《道德真經疏義(一)》Vol. 9

This passage expounds the Daoist theory of cosmic genesis. Before the Primordial Beginning (the earliest state of the cosmos) existed the condition of "Non-being" (Wu), where even the concepts of "being" (You) and "non-being" were absent. During the Great Simplicity (Taiyi) phase, not even Qi had manifested. Only at the Primordial Beginning (Taichu) stage did Qi begin to stir—a time when all things remained unformed, a vast emptiness containing only "non-being."

This is what Zhuangzi meant by "being is born from non-being." In this state of absolute nothingness, not even names could be established, as the Daode Jing states: "The nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth." The essence of the Dao is "non-being," yet this "non-being" gives birth to "being." In this transformation from nothingness to existence, the number "One" emerges—the evolutionary product of the Primordial Beginning state.

The text then explains the process of "One generating Two." Heaven above represents nobility while Earth below symbolizes humility. The Qian hexagram (representing Heaven) corresponds to odd numbers, and the Kun hexagram (representing Earth) to even numbers—hence the Yijing's statement "Heaven is One, Earth is Two." Water (Yin) conceals a Yang line (as seen in the Kan trigram ☵), while Fire (Yang) contains a Yin line (as in the Li trigram ☲). Water and Fire exist through mutual dependence and transformation. Spiritual activity (Shen) must rely on material foundation (Jing), just as fire requires water to manifest its characteristics. These complementary opposites all derive from the primordial division of the original "One."

(Note: The Kan trigram in the Yijing represents Water, appearing as two broken Yin lines embracing a solid Yang line; the Li trigram represents Fire, showing two solid Yang lines containing a broken Yin line.)

This passage expounds the Daoist principles of cosmic generation and bodily cultivation. It begins by discussing the Li trigram (one of the Eight Trigrams/Bagua, symbolizing fire), composed of two solid yang lines, illustrating how fire emerges from the Dao. Water and fire mutually generate and balance each other, with water holding primary nature and fire secondary. Heaven generates water, corresponding to human Jing (essence), while earth generates fire, corresponding to Shen (spirit). Only the purest Jing can produce the purest Shen—human life is precisely the union of these two fundamental substances.

Jing serves as the foundation of the physical body. When Qi (vital energy) derived from Jing is abundant, Shen naturally flourishes. By preserving Jing without dissipation and unifying it with Shen, one becomes a "divine person" (an accomplished cultivator). Abundant Jing-Qi invariably leads to vigorous Shen.

The text then interprets the philosophical significance of numbers: all begins with "One" (Taiji, the Supreme Ultimate). When language describes "One," it becomes "Two." The interaction of "Two" and "One" generates "Three." Odd and even numbers complement each other—from nothingness comes One, from One comes Three, ultimately giving rise to infinite numerical progression, mirroring natural law.

Finally, it explains the formation of the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity): Heaven initiates in the north as "One" (yang Qi), Earth forms in the south as "Two" (yin Qi), and humanity emerges between them as "Three." Heaven governs primordial Qi, Earth presides over physical forms, and humanity assumes the role of cultivation. With the Three Powers established, all things differentiate according to their nature: celestial beings ascend upward, earthly substances settle downward, thus forming the intricate tapestry of the myriad phenomena.

All living beings between heaven and earth manifest in diverse forms—birds and beasts, flowers and trees—each brimming with vitality, multiplying and flourishing to create a world of boundless variety. Though the myriad things under heaven differ in kind, they all originate from the same fundamental principle. As the Book of Changes states: "Only after heaven and earth exist can the myriad things be born," and "From the Three [Heaven, Earth, and Humanity] arise the myriad things." This ceaseless process of generation and transformation defies even the most precise calendrical calculations. We use the term "myriad" to describe these things precisely because their number is beyond reckoning.

All things contain the two opposing yet complementary forces of Yin and Yang (core Daoist concepts representing the fundamental dualities of the cosmos), achieving harmony and balance through "chong qi" (the state of Yin and Yang energies blending). Emperor Huizong of the Song Dynasty commented: Yin represents stillness and contraction, and all things carry this force on their backs, just as noble individuals follow the principle of resting at sunset. Yang represents movement and generation, and all things embrace this force in their arms, just as sages adhere to the principle of governing at sunrise. True harmony necessarily arises from the intermingling of Yin and Yang. The Zhuangzi states that the most potent Yang is dazzlingly bright and fiery, while the most potent Yin is profoundly dark and obscure—it is the mutual interaction of these two forces that gives birth to all things.

To elaborate: What illuminates and nurtures all things is Yang; what is formless, dark, and unfathomable is Yin. Yang disperses energy through movement, while Yin consolidates energy through stillness. Because Yin governs stillness, when things grow, they bear Yin energy on their backs, as if facing north. Because Yang governs movement, when things grow, they embrace Yang energy in their arms, as if facing south. Precisely because all things carry Yin on their backs, noble individuals follow Yin's nature by resting at sunset, for night is when Yin energy is strongest—this is the meaning of the Book of Changes phrase, "The noble one retires to rest as darkness falls." And because all things hold Yang in their arms, sages follow Yang's nature by governing at sunrise, for day is when Yang energy is strongest—this is the intent behind the Analects saying, "Reverently facing south to rule."

