《道德真經集解(二)》

The Daode Jing begins by introducing the concept of "Dao" (the Way) as the origin and governing principle of the cosmos. The Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name. This opening establishes the core theme of the text—Dao is the totality of all principles, and names are the designations of all things. Yet the true Dao cannot be fully articulated in words; we reluctantly use the term "Dao" to refer to it. If the Dao could be easily described or names simply defined, they would not be eternal.

The eternal Dao and name are like what the scripture later states: "The Dao is eternally nameless, yet its essence has never ceased from ancient times to the present." The so-called "constant" (chang) refers to its natural, ever-present state of being—ubiquitous and unchanging.

"The nameless" (wuming) is the origin of heaven and earth, indicating that Dao is the source of all things. Because it is formless and beyond appearances, it cannot be named—this is the metaphysical, eternal Dao.

"The named" (youming) is the mother of all things, referring to the stage after the establishment of Yin-Yang duality, when all phenomena acquire names—this is the concrete, manifest existence in the physical realm.

By maintaining a state of desirelessness (wuyu), one can observe the subtle mysteries of the Dao. This describes how sages (those who have realized the Dao) embody it within themselves and, in stillness and non-action (wuwei), perceive its most refined essence. The "constant" here refers to the unchanging, wondrous principle at the core of reality. Desirelessness represents stillness, while desire represents movement. Though stillness and movement appear different, their root and function are one—the wondrous principle remains perfectly clear. Seemingly tranquil yet responsive, seemingly active yet serene, it is never divided. The "observation" (guan) mentioned here is a state of open-minded clarity and profound insight.

By maintaining a state of desire (youyu), one can observe the boundaries of the Dao. "Boundary" (jiao) refers to the edges of manifestation—observing the Dao's functioning when it responds to phenomena, revealing its dynamic aspect. As Zhou Dunyi said, "In stillness, it is formless; in movement, it becomes apparent." Chen Jingyuan explained: The small paths beside the great Dao are called jiao.

The nameless (the subtle) and the named (the manifest) arise from the same source yet have different names—both are called "profound" (xuan, deep and unfathomable). Within the profound lies an even deeper profundity—this is the gateway to all mysteries. This passage summarizes the above: the two refer to the nameless and the named, the subtle and the manifest. Root and function share one origin—the "arising" here refers to the transformations of stillness and movement.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "movement" and "stillness," as well as "being" and "non-being." The author points out that although movement/stillness and being/non-being appear distinct at the phenomenal level (termed "different names"), they ultimately originate from the same source (called "sameness"). This fundamental unity is profoundly mysterious and thus described as "Xuan" (the profound mystery).

While Xuan is infinitely transformative and unfathomably deep, there remains a limitation in becoming attached to Xuan itself. The truly transcendent state is "returning to Xuan" (surpassing attachment to the concept of mystery), achieving complete naturalness and Wuwei (non-action). Though this state is formless and traceless, it gives birth to Yin-Yang and generates all things—it is the source of all subtle transformations, hence called "the gateway to all wonders."

The subsequent passage explains the meaning of "the nameless marks heaven-earth's beginning": The Dao (cosmic origin) existed before the formation of heaven and earth. Being formless and imageless, it cannot be named. Yet the Dao exists both prior to the formation of all things (non-being) and within their manifested existence (being), simultaneously transcending and encompassing both states. One cannot simplistically equate the Dao with "non-being," for the Dao gives birth to "being"; nor can fixed concepts confine the Dao. This is the meaning of "constant Dao" (the eternally unchanging Way) and "constant name" (the ultimate truth beyond specific designations).

The author particularly emphasizes that one must not simplistically identify the Dao with "non-being," as this leads to one-sided understanding. Though the Dao is formless and nameless (silent and empty), it is precisely within this state of formless namelessness that heaven, earth, and all things come into being. This passage embodies the Daoist dialectical thinking of "being and non-being mutually generating," opposing any reduction of the Dao to either pole of existence or non-existence.

This passage examines the interpretation of key concepts from the Daode Jing such as "the Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao" and the notions of "having no desire" (wuyu) and "having desire" (youyu). The author emphasizes that the Dao (the origin and law of the universe) cannot be fully captured in words, yet sages must still rely on language to transmit its teachings.

Regarding the punctuation of "constant no-desire" (chang wuyu) and "constant having-desire" (chang youyu), the author disagrees with previous scholars who separated "constant nothingness" (chang wu) and "constant being" (chang you) as standalone phrases. He argues they should be read as "constant no-desire" and "constant having-desire," because the sage's mind is fundamentally desireless—what appears as "having desire" merely refers to natural responses to phenomena, akin to Confucius' description of "following the heart's desires without overstepping boundaries." Zhu Xi (Master Zhu) similarly interpreted "jiao" (boundary) as referring to the measured response to circumstances.

The author warns that isolating "constant nothingness" risks falling into nihilistic emptiness, while isolating "constant being" leads to rigid conventional thinking—both fail to grasp the dynamic relationship between the Dao's essence and function. He concludes that while distinctions must be made between Dao and Qi (vital energy), or between essence and function, they are ultimately inseparable: without the Dao's guidance, Qi lacks foundation; without Qi's movement, the Dao cannot manifest.

This passage elucidates the relationship between the Dao (道) and Qi (气), as well as the dialectical unity of stillness and movement, substance and function. The Dao is the fundamental substance, while Qi is its functional manifestation—both originate from the same source. When the Dao remains in stillness, it is nameless and desireless, representing its essential nature; when the Dao moves and manifests, it becomes named and desiring, representing its function. Though stillness and movement appear distinct, they share the same essence, much like the profound unity symbolized by the character "玄" (mystery).

The text then discusses the relativity of all things in the world: once people define "beauty," the concept of "ugliness" simultaneously emerges; by establishing "good," "not-good" comes into existence. This relative relationship manifests in six aspects: being and non-being generate each other, difficulty and ease complete each other, long and short contrast each other, high and low incline toward each other, tones and sounds harmonize with each other, and before and after follow each other. These are all interdependent relationships of unity in opposition.

Therefore, the sage (one who has attained the Dao) adopts an attitude of Wuwei (无为, non-action), not clinging to either extreme but transcending the constraints of these relative concepts. They allow all things to develop naturally without interference (Wuwei), yet accomplish everything; they create without possessing, act without claiming, and achieve without dwelling on merit. Precisely because they do not dwell on merit, their accomplishments never fade. This state embodies the highest wisdom of the Dao—both transcending duality and embracing all things.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "Wuwei ziran" (non-action and naturalness). Laozi posits that true sages (those who have attained the Dao) transcend ordinary existence precisely through their ability to follow nature's course without forced action. There's no need to obsess over dwelling places or destinations—everything should follow its natural flow.

Chapter 2 (titled "Nourishing Life" in the Heshang Gong commentary) discusses how practitioners should transcend the shackles of fame and profit: by not exalting the worthy, people won't contend for reputation; by not valuing rare objects, people won't steal; by not displaying desirable things, people's minds won't be disturbed. The injunction to "not display what excites desire" doesn't mean closing one's eyes and ears, but rather maintaining non-attachment when facing the complex world, thereby preserving mental clarity. Those who reach this state regard high positions and generous emoluments as dust, and view gold, jade, and precious stones as dung.

Chapter 3 (titled "Pacifying the People" in Heshang Gong) further expounds the sage's approach to governance: keeping the people's minds empty and tranquil while satisfying basic needs, weakening competitive impulses while strengthening physical health. Specifically, "emptying the mind" means relinquishing distinctions between self and external objects, while "filling the belly" refers to maintaining inner spiritual abundance. Thus people naturally reduce cunning and greed, and those who rely on cleverness dare not act recklessly. Through this "Wuwei" approach, the most effective governance is paradoxically achieved.

The final passage describes the characteristics of the Dao: though seemingly insubstantial ("chongxu"), its function is inexhaustible; profoundly unfathomable ("yuan xi"), yet it's the source of all things. The Dao's magnitude is boundless—even heaven and earth cannot fill it—yet it's also exquisitely subtle, completely present in the minutest things. Therefore, seeking the Dao requires both broad perspective and attention to particulars, avoiding empty pursuit of abstruse theories.

(Note: "Heshang" refers to Heshang Gong's Han dynasty commentary on the Daode Jing; "chongxu" denotes the Dao's empty nature; "zhen" means portent or sign)

This passage elucidates the essential characteristics of the Dao (道) and its mode of operation.

The description of "vast yet never filling" portrays the Dao as profoundly tranquil and unfathomable like an abyss. While appearing as the origin of all things, it ultimately defies precise definition. Though governing all existence, the Dao maintains no fixed form.

Regarding cultivation methods, the scripture advocates "blunting sharp edges, untying tangles, harmonizing radiance, and merging with the dust." This means: smoothing intellectual edges, resolving complicated affairs, restraining displays of brilliance, and blending with ordinary existence. Through external refinement, one nurtures internal disposition, ultimately achieving unity between inner and outer realms. Though the Dao truly exists, it eludes definitive grasp—any fixed conceptualization inevitably distances one from genuine realization.

The Dao is called "prior to the Lord of Form," indicating its existence before all tangible phenomena emerged, as the primordial source of heaven and earth. "Form" refers to the beginning of physicality, "Lord" denotes the ruler of all things, while "prior" emphasizes its precedence over all manifested existence.

The discussion of "heaven and earth's unkindness" clarifies that this "unkindness" in both nature and sages doesn't imply cruelty, but rather non-attachment to benevolence. Just as supreme virtue (德) doesn't deliberately display virtuousness, heaven and earth illuminate all things without partiality, and sages respond to all affairs without emotional entanglement, thus remaining unconstrained by conventional notions of kindness. The "straw dogs" (sacrificial offerings) metaphor illustrates how all beings appear equally natural in the eyes of heaven, earth, and sages.

Collectively, this passage reveals the Dao's mysterious void-like nature that nevertheless permeates all existence, along with the proper attitude cultivators should adopt in their practice.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "selflessness and non-action (Wuwei)." Using the metaphor of straw dogs (ritual objects made of bundled grass for sacrifices), it illustrates how these ceremonial items are treated with reverence during rituals but discarded afterward without attachment—embodying the ultimate expression of selflessness and benevolence (De).

The text then employs the image of a bellows (tuóyuè), an ancient tool for pumping air, to describe the workings of heaven and earth. The cosmos operates like a vast bellows, with the vital energies (Qi) of Yin and Yang flowing naturally within its emptiness. Though hollow, it never exhausts itself; the more it moves, the more energy it generates—capturing the principle of "empty yet inexhaustible, active yet ever-productive."

Finally, it emphasizes the teaching that "excessive speech leads to exhaustion; better to hold fast to the center (shǒu zhōng)." The "center" here carries multiple meanings: it represents the essence of the Dao itself, perfect and boundless like the void; it also refers to the central palace (Dantian) within the body, the focal point of cultivation where practitioners concentrate their awareness. Just as the North Star remains fixed at the celestial pivot, this "center" serves as the axis around which all things revolve. By steadfastly maintaining this inner equilibrium, the cultivator ultimately attains a state of luminous clarity, transcending the duality of self and object.

Note: The practice of "holding the center" (shǒu zhōng) is a vital Daoist cultivation method, encompassing both mental equipoise and the physical technique of focusing on the energy center (Dantian). Commentators like Heshang Gong and Sima Wengong are renowned historical scholars of the Daode Jing.

This passage explores the concept of "Valley Spirit" (谷神), which embodies the Dao's (the Way) paradoxical nature of being empty yet embracing all things. The Valley Spirit never perishes and is called the "Mysterious Feminine" (玄牝). Here, "Mysterious" (玄) represents the yang aspect of profound transformation, while "Feminine" (牝) signifies the yin capacity for gestation. When these yin-yang forces unite, they generate endless vitality.

The "Gate of the Mysterious Feminine" is likened to the root of heaven and earth—just as the unseen roots of plants sustain their growth. Within the human body, this "gate" corresponds to the Dantian (elixir field), the vital nexus where Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit) converge, sharing the same origin as the cosmos. The Daoist master Cao Daochong explains that "Mysterious" denotes the divine presence within unfathomable depths, while "Feminine" embodies the primordial Qi (vital energy) dwelling in serene emptiness.

"Continuous, as if ever-present" describes the Dao's mode of operation: neither fully manifest nor absolutely nonexistent, but perpetually subtle and enduring. Those who comprehend this state can engage with it ceaselessly without exhaustion.

Through concepts like Valley Spirit and Mysterious Feminine, the text elucidates the relationship between the Dao's essence and function: the Dao manifests through the movement of yin-yang Qi (vital energy), appearing as the dynamic interplay of all phenomena. Practitioners can realize this principle through cultivation. Heaven and earth endure precisely because of this mysterious generative power. Though the Dao operates through yin-yang, its essence transcends them, governing the movement of all things.

This passage explores the profound Daoist concept of the "Mysterious Feminine Gate" (xuanpin zhi men). Ancient practitioners held divergent interpretations—some considered it merely the pathway of nasal and oral breathing, but the author critiques this as overly reductive.

The true "Mysterious Feminine Gate" represents the primordial source of heaven, earth, and all things—the fundamental principle governing Yin-Yang and the generative force of creation. Within human cultivation, this manifests as one's innate nature (xing) and vital energy (Qi). The text cites insights from revered Daoist masters:

Zhang Pingshu criticized methods fixated solely on breath regulation, asserting such practices yield limited results. Xue Daoguang emphasized comprehending the gate's profound mystery. Master Zhu described it as the "Golden Mother" (jinmu), embodying the primordial Qi that births all existence. Lü Dongbin (Lü Chunyang) noted its ineffability—yet its realization leads to ultimate truth.

While these masters articulated distinct approaches, the author observes their core teachings align with the preface's essence. The discussion then traces this wisdom to antiquity, citing the Liezi to affirm its origins in the Yellow Emperor's era—with Laozi as transmitter rather than originator. Ge Xian's records further recount how the deified Lao Jun manifested as Guangchengzi to impart this scripture to the Yellow Emperor.

