is unified, all things under heaven arise from it, all movements are established through it. Superficially it seems disparate, yet fundamentally consistent. Just as silk threads woven into cloth lose their individual appearance, the Dao's functions scatter into multiple pathways yet share one ultimate destination; though manifesting in myriad forms, they share one root principle. This is what the Yijing means by "different roads lead to the same end, a hundred thoughts converge in one."

The advancing Dao appears instead to retreat.

In his commentary on the Dao De Jing, Emperor Huizong of Song mentioned how Yan Yuan (Confucius' disciple) achieved progress through seemingly yielding methods, which Zhuangzi termed "sitting in forgetfulness" (zuowang, a meditative state of self-oblivion). This reveals two cultivation paths: scholarly learning seeks to investigate truth through accumulation, while Daoist practice aims to return to one's original nature through progressive reduction. Though Yan Yuan appeared to regress, he actually attained the state of forgetting both self and external things by letting go of artificial constructs like benevolence, righteousness, and ritual music. This apparent retreat constituted genuine advancement.

The passage on "supreme De (Virtue) resembles a valley" explains Zhuangzi's view that De is contained within the Dao—which is neither substantial nor void—and only through maintaining emptiness can one embrace all things. Like valleys that echo all sounds despite their hollowness, so too does Virtue operate. As the classic states: "Become the valley of the world, and constant De will be ever-present"—this captures the principle perfectly.

Regarding "the purest white appears sullied," the commentary clarifies that true purity means having no internal flaws. Only by eliminating external desires and quietly observing profound truths can one reach this state. Yet such individuals often differ from worldly norms—like water flowing downward to dwell where others disdain—thus appearing dishonored. Zhuangzi records Laozi's teaching: "Knowing the luminous yet dwelling in obscurity," precisely illustrating this truth.

The section on "vast De seems insufficient" observes that genuine Virtue embraces all yet never grows self-satisfied. Just as oceans never fill despite receiving countless streams, supreme De perpetually maintains humility. Daoist practitioners understand true fulfillment lies in inner emptiness—thus the more expansive their Virtue becomes, the more it appears incomplete.

This passage elucidates the Daoist understanding of De (Virtue/Power) and the demeanor of sages in worldly affairs.

Regarding De, it states: Those with truly noble virtue never deliberately display it—this constitutes authentic De. Conversely, those who constantly strive to maintain virtuous appearances have not genuinely attained it. When De reaches its highest state, it embraces all things, yet those who consider their virtue sufficient become narrow-minded instead. Only those who remain unsatisfied can achieve true breadth and inclusiveness. Take Confucius' favorite disciple Yan Hui as an example: though excelling in all four disciplines (virtuous conduct, speech, governance, and literature), he still humbly sought guidance from those less accomplished—embodying the "as if insufficient" attitude. The text employs the allegory of the River Earl (deity of the Yellow River): during autumn floods, the River Earl believed all beauty under heaven resided within himself, unaware of the Eastern Sea's vastness, thus drawing ridicule from the truly enlightened.

Concerning the sage's approach to life: Sages appear hesitant ("wavering") yet invariably succeed. Their actions follow nature's course, arising from necessity rather than deliberate pursuit. Though seeming indolent ("as if stealing"), this stems from selflessness. As Confucius remarked, by not forgetting old friends, common people avoid becoming perfunctory.

The passage then discusses "genuine purity appearing changeable": True purity resembles the hardest substance that cannot be worn thin, the whitest that cannot be stained black. The Dao-realized mind severs compassion's root yet never withers, brims with wisdom yet conceals it, perceives without attachment, and maintains spiritual fullness. Though capable of discerning all things, it resolves illusions through simplicity; though affected by external stimuli, it preserves tranquility. Like dyed fabric appearing cleaner, hence "seeming changeable."

The concluding phrase "the greatest square has no corners" summarizes: The highest virtue and wisdom paradoxically appear formless and boundless.

This passage elucidates the profound meanings of several key concepts from the Daode Jing. The "Great Square" (大方) refers to the most expansive spatial dimension that has no fixed orientation. Though called a "square," it does not divide or fragment reality, hence being without corners. Like the unpredictable transformations of Yin-Yang, the divine spirit (Shen) exists equally within both yin and yang, never confined to fixed directions. While the Dao (道) may indicate certain orientations, it flows with the transformations of all things without leaving traces, responding spontaneously without forced effort—this is the "orientation without orientation."