Without Yin and Yang, there would be no "chong-he qi" (the harmonized state of Yin and Yang energies), which takes the celestial One as its root and the celestial Five (the Five Phases) as its mediator. Without this harmonized qi, ultimate balance cannot be achieved—a state that favors neither Yang nor Yin exclusively but perfect equilibrium between them. The Zhuangzi describes "the most blazing Yang and the most profound Yin," meaning that the zenith of Yang shines brilliantly to reach the origin, while the depth of Yin is dark and unfathomable, touching the source. It is the mutual interaction of these two forces that creates the harmonious state from which all things arise.

The yang qi (vital energy) of heaven descends while the yin qi of earth ascends. When these two cosmic energies intermingle and resonate, all things are conceived in this harmonious state. As Yang Xiong, a Han dynasty philosopher, observed: "Only through the intercourse of heaven and earth can the myriad beings be transformed."

People generally detest terms like "orphaned," "widowed," or "unworthy" (ancient terms denoting misfortune), yet rulers and nobles adopt these as self-designations. Emperor Huizong of Song explains: "Nothing flourishes without eventual decline; no strength persists without weakening. This is the movement of yin-yang and the principle underlying all phenomena." Only sages comprehend the rhythm of waxing and waning, maintaining perpetual equilibrium. Thus, rulers deliberately employ these humble epithets—understanding the principle that things reverse upon reaching their extremes. Knowing that the summit precedes descent and fullness invites reduction, they thereby preserve their exalted positions without collapse.

When trees shed leaves, it appears as loss yet nourishes the roots (apparent loss becomes actual gain); the full moon inevitably wanes (apparent gain becomes actual loss). All heaven and earth follow this pattern of waxing and waning—how much more so humans? By self-deprecation through humble titles, rulers paradoxically maintain their nobility.

Consider trees: lush foliage seems beneficial while withering appears detrimental. Yet fallen leaves enrich the soil (surface loss becomes substantial gain); the moon inevitably diminishes after fullness (surface gain becomes actual loss). The Yijing (Book of Changes) teaches that continuous reduction at its extreme transforms into increase—this is the profound meaning behind "diminishing to enhance."

This scripture elucidates the principle that softness and weakness overcome hardness and strength. The text begins with the natural metaphor of the moon's waxing and waning: when the moon reaches its fullest phase, it begins to wane, just as all things at their zenith inevitably decline. Heaven and earth follow this cyclical pattern of flourishing and decay, and humans are no exception. Thus ancient nobles referred to themselves with humble terms like "solitary," "virtue-lacking," and "unworthy" - what appears as self-deprecation was actually wisdom for maintaining noble status.

People often teach using force to subdue weakness and strength to conquer softness. But the true Daoist principle operates inversely: from the perspective of the Dao, softness ultimately overcomes hardness. The strong and rigid, due to their stubbornness and combative nature, often meet untimely ends - precisely the cautionary examples that sages warn against. Therefore Laozi establishes "the violently strong do not die a natural death" as a fundamental teaching principle (教父).

The softest things in the world can penetrate what seems most impenetrable. Hard objects are easily broken, sharp points readily blunted. The sage understands this principle and thus avoids temporary displays of strength, instead accumulating countless subtle advantages to achieve ultimate victory. Since ancient times, true masters of the Dao (博大真人) have appeared timid and humble outwardly while maintaining unfathomable depth within. Their seemingly weak exteriors conceal the eternal method of certain triumph.

This scripture elucidates the Daoist wisdom that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong," using natural phenomena to demonstrate the formidable power inherent in ultimate softness.

The text observes: What clings to hardness is easily broken; what pursues sharpness is easily blunted. Therefore, the sage does not contend for supremacy—while others rush ahead, he willingly stays behind; where others grasp for substance, he maintains emptiness. Like water, he adapts to all transformations without conflict, abiding in tranquil receptivity. This represents the softest state in all under heaven. Yet precisely this softness governs the movement of all things with inexhaustible power. It propels heaven and earth without displaying force, commands the four seas without resorting to arms—this is the truly invincible strength of ultimate firmness.

Zhuangzi said, "Accumulating small non-victories leads to great victory." Just as the wind blowing through emptiness appears gentle yet directs all things, or water occupying the soft position conquers the hard—these examples reveal how ultimate softness ultimately masters ultimate hardness.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary cites Zhuangzi's fable of the one-legged Kui creature, the snake, wind, and eyes each envying the others' abilities, illustrating how all formed things have limitations—only formless spirit (Shen) can be omnipresent. Like Cook Ding carving an ox through spiritual comprehension rather than brute force, achieving effortless mastery. To enter where no gap exists, one must realize the boundless Dao.

The exegesis further explains: All embodied things are constrained by their forms, and people often project their own limitations onto others. In truth, the Dao operates spontaneously in formlessness, requiring no artificial intervention. Zhuangzi's fable of Kui, snake, wind and eyes precisely demonstrates how all beings have their particular constraints.

This passage primarily explores the relationship between Shen (spiritual consciousness) and "form" (physical body), as well as the profound principle of Wuwei (non-action).