The concluding line—"Heaven and earth endure eternally because they do not live for themselves; thus they attain lasting life"—reveals the central tenet: just as the cosmos thrives through selfless natural functioning, human cultivation requires relinquishing ego-attachment to unite with the Dao and realize true longevity.

This scripture elucidates the core Daoist concepts of "selflessness" (无我) and "non-contention" (不争).

The text first explains the notion of "non-generation" (不生) - the root of all life lies in non-generation, for the ceaseless cycle of life springs precisely from this state of non-becoming. All formed things have their limits; when people speak of "the enduring heavens and everlasting earth," they do so only within the confines of human perception. Thus the sage withdraws yet finds himself ahead, remains detached yet preserves himself whole. This state of self-abnegation and ego-transcendence arises not from selfish calculation, but from the natural order (自然之理). Maintaining humility makes one's radiance manifest; forgetting one's physical form leads to longevity. Precisely through selflessness does one achieve self-fulfillment.

Heaven and earth do not contend with the myriad creatures, just as the sage does not compete with ordinary people - hence they transcend the common lot. This supreme principle of impartiality (至公) remains eternally indestructible, thus enduring forever.

The passage on "supreme goodness resembling water" describes water's qualities: The highest goodness is like water - it nourishes all things without contention, willingly dwelling in lowly places that people despise, thus coming nearest to the Dao (道). Maintaining softness and occupying inferior positions are despised by the world, yet closest to the Dao. However, any formed existence inevitably distances itself from the Dao, hence the qualification "close to."

The text details seven virtues of water:

1. Excellence in choosing low places (humility and self-containment)

2. Depth of heart-mind (emptiness, stillness and clarity)

3. Bestowing kindness (seeking no recompense)

4. Trustworthiness in speech (punctual as the tides)

5. Excellence in governance (through clarity and non-action [无为])

6. Excellence in handling affairs (adapting to circumstances)

7. Excellence in seizing opportunities (acting in accordance with timing)

Through non-contention, water remains flawless. To possess virtue (德) and merit yet refrain from contention - this constitutes supreme goodness, which naturally incurs no resentment.

This passage elucidates two core principles of Daoist philosophy:

Chapter 8 (titled "Transforming Nature" in the Heshang Gong version) employs water's properties as a metaphor for supreme virtue, illustrating the principle of non-contention. The scripture observes: carrying an overfilled water vessel invites spills—better to stop before reaching full capacity; an overly sharpened blade becomes brittle—better to recognize that extreme sharpness cannot endure. The sage (one who has attained the Dao) accumulates no external possessions, thus avoiding the peril of excess; by following natural patterns, one never needs to display sharp edges. No one can safeguard rooms overflowing with gold—wealth combined with arrogance only invites misfortune. True wisdom lies in withdrawing after accomplishing great deeds, for this aligns with heavenly law. Like the inevitable decline after summer's peak in seasonal cycles, waning follows waxing as nature's immutable principle.

Chapter 9 (titled "Applying Subtlety" in Heshang Gong) teaches self-cultivation through alignment with natural principles. It presents three essential practices: First, maintaining inseparable unity between spirit (shen) and physical form ("embracing the One with soul and spirit"), much like guarding the body and nourishing vital essence (jing), using the ethereal hun-spirit to govern the corporeal po-body. Second, achieving infant-like softness through focused breath regulation—preserving absolute naturalness without artificiality. Finally, purifying the mind's mirror ("mystic vision") until flawlessly clear, akin to cleansing the heart-mind through internal cultivation. All these methods emphasize harmonizing with nature while preserving primordial authenticity.

This scripture primarily elucidates the essential methods for practitioners to attain the state of Wuwei (non-action) and mystical realms in their cultivation.

Regarding the "vision of the mystical," it explains that if practitioners remain attached to pursuing extraordinary states, this very attachment becomes an obstacle. True cultivation requires complete liberation—like untying knots and washing away impurities—to the extent that even traces of practice must be dissolved. Only then can one transcend attachment to methods and achieve the state where "both subject and object vanish" (the dissolution of both subjective and objective awareness).

The phrase "In loving the people and governing the state, can you practice non-action?" describes the sage's approach to ruling the world. Even in significant matters like caring for the people and state governance, one must maintain a Wuwei mindset, remaining as detached as toward "straw dogs" (ritual grass effigies discarded after ceremonies).

"With the heavenly gates opening and closing, can you play the female part?" addresses the practitioner's attitude toward change. Here, "heavenly gates" refer to the portals of natural creation, while "opening and closing" represents the transformations of Yin-Yang. Practitioners should emulate the female principle—quiet and receptive—adapting to change while maintaining inner tranquility. Some interpret "playing the female" as "being without female," meaning to transcend gender duality or eliminate the interference of Yin-based turbid Qi.

"With understanding reaching the four directions, can you remain without knowledge?" describes the highest state of wisdom. Though the sage's mind comprehends all directions, it maintains a state of "no-knowledge." This doesn't imply actual ignorance, but rather the absence of deliberate seeking, preserving the mind's pure unity. Should the thought "I want to know" arise, this would constitute a fragmentation of consciousness.

The concluding section explains that the first three principles concern self-cultivation (the refinement of Jing, Qi, and Shen), representing the process from essence to function. The latter three principles address human affairs, representing the return from function to essence. Through such practice, sages attain harmony with heaven and earth—participating in creation without claiming merit—which constitutes the profoundest "mystical De (virtue)."

The final passage on "giving birth and nourishing" describes the Dao's manner of nurturing all things: producing without possessing, acting without claiming, guiding without controlling. This silent nourishment that never proclaims its virtue represents the most profound "mystical De."

This passage discusses the essential method of cultivating the harmonious interaction between the ethereal soul (hun 魂) and the corporeal soul (po 魄). In Daoist cosmology, the human spirit consists of these two components—the yang-active hun and the yin-quiescent po. Realized adepts maintain mental tranquility and concentrated spirit, undisturbed by external phenomena. In this state, though the po serves as the body's foundation, the hun (representing consciousness) always takes the lead, with the po following its movements.

Ordinary people experience the opposite condition. Distracted by worldly temptations, their minds become disordered. Here the po pursues sensory pleasures while dragging the passive hun along—eyes chasing beautiful forms, noses craving fragrant scents. This creates a po-dominated state where base instincts override higher consciousness.

The cultivation secret lies in maintaining hun-po unity without separation. The relationship resembles a rider and carriage—using the character "zai" (载) to symbolize their interdependence. Ancient texts employed "zai" to denote both the carriage carrying the rider and the rider mounting the carriage. Just as fire (yang) and water (yin) interact, we must use the hun's agility to temper the po's heaviness, employing fire's warmth to balance water's coolness, achieving perfect yin-yang equilibrium.

This practice of the hun guarding the po and fire regulating water is like sitting securely in a carriage—neither allowing excessive mental agitation (fire blazing uncontrollably) nor unchecked desires (water flooding unrestrained). It constitutes a vital method for attaining longevity and spiritual vision. However, historical commentators have often misinterpreted the "zai" concept—some mistook "ying" (营) for the hun, others interpreted "zai" as mere dwelling places. By the Song dynasty, scholars like Su Zhe and Wang Pang proposed theories about yang qi filling the po to form the hun, while Hong Xingzu emphasized the hun's motility as determining life's completeness—all understanding "zai" as the carriage carrying the rider. These misinterpretations not only deviate from the original text but, if followed in practice, would exhaust the spirit while denying the po proper rest. Though temporarily suppressing material desires, such approaches cannot lead to authentic longevity.

When humans indulge in desires, they become obscured by darkness and lose their perception of the subtle Dao. At this time, Yang Qi grows excessively agitated, driving people to chase chaotic external phenomena, ultimately falling into the common trap of harming their bodies and shortening their lifespans without realizing it.

Regarding the discourse on Hun (ethereal soul) and Po (corporeal soul), ancient schools offered profound insights. Zichan (a statesman of Zheng during the Spring and Autumn period) stated: "The initially formed aspect of life is called Po (corporeal soul), and the Yang Qi that emerges after Po's formation is called Hun (ethereal soul)." Confucius held that "Qi serves as the vessel of Shen (spirit), while Po manifests as Gui (ghostly aspect)." Zheng Xuan (a Han dynasty scholar) annotated: "What flows through respiration is Qi; what enables keen hearing and clear vision is Po; while Hun relates to Qi."

The Huainanzi records: "Heaven's Qi forms Hun, Earth's Qi forms Po." Gao You (an Eastern Han scholar) explained: "Hun represents a person's Yang Shen (luminous spirit), Po represents their Yin Shen (shadow spirit)." These interpretations thoroughly elucidate the principles of Hun and Po.

Specifically: When life first takes form through the coagulation of Jing (essence) and blood, its sentient aspect is called Po. After Po's formation, the warm Yang Qi that emerges—containing divine qualities—is called Hun. Only when Hun and Po unite does complete life emerge, as expressed in the Book of Changes phrase "Jing and Qi create beings." At life's dissolution, Hun ascends as Shen while Po descends as Gui.

Some commentators, without examining these roots, merely follow Zuo Zhuan annotations: though dividing spiritual aspects into Yin-Yang seems reasonable, categorizing respiratory movement as Po is mistaken. While describing Po as body-dependent and Hun as Qi-dependent approximates truth, claiming Po has limited awareness and Hun extensive cognition is inaccurate—they simply have distinct functions: Hun governs movement, Po governs storage.

Yang Xiong (a Western Han philosopher) used celestial imagery: "The moon's substance is Po, the sun's radiance is Hun." Just as sunlight illuminates the moon like a person riding a chariot, the waxing moon (first quarter) carries sunlight on its western side, while after the full moon, Po gradually wanes eastward. This vividly illustrates how newborn moons receive illumination progressively from the west until full completion, then diminish eastward again.

The moon relies on the sun's radiance to shine brightly. At the beginning of the lunar month, the sun is to the moon's right (first quarter moon), while after the full moon, the sun shifts to its left (last quarter moon). The moon always faces the sun's position to receive its light. This mirrors how common people follow their ruler's teachings to form customs—what Daoism describes as the relationship between "Hun and Po" (the yang-active Hun resembles the sun, while the yin-quiescent Po resembles the moon).

Thirty spokes converge at the hub (the central axle sleeve) of a wheel. It is precisely the emptiness at the hub's center that allows the wheel to rotate and function. Similarly, when kneading clay to make pottery, it is the vessel's hollow interior that enables it to hold objects. When carving doors and windows to build a house, it is the created space that makes the dwelling inhabitable.

These three examples illustrate the same principle: while physical forms ("you" - being) provide utility, it is the empty spaces ("wu" - non-being) that truly enable function. External structures must harmonize with internal emptiness to be effective—a wheel cannot turn without its hollow center, a pot cannot hold without its vacant interior, and a house cannot be lived in without its doors and windows. As the Yijing states: if heaven and earth (Qian and Kun) were to perish, the principle of transformation would have no means to manifest.

Excessive pursuit leads to harm: dazzling colors blind the eyes, clamorous music deafens the ears, and overpowering flavors numb the palate. This chapter reveals the interdependent relationship between "being" and "non-being," dispelling the delusion of clinging to either extreme.

This scripture primarily teaches the principle of restraining external desires while maintaining inner tranquility.

The terms "command" and "compel" both refer to external temptations that cause people to lose their innate nature. Indulgent behaviors like "galloping in hunting fields" can lead to mental agitation. Although human will can regulate the flow of Qi (vital energy) and blood, external temptations often disrupt the heart-mind in turn. This chapter discusses how external things delude us, hence warning people to restrain outer desires to stabilize the inner self.

"Rare treasures" and other valuable objects harm one's De (Virtue/Power). Here, "harm" means damage. If the mind covets external things, it obstructs the accumulation of virtue through good deeds. Therefore, sages focus on inner cultivation ("nourishing the belly") rather than pursuing external pleasures ("not indulging the eyes"), rejecting external temptations in favor of inner refinement.

The "belly" symbolizes an inwardly receptive state free from greed, while the "eyes" represent chasing after external things and being seduced. Inner cultivation aligns with the principle of "restraining the back" in the Yijing (Book of Changes), and avoiding external pursuits resonates with the profound meaning of the Yinfu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman).

Chapter 12 (known as "Frugality of Desires" in the Heshang Gong commentary) explains how chasing external phenomena causes people to lose their true nature. The previous chapter discusses the boundless efficacy of emptiness and Wuwei (non-action), while this one warns against being misled by external distractions—the key lies in the eyes (the foremost of the six senses). As Confucius taught in the "Four Prohibitions" (e.g., "Do not look at what is contrary to propriety"), the first emphasis is on vision. Though seeing with the eyes and hearing with the ears are unavoidable, if the heart-mind remains empty and still, even contact with external things will not lead to delusion, preserving a state of purity and desirelessness.

"Favor and disgrace are like shocks" means that both receiving favor and suffering humiliation unsettle the spirit, showing that the heart-mind lacks stability. "Valuing great calamity as the body" means that honor and disaster are as inseparable as one’s own form. Why is it said that "favor is inferior"? Because favor is the root of disgrace—once favor is given, disgrace may follow. When gained, there is fear of loss; when lost, there is panic—this is "favor and disgrace are like shocks."

Why regard great calamity as equivalent to the body? Because it is due to having this body that we experience worry. If we had no body (meaning transcending the self), what would there be to fear?

This passage speaks of a state transcending worldly gains and losses. The original text contrasts "nobility" (尊贵) with "calamity" (祸患) to illustrate: people universally pursue honor while detesting misfortune, but so long as "self-attachment" (我执) persists, one remains trapped in such distinctions. If one can relinquish the self, then whether in prosperity or adversity, one remains composed, regarding favorable and unfavorable circumstances as equal, viewing pleasure and pain alike—thus remaining unaffected by external judgments of status or reputation.