The "Great Vessel" (大器) transcends specific forms and measurements. The Dao operates similarly, requiring neither deliberate cultivation nor artificial acceleration, naturally achieving completion at the appropriate time. Ordinary vessels have defined shapes and names, but the Dao surpasses all form and measurement. It must be realized through gradual cultivation—one cannot rush the process, just as summer heat and winter cold accumulate gradually over time.

The "Great Sound" (大音) is the sound most difficult to hear. Its source never actually produces audible noise; even someone with the acute hearing of the ancient musician Shi Kuang could not perceive it. As Zhuangzi describes, it "moves without fixed direction." Though inaudible, it resonates with all sonic variations, causing the five tones to sound naturally—this constitutes true greatness in sound. The Daode Jing states, "Listening but not hearing it, we call it Xi (希)," referring precisely to this celestial harmony that, though nearly imperceptible, genuinely exists.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concepts of "the greatest form has no shape" (daxiang wuxing) and "the Dao is hidden and nameless" (dao yin wuming).

The Huainanzi states that the most sublime music contains all melodies without producing actual sounds, illustrating the principle of "the greatest music is barely audible" (dayin xisheng). Similarly, the grandest form has no concrete shape. Emperor Huizong of Song explains that this supreme Dao exists in profound mystery—invisible to the eye, hence formless. The true "great form" (manifestation of Dao), though generating all physical forms, itself remains without fixed shape. Even Li Zhu (legendary figure who could see fine hairs at a hundred paces), straining his exceptional vision in broad daylight, cannot perceive the Dao's form.

What Zhuangzi calls "dwelling in deep obscurity" refers precisely to this state. Though the Dao's form remains unseen, all tangible things in the world emerge from it, making it the greatest form. Both Laozi's "image of no-thing" (wuwu zhi xiang) in the Daode Jing and the Huainanzi's "formlessness giving birth to form" express this same truth.

The Dao's profundity lies in being simultaneously hidden and nameless. From "manifest Dao" (mingdao) to "great form," these are but different manifestations of the Dao, yet its subtleties defy intellectual comprehension or visual pursuit. The sages, having realized the Dao, can give selflessly without depletion and respond to all things without exhaustion. Though concealed and silent, the Dao accomplishes everything. Diligent practitioners may ultimately attain this formless, unmanifested state.

The Dao permeates all existence, appearing as both essence and function. Though we reluctantly name it "Dao," its origin remains unnameable. The sages master its mystery, using emptiness (xu) to govern substance (shi)—able to bestow upon others without diminishing themselves. This embodies the Dao's nature of "skillfully providing and perfecting" (shan dai qie cheng).

This scripture expounds the Daoist wisdom of "giving without depletion." The more you give to others, the more abundant you become; responding to all things' needs yet never facing exhaustion, for this is the fundamental law that sustains all existence and facilitates transformation.

The truly enlightened approach is this: when aiding others, abandon no one; when utilizing objects, discard nothing. When external things resonate, I harmonize with their innate nature without omission; when they fade, I rest with them without attachment. For external phenomena, let them come and go naturally, ultimately returning to their source. For self-cultivation, by giving without deliberate intent, one universally benefits all beings while fundamentally depleting nothing.

The Dao (the Way) enables the small to fulfill their smallness and the great to fulfill their greatness, indirectly accomplishing all things yet never claiming possession. The principle governing all under heaven is this: what appears to vanish will ultimately return; what seems to die will be reborn. The Dao gives to all things—where endings occur, renewal inevitably follows, never ceasing. Thus it is called "qie" (temporarily/on the verge)—while the Dao's essence remains subtle and nameless, its function excels in giving and accomplishing.

The key lies in steadfast practice: through genuine accumulation and persistent effort, one may reach the formless state of unity with the Dao, abiding in the deathless realm of eternal existence. Applying the surplus power of such cultivation to govern a state becomes as effortless as mending clothes with spare cloth; ruling the world becomes merely incidental, sufficient to achieve imperial merit. Does the cultivator not then appear supremely at ease?

The text begins by stating "superior scholars hearing the Dao practice it diligently" and concludes with "the Dao excels in giving and accomplishing," demonstrating that from foundational learning to Dao mastery, all genuine practitioners follow this path. As Xunzi observed: "Learning begins with becoming a scholar and ends with becoming a sage"—precisely this principle is being expressed.