Human physical capabilities are limited: our feet cannot travel far, and our eyes cannot perceive things too minute or vast. Yet Shen transcends physical constraints—being formless, it penetrates all things; operating everywhere without moving, it reaches any destination instantaneously. Like the butcher in the "Cook Ding carving ox" parable, true mastery comes not from visual observation but through spiritual perception, following natural patterns so the blade glides effortlessly between bone joints.

The ox-carving metaphor illustrates Daoist cultivation: when Shen attains the state of "ultimate emptiness" (perfect clarity), it penetrates all existence as effortlessly as a thin blade slipping between bones. Practitioners should emulate Cook Ding—relying not on brute force but on the subtle operation of Shen, reaching the realm where "the senses cease yet spiritual intent flows freely."

Herein lies the mystery of Wuwei: appearing inactive on the surface (non-action), it accomplishes everything (nothing left undone). Like soft water wearing through hard stone or emptiness containing all things, the true Dao-body remains utterly still (Wuwei), yet its wondrous function resonates universally. By relinquishing worldly burdens, the body avoids exhaustion; by transcending life-death, the spirit avoids depletion—these are Wuwei's benefits.

The key insight: accumulated softness ultimately overcomes hardness; maintaining emptiness generates plenitude. This paradoxical unity embodies the Dao's profound subtlety.

This passage elucidates the profound principle of Wuwei (non-action) and the transformative power of wordless teaching.

The mystery of "being" arising from "non-being" lies precisely in this—why cling to deliberate action? By following natural laws and adapting to myriad changes, though the surface may appear complex, the heart of Wuwei remains constant. Maintaining Wuwei does not require forcibly abandoning worldly affairs; following nature does not demand deliberately avoiding life. Without forcing actions, the body avoids exhaustion and remains whole; without violating life's principles, Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) remain unimpaired and naturally replenish. With body intact and essence abundant, one merges with heaven and earth—is this not the greatest benefit?

The wordless teaching and benefits of Wuwei are rarely attained in this world. Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Wordless teaching operates through spiritual resonance, while Wuwei's advantage lies in not harming one's true nature. When sages preserve their original simplicity, the world naturally follows; maintaining Wuwei allows all things to transform spontaneously—thus few achieve this state.

The commentary explains: Words inevitably contain flaws, making them inferior to the subtlety of wordless teaching. This teaching works through spiritual communion, like the Yi Jing's concept of "establishing teachings through the divine way" that convinces the world. Deliberate actions always bring gains and losses, unlike Wuwei's naturalness that preserves authenticity, as Zhuangzi said: "Neither adding to nor diminishing their original substance." Heaven and earth possess great beauty yet speak not—revealing wordless teaching's true wonder; heaven and earth act not yet remain serene—demonstrating Wuwei's genuine benefits. Sages emulate heaven and earth: preserving original simplicity draws the world's allegiance; maintaining Wuwei enables spontaneous transformation. "Simplicity" embodies Dao's completeness, embracing all things; "non-action" represents Dao's natural state, operating creation. Yet few understand wordless teaching and Wuwei's benefits—only sages who comprehend the ultimate Dao attain this.

The "Name and Body" section examines fame versus life: Which is more intimate—reputation or life? Which matters more—life or possessions? Emperor Huizong annotates: One's arms are more precious than the empire—how much more so life itself? Is life not more valuable than the legendary Suihou's pearl? True desire lies within oneself, making fame unworthy of pursuit; true wealth resides within, making possessions unnecessary. Yet most confuse priorities—like Boyi who starved for reputation at Shouyang Mountain, or the robber Zhi who died for loot—all due to misunderstanding this truth.

Is it not foolish to chase after profits at Dongling (an ancient place name)? Those who truly understand the essence of life do not pursue things that hold no real significance for life—this is the fundamental difference between those who have attained the Dao and ordinary worldly people.

Practitioners of the Dao focus on inner cultivation, seeking fulfillment from within. Those who genuinely cultivate their body and mind are filled with authentic joy internally, possessing all manner of virtuous qualities in their entire being, able to find contentment wherever they are. But the ignorant among the worldly cannot distinguish between inner and outer, nor discern the boundaries between truth and falsehood. They blindly pursue external things, forgetting themselves at the sight of profit, desperately chasing fame to the detriment of their own lives. They fail to realize: their own arms are more precious than the entire world, and their body is even more valuable than their arms—which is closer to you, fame or life? Those who harm their lives in the pursuit of profit are even more deluded: life is more precious than the legendary Suihou Pearl, while profit is lighter than a sparrow perched at great heights—which is more important, the body or material wealth?

Only by not fixating on external objects gained by chance and by safeguarding life as the root can one follow their innate nature and truly value the Great Dao. Lie Yukou (Liezi) lived in seclusion in the gardens of Zheng for forty years without anyone knowing him, never seen chasing fame. Yan Hui (disciple of Confucius) was content with coarse food and lived in a dilapidated alley—others couldn't endure such hardship, yet he was never burdened by material possessions—what they valued was simply the Dao. Thus, when one's highest aspiration lies within themselves, they are not eager for others to know, because fame is not worth clinging to; when one's greatest wealth lies within, they feel all things are complete, because material goods are not worth coveting. If one cannot even distinguish between closeness and distance, abundance and scarcity, importance and triviality, such wisdom is truly shallow.