Guo Xiang (a Jin Dynasty metaphysician) adds: Those who debase themselves chasing profit, sacrificing their essence for external things, cannot even attain personal peace—how could they govern the world? Only those who truly cherish their own being are worthy of bearing the world's burdens. Here "respect" (贵) is shallower than "cherishing" (爱), just as "temporary entrustment" (寄付) lacks the permanence of "true commitment" (托付). Some interpret this to mean those who understand self-cherishing can transcend worldly gains and losses altogether.

(In the Heshang Gong commentary version, this appears as Chapter 13, discussing the removal of delusional attachments to return to one's authentic nature. The meaning is: relinquish fixation on praise and blame, and humiliation cannot arise; forget the petty self, and calamity cannot befall. When even something as vast as the world ceases to be a burden, how much more so other external things? The truly liberated cherish their being without being burdened by the world—like ancient emperors whose "yellow-canopied chariots" (黄屋) were merely outward trappings.)

The text then describes the mysterious characteristics of the Dao (道): Looking at it, you cannot see—this is called "the seamless" (夷); listening for it, you cannot hear—this is called "the silent" (希); grasping for it, you cannot touch—this is called "the formless" (微). These three qualities cannot be interrogated through language, thus they are unified as "the One" (一). The Dao cannot be apprehended through sight, hearing, or intellect—all ultimately return to this singular essence.

Above, the Dao doesn't appear bright; below, it doesn't appear dark (transcending light-dark duality). Continuous yet unnameable, it ultimately returns to "the state of no-thing." This is form without form, image without image—what we call "the indistinct" (恍惚). Scholar Wending (possibly a Song Dynasty commentator) explains: "Form" (状) refers to conspicuous features, while "image" (象) denotes subtle characteristics. The Dao is neither absolute being nor non-being, defying definition through presence or absence—hence described as "indistinct."

This passage elucidates the profound nature of the Dao (the Way) and the characteristics of those who cultivate it.

Regarding the essence of the Dao: The Dao has no concrete form or color, circulating endlessly without beginning or end. Thus, one cannot meet it ahead nor follow behind it. Though eras may be divided into ancient and modern, the Dao itself has neither start nor finish. The sages teach people to comprehend the essence of the Dao in order to cultivate their nature and govern external affairs. The key lies in using present phenomena to trace back to their original source in emptiness—only then can one grasp the root and command the whole.

Regarding the state of those who cultivate the Dao: The ancient masters who truly understood the Dao (those "skilled in the Way") possessed a subtle, profound, and far-reaching state of being that ordinary people could scarcely fathom. This state can be tentatively described as follows: cautious in action, as if crossing a winter river (yu xi ruo dong she chuan); wary and alert, as if fearing one's neighbors (you xi ruo wei si lin); dignified in bearing, like a guest (yan ruo ke); open-hearted, like melting ice (huan ruo bing jiang shi); simple and unadorned in nature, like uncarved wood (dun xi qi ruo pu); vast and embracing, like a valley (kuang xi qi ruo gu); and harmoniously blended with all things, like muddy water (hun xi qi ruo zhuo).

Finally, the passage points to the key of cultivation: Who can find clarity by settling the turbid (zhuo yi jing zhi xu qing)? Who can stir vitality by resting in stillness (an yi dong zhi xu sheng)? This embodies the core Daoist principle of "tranquility and wuwei (non-action)."

When external things disturb one's innate nature, maintaining stillness can clarify it, allowing the originally clear nature to gradually restore itself. Those who cling to empty stillness must dwell within it to achieve natural transformation, thus avoiding stagnation in any extreme. The vitality of life will naturally arise, reaching a state of lively freedom where both movement and stillness are forgotten.

Those who uphold the Dao (the Way) do not seek perfection. Precisely because they do not pursue perfection, they can preserve things as they are without striving for new achievements. As the Imperial Commentary states: "The purest appears as if stained, and the highest De (Virtue/Power) seems insufficient." Maintaining humility is the ultimate state of cultivation, difficult for ordinary people to attain, so one must guard against arrogance and self-satisfaction. The deeper meaning lies in this: only by having no self-satisfaction can one remain in a state of simplicity without boasting of recent accomplishments.

To reach the utmost emptiness and hold to profound stillness—where even the concept of "emptiness and stillness" is forgotten—is true perfection. When all things flourish and grow, I observe how they return to their origin. The myriad phenomena ultimately return to their root—emptiness is the source of substance, and stillness is the root of movement. All things arise from their innate nature and ultimately return to it.

Returning to the root is called stillness, and stillness is the return to heavenly mandate. Stillness is humanity's natural disposition, our inherent state from birth. When encountering external things, fluctuations arise. Only by transcending the duality of movement and stillness can one remain rooted in stillness even amid activity, returning to the original nature. If one fails to return to this nature, even forcibly halting activity or suppressing thoughts in pursuit of stillness is not true stillness. Only returning to the root is genuine stillness. "Life" is the profound manifestation of "nature," as stated in the Book of Changes: "Exhausting principle, fulfilling nature, and reaching the mandate of heaven."

Returning to the heavenly mandate is eternity. Nothing in the world is eternal except for those who attain the state of heavenly mandate, achieving clarity and enduring purity. Understanding this principle is true wisdom. Those who fail to comprehend this eternal truth and act recklessly invite danger, for such actions are delusions driven by external things. Understanding the eternal truth enables one to embrace all things; penetrating the origin allows one to transcend distinctions—what then cannot be embraced? With such embrace comes impartiality, and with impartiality comes the fulfillment of the kingly Dao (the Way).

The text elucidates several core concepts from the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue):

Wen Dinggong observed that all people under heaven ultimately return to the Dao (the Way). A true ruler should emulate the Dao of heaven. Huang Maocai noted that sage-kings take heaven as their teacher, while heaven itself follows the laws of the Dao. Wen Dinggong further explained that heaven has a tangible form, but the Dao is the ultimate, formless existence. The Dao is eternal and unchanging—it does not perish even when the physical body dies. Liu Jing described this as the timeless truth that has existed since antiquity.

Chapter 16 (known as "Returning to the Root" in the Heshang Gong version) teaches that understanding this principle leads to a state of emptiness and stillness, merging with the Dao as one.

In the most ideal ancient times, the common people were barely aware of their ruler’s presence—just as branches grow naturally and deer roam freely. A lesser form of governance relies on benevolence and righteousness to win hearts. An even lower form employs schemes and force to instill fear. When rulers lack sincerity, the people naturally lose trust. The most skillful rulers issue few commands; when affairs are accomplished, the people feel it happened naturally. Using the fewest words to guide the people to spontaneous harmony, restoring the ancient governance of wuwei (non-action), is the highest form of rule.

Chapter 17 (titled "Simple Customs" in Heshang Gong’s version) praises the effortless governance of antiquity while lamenting the moral decline of the present age.

When the great Dao declines, people begin to emphasize benevolence and righteousness. When cleverness arises, so does deceit. Only when families are discordant do they stress filial piety and kindness; only when the state is in chaos do loyal ministers emerge. In an age when the Dao flourished, benevolence and righteousness were naturally inherent and did not need to be proclaimed. It is like an uncarved block of wood—perfect in its natural state—yet people insist on carving it into ritual vessels. Wen Dinggong illustrated this with examples: Emperor Yao was inherently filial, but only when compared to Shun’s renowned filial piety did his virtue stand out. Ministers like Yi Yin and the Duke of Zhou were naturally loyal, yet it was only against the tyranny of Jie and Zhou that figures like Bi Gan became exemplars of loyalty.

Chapter 18 (called "The Decline of Customs" in Heshang Gong’s version) deeply laments how the world has lost the simplicity of ancient times.

The true path is this: do not deliberately seek the reputation of a sage, discard cleverness and scheming, and the people will benefit a hundredfold in return.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles of governing the world. True wisdom understands that allowing people to abide in their authentic nature brings vast benefits.

The phrase "reject benevolence and abandon righteousness" means guiding people back to their natural filial piety and compassion. The essence of benevolence and righteousness is indeed filial devotion, but when one merely pursues their reputation while forgetting their substance, the root is lost. Therefore, we must discard these external forms and return to humanity's innate moral consciousness and capacity—thus the true substance of benevolence and righteousness will naturally manifest.

"Reject cleverness and abandon profit" means that by relinquishing craftiness and profit-seeking, thieves will naturally disappear. Cleverness should facilitate tasks, and profit should sustain all things, but when used for theft, thieves find no opportunity.

These three principles (sage-like wisdom, benevolence-righteousness, and cleverness-profit) are insufficient as mere formalities—they must return to their roots. Later generations pursued only these labels as superficial adornments, lacking inner sincerity, relying solely on schemes and force to govern the world. How can this be considered good governance? At its extreme, it inevitably breeds calamities. Thus, we must return to the root, allowing all people under heaven to restore their original nature.

"Embrace simplicity and hold to the uncarved block, reduce selfishness and diminish desires" is the key to returning to authenticity. Maintain the purity of one's original nature and lessen selfishness and cravings.

"Abandon learning and be free from worries" means that upon truly attaining the Dao, one transcends the constraints of language and is liberated from burdens. How much difference is there between a respectful "yes" and a disdainful "huh"? What real distinction exists between good and evil? What people fear, we too cannot but fear. For those who have not yet reached the state of "abandoning learning," they must understand that before good and evil arise, the human heart is originally tranquil and wuwei (non-acting), perfectly unified, supremely upright and good. The movement toward good or evil is merely the activity of the heart.

The human body and mind are inevitably influenced by external factors, so one must carefully observe when stirred by external things. Reverence and kindness stem from the natural principles of the Dao, while arrogance and wickedness arise from selfish desires of the physical form. The distinction between these two is as fine as a strand of hair—precisely where heavenly principle and human desire diverge. Human desires easily run wild, a tendency all must guard against. If one can discern this critical point with utmost clarity, choose the righteous path, and steadfastly uphold it until cultivation matures, one attains the state of movement within stillness and stillness within movement. Thus, even while responding to the transformations of myriad things, the mind remains crystal clear, perfectly aligned with heavenly principle, and naturally free from arrogance and wickedness.

"The vastness seems without limit" describes the boundless expanse of the great Dao (the Way). This illustrates how the sage does not cling to either extreme—neither reverence nor arrogance.

The masses bustle about as if attending a grand feast or ascending heights on a spring outing. Only I remain serene and detached, innocent and desireless as an infant who has yet to learn to smile. Ordinary people are deluded by worldly glamour, drifting with the current without realizing it. Only the sage sees through these illusions, remaining unmoved by external circumstances, like an infant yet to be picked up—free from all attachments.

"Drifting, as though with no destination" means following the natural course of all things, unbound by any constraints.

The masses appear abundantly fulfilled, while I alone seem to have forgotten something. This is the state where being is like non-being.

I maintain the simple heart of a fool! The spiritual nature bestowed by heaven need not be deliberately displayed; silently merging with the Dao (the Way) is true great wisdom.

Worldly people all seem clever and sharp, while I alone appear muddled; worldly people scrutinize every detail, while I remain broad and tolerant.

My mind is as deep and still as the ocean, yet as untethered as a long wind. Profound stillness embraces all things—this is the wholeness of the Dao; ceaseless transformation and movement—this is the function of the Dao.

The masses all have their pursuits, while I alone seem dull and uncouth. People all know the usefulness of the "useful," but they do not understand the wonder of the "useless."

The reason I stand apart is that I cherish what nourishes the root of all things—the Dao (the Mother).

Master Wending (a Daoist master of the Song Dynasty) explains that the Dao is the mother that nurtures all things. Ordinary people chase after external objects and forget the Dao, while sages transcend worldly attachments and take the Dao as their foundation—just as naturally as an infant seeks nourishment from its mother.

This passage originates from Chapter 10 of the Daode Jing (known as the "Transcending Customs" chapter in Heshang Gong's commentary). The chapter first establishes standards through contrast: it sets benchmarks with concepts like "abandon learning and there will be no sorrow," then illustrates the principle through examples. It then employs the contrast between ordinary people and sages in debate, ultimately returning to the core idea of "walking alone and returning to the source."

Some raise the question: reverence and neglect both stem from sound, just as good and evil both arise from action. But those who penetrate the truth see through appearances, understanding they are not truly the same. Like the Zhuangzi story of Zang and Gu losing their sheep (where similar actions conceal different essences), those who truly attain the Dao transcend worldly emotions, dissolving all distinctions between right and wrong, good and evil.

However, practitioners must take care: they must carefully contemplate the subtle realm where good and evil cannot be simply defined. To simplistically claim good and evil are identical would be to condone wickedness without restraint—clearly contrary to heavenly principle. Here concludes the first volume of the Collected Explanations of the True Daoist Canon.

This passage elucidates the profound meaning of "Dao" (the Way) from the Daodejing. What we call "shengde" (noble virtue) is actually the concrete manifestation of Dao in reality. From this perspective, the forms of all things in existence are embodiments of Dao in different phenomena, all originating from this fundamental source.

Dao itself is elusive—it cannot be described as either existing or non-existing. Within its seemingly indistinct state lies genuine form; within its profound obscurity resides pure essence (Jing). This essence is supremely authentic and utterly trustworthy. It is form without shape, image without appearance. In the deepest darkness one may perceive light; in absolute stillness one may hear harmony. Within emptiness, this singular pure essence eternally abides, revealing itself when resonated with—is this not profoundly credible?

From ancient times to the present, Dao's fundamental nature has never changed, thus enabling observation of all transformations. "Fu" signifies excellence. Though all things continuously transform and fade, that pure authentic essence remains eternal. The reason sages comprehend the patterns of existence is precisely because they have realized this Dao.

The passage then explains dialectical concepts like "bending leads to wholeness": The ancient sages maintained inner unity with Dao—whether bending or standing straight, so long as it aligned with Dao's principles, both constituted complete manifestations of the Way. Under special circumstances, yielding may preserve the greater Dao. Appropriate flexibility avoids conflict, simultaneously safeguarding oneself and fulfilling others.