Some people, upon seeing objects of desire, are willing to destroy their lives and harm their innate nature, trading their bodies for external things and losing their true selves. Just as Bo Yi (a virtuous scholar of the late Shang dynasty) starved to death at the foot of Shouyang Mountain out of greed for fame, and Robber Zhi rampaged at Dongling out of greed for profit. These are all examples of failing to comprehend the highest truth, being deluded and unable to free themselves. Only those who understand the true meaning of life do not pursue what life does not need—because those things are not the foundation upon which life depends. This is why those who have attained the Dao can preserve their lives, differing from worldly people.

(Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary adds) Martyrs sacrifice for fame, the greedy perish for profit—what they gain are empty reputations and material goods, but what they lose are the nameless purity and the priceless body. Between gain and loss, which is the true loss?

This passage discusses the differing outcomes of pursuing inner versus external goals. Those who seek from their true nature reap abundant rewards, while chasing what lies beyond one's inherent nature brings not fulfillment but deficiency. Martyrs who sacrifice themselves for fame become burdened by empty reputation, unaware that fame is inherently communal and cannot be monopolized. The avaricious become trapped by material gain, failing to recognize that wealth originates from heaven and earth and should not be hoarded as personal property.

The natural law of all things follows the rhythm of waxing and waning—what is gained must eventually be lost. Those who appear to acquire fame and fortune have not truly obtained them. Both reputation and wealth are merely temporary possessions, arriving without force and departing beyond one’s control. Excessive pursuit of these damages De (Virtue), obscures one’s true nature, and brings suffering to body and mind, stripping away innate purity and the precious gift of life—this is the greatest calamity. Thus, excessive craving inevitably leads to tremendous waste, and hoarding ultimately invites severe loss.

Emperor Huizong of Song’s commentary notes: By not coveting external things, one conserves without waste; by not being burdened by material attachments, one preserves authenticity. Gain and loss, surplus and deficit, follow the cyclical patterns of nature—how could anything be held permanently? Valuing the inner over the external prevents envy of worldly things; understanding one’s true nature without clinging to materiality prevents entanglement. Without greed for externals, desires naturally diminish, leading to frugality and non-waste. Free from material burdens, one avoids the anxiety of accumulation and remains true to oneself.

The benefits of the world should be shared by all people. Taking and giving are mutually transforming inevitabilities, like the recurring cycles of nature. Yet worldly minds cling to perpetual possession, unaware that even forced retention leads to hidden loss. As the Daode Jing states: "A house full of gold and jade cannot be kept." Knowing contentment prevents disgrace; maintaining proper measure—how could disgrace arise? Preserving the purity of one’s nature naturally embodies all virtues—this is the nobility of the Dao.

This passage expounds on the wisdom of how Daoist practitioners preserve their innate nature and transcend worldly desires.

The noblest state requires no worldly titles or honors, for it follows the natural Dao—lacking neither when free from dependence on external power or material possessions. This represents the state of maintaining moderation without indulgence. Moderation means neither deliberately displaying nor concealing, achieving perfect balance without excess. By adopting this attitude to settle into the authentic state of one's nature and life, the inner true self (zhenjun) transcends the mundane, and the most precious qualities naturally reside within. This moral nobility cannot be surpassed by any external thing—how could it ever suffer disgrace?

Knowing when to stop ensures safety. Emperor Huizong of Song comments: When the mind wanders in the fundamental cycle of all things' birth and demise, there is no danger or calamity. Further explanation clarifies: Those led by external changes chase endlessly, driven by an unseen force like puppets controlled by mechanisms. Though appearing ceaseless, they know not where true stillness lies. Chasing external things, they cannot calmly observe the unchanging truth of their nature, deep as a still pond. Instead, they exhaust themselves alongside objects, like galloping horses unable to halt—utterly spent yet finding no rest. Is this not perilous?

Perfected beings of the Dao differ. They stand transcendent above the world of form, wandering with the Creator and befriending eternity. Having reached the formless and imageless state, they penetrate the beginnings and ends of all things, merging with the Dao in emptiness and stillness. Preserving their innate nature intact, their spirit remains undisturbed by external things, thus suffering no harm. Laozi says the Dao cannot be named, and only by "knowing when to stop" can one avoid danger—something impossible without comprehending the source of all things.

This state can be maintained eternally. Emperor Huizong notes: All things gather and scatter, but innate nature transcends past and present. Ordinary people trade their nature for external things, thus chasing fame and gain only to invite disgrace and danger. Sages find fulfillment in fully realizing their nature—even the vast world cannot harm their life, hence they endure as long as heaven and earth. Further explanation adds: Phenomena show birth and dissolution, but in essence, innate nature never changes. Ordinary people lose the truth, exhausting themselves chasing externals, while those who contemplate all things through their nature remain undisturbed. This is why those who attain the Dao can eternally preserve their peace.

All things tend to cling stubbornly to what they possess. Those who pursue fame are trapped by their ambitions, while those chasing profit forget their original nature. They remain unaware of damaged reputations and oblivious to personal danger, endlessly entangled in gains and losses—how can such a state endure? The sage fully expresses his innate nature and finds self-sufficiency, thus cherishing his physical form without harming life for external things. Only after thirty thousand years can one achieve pure perfection, existing as enduringly as heaven and earth.

The chapter "Great Perfection Seems Incomplete" states: The most complete achievement appears flawed, yet its function never fails.

Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Among the universe's Four Greats (Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the King), Dao holds primacy. Only one who fully embodies Dao can be called "great." Where there's no distinction between achievement and deficiency, that constitutes true "great perfection." Not clinging to achievement makes it seem incomplete. Understanding how to follow transformation without rigid adherence ensures its function never fails. This explains why Confucius could synthesize all great achievements to become a sage.

Further explanation: Dao fundamentally knows no boundaries—we reluctantly call it "great." Yet even calling it "great" still doesn't escape form, for it exists within the cosmos as foremost among the Four Greats. Dao carries all things, heaven covers without exception, earth supports without exclusion, and the sage stands between them, completely manifesting Dao's wholeness to match heaven and earth—thus all are called "great." From this position responding to the world, like heaven and earth naturally generating all things, extraordinary achievements emerge that reveal creation's marvels—this indeed deserves being called "great." Yet Dao itself makes no distinction between achievement and deficiency—why would it calculate size?

People only see sages employing Dao's remnants to benefit the world, achieving great governance with illustrious deeds that appear magnificent. Yet they don't perceive how Dao's subtle functions originate in the minutiae of spirit and mind. Does achievement versus deficiency truly exist? Or doesn't it? Precisely because no such distinction exists, we call it "great perfection." The principle governing all things is this: reaching extremes brings decline, completing merit brings destruction, achieving fame brings loss. Only by not clinging to achievement can one achieve without decline. Thus divine persons seem without merit—not that they lack accomplishment, but that they don't dwell on success; sages seem without fame—not that they lack renown, but that they don't rely on it. Therefore they can abandon merit and fame to return to ordinary appearance—hence "seems incomplete." Great perfection seeming incomplete isn't merely about not claiming achievement, but...

This passage speaks of the wisdom in understanding and conforming to the natural transformations of the Dao. Those who comprehend the patterns of change can perceive the workings of the divine intelligence (referring to natural laws). Though the divine intelligence has no fixed form, it adjusts all things through transformation, ensuring every change flows smoothly and achieves maximum efficacy. Such people are not bound by old habits and can adapt flexibly to all circumstances, thus their effectiveness never diminishes.

Confucius embodied the highest state of purity, harmony, and spontaneous accord with nature (wuwei), earning him the title "Sage of Timeliness" - the most seasonally attuned sage. Like a musical performance that begins with metal instruments and concludes with jade chimes, he maintained perfect continuity. Clinging to a single approach may achieve a good ending, but only by following Confucius' example of adapting to change can one accomplish great things with both proper beginnings and endings. Truly, how magnificent was Confucius!

The most abundant things appear empty (referring to the Dao), yet their efficacy never wanes. Though the Dao permeates the cosmos and nourishes all things, it remains eternally receptive in its emptiness. Sages who grasp the complete essence of the Dao can embrace all existence without revealing boundaries, satisfying every need. Maintaining profound inner stillness, they meet the world's fullness with the Dao's emptiness - the more they give, the more they themselves are enriched.

The truly skilled merchant keeps treasures deeply concealed, while those of abundant virtue (De) appear simple in outward manner. The perfected person (zhiren) accumulates nothing deliberately, abiding instead in emptiness. Those who preserve this Dao never seek fullness, as Laozi said: "The excellent merchant hides his treasures as if empty; the man of abundant virtue appears dull-witted."

Laozi once said to Confucius: "Those who truly possess seem as if they lack, while those who are inwardly substantial appear outwardly empty." This is like how learned people don't flaunt their talents, or how shrewd merchants keep their acumen hidden. The purest things appear flawed, and those with the highest De (Virtue) seem inadequate. The open-mindedness of sages and the humility of noble individuals are both manifested in this principle. By extension, the fullest things appear empty for the same reason.

Regarding "great straightness seems crooked," Emperor Huizong of Song explained: "By adapting to circumstances with flexibility rather than deliberately displaying rigidity, it appears bent." Further commentary clarifies: "Sages maintain inner emptiness when dealing with worldly affairs, responding flexibly to various situations—what seems like compromise actually upholds the true Dao (Way)." As Zhuangzi says in the chapter "Human World," inner integrity aligns with the Dao of heaven, while outward harmony accommodates human interactions. Since one must engage with people, excessive directness is inappropriate—thus the straightest appears most curved.

Concerning "great skill seems clumsy," Emperor Huizong interprets: "When giving forms to all things, their squares, circles, and straight lines emerge spontaneously, showing no trace of artificial carving." Additional commentary notes: "Sages accomplish all things by following natural principles, much like the Creator shapes forms without leaving marks. Though myriad things have distinct shapes, all conform to natural laws—seemingly unworked yet exquisitely crafted." In the "Great Ancestral Teacher" chapter, Zhuangzi says: "To cover heaven and earth, carve myriad forms without claiming skill—for true skill follows nature without ostentation." Thus the most refined technique appears clumsy.

The principle of "great eloquence seems inarticulate" shares this same logic: genuine wisdom often shows no sharp edges, and the highest expression appears silent.

In his commentary, Emperor Huizong of Song states: True eloquence requires no words—this is the highest form of debate. Someone like Hui Shi, who was skilled in rhetoric and versed in numerous argumentative techniques, merely possessed petty cleverness.