"To be bent is to become straight" resembles how inchworms contract before extending forward; "hollows become filled" mirrors how low-lying areas naturally accumulate water, illustrating humility's benefits; "worn-out becomes renewed" demonstrates how seemingly decaying things regenerate; "having little brings attainment" reveals how grasping fundamentals leads to complete mastery; "having much brings confusion" warns how excessive options lead to disorientation.

Through Heshang Gong's commentary, this chapter clarifies it expounds the authentic nature of supreme Dao and the eternal principles governing all existence.

The sage upholds the fundamental principle of the Dao (the Way) as the standard for all under heaven. The term "embracing the One" (Baoyi) refers to adapting to changing circumstances while always maintaining humility and restraint as the foundation. Therefore, the sage adheres solely to this fundamental principle, making it the timeless standard. To "embrace the One" means to align one's entire being with the Dao.

By not displaying oneself, one becomes manifest; by not asserting oneself, one becomes enlightened; by not boasting, one achieves merit; by not exalting oneself, one endures. Precisely because one does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with them. Here, "manifestation" (xian) refers to revealing oneself—this teaches practitioners the method of cultivating De (Virtue/Power). Truly upholding the foundation of the Dao leads to the state of selflessness. If one remains attached to self-display, self-assertion, self-boasting, or self-exaltation, it indicates that the "attachment to self" has not been dissolved—how can one then speak of "embracing the One"? Only by reaching the state of selflessness can one naturally radiate brilliance, endure timelessly, merge the mind with the Dharma, and dissolve the boundaries between self and others—where then would contention arise?

Were the ancients' words about "yielding to be whole" mere empty talk? Indeed, they enable wholeness and a return to one's original truth. Laozi's statements such as "the bent becomes whole" are all ancient truths reiterated here to profoundly admonish the world. If practitioners can fully embody the path of yielding to achieve wholeness, the complete state of the Dao will return to them. The Dao is inherently innate to humanity—thus, "returning" means reverting to the original state. Those who attain this state embody uprightness and fulfillment far beyond ordinary people. (This is Chapter 22, titled "Increasing Humility" in the Heshang Gong version, which elucidates how the virtue of yielding and humility achieves harmony.)

Speaking sparingly aligns with the natural Dao. The scripture states, "Listening to it, one cannot hear it—this is called 'rare' (xi)." The sage's words emerge from this subtle realm, entirely spontaneous, and thus endure without fading. Sima Guang explains: Those who have attained the Dao need not speak much to inspire trust—this is natural.

Therefore, a violent wind does not last all morning, and a sudden downpour does not last all day. A violent wind is a fierce gale; a sudden downpour is a torrential rain—these are abrupt and intense clashes of Yin and Yang Qi (vital energy). Yet ultimately, they cannot overcome the serene and tranquil natural Dao, and thus they do not endure. From dawn to midday is called "a morning," and from dawn to dusk is called "a day."

Who brings about these phenomena? Heaven and earth. Even the anomalies caused by heaven and earth cannot endure—how much less can those caused by humans? To act contrary to the constant Dao is unnatural; even heaven and earth cannot sustain it, let alone humans. Yet even heaven and earth are not immune to anomalies—how can humans be entirely free from error?

Those who seek the Great Dao (the Way) can only maintain inner constancy by following natural laws, thereby truly comprehending the essence of Dao. Such individuals delight in sharing, excel at guidance, and coexist harmoniously with all things.

Those who understand the Great Dao naturally unite with it. This is the realm of sages—even those born with innate wisdom must continually refine themselves through study. Just as De (Virtue) does not exist in isolation but inevitably finds resonance, one can thus align with the Dao.

Those who cultivate De naturally walk alongside it. This is the fundamental duty of practitioners, achieved through learning, understanding, and internalizing it as their own.

Even those who have lost their way can find companions. This refers to those whose innate dispositions may be skewed, yet their essential nature remains unchanged, allowing them to return to the right path through guidance.

Whether uniting with the Dao, walking with De, or keeping company with the lost, all can ultimately gain something. Though innate endowments differ and entry points vary, sincere devotion to the Dao leads to the same ultimate realization.

Lack of faith breeds doubt. If one's conviction is weak, the faults of others may shake it, creating distrust. Without faith, even superficial agreement cannot bring true transformation. Only those who delve deeply into practice and genuine understanding can abide in a state free from doubt.

(This chapter explains that the natural Dao endures eternally, yet while easy to practice, it is hard to uphold. Even heaven and earth may lose their constancy—how much more so humans? Though human nature is the same, endowments differ; some, blinded by selfish desires, lose their natural essence. Yet this essence is never truly lost—the key lies in the enlightened skillfully guiding others through shared practice to restore their original state. As Zhuangzi said, the greatness of sages lies in their inclusiveness and adaptability, nurturing all things according to their nature without exception—save those who abandon themselves.)

Standing on tiptoe brings no stability; striding too far leads nowhere. Here, tiptoeing and overstriding symbolize impatient, unnatural actions that cannot endure.

This passage discusses how those who violate their natural disposition and obsess over self-display ultimately achieve the opposite of their intentions. Those who constantly force self-expression fail to gain genuine recognition; the stubborn find no followers; self-aggrandizers earn no true respect; and show-offs rarely sustain their success. Such behaviors are like leftover food or unsightly body fat—they only breed aversion. Those truly versed in the Dao (the Way) never indulge in such external displays.

The text then describes the essence of Dao: Before heaven and earth took form, there existed an undifferentiated unity (referring to Dao). Silent and soundless, vast and formless, it stands alone unchanging, cycles endlessly without cease—the very source that births all things. We cannot properly name it, so we reluctantly call it "Dao," though it might equally be termed "the Great." "Great" signifies its permeation through all existence; "far-reaching" denotes its omnipresence that ultimately returns to the origin. It simultaneously encompasses all things while never departing from its root.

(Note: "Two Modes" refers to Yin-Yang energies; "Mother" metaphorizes the generative source of all things; "extending," "far-reaching," and "returning" describe Dao's cyclical movement—expansion, permeation, and homecoming.)

This passage discusses the relationship between the Dao (the fundamental source and principle of the universe) and all things in heaven and earth. The Dao exists prior to and transcends the physical cosmos, yet simultaneously permeates all phenomena. There are four great things in the universe: the Dao, heaven, earth, and the sovereign (representing humanity's rulers). From the Dao's perspective, neither heaven, earth, nor rulers are truly great, yet the Dao doesn't exist separately from these three. People commonly recognize only the three greats of heaven, earth, and rulers, unaware that the Dao is the greatest of all.

The inclusion of the sovereign among the four greats acknowledges humanity as the most spiritually refined being between heaven and earth, with rulers governing the masses. The text then explains the sequence: "Humans follow earth, earth follows heaven, heaven follows the Dao, and the Dao follows ziran (spontaneous naturalness)." Here "follow" indicates mutual dependence and guidance. Humans conform to earth's patterns, earth conforms to heaven's movements, heaven conforms to the Dao's principles, while the Dao itself simply is—perfectly spontaneous. The three powers of heaven, earth and humanity all originate from the natural Dao and are fundamentally unified. Heaven is contained within the Dao, earth within heaven, humanity within earth, the heart within humanity, and spirit within the heart—all ultimately returning to the Dao. Thus spirit dwells in the heart, the heart in the body, the body in earth, earth in heaven, and heaven in the Dao. When humans return to their original nature, they fully comprehend the truth of these three realms.

The passage then turns to self-cultivation: Steadiness is the root of lightness, and stillness governs agitation. Therefore, noble persons conduct their daily affairs with the careful stability of ancient travelers moving heavy supply wagons. The way of noble persons takes stillness and steadiness as fundamental principles that must never be abandoned, even momentarily. Even amidst bustling, glamorous surroundings, they maintain a transcendent and serene state of mind.

This scripture primarily expounds on the principle that Dao cultivators should transcend worldly attachments and maintain serene composure.

The opening phrase "observing antiquity" refers to studying the ways ancient sages conducted themselves in the world. True glory lies not in external things but in self-cultivation. Only those who remain unchanged in their fundamental nature amidst worldly temptations can achieve the state where both external objects and self-awareness dissolve.

The text then critiques "rulers of ten thousand chariots," pointing out that when monarchs indulge selfish desires and act recklessly, they lose the support of ministers; when they govern with impatience and disturbance, they forfeit the proper way of rulership. Using the metaphor "the heart as ruler, Qi as ministers," it illustrates how a frivolous mind disturbs the vital energy (Qi), and agitated Qi in turn affects mental clarity. Thus, whether governing a state or cultivating oneself, one must maintain stillness and stability.

Five instances of "excellence" describe the realm of those who have attained the Dao: those excellent at walking leave no wheel ruts (symbolizing accordance with nature); those excellent at speaking make no mistakes (because their words align with heavenly principles); those excellent at calculating need no counting rods (having grasped the fundamentals); those excellent at closing need no bolts yet cannot be opened (indicating an undistracted mind); those excellent at binding need no cords yet cannot be untied (illustrating the naturalness of Dao). These all embody the state of Wuwei (non-action).

Finally, it states that sages excel at saving both people and things, thus having nothing and no one to discard—this is called "inheriting illumination" (carrying forward luminous wisdom). The entire chapter emphasizes returning to simplicity in Dao cultivation, avoiding confinement by forms, and fundamentally grasping the essence of the Dao.

In times of crisis, helping others often only saves their physical form—this may not constitute true goodness. Those who cling to deliberate action (youwei) have their innate nature obscured by darkness. We should embrace them with an inclusive heart and illuminate them with awakened wisdom, allowing their inner light to emerge naturally. Like passing on a torch, the light does not diminish but grows brighter with sharing—this transmission of wisdom knows no bounds.

Ye Mengde said, "Constancy" (the eternal Dao) means being so at all times. Thus, the virtuous are teachers to the non-virtuous, and the non-virtuous are those whom the virtuous instruct. Guiding the non-virtuous toward goodness is true goodness. Lin Dong added that refraining from emulating unvirtuous behavior is itself instructive. Neither deliberately exalting teachers nor clinging to students may seem like foolish wisdom, yet this is precisely the subtlety of the Dao. The mystery of the Dao cannot be attained through teaching; only by reaching the state of neither exalting nor clinging can one realize the truth of no-self and no-other. Even the wisest cannot fathom this—it is the realm where self and object are both forgotten, the state of spontaneous transformation (duhua).

Knowing the strong yet abiding in the yielding is like being the valley of the world. As a valley, eternal Virtue (De) is never lost, returning ultimately to the purity of an infant. Understanding strength yet maintaining softness and stillness—this is not forced but constant. The yielding, quiet, and humble naturally attract others, just as water flows downward. The key lies in constant abiding, which prevents competitive thoughts, preserves harmonious disposition, and attains desirelessness without losing childlike innocence—this is the state of concentrating essence (jing) and qi to achieve perfect softness.

Knowing brightness yet abiding in obscurity becomes the pattern of the world. As a pattern, eternal Virtue never errs, returning ultimately to the boundless source. Nourishing wisdom with serenity and uniting with the Dao makes one a model for the world. Because Virtue is unchanging, its function is inexhaustible, its measure limitless—this is the harmonious state where serenity and wisdom mutually nourish one another.

Understanding honor yet willingly abiding in humility is like being the valley of the world. One who can become the world's valley will find eternal De (Virtue/Power) complete, ultimately returning to the primal state of simplicity.

While receiving universal reverence as a model is honorable, the Daoist sage actively positions himself in humble acceptance, enduring worldly criticisms like a valley that accommodates all things and responds endlessly without exhaustion. This is the path of returning to undifferentiated wholeness through the harmony of the Dao. The cultivation sequence progresses from childlike purity to the boundless Wuji (Ultimate Nothingness) state - where the ultimate return to primordial simplicity represents the highest attainment.

When the original simplicity of the Dao disperses, it manifests as particular objects. The sage applies this principle to governance. Thus the highest form of rulership never imposes forced divisions. Here "simplicity" (Pu) is the Dao itself - metaphysically it's called the Dao, and returning to simplicity establishes the Dao's essence; phenomenally it's called objects, hence the dispersion of simplicity into forms that interact with myriad beings, realizing the Dao's functional manifestation. When sages govern people and things with this Dao, they follow natural patterns - establishing guidelines without artificial manipulation.

The world is the vessel of celestial and earthly spirits, only governable through accordance with its nature. Those who seek to seize and control it forcibly violate celestial law and oppose heavenly mandate. This resembles the Yellow Emperor losing his Mystic Pearl (a metaphor for the Dao's essence) while gazing southward - when cunning mentality arises, original purity becomes incomplete.

Among worldly phenomena: some advance while others follow; some bring warmth while others chill; some strengthen while others weaken; some succeed while others fail. These exist as relative pairs in constant cycles of waxing and waning. Only those who embrace the One (Dao's unity) transcend such fluctuations. Therefore, the sage eliminates extremes, extravagance, and excess.

(Note: The "Mystic Pearl" (Xuanzhu) represents primordial Qi or the Dao's essence in Daoist practice; "Embracing the One" (Baoyi) signifies maintaining the Dao's undivided wholeness; "eliminating extremes, extravagance and excess" constitute Laozi's three principles for self-cultivation and governance, warning against excess, luxury and radicalism.)

The sage understands that external matters cannot be forced, for all things follow their natural course. Thus they accord with spontaneity without striving for excessive fullness. The "Book of Changes" Hexagram Tai states that rulers should emulate the Dao of heaven and earth's operation, assisting the natural growth of all things to guide the people.

(Chapter 29 Theme: Only by following natural non-action [Wuwei] can the constant Dao be maintained.)

Those who assist rulers with the Dao do not rely on military might to dominate the world. The use of arms easily invites retribution—where armies are stationed, fields become barren, and great wars are inevitably followed by years of famine. Mencius' teaching that "as you treat others, so shall you be treated" illustrates this principle: reckless use of force exhausts the people's vitality and disrupts the harmonious Qi of heaven and earth, bringing calamity.

Those skilled in military affairs seek only righteous ends, never bullying the weak with their strength. Weapons are fundamentally rejected by Dao cultivators, yet just as natural elements (the Five Phases: Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) cannot be entirely eliminated, the key lies in proper utilization. Arms should be employed solely to stop violence and rescue those in peril—when aligned with the Dao's righteousness, action should be decisive. The "Spring and Autumn Annals" state "to eliminate threats is called decisive resolution," meaning one removes dangers but dares not use this to dominate the world.

After achieving the objective, one neither boasts nor flaunts accomplishments, nor becomes arrogant in success. One must understand such actions are undertaken reluctantly and must never persist in displays of strength. True victory comes through Daoist virtue [De] rather than brute force—possessing the inevitability of success without depending on arms, planning carefully and acting only when compelled, always avoiding coercion.

When things reach their zenith, they inevitably decline—this is the manifestation of being contrary to the Dao. Matters discordant with the Dao perish prematurely—when armies flaunt strength they cannot maintain superiority, when all things exhaust their vigor they hasten decline. These all contradict the Dao and should be promptly ceased.

(Chapter 30 Theme: Governing through the Dao wins popular support, while relying on martial force cannot truly command allegiance.)

Fine weapons are inauspicious instruments, detested even by other objects—thus those who possess the Dao do not employ them.

This passage expounds profound principles regarding the art of warfare. Though weapons serve as tools to eliminate tyranny and protect the innocent, they remain fundamentally ominous instruments. All sentient beings instinctively avoid them—how much more should practitioners of the Great Dao (the Way)? They should only be employed as a last resort to resolve crises, never as standard implements. Thus, those who follow the Dao do not fixate on such matters.

In daily life, noble persons honor the left (associated with Yang, symbolizing growth), but in warfare they honor the right (associated with Yin, representing destruction). Weapons are inauspicious objects, not proper accoutrements for noble individuals, to be used only when unavoidable. In battle, one should maintain a detached mindset—even victory isn't worth boasting about (this "detachment" implies serene contentment). Those who truly cherish life and abhor killing take no pleasure in conquering others. To celebrate military triumph is to delight in slaughter, and those who enjoy killing can never win the world's allegiance. Only those without bloodlust can gain universal support.

Auspicious events favor the left; ominous affairs favor the right. Thus lieutenant generals (subordinates) stand on the left, while commanding generals stand on the right—treating warfare with funeral rites. When casualties mount, mourn with grief; after victory, observe the protocols of mourning. Master Bixu explains: The right belongs to Yin and governs death, hence funeral rites honor the right as symbolic of misfortune. Commanding generals wield life-and-death authority, thus positioned on the right; lieutenants don't monopolize slaughter, thus placed on the left.

Master Huangshi said: The reason we cannot completely abolish arms is to combat bandits who harm the people and hostile states. Just as a nation requires governance, the human body suffers from desires. Only sages who've attained the Great Dao, maintaining serene detachment without coveting external things, remain unharmed by sensory temptations.

(This chapter, titled "Laying Down Arms" in the Heshang Gong version, emphasizes weapons as inauspicious objects unsuitable for regular use. Wang Bi suspected it might not be Laozi's original writing but acknowledged its timely wisdom.)

The eternal Dao remains nameless and unadorned (Pu, the uncarved block). Though seemingly insignificant, none in the world can command it. Should feudal lords uphold the Dao, all things would naturally submit. When Heaven and Earth's Yin-Yang energies harmonize, sweet dew falls—distributed evenly without human decree ("decree" meaning edicts; "Pu" symbolizing the Dao's wholeness). Being formless, it's called "small"; preceding all things, "none can master it." Sima Guang noted: When rulers guard the Dao, all beings return; when energies flow smoothly, the people are transformed.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concepts regarding the Dao and personal cultivation.

On the Dao: Just as the intermingling of yin and yang qi naturally brings nourishing dew to all things, the Three Powers (heaven, earth, and humanity) ultimately unite in the Dao. Laozi states that "when names were first instituted," one must understand moderation after things are named to avoid danger. The Dao operates throughout the world like countless streams eventually flowing into rivers and seas—though their paths differ, all ultimately return to the Great Dao.

Wisdom on personal cultivation: Understanding others shows intelligence, but knowing oneself demonstrates true wisdom. Overcoming others requires strength, but conquering oneself is true power. Those who are content are truly wealthy, and those who persist in cultivation possess genuine resolve. Only those who do not lose their original nature can endure long, and though the physical body may perish, the spirit that does not perish attains true longevity.

The text particularly emphasizes: True longevity does not mean physical immortality but rather a spiritual state transcending life and death. As Shao Ruoyu said, though the form may die, one's original nature (Dao-nature) never perishes. This state does not refer to the soul lingering in the netherworld but to eternal existence in unity with the Dao.

This passage elucidates the universality of the Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle) and the way of being for sages.

The Dao is like flowing water, omnipresent and adaptable. It does not depend on any particular thing, yet it exists everywhere and at all times. All beings rely on it to flourish, yet it never claims credit. Like a garment covering all things without asserting dominance, it appears subtle; though all things return to it, none can identify its ruler, making it seem vast beyond measure.

Understanding this truth, sages never presume their own greatness, and thus they achieve true greatness. Just as one who masters the "Great Image" (the highest state of the Dao) finds all things under heaven naturally drawn to them without conflict, reaching a state of peace and harmony. Zhuangzi said that when sages interact with all beings, they do not harm them, and in turn, beings do not harm the sages—this is the state of mutual harmony.

Concepts such as "morning clarity seeing the solitary" (zhaoche jiandu) and "neither dying nor being born" refer to the enlightened state attained by Daoist practitioners—seeing through the essence of things and transcending life and death. The passage emphasizes the all-encompassing nature of the Dao and the humility of sages, illustrating that true greatness lies in unity with the Dao and an open, selfless mind.

Music and delicacies may detain a passing traveler for a while, yet the Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe), when spoken of, seems bland and flavorless. Look for it—it cannot be seen; listen for it—it cannot be heard; yet in its application, it is inexhaustible.

Here, the text critiques those who fail to grasp the "great image" (the holistic pattern of the Dao) but instead cling to partial truths. Just as enchanting music can intoxicate the senses and savory meats can stir greed—though momentarily captivating—they ultimately fade away. Zhuangzi’s analogy of the "temporary lodging" (a place to stay for just one night) illustrates this principle. The true Dao, though formless, soundless, and tasteless, functions endlessly without depletion.

(Chapter 35, known as the "Chapter of Benevolent Virtue" in the Heshang Gong version, explains the inexhaustible efficacy of comprehending the Dao.)

To contract something, one must first expand it; to weaken something, one must first strengthen it; to abolish something, one must first elevate it; to take something, one must first give it. This is the subtle yet evident principle of the Dao.

When things reach their extreme, they reverse direction—excessive giving inevitably leads to taking. This is an inevitable law. The phrase "must first" (必固) signifies that contraction must be preceded by expansion, reflecting the natural cycle of waxing and waning. Though the mechanism of this transformation is subtle, its logic is clear. Only those who maintain a serene and yielding attitude can avoid being trapped in this cycle of rise and fall.

The soft and weak overcome the hard and strong; the small and humble overcome the large and mighty.

Those who preserve a gentle and yielding stance do not deliberately seek victory, yet they naturally align with the Dao. This is the principle of returning to the origin. To appear rigid and forceful is already a sign of excessive vigor, and decline will inevitably follow.

Fish cannot leave the depths of water; the critical methods of governance must not be casually revealed.

Practitioners of the Dao should conceal the great Dao deep within their hearts. The so-called "sharp tools" (治国方法, methods of governance) are the essential instruments wielded by rulers. Not only should they not be displayed to others—they cannot truly be displayed at all. The "hidden mechanism" (盗机) mentioned in the Yinfu Jing refers to this very mystery. The people may be guided by it, but they must not fully comprehend it. As the commentator Wending Gong (文定公) observes: A fish lacks sharp claws or fangs, yet when it remains hidden in deep waters, even the strongest person cannot catch it. Once it leaves the depths, it is in peril.

Here Laozi expounds the profound principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong." The sage who has attained the Dao (the Way) consistently maintains a soft and yielding posture without weariness, and thus ultimately can bring all under heaven to submission. How could ordinary people reach such a state?

Chapter 36 (known as "Subtle Clarity" in the Heshang Gong version) explains: The waxing and waning, fullness and emptiness of all things follow natural laws, yet those who hold to the way of softness do not become entangled in these transformations.

The Great Dao (the Way) eternally follows what is natural, yet there is nothing it does not accomplish. Quiescent and unmoving, it contains all truth; responding to all things, it can handle every situation. If rulers can preserve the Dao, all things will transform naturally. When desires first begin to stir, they should be settled with the "nameless simplicity."

By constantly experiencing the supreme Dao, one can naturally transform without teaching. But over time, change inevitably comes—just as when an infant begins to develop awareness, desirelessness must be employed to stabilize it. Only through desirelessness can stillness be achieved, which represents the complete embodiment of the Dao—what we call "nameless simplicity."

Using "nameless simplicity" to achieve stability requires even letting go of the notion of stability itself. Maintaining this stillness, the world naturally returns to its proper course. If one clings to the concept of "simplicity," the integrity of the Dao is lost instead. This is the state attained through cultivating both nature and life (xingming shuangxiu) to the highest degree—able to embrace all things and transform them. True stillness can influence all under heaven, allowing each being to preserve its original state of life.

Chapter 37 (called "Governing" in the Heshang Gong version) clarifies: Comprehending the Great Dao enables transformation of all things, leading to the wondrous state where self and objects are both forgotten. These first thirty-seven chapters form the upper volume of the Dao De Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue).

This passage presents Yuan Dynasty scholar Dong Sijing's commentary on Chapter 38 of the Dao De Jing, focusing on the different levels of De (Virtue/Power). Here's the explanation in sections:

The highest level of De (Shangde, superior virtue) doesn't consciously pursue outward manifestations of virtue, thus embodying true De. Like Confucius who never proclaimed himself a sage yet achieved sagehood. De refers to genuine comprehension of the Dao and its embodiment in oneself. Scholars like Wang Bi held that virtuous people don't concern themselves with gaining or losing virtue—by not deliberately seeking it, they preserve their virtuous nature.

The next level (Xiade, inferior virtue) constantly fears losing virtuous appearances, thereby missing De's true essence. Their cautious maintenance of virtue indicates they haven't reached transformation's state, showing a gap from Shangde.

Those with Shangde follow natural spontaneity without forced action (Wuwei), because supreme virtue requires no deliberate display. Those with Xiade must strive through action (Youwei)—they need contemplation to understand and effort to achieve, revealing incomplete cultivation. These distinctions explain why superior and inferior virtue exist.

People of superior Ren (benevolence) act without utilitarian motives. Ren represents the heart's essence and love's principle, broadly encompassing all virtues. Here it refers not to fundamental Ren, thus ranking below Shangde. Yet benevolent minds remain tranquil, acting without self-interest.

Those of superior Yi (righteousness) act with clear purposes. Yi means proper conduct but involves decisive judgments, making it a lower level still.

Superior Li (ritual) practitioners create ceremonies that find no response, then roll up sleeves to enforce compliance. Ritual should embody cosmic principles and human norms, rooted in loyalty and sincerity. When reduced to formality and coercion—pulling others forcibly when they resist—such degenerate practices proliferate. Laozi's era overemphasized ritual ornamentation, hence his emphasis on teaching people through Wuwei and naturalness. Only superior levels are discussed here, as lower ones aren't worth mentioning.

Thus only after losing the Dao do we speak of De; after losing De we speak of Ren; after losing Ren we speak of Yi; after losing Yi we speak of Li. The Dao itself is an undifferentiated unity—the common source of heaven, earth and all things.

This passage discusses the relationship between Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power). What we call De refers to the inner cultivation attained through understanding the principles of Dao, requiring no reliance on external conditions. De is not something separate from Dao, yet once we name it as De, distinctions of higher and lower levels emerge—unlike Dao, which universally encompasses all. The highest De is that which does not deliberately pursue De, being in complete unity with Dao; if one becomes attached to possessing De, they instead fall into inferior realms, losing the wholeness of Dao.

Master Guan Yinzi said: What can be concretely grasped is called De, not Dao. For once we emphasize the conceptual form of De, the essence of Dao becomes obscured. Similarly, when we emphasize the concept of benevolence, the original meaning of De is also veiled. Layer by layer, this diminishing leads to increasingly one-sided pursuits. Zhuangzi's statement that "Dao is obscured by petty achievements" indeed holds true.

Ritual propriety arises when sincerity and trustworthiness have weakened, becoming instead the starting point of disorder. Excessive pursuit of form leads to the loss of substance, ultimately resulting in chaos. Confucius advocated returning to simplicity precisely for this reason.

What is called "foresight" is actually a superficial display of Dao, the beginning of foolishness. Using cleverness to seek understanding, relying on guesswork to occasionally hit the mark—this can never truly comprehend the great Dao. Instead, it obscures innate awareness, marking the onset of folly. Mencius also expressed disdain for those who force interpretations through cleverness. Obsessed with superficial beauty, one cannot grasp the pure simplicity of the great Dao—is this not foolishness?

Thus, the truly great person (one of profound insight) should: Establish themselves in simplicity rather than superficiality, pursue substance rather than empty display. Ordinary people usually have limited vision, content with shallow gains while neglecting the root, drawn to ornamentation while abandoning essence. If not for the great person, who could discern the genuine from the false?

This passage primarily clarifies the need to pursue complete De and return to simple essence. Some ask about the difference between Dao-De and the Five Constants (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness): Dao is the fundamental principle governing all, while De is its concrete manifestation.