Profound truth transcends linguistic expression. Only by forgetting the limitations of language can one comprehend the most subtle principles. Zhuangzi said, "The greatest eloquence lies in silence," precisely because it relies not on words that it constitutes true mastery. Sages do not take glibness as their skill but instead deeply realize truth within stillness. They make others understand without speaking and convey meaning without sound. In contrast, Hui Shi's intricate argumentative techniques were merely trapped within the confines of debate—fragmented and missing the essence, how could they touch ultimate truth? Thus, his teachings were disordered and impure. Though he prided himself on being eloquent and erudite, his efforts were as futile as a mosquito's labors. Such debate can only be considered petty cleverness. Who can understand that wordless eloquence is true wisdom?

Restlessness can overcome cold, while stillness can overcome heat. Only purity and wuwei (non-action) constitute the proper way to govern the world.

Emperor Huizong explains: Yang qi moves restlessly, thus overcoming cold; Yin qi settles into stillness, thus overcoming heat. Yet both are partial, clinging to one aspect of yin-yang and unable to hold the Middle Way. If one is disturbed by external things and constantly struggles against change, how can one rectify the world? Only by not clinging to restlessness to overcome cold, nor clinging to stillness to overcome heat—by maintaining pure clarity and internalized spirit—will the world naturally return to the proper path.

All things in the world contain both yin and yang qi, and harmony arises from their balance. Humans receive the harmonious qi of heaven and earth at birth. When restless, they stir yang qi, becoming as hot as burning flames, thus overcoming cold; when still, they return to yin qi, becoming as cold as freezing ice, thus overcoming heat. Yet both states involve yin-yang partiality—leaning toward yang in joy and yin in anger—unable to maintain the Middle Way's equilibrium. This violates the principle of "expressing while remaining centered." Thus, one becomes disturbed by external things, mired in agitation, and trapped in conflicts of gain and loss, with yin and yang qi clashing against each other. Naturally, this cannot rectify the world. Only by not clinging to restlessness to overcome cold (preventing yang qi from scattering) and not clinging to stillness to overcome heat (preventing yin qi from stagnating) can one use purity and wuwei to rectify the world. Maintaining undivided purity is the highest clarity—as the ancients said, "so clear one sees to the bottom." Internalized spirit is the highest stillness—as the ancients said...

When the world follows the laws of the Dao, human hearts naturally return to tranquility. What Laozi calls "Wuwei" (non-action) refers to maintaining a state of serene detachment. Just as one need not deliberately stir about to seek warmth in cold weather, nor forcibly seek stillness in heat, the true Dao transcends all such dualistic concepts.

Chapter 46 describes two contrasting visions of a world either aligned with or divorced from the Dao:

When the world follows the Dao, even warhorses are used for plowing and fertilizing fields. Emperor Huizong of Song explains in his commentary that when governing according to the Dao, people live in peace and contentment without competitive desires, focusing solely on cultivation. Each person fulfills their proper role—men plow, women weave, children play, elders stroll—all satisfied with their natural station. Even steeds capable of traveling a thousand li daily find no use for their extraordinary abilities.

But when the world lacks the Dao, even the suburbs breed warhorses. This occurs when the strong bully the weak and the many oppress the few, creating chaotic boundaries. Human society should maintain harmony through proper division of labor ("fen") and righteous principles ("yi"), yet when these standards are lost, conflict arises. People fight over land until corpses litter the fields, and warhorses must foal in the wilderness.

No crime surpasses indulging desires. Emperor Huizong observes that when tempting objects remain hidden, human hearts stay undisturbed. When people violate their true nature to satisfy cravings through contention, evil emerges. The human heart is originally pure, but external temptations breed desire. The will should govern qi and blood, yet obsession with material things depletes vitality and confuses the mind. Only the ignorant fail to understand this truth, becoming blinded by their desires.

Those who are obsessed with empty fame are seduced by the allure of reputation; those who chase after excessive profits are drawn by the greed for material gain. When the mind wages war between gain and loss, people will even risk their lives in competition, resorting to corruption and deceit without restraint—this is the root of all wickedness.

The greatest calamity lies in never knowing contentment. As Emperor Huizong of Song commented: Peace is blessing, excess is disaster. Those who know contentment will not incur disgrace—how could calamity befall them? Yangming qi (referring to upright virtue) accumulates to form blessings, while yinhui qi (referring to greedy darkness) dissipates to invite misfortune. Thus blessings arise from moderation, and disasters stem from excess. Fortune and misfortune are like neighbors, always interdependent and transforming. Hence the saying "peace is blessing, excess is disaster." The ancient adage states, "The greatest blessing is to be free from calamity"—this expresses the same truth. If one remains insatiably greedy, even the most illustrious family will attract the scrutiny of spirits—could there be any greater disaster? Only by maintaining moderation and knowing contentment can one avoid disgrace, and naturally remain free from calamity.

The greatest fault lies in insatiable greed. Emperor Huizong explained: When one acquires through desire, it invites others' reproach. Just as valleys remain empty to contain, containing without hoarding—those who follow the Dao are not without desires, but place their desires in the realm of "non-craving." If one alters their innate nature through external things, forgetting their true form upon seeing profit, unable to overcome selfish desires with righteousness, they will incur public condemnation—could there be any greater fault?