This passage elucidates the relationship between Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) through natural phenomena and historical evolution. The Dao resembles the undifferentiated primordial Qi (Yuanqi), while De is like the sequential names marking the passage of time. The four virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom correspond to the four seasons: possessing all four virtues completes a full year. Abundant benevolence resembles spring, flourishing propriety mirrors summer, manifest righteousness parallels autumn, and profound wisdom reflects winter. The final eighteen days of each season belong to the "Earth's flourishing period" (in the Five Phases system, Earth governs seasonal transitions), further illustrating this correspondence.

Natural examples are given: in February, elm trees wither yet conceal vitality; in August, wheat sprouts grow while harboring an austere energy—demonstrating how opposing forces unite within benevolence and righteousness. This principle equally applies to governance: the Three Sovereigns era transformed society through Dao, the Five Emperors period educated people through De, the Three Kings age motivated masses through achievements, while the Five Hegemons ruled through military force. Like seasonal progression, the Three Sovereigns embodied springlike benevolence, the Five Emperors summerlike propriety, the Three Kings autumnal righteousness, and the Five Hegemons wintery wisdom.

When Laozi met Guan Yinzi during the autumn-winter transition, he sought to teach enduring Dao principles, hoping to return to spring's harmony. Some question this unconventional historical periodization, which is explained as necessary disruption during transformative eras. The Huashu further employs the Five Phases' mutual restraint: when benevolence (Wood) is insufficient, righteousness (Metal) remedies it (Metal restrains Wood); when righteousness falters, propriety (Fire) adjusts (Fire restrains Metal); when propriety wanes, wisdom (Water) balances (Water restrains Fire); when wisdom declines, sincerity (Earth) stabilizes (Earth restrains Water). Thus steadfast sincerity becomes both endpoint and new beginning, forming a cycle.

Finally, Zhu Xi (Master Zhu Wen) discussed Laozi's paradoxical attitude toward rites with disciples: while criticizing "rites as the beginning of eroded loyalty and sincerity," Laozi nevertheless instructed Confucius on ritual matters. Zhu Xi explained that as Zhou Dynasty archivist (Guardian of the Pillars), Laozi mastered ritual minutiae, enabling profound discussions—though he ultimately transcended ritual formalism for higher realms.

This passage elucidates the fundamental importance of the concept of "One." The "One" is essentially the Dao (the Way), which has existed since antiquity. All things in heaven and earth fulfill their proper functions by attaining this "One": Heaven becomes clear and bright by obtaining the "One," earth becomes stable and peaceful, spirits become efficacious, valleys become full and abundant, all living things grow and flourish, and rulers govern the world effectively.

If this "One" is lost, all things in heaven and earth will encounter problems: If heaven is not clear, it may crack apart; if earth is not stable, it may quake; if spirits lack efficacy, they may vanish; if valleys are not full, they may dry up; if living things fail to grow, they may perish; and if rulers cannot govern, their regimes may collapse. All these calamities stem from losing the root—the "One."

However, it is crucial to note that the "One" itself can never truly be lost. The phrasing "may" or "might" here serves as a cautionary warning, for the "One," as the manifestation of the Dao, eternally exists and does not actually come or go, nor can it be gained or lost. What is referred to as "gaining" or "losing" the "One" merely reflects the waxing and waning of Yin and Yang energies failing to harmonize with it.

For example, ancient Yin-Yang theory holds that cracks in heaven result from insufficient Yang Qi, symbolizing the decline of a ruler's virtue, while earthquakes arise from excessive Yin Qi, signifying the misconduct of officials. Historical records, such as the massive celestial fissures during Emperor Hui of Jin's reign or the earthquakes and Mount Qi's collapse under King You of Zhou, exemplify such phenomena. The very essence of spirits lies in their efficacy, which in turn depends on attaining the "One." If valleys cannot remain full, their capacity to nurture all things will wither. All living beings rely on the "One" to thrive—losing it means facing extinction.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles of governing a state and cultivating the Dao. If a ruler fails to uphold the true path, they will lose the Dao, endangering both themselves and their kingdom. Although the "One" (referring to the Dao) is ever-present, external turbid Qi and distracting thoughts often obscure one's original nature.

The text begins by stating "Heaven" as the grandest form and concludes with "the King" as the sovereign of all things between heaven and earth. Only when the ruler completely embraces the "One" (Dao) as the standard for the world can heaven and earth maintain their proper positions, allowing all beings to flourish. Master Bixu (a Daoist adept) explains that this principle ultimately serves as a warning to rulers and nobles.

Thus, nobility must take humility as its root, and elevation must be founded upon what is low. This is why ancient rulers referred to themselves as "the Solitary One," "the Desolate One," or "the Unworthy" - is this not taking humility as fundamental? "Gu" (穀) signifies excellence, while "xie" (邪) here functions as an interrogative particle. Master Wending (a Daoist figure) clarifies: What exactly is the "One"? Though formless and ungraspable, it is the subtlest thing under heaven - this is what we call humble and lowly. When rulers use these self-deprecating titles, it shows their understanding of taking the "One" as their foundation.

Excessive pursuit of fame leads to its loss. One should neither shine like precious jade nor appear coarse like common stone. "Lulu" (琭琭) describes jade's luster, while "luoluo" (珞珞, should be "gege") depicts stone's hardness. Those who fail to understand humility as fundamental yet seek rapid attainment of noble reputation are chasing fame excessively. Such artificial praise may gather suddenly, but unfounded slander will follow, ultimately resulting in lost reputation. Yet one shouldn't be like jade that only displays nobility without showing vulnerability, nor like stone that only appears lowly without revealing worth. Only by not clinging to any single state can one remain unmoved by praise, blame, honor or disgrace. Who but those who have truly attained the Dao can accomplish this?

(This is Chapter 39, titled "The Root of the Law" in the Heshang Gong version, which extols the great function of the "One" while ultimately warning against attachment to it.)

The movement of the Dao is cyclical, and its application is gentle and non-contentious. "Return" (反) points to stillness - the root of the Dao's movement; what appears weak is actually strong. Speaking of "movement" without mentioning "stillness," discussing "weakness" without addressing "strength," creates mutual illumination to reveal the true meaning while clarifying the relationship between substance and function. Only by returning to silent stillness can the original substance be established, after which the function of movement can manifest. The formless stillness of the substance appears weak, yet its functional influence - profound and unstoppable - is truly strong. Though substance and function, movement and stillness cycle endlessly, movement must always take stillness as its source.

The function of all things originates from their essence. Thus, the mysterious workings of creation lie hidden in winter (symbolizing the dormant accumulation of potential), only to burst forth with vitality in spring. The same principle applies to the pursuit of learning—only by deeply comprehending subtle truths (jingyi rushen, "penetrating essence to enter spirit") can one establish a foundation for practical application.

All things under heaven arise from "being" (you), yet "being" itself originates from "non-being" (wu). This demonstrates through the principle of creation: all phenomena evolve from Qi (the fundamental substance) into form, which is "born from being." But tracing back to the primal origin, they are actually born from the Dao (cosmic source). The Dao itself has no form, sound, or tangible qualities (being utterly featureless), hence it is said to be "born from non-being."

(This commentary on Chapter 40, titled "Returning to Function" in the Heshang Gong version, clarifies that honoring the essence produces great function. Some claim the Dao takes stillness as its essence, asserting that movement contradicts it—this view mistakenly confines the Dao to quiescence. In truth, both movement and stillness are manifestations of Qi, while the Dao governs them without being constrained by either. Others say: acting contrary to norms yet aligning with the Dao represents its adaptive function, while abiding in softness constitutes its constant nature. But the truth of "being born from non-being" transcends such distinctions between adaptation and constancy.)

Superior individuals hear the Dao and diligently practice it; average individuals hear the Dao with alternating belief and doubt; inferior individuals hear the Dao and laugh loudly—if it weren't laughed at, it wouldn't be worthy of being called the Dao. The Dao has no form or sound, being beyond sight and hearing. Only those of superior capacity, with pure minds and extraordinary insight, can immediately comprehend it upon hearing, as naturally as the void embraces all things. Those of average capacity lack firm grounding, hence their wavering faith. Those of inferior capacity lack sufficient wisdom to understand or steadfastness to persevere, like Zhuangzi's saying "lofty words find no place in vulgar minds," hence their derision.

Thus ancient sayings describe the manifestations of diligent Dao cultivation:

Those truly understanding the Dao appear dull (mingdao ruo mei)—having penetrated subtle principles, they transcend formal cleverness, concealing their brilliance without displaying sharpness.

The level path appears rugged (yi dao ruo lei)—"yi" means level, while "lei" denotes tangled threads. Practitioners harmonize all distinctions, merging completely with all things, yet to worldly eyes this seems flawed and impractical.

Progress on the Dao appears as regression (jin dao ruo tui)—cultivation requires continually reducing desires, diminishing until reaching wuwei (non-action), which superficially resembles retreat.

Superior De (virtue/power) resembles a valley (shang de ruo gu)—genuine De contains all things like an empty valley.

This passage employs a series of metaphors to elucidate the characteristics of the Dao (the Way). The highest virtue (Shangde, Superior De) resembles an empty valley—hollow and receptive. True purity (Dabai, Great Whiteness) paradoxically appears humble. Only those who transcend external forms can embrace all things, while expansive virtue always feels incomplete.

Cultivating virtue should be like practicing in secret (Jiande Ruotou, "building virtue as if stealing"). The Xuangang Lun (Treatise on the Mysterious Pivot) states that merits accumulated covertly are best preserved. Genuine essence (Zhizhen) adapts to external changes (Ruoyu, "as if changing"), yet never loses its fundamental nature within.

The most square object has no corners (Dafang Wuyu), and the most precious vessel takes the longest to craft (Daqi Wancheng). The grandest sound is nearly inaudible (Dayin Xisheng), and the greatest form lacks concrete shape (Daxiang Wuxing)—the Dao itself remains hidden and nameless. These qualities make those of average understanding doubt (Ruocun Ruowang, "as if existing, as if not"), while those of lesser insight laugh (Xiashi Daxiao, "the inferior laugh heartily").

The Dao excels at nourishing all things (Shandai, "skillful lending") and bringing them to completion (Qiecheng, "and perfecting"). The Dao gives birth to the One (Taiji, Supreme Ultimate), the One generates the two qi of Yin-Yang, and their interaction produces the Three (Heqi, Harmonious Qi), from which the myriad things emerge. Zhu Xi explained this as akin to the Yijing (Book of Changes) process where Taiji generates the Two Modes. Practitioners should immerse themselves in contemplation to naturally realize the Dao's selfless nature. Ancient scholars first cultivated themselves (Weiji, "for the self") and ultimately perfected all things (Chengwu), embodying this very principle.

This passage explains the concept that "when two combine with one, they form three." The statement "three gives birth to all things" refers to how the interaction of Yin and Yang energies (the odd and even) generates the myriad phenomena. If we directly interpret "one" as the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin), we cannot then say "the Dao gives birth to one." This aligns with the Liezi's statement that "change transforms into one." Here, "one" signifies the beginning of tangible transformation, not the non-numerical sense of oneness.

All beings carry Yin on their backs and embrace Yang in their fronts, as the interplay of these two energies creates harmonious states. In animals, the static back represents Yin's stillness, while the active mouth, nose, eyes, and ears in front embody Yang's movement—hence "carrying Yin and embracing Yang." Plants, meanwhile, turn their backs to the cold and face warmth, with Yin and Yang energies circulating within them. Viewed holistically, the spirit (Shen) belongs to Yang while the physical form belongs to Yin. The spirit operates internally ("embracing"), while the form manifests externally ("carrying"). Qi has both dynamic and static aspects—movement is Yang, stillness is Yin—and must be harmonized by a balanced, mediating Qi that fills the body and serves as the vessel for the spirit.

Sima Guang (Duke Wen) observed that all things take Yin and Yang as their substance and balanced harmony as their function. Wen Jiangang noted that when Yin and Yang energies are either excessive or intersecting, they produce harmonious Qi—this is how two energies combine to form three, and when these three energies circulate universally, they generate all things.

People generally dislike terms like "solitary," "orphaned," or "unworthy," yet rulers adopt them as self-referential titles. Thus, things may gain through reduction or lose through addition. Sima Guang highlighted how arrogance invites loss while humility brings benefit, teaching people to abandon extremes and seek equilibrium.

The principles people teach, I too teach through the meaning of harmonious balance. The violent meet untimely deaths—I take this as the foundation of instruction. Here, "father" signifies the root. Though teaching belongs to the master's role, a master may have authority without closeness, whereas a father combines both authority and intimacy, enabling unreserved guidance. As the Yijing states, "When without a master's protection, act as if facing one’s parents." The use of "father" here emphasizes instruction’s foundational and authoritative nature.

(This is Chapter 42, titled "The Transformation of the Dao" in the Heshang Gong version, explaining how the Dao generates all things through Yin and Yang.)

The softest thing in the world can overcome the hardest. The formless can penetrate the seamless. From this we understand the profound benefits of Wuwei (non-action).

Here, "the softest" refers to the Dao (cosmic origin) having no fixed form, while "the hardest" denotes concrete objects with substantial forms. "Overcome" here means to govern and operate. The mystery of the Dao lies in its ability, though formless and shapeless, to propel all formed things into motion. Though the Great Dao itself has no physical body, it gives birth to all things—whether mighty as Mount Tai or fine as an autumn hair, all are fundamentally composed of Dao. Therefore, when the Dao enters all things, it encounters no obstruction, for the Dao is perfectly inclusive, embracing both "non-being" (the formless) and "being" (the formed) in seamless unity. We might say the Dao is within all things, and all things are within the Dao, without any separation between them. Those who comprehend this principle can merge with the Dao, attaining the state of "doing nothing yet leaving nothing undone," thereby gaining boundless benefits.

The sage, precisely because they maintain Wuwei, can harness great power and move freely among all formed things. This realm of "teaching without words and benefiting through non-action" is achieved by very few in the world. "Very few" indeed means rare. The softest cannot be broken; the formless cannot be exhausted. From this we deduce the benefits of Wuwei for all things. What could surpass this state?

Which is more precious—fame or life? Which is more important—life or possessions? The body is the dwelling place of the spirit—should it not be most cherished? Fame is but an empty reputation—is it truly worth esteeming? Moreover, life comes but once, while external things are without limit. To abandon life in pursuit of fame, to sacrifice the root for the sake of multiplicity—nothing could be more foolish. Humans can uphold the Great Dao, and thus the body is the root of the Dao. If even the self can be forgotten and the body not clung to, how much less should fame and possessions matter?

Which is more painful—gain or loss? To obtain fame and fortune but lose one’s life, or to preserve life by abandoning fame and fortune—which is worse? When we lack something, we feel the pain of loss; once we possess it, we fear losing it—this pain is even greater.

Excessive desire inevitably leads to great waste, like using the precious pearl of the Marquis of Sui to shoot a sparrow in the heights—this is the delusion of excessive craving. Excessive accumulation must result in heavy loss; without accumulation, there is nothing to lose. Those who pursue fame excessively will surely exhaust both body and mind.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "Great wisdom appears foolish." The opening section states: Excessive pursuit of wealth burdens the body, while insatiable greed leads to loss. Knowing contentment prevents disgrace; understanding moderation avoids danger—only thus can one endure. The Han Dynasty ministers Shu Guang and Shu Yu profoundly understood this principle.

The text then employs five "Great... appears..." parallel structures to illustrate the nature of Dao: The most perfect thing seems incomplete (大成若缺, dacheng ruo que), yet its function never fails; the most full appears empty (大盈若冲, daying ruo chong), yet its usefulness is inexhaustible; the straightest seems bent (大直若屈, dazhi ruo qu); the most skillful appears clumsy (大巧若拙, daqiao ruo zhuo); the most eloquent seems inarticulate (大辩若讷, dabian ruo ne). These all demonstrate that while Dao embodies supreme perfection, its outward manifestation appears ordinary or even deficient.

Finally, it discusses the dialectic of movement and stillness: Activity can dispel cold (躁胜寒, zao sheng han), while calmness can alleviate heat (静胜热, jing sheng re), yet both represent partial approaches. Only by maintaining a state of serene non-action (无为, wuwei) can one harmonize the six vital energies (六炁, liu qi) of heaven and earth, becoming the standard for all under heaven (天下正, tianxia zheng). This realm transcends the opposition between movement and stillness, achieving their perfect unity.

When the world is at peace, warhorses are returned to fertilize the fields; when chaos reigns, even pregnant mares are conscripted for battle. This mirrors the human heart-mind: when Shen (spirit) is settled, Jing (essence) and Qi return to nourish the roots; when unsettled, they gallop wildly like untamed horses.

The greatest transgression is indulging desires, the greatest calamity is not knowing contentment, the greatest fault is insatiable greed. True fulfillment comes from knowing sufficiency. Human nature is originally complete - abiding in one's fundamental state prevents any sense of lack.

Without stepping outdoors, one can comprehend worldly affairs; without peering through windows, one can perceive the Dao's movement. All things share the same origin - returning to the original heart-mind reveals all. Those who seek outwardly understand less the farther they roam. Thus the sage understands without direct experience, knows without seeing, and accomplishes without forced action. The key lies in maintaining inner clarity through Wuwei (non-action).

Pursuing worldly knowledge requires daily accumulation, but cultivating the Dao demands daily reduction. Continuously relinquish attachments until reaching the state of Wuwei. This very non-action accomplishes everything. Governing the world follows the same principle - maintaining natural ease wins the people's hearts, while forceful action fails to gain the world. What's called "gaining the world" is actually transforming people through De (Virtue), as naturally as restraining selfish desires and returning to authenticity.

This passage elucidates how Daoist practitioners attain the supreme state through the cultivation of "diminishing" (损) and "augmenting" (益). Huang Maocai remarked: Only by reaching the realm of omniscience can one truly discuss genuine learning. Thus, while ordinary study involves daily accumulation of knowledge (augmenting), those who have attained the Dao (the Way) instead diminish daily—diminishing attachments and preconceptions. Deliberately pursuing diminishment is not true diminishment; one must reach a state where even the notion of "diminishing" is forgotten, like a sudden awakening that severs all causal attachments, thereby entering the realm of Wuwei (non-action). Only then can one act without constraint, responding effortlessly to all things.

Chapter 48 (known as "Forgetting Knowledge" in the Heshang Gong version) expounds the principle of diminishing attachments and maintaining an open, receptive mind—a practice with boundless benefits.

The true sage has no fixed mind but takes the hearts of the people as his own. Precisely because the sage is free from self-attachment, his mind remains unconfined, adapting to the transformations of all things. To the kind, I respond with kindness; to the unkind, I also respond with kindness—this is true virtue (De). To the trustworthy, I respond with trust; to the untrustworthy, I also respond with trust—this is true integrity. Like Shun's treatment of his brother Xiang, one should always extend the utmost kindness and sincerity. All people are born with the same innate nature, and the sage treats everyone with equal benevolence and integrity—this is the breadth of the sage's heart. Whether others are virtuous or trustworthy is their concern; my kindness and integrity remain unwavering—this is the highest virtue. If one only treats the virtuous well while rejecting those who are not, how can this be called "constantly saving people, thus abandoning none"?

In the world, the sage remains ever vigilant (惵惵), laboring to return the hearts of the people to simplicity. The people observe the sage's every move, yet the sage treats all with the purity of an infant. "Hun qi xin" (浑其心) means dissolving distinctions between good and evil, truth and falsehood, treating all with the same heart. The people scrutinize the sage's preferences through their senses, yet the sage, like a nurturing parent, remains utterly sincere, naturally transforming them. "Jie hai zhi" (皆孩之) signifies the absence of discriminatory judgment.

Chapter 49 (titled "Embracing Virtue" in the Heshang Gong version) teaches responding to the external world with a tranquil, empty mind, nurturing all people equally through the natural virtue of Wuwei (non-action).

The process from birth to death is fundamentally neither true birth nor death, but rather the cyclical transformation of primordial Qi (innate energy). When Qi expands outward, all things manifest—this is called "birth"; when Qi contracts inward, all things withdraw and return—this is called "death."

In a human lifespan, approximately thirty percent is spent in growth and flourishing (the phase of Qi expansion), thirty percent in decline and death (the phase of Qi contraction), and another thirty percent in the active period between maturity and old age. If during this active period one deviates from the Dao and excessively depletes Qi, death arrives prematurely. As the Daode Jing states: "When things reach their prime, they begin to age"—this is the manifestation of acting contrary to nature's patterns.

Why does this occur? Because people cling too fiercely to life, craving pleasure and thus losing their original nature. The more one deliberately pursues longevity, the more easily one falls into death's snare. Those who truly comprehend life's essence do not strive for longevity yet transcend the duality of life and death.

Those skilled in nurturing life walk the land unharmed by rhinos or tigers and enter battlefields untouched by weapons. Rhinos find no place to gore, tigers no place to claw, weapons no place to strike. Why? Because such individuals never place themselves in death's domain. This resembles the Yijing's state of "utter stillness and non-action"—Laozi speaks only ninety percent, leaving ten percent for personal realization, precisely to guide people toward experiencing the profound mystery of Wuwei (non-action).

The Classic of Mountains and Seas records that the si (a unicorn-like creature resembling a wild ox) dwells south of the Xiang River, with bluish-black fur. The Erya describes it as ox-like in appearance but possessing only a single horn. The phrase "it is said" here reflects a humble rhetorical device, indicating the author’s reluctance to make definitive claims.

Those adept at nurturing life understand the importance of returning to the source, gathering scattered thoughts back into emptiness—much as Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) spoke of "forgetting the spirit (Shen) to transcend life and death." When one attains this state, even the concept of "oneness" need not be clung to, for one naturally preserves innate nature, leaving no gaps in the spirit (Shen) through which external influences may intrude. Thus, fate cannot bind such a person, calamity cannot harm them, and even the notion of a "land of birth" ceases to exist—let alone a "land of death."

Therefore, the supreme adept who attains the Dao (the Way) has no self, merging completely with the great Dao. This chapter (known as the "Chapter on Valuing Life" in the Heshang Gong version) clarifies that those skilled in nurturing life take emptiness as their foundation, thereby avoiding calamity and transcending life and death. However, interpretations by commentators throughout history have varied:

Heshang Gong, Han Feizi, and Bixuzi held that the four limbs and nine orifices combine to make thirteen, with human movement and stillness linked to life and death. Foolish people harm themselves—when actions unite with malevolent thoughts, they tread the path toward death. Du Guangcheng proposed that the ten evils and three karmic actions constitute thirteen, while others referenced the seven emotions and six desires.

Li Wen’e associated the kidneys (governed by the Kan trigram) with the gate of life and the heart (governed by the Li trigram) with the door of death, with the twelve cyclical hours revolving to form thirteen. During the Kaiyuan era, Sun Deng, Sima Chengzhen, and others suggested that among ten people: three preserve life through gentleness, three perish swiftly through rigidity, and three, despite seeking to nurture life, still meet death.

Immortal Cao Xiangu taught that those cultivating longevity belong to the path of life, while those pursuing cessation belong to the path of death; all who indulge desires march toward death. The Zhao lineage of Shu calculated thirteen using the numerology of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and life-death cycles, pairing celestial stems and earthly branches (e.g., jia-ji and zi-wu as nine, yi-geng and chou-wei as eight, etc.).

This passage discusses the Daoist method for calculating the "numbers of life and death." Taking the Water phase (one of the Five Phases) as an example: when Water occupies the "Shen" position (the ninth Earthly Branch), it represents growth with the number seven; when in the "Mao" position (the fourth Earthly Branch), it represents decline with the number six—summing to thirteen. The other four phases can be calculated similarly.

However, the text questions this method: if this were truly the case, the scripture should state "the followers of life and death number thirteen." Some attempt to explain this by adding Water's completion number six and Fire's completion number seven to get thirteen, but this reasoning is forced—why only select Water and Fire? Why use completion numbers instead of generation numbers? Certain cultivation masters propose a practice of extracting Jing-Qi (essence-energy) from the kidney Water (associated with the Water phase) to nourish heart Fire (associated with the Fire phase), citing verses by Zhang Pingshu (a Song Dynasty Neidan master) as evidence. They call this the "extracting Kan to replenish Li" technique (a Neidan term referring to drawing kidney Water to supplement heart Fire), ultimately enabling transcendence beyond life and death.

The scholar Wending Gong offers a different perspective: nourishing oneself by absorbing essence is the way of life, while indulging in sensory pleasures that harm oneself is the way of death. Excessive intellectual exertion, excessive speech, and delusional thinking all constitute actively courting death. Qingyuanzi (likely referring to a Daoist practitioner) holds a similar view but conflates "followers of death" with "actively seeking death."

The true key lies in the operational state of Qi (primordial energy): the path of immortality (Xian Dao) values the life-generating Yang Qi, the path of spirits (Gui Dao) concerns the terminating Yin Qi, while the human path maintains a balanced state between life and death. As for the Dao that transcends life and death, it is unconstrained by numbers yet penetrates all numerical principles; it relies on no specific method yet accomplishes everything. As the Huangji Jingshi Shu states: "Three are used, one is not used" (beyond the Three Powers of heaven, earth, and humanity exists the Dao that governs them), using the cyclical alternation of Yuan-Heng-Li-Zhen (the four virtues from the Yijing) to symbolize this transcendent principle.

This passage explains how the Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power) generate and nurture all things. The Dao serves as the fundamental source from which all beings originate, while De represents the Dao's manifestation within concrete phenomena. Between heaven and earth, it appears as celestial and terrestrial virtues; in sages, it manifests as their moral character.

The Dao is the wellspring from which all things grow, while De acts like a shepherd nurturing all creatures without refusal. Without the nourishment of De, nothing in existence could flourish properly. All beings are concrete manifestations of Dao-De, while the momentum (shi) of development results from the interplay of various factors. This is why all things instinctively revere the Dao and cherish De.

The Dao predetermines the destiny of all beings before their emergence. No external force can bestow titles upon it, for it inherently possesses supreme nobility. The Dao's nurturing of all things follows eight processes: generation, containment, growth, cultivation, accomplishment, maturation, preservation, and protection. It creates without possessing, perfects without claiming credit, guides without dominating—this constitutes the most profound "Mysterious De."

These eight functions all stem from the Dao's fundamental operations: initial creation is called "generation," inclusive nurturing is "containment," physical development is "growth," talent cultivation is "cultivation," assistance toward success is "accomplishment," cycle completion is "maturation," harmony maintenance is "preservation," and harm prevention is "protection." Though the discussion begins with De's nourishing function, it ultimately returns to the Dao; though it starts with the Dao, it concludes with Mysterious De. Without supreme De, the highest Dao cannot coalesce and manifest—indeed, Dao and De are ultimately one.

All things in heaven and earth have their primordial source, which is like a mother. When you recognize this source (Dao), you can understand all things it gives birth to. After comprehending all things, you must return to safeguard this source—then you will be free from danger throughout your life.

Before heaven and earth took form, this source existed eternally, and all things depend on it to come into being. We call it the "mother." Recognizing this source means grasping the root. At the same time, one must understand that this source never departs from concrete things—all beings born from the Dao are its "children." Understanding this principle allows one to apply it endlessly.

Yet after recognizing all things, one must not lose direction. Therefore, one must return to safeguard the source. If a person abides in the natural state of Wuwei (non-action) and preserves their pure nature, all things will naturally find their proper place. There is no other method beyond this, nor is it about deliberately guarding anything. Dealing with the transformations of all things while maintaining inner clarity of Shen (spirit)—that is all.