Therefore, those who understand contentment are forever satisfied. Emperor Huizong further elaborated: When people see desirable things, they forget contentment; lacking contentment leads to insatiable greed, which breeds contention, ultimately causing warfare to erupt—even warhorses appearing in the suburbs. Conversely, if everyone knows contentment, abiding in their true nature without cunning artifice, satisfied with daily sustenance, how could strife and chaos arise?

The cosmos lies within one's grasp; all transformations stem from oneself. Through inward contemplation, one discovers inherent completeness—this fulfillment is not externally acquired. Recognizing that true wealth lies within, without chasing external things, one responds to all phenomena without ever lacking—is this not eternal satisfaction? Yet people, upon seeing desirable things, value material goods and forget contentment; lacking contentment, they flaunt and covet external objects; insatiable greed ultimately breeds contention, even leading to warfare.

This scripture expounds the Daoist wisdom of "contentment brings happiness" and "the mind comprehending all things."

First, it discusses the principle of contentment: When people know contentment and abide by their true nature, they won't develop scheming minds. Like farmers who eat from their harvests and drink from dug wells—they need no clever tricks, their daily sustenance is simple, so how could conflicts arise?

Then it explains the profound state of "knowing the world without leaving home": The sage understands worldly affairs without going out and comprehends the Dao (the Way) without looking through windows. This is because:

1. Though vast, the sage grasps the fundamental patterns of the world through wisdom, making physical travel unnecessary;

2. Though distant, the sage's spirit (Shen) resonates with the formless Dao through deep contemplation.

Quoting Zhuangzi, it says the sage's mind operates with divine subtlety—between a single breath, it can perceive things beyond the four seas. This occurs because:

• Wisdom connects with divine consciousness (the highest cognitive capacity)
• Spirit (Shen) merges with the great Dao (cosmic origin)

Finally, it emphasizes: True great wisdom penetrates all things near and far; the highest spiritual state hides within heaven and earth. When spirit unites with the Dao, one sees and understands all naturally, without relying on external means like travel or windows. As Yang Xiong of the Han Dynasty said: Though heaven-earth's divine workings seem unfathomable, when the human mind silently connects with them, their mysteries become transparent.

(Note: Here "divine consciousness" refers to supreme cognitive capacity or cosmic spirituality, while "Dao" denotes the origin and laws of the universe.)

This passage elucidates the method of comprehending the Dao through inner emptiness and stillness. It explains that when the mind achieves a state of profound tranquility, one can perceive the fundamental principles governing all transformations. Zhuang Zhou (Zhuangzi) once described the mind's astonishing speed of transformation—capable of traversing beyond the Four Seas in the blink of an eye—a miraculous ability stemming from the mind's resonance with the mysteries of change.

The sages could understand worldly affairs without traveling far, and comprehend the Dao of Heaven without peering beyond their windows. This wisdom wasn't attained through cunning or calculation, but through the cultivated state of inner refinement. The text cites the "Fu Gua" (Hexagram of Return, symbolizing the return to origin) from the Yijing (Book of Changes) to illustrate that observing the fundamental operations of heaven and earth ultimately means returning to one's original mind. Though the Dao of heaven and earth operates on a grand scale, by aligning one's mind with the emptiness of the Dao, one realizes that the heart of the cosmos is none other than one's own true nature.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary emphasizes that rather than seeking external knowledge of yin-yang numerology, one should turn inward. For humans inherently possess the capacity to understand all things—maintaining a mind of emptiness and stillness while contemplating inwardly allows the true essence of the Dao to be revealed. The passage concludes that genuine wisdom lies not in outward seeking, but in returning to one's fundamental mind and preserving inner stillness, whereby the Dao naturally manifests itself.

This scripture explores the nature of the Dao and methods for its realization. The essential meaning states: If one seeks the Dao through the transformations of Yin-Yang, though the Dao never departs from these polarities, their changes cannot fully manifest the Dao's totality. If one investigates the Dao through numerical patterns, though the Dao manifests within them, these calculations cannot exhaust its profundity. Some spend five or twelve years without attaining realization, only to find themselves increasingly distant from the Dao, their understanding ever diminishing.

In truth, the Dao is as evident as a broad highway—not difficult to comprehend—yet the problem lies in people's misguided methods of inquiry. If one turns the gaze inward, even without concrete forms one may realize it within the heart-mind, thereby attaining vaster realms beyond limited perception.

Thus the sage knows without traveling (knowing without going), understands without seeing (understanding without looking), and accomplishes without forcing action (achieving without striving). Emperor Huizong of Song annotates: "Using wisdom to comprehend all under heaven constitutes 'knowing without going'; using the heart to embody heavenly principles constitutes 'understanding without looking.'" The sage follows natural spontaneity, free from selfishness, abandoning cleverness and preconceptions, aligning with cosmic patterns—seemingly doing nothing yet accomplishing great works.

The Commentary further explains: If relying on physical travel for knowledge, one's footsteps reach only so far; if depending on visual observation, one's sight penetrates only so deep. Only through wisdom comprehending all under heaven can one transcend limitations to understand universal principles; only through heartfelt embodiment of heavenly Dao can one perceive its mysteries. Thus even without stepping outdoors or gazing through windows, everything becomes known. The sage accords with nature's flow, acting without forced effort, yet achieves greatness through formless means. As Zhuangzi states, "The emperor's non-action brings order to all under heaven"—precisely this meaning.

Finally, regarding "daily increase through study," Emperor Huizong notes this refers to beginning with scholarly pursuit that ultimately leads to Dao-realization.

The sage says, "Daily accumulation leads to the Dao being stored within oneself." Confucius remarked of Yan Hui: "I observe his constant progress." While the Dao cannot be forcibly obtained, it can gradually be attained through persistent study. Learning encompasses two aspects: comprehending the Heavenly Dao (natural laws) and practicing the human Dao (ethical relationships). Beginning with the accumulation of basic virtuous actions, one gradually reaches ineffable mystical states; starting with familial affection and humaneness, one ultimately cultivates the realm of sages. This is what the ancients meant by "the noble person attains the Dao through learning," and what Xunzi described as "beginning as an ordinary scholar and ultimately becoming a sage." Those who understand focused study gain new insights daily and consolidate their understanding monthly. Though progress may seem negligible in the short term, long-term accumulation yields great achievements, and the Dao naturally abides with them. Yan Hui recognized the value of noble virtue, diligently pursued knowledge without complaint, earnestly practiced what he learned about humaneness, and steadfastly retained the good Dao he acquired. Thus Confucius' praise of his continuous progress was entirely fitting.

Cultivating the Dao, however, requires "daily diminishment." Emperor Huizong of Song explains: Those seeking the Great Dao must relinquish attachment to the body, abandon cleverness and cunning, transcend physical form and knowledge, allowing all affairs to naturally dissolve. Like Qu Boyu (a virtuous minister of the Spring and Autumn period) who at sixty years old had undergone sixty self-renewals. Understanding that the body is merely a temporary form entrusted by Heaven and Earth, one avoids being burdened by physicality; recognizing that life is finite while knowledge infinite, one ceases to force intellectual cleverness. Transcending physical limitations and intellectual constraints, the mind remains undisturbed within while external matters cannot affect it—all affairs naturally resolve. Zhuangzi's description of Qu Boyu "still renewing himself annually at sixty" illustrates this state of forgetting age and wandering with creation. Considering Qu Boyu's humble admission while on diplomatic mission—"I wish to diminish my faults but have yet to succeed"—his sixty years of continuous transformation were truly admirable. Through constant diminishment of attachments, one ultimately reaches the state of "non-action (Wuwei) yet nothing remains undone."

Emperor Huizong further elucidates: Learning involves exhaustive investigation of principles to master patterns, while Dao cultivation manifests innate nature to reach emptiness. Through continuous diminishment upon diminishment, one returns to the primordial purity where even "nothingness" does not exist.

This elucidates the core Daoist concept of "Wuwei (non-action) yet nothing is left undone." "Wuwei" refers to maintaining a state of primordial stillness and naturalness, free from forced action; the phrase "serene and unmoving" describes this transcendent state of tranquility. "Nothing is left undone" signifies acting in accordance with natural laws, perceiving the transformations of all things and achieving unimpeded flow.

A true Dao-realized person can cultivate sagehood in stillness and accomplish kingly achievements in action. While scholarly learning requires breadth (exhaustive investigation of principles), Dao cultivation values simplicity (daily reduction of selfish desires). When one's original nature becomes completely pure and flawless, one attains the supreme state of "not even having 'nothing'"—where even the concept of "non-being" disappears. Only then can one achieve perfect harmony in both stillness and movement, appearing to practice Wuwei while accomplishing all things.

The same principle applies to governing the world. As Emperor Huizong of Song annotated: The world is a sacred vessel (Divine Artifact) that cannot be forcibly controlled. Attempting to grasp it leads to loss, just like King Tai of Zhou abandoned Bin territory only to establish a stronger kingdom at the foot of Mount Qi. Those who truly embody the Dao govern the world as one uses utensils without being constrained by them—following nature's course ensures effortless mastery. Forcing actions against the Dao inevitably backfires.

Zhuangzi's statement "sage in stillness, king in action" captures this truth—when inner cultivation reaches sagely perfection, outer achievements naturally manifest. The key lies in maintaining a state of "non-interference," avoiding willful meddling so all things return to their natural course. This is the governing wisdom of "being revered through Wuwei."

Laozi here expounds on the principles of governing the world. He states that the world is like a sacred vessel (referring to state power) that cannot be forcibly controlled—attempting to manipulate it through force leads to failure, while clinging to it results in loss. When one resorts to coercive measures to handle affairs, they have already forfeited the qualification to govern.

The sage (one who has attained the Dao) cultivates themselves through the true essence of the Dao, and the flourishing of emperors and kings arises solely from aligning with nature and acting only when compelled by necessity. Though the sage may appear to forget the world, the people naturally gravitate toward them. Take the example of King Tai of Zhou (grandfather of King Wen of Zhou): he refused to harm life for the sake of sustenance or burden his body for profit. When he fled from the invasion of the Di people, abandoning Bin to settle at the foot of Mount Qi, he ultimately established a thriving state—a perfect demonstration of following nature’s course.

This passage emphasizes the philosophy of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)," illustrating that the highest form of rulership aligns with natural laws. By neither forcing nor clinging, the most harmonious results are achieved effortlessly.