The essence of Dao is undivided unity, thus it governs all phenomena. Recognizing the source (mother) allows one to understand its manifestations (children). The function of Dao is inexhaustible, so it gives rise to all phenomena. In this way, one unifies root and branch, the subtle and the coarse, and remains unconfused from birth to death—hence, one is free from danger throughout life.

Close the openings of desire (referring to the senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, etc.) and block the gates of craving (referring to sensory desires), and you will never toil in vain. If you open these openings and chase external things, you will be beyond remedy for life.

In the Yijing (Book of Changes), "Dui" (the Lake trigram) symbolizes joy. If the mind indulges in greed and pleasure, it becomes tainted by external things. "Gates" refer to the portals of the senses. "Blocking" and "closing" are methods to admonish practitioners to safeguard the source: be cautious in speech, moderate in eating, restrain desires, nourish the Shen (spirit), see and hear in accordance with propriety, and maintain harmony in movement and stillness. These are all methods for cultivating body and mind—those who follow them will live in ease and fulfillment. If one does the opposite, abandoning inner cultivation to pursue sensory pleasures, they will labor in vain and be beyond remedy.

To perceive the subtle is called wisdom; to hold to the soft is called strength. Use the light of wisdom, yet return to inner clarity—leave no calamity for yourself. This is following the constant Dao.

Dao has no form and cannot be seen with the eyes—it can be called minute. It cannot be grasped by force—it can be called soft. Yet by observing it with utmost refinement, one can discern its profound mysteries.

To be unclouded by external things is called "illumination," and to maintain focus undisturbed by externals is called "strength." Practitioners must quiet their minds, experience deeply, and relinquish distracting thoughts—only then can they cultivate profound accomplishment. "Seeing" and "guarding" are key methods in cultivation, while "illumination" and "strength" represent its fruits. Here, "illumination" is the essence, and "light" its function, meaning that when the foundation of still cultivation is firm, wisdom naturally manifests in action—like light illuminating all things without harming its source, endlessly effective. Yet one must ensure the light remains gentle, not glaring, concealing wisdom within apparent simplicity. This allows retreating to profound inner stillness, where calamities cannot intrude. Only this is the true way to inherit the eternal Dao. The higher one's virtue (De), the more humble the heart becomes; attaining this state naturally wards off misfortune. This passage specifically admonishes practitioners.

(This section corresponds to Chapter 52 of the Heshang Gong version, discussing the principle of returning to the origin. Some interpret "beginning" as referring to primordial Qi (Xiantian zhi Qi)—humans are born by receiving Qi, making Qi the mother, while spirit (Shen) resides within Qi like a child. Mother and child guarding each other brings spiritual peace and Qi stability—this is the essential gateway to Daoist practice.)

If one stubbornly believes they have grasped truth and acts accordingly, this mindset itself warrants caution. The great Dao is broad and level—it has no fixed direction nor requires deliberate pursuit. It cannot be understood through cleverness nor known through knowledge; its optimal state is non-interference (Wuwei). To deliberately claim understanding of the Dao is itself a form of attachment. Thus, such deliberate striving is most dangerous. Earlier passages teach guarding the root; here they warn against the harm of forced action.

The Dao is inherently straightforward, yet people prefer shortcuts. The Scripture of Stabilized Observation states: "Those who deviate from the Dao yet seek it end up blaming the Dao for lacking compassion." Craving shortcuts ensures never reaching the true destination.

The court (symbolizing the human heart-mind) is overtaxed. The court is the ruler's dwelling—"excessively depleted" signifies excessive mental exertion.

Fields (referring to the three Dantian: upper, middle, and lower) lie fallow; granaries (energy storage areas like the stomach, called the "Great Granary") stand empty—revealing internal energy depletion.

Wearing ornate robes, girding sharp swords, gorging on delicacies, and hoarding excessive wealth—these are brigand-like displays, utterly contrary to the true Dao!

This passage critiques the excessive pursuit of external things while neglecting inner cultivation, likening such behavior to teaching people to become thieves—how could this be the true Dao (the Way)? The author expresses profound lament. Sima Guang (Duke Wen) remarked that wearing splendid attire without matching virtue, or greedily accumulating wealth, constitutes what is called "the boast of thieves." Does such ostentatious behavior not arise from intending to follow the right path but instead deviating from it, thereby losing one's original heart?

Those skilled in establishing foundations cannot be uprooted; those skilled in embracing cannot be separated. Their descendants offer sacrifices without end. Because the Dao encompasses heaven and earth, penetrates past and present, embraces all without being shaken, and pervades all things without detachment. Like the alternation of Yin-Yang and the renewal of the old and new, the lineage of descendants continues unbroken. Practitioners must first establish an inner foundation, making their roots firm and unshakable; they must focus on holding fast to the Dao, thereby avoiding attachment and loss. When their virtue (De) deepens enough to benefit others, they become models for future generations, their influence flowing far and wide, passed down through the ages, growing ever closer with time. Sima Guang said, "cannot be uprooted" means the foundation is so deep it cannot be shaken; "cannot be separated" means the hearts of the people are so devoted they cannot be taken away; "without end" means blessings endure long.

Cultivate the self, and virtue becomes genuine; cultivate the family, and virtue becomes abundant; cultivate the village, and virtue becomes enduring; cultivate the state, and virtue becomes flourishing; cultivate the world, and virtue becomes universal. Genuine means free from falsity; abundant means ample and sufficient; enduring means far-reaching in influence; flourishing means lacking nothing; universal means omnipresent. Using the true essence of the Dao to cultivate the self naturally extends its benefits to others. The principle of self-cultivation, when extended to family, state, and the world, remains the same. Sima Guang said this is all about governing the branches from the root, proceeding from the near to the far.

Thus, observe the self through the self, the family through the family, the village through the village, the state through the state, and the world through the world. How do I understand the state of the world? By this method. The principle of observation lies right before us—why seek elsewhere? Because all things have their own nature.

The text primarily discusses how spiritual practitioners should return to primordial simplicity, maintaining the pure and natural state of an infant to achieve unity with the Dao (the Way).

A cultivator who embodies profound De (Virtue/Power) within will become as pure as a newborn child. In this state, venomous insects will not sting them, fierce beasts will not attack them, and birds of prey will not strike them. Just as an empty boat colliding with another does not provoke anger, such a person harmonizes with all things and remains unharmed.

Though an infant’s bones and sinews are weak, they can still clench their fists tightly. Though unaware of the affairs between men and women, they naturally exhibit vitality—this is because their Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) are abundant. They may cry all day without growing hoarse, as their breath remains perfectly balanced. This teaches us: by not forcing things, they are naturally accomplished; by having no desires, they spontaneously manifest—this is the sign of abundant essence and energy.

To understand harmony is to comprehend the eternal and unchanging principle (the constant Dao). Recognizing this principle is true wisdom. If one deliberately seeks to prolong life (artificially enhancing vitality), it will instead invite misfortune (here, "auspicious" refers to ominous anomalies), for life follows its own natural course—forcing intervention is reckless action (contrary to Wuwei, non-action).

Finally, the text warns that if the mind forcibly controls the Qi (vital energy), though it may appear strong, it violates the natural Dao. True cultivators should preserve the innocence of an infant, allowing essence and energy to flow naturally without coercion—only then can they merge with the Great Dao.

When the mind becomes restless, one cannot focus the breath to reach a state of gentle harmony. This is already the beginning of forced effort, which causes the loss of the pure and natural innocence akin to that of an infant.

When things reach their peak of strength, they inevitably begin to decline—this is a manifestation of acting contrary to the Dao (the Way). Whatever does not align with the Dao should be ceased as early as possible. Deliberately striving for longevity disrupts the natural flow of one's innate Qi (vital energy), hastening the very aging one seeks to avoid. If one realizes that certain actions are not in harmony with the heavenly Dao, they should stop them immediately.

(Commentary: This passage begins with the metaphor of an infant to represent the state of natural authenticity—pure and undivided, undisturbed by external influences. Even when an infant clenches its fists or cries, it is a spontaneous expression. The final admonition warns practitioners that the slightest trace of artificial effort will cause the loss of one's innate nature. Huang Maocai notes that the character "嗌" does not appear in the original text—the phrase "嗌不嗄" was borrowed from the Zhuangzi and added by later editors.)

Those who truly understand the Dao do not engage in empty talk, and those who engage in empty talk do not truly understand. The most profound truths cannot be contained in words; only those who experience them firsthand can know. Block the openings of desire (the senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue), shut the gates of outward seeking, dull the sharp edges, untangle the knots, soften the glare, and blend with the dust of the world—this is how one attains the mysterious union with the Dao.

(This principle is also discussed in Chapters 4 and 52, emphasizing the cultivation of both inner and outer harmony, silently merging with the Dao without standing apart.)

The realized person cannot be approached with distinctions of closeness or distance, profit or harm, nobility or baseness. Precisely because they are all-encompassing and impartial, maintaining a perfectly rounded wisdom to respond to endless changes, they remain unbound by any circumstance—how could ordinary thinking comprehend this? This is why Confucius praised Laozi as being "like a dragon."

(Commentary: This passage speaks of the enlightened one who transcends words and attachments, cultivating both inner and outer refinement to merge with the great Dao—thus embodying true value.)

Govern the state with upright principles, command armies with unconventional tactics, and attain the world through Wuwei (non-action). How do I know this is the way?

(Commentary: Citing Duke Wen's words: The ancient sage-kings pacified distant lands and treated neighboring states with kindness, never intending to use military force. Only when absolutely necessary did they resort to war. Thus, governance relies on upright principles, while warfare is a contingency. The world is a sacred entity—it cannot be seized by force. Those who truly embody the Dao remain in serene Wuwei, and though they have no intention to claim the world, they naturally receive it.)

The key to governing the world lies in ruling through Wuwei (non-action). If rulers establish too many prohibitions and taboos, the people will grow increasingly impoverished; when cunning strategies prevail among the populace, the state will descend into chaos; when people pursue bizarre skills and excessive craftsmanship, strange phenomena will proliferate; the more stringent and complex the laws become, the more thieves and bandits will emerge. This occurs because the fundamental principle of governing through non-action has been lost.

Using the body as a metaphor for governing: the heart resembles the ruler, while Qi (vital energy) represents the common people. If one becomes attached to petty techniques, indulges in clever tricks, obsesses over unorthodox methods, or surrenders to the "six thieves" (desires arising from eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind), one cannot attain the state of Wuwei. As Master Wending observed, when rulers impose too many taboos, the grievances of the people cannot reach the throne, leaving them impoverished and helpless. The so-called "sharp tools" refer to cunning strategies—rulers should govern through non-action, allowing the people to remain simple and honest. When both superiors and subordinates employ clever calculations against each other, the people will resort to more schemes while the rulers grow increasingly confused.

Those "strange objects" signify bizarre and useless things. When people neglect their proper occupations to pursue unusual skills and excessive craftsmanship, they create many useless objects. When rulers worry about deception among the people and establish more laws to restrain them, the people become bewildered and ultimately turn to banditry.

Therefore, the sages say: "Through my non-action, the people transform themselves naturally; through my love of tranquility, the people become upright of their own accord; through my avoidance of meddling, the people prosper naturally; through my freedom from desires, the people remain simple and honest." This is the effect of following nature and governing through non-action.

(This is Chapter 57, titled "Chapter on Simple Customs" in the Heshang Gong version, elucidating the principle of governing through non-action.)

When governance is generous and inclusive, the people become simple and kind-hearted. The term "闷闷" (read as "mò bēn qiē") describes this generous, non-interfering state. Those with De (Virtue) clearly understand moral boundaries yet maintain magnanimity. Thus, those who govern through Virtue do not scrutinize the people excessively—appearing to do nothing, yet the people are naturally transformed. This represents the highest form of governance.

When governance is harsh and meticulous, the people become cunning and deficient. Failing to understand that cultivating Virtue is the foundation of governance, such rulers only esteem cleverness and strategies, attempting to regulate the people through punishments. But the people cannot be uniformly regulated immediately—forcing uniformity inevitably causes harm. This illustrates how calamity lurks within favor, and how fortune and misfortune are intertwined.

Misfortune conceals fortune within it, while good fortune harbors potential disaster—who can comprehend the ultimate principle governing these transformations? Fortune and misfortune alternate endlessly, with no one knowing where they ultimately lead.

This passage explores how there are no absolute standards of good and evil in the world. Does unchanging truth truly not exist? In reality, what is proper can become strange (abnormal), and what is good can turn into wickedness (evil). People have been trapped in this confusion for a long time. Ordinary individuals cling to minor principles before their eyes yet fail to grasp the complete truth of the great Dao. Thus, they cannot abide by the true proper path, instead mistaking the abnormal for the normal; they cannot follow genuine goodness, instead taking wickedness for virtue. When outcomes deviate, they don’t reflect on their own faults but blame external circumstances. This confusion about the true Way has persisted for ages.

Take governing a country, for example. If one fails to treat the people with magnanimous and tolerant De (Virtue), but instead scrutinizes and nitpicks at every turn, all while believing they are implementing benevolent policies and the proper path—they remain unaware that such actions, intended to protect the people, ultimately create more harm. Thus, the text later cites the De of sages to encourage cultivation. The Kaiyuan commentary explains: Sentient beings cling to appearances, regarding the proper path as strange and good deeds as sinister, so fortune and misfortune transform into each other, as if there were no fixed standards.

Therefore, the sage (one who has attained the Dao) conducts themselves with integrity yet does not harm others, for their inner rectitude is tempered by the harmony of De, leaving no harsh traces. They are incorruptible and upright yet not abrasive, for their purity embraces tolerance and thus does not injure others. They are forthright yet not unrestrained, for true uprightness appears yielding and thus does not flaunt itself. They are luminous yet not glaring, for they ultimately return to the clarity of their original nature. These four qualities all embody the magnanimous and Wuwei (non-action) way of governance. The sage maintains a serene and Wuwei state of mind, where integrity, incorruptibility, forthrightness, and luminosity are naturally present yet not ostentatious, allowing all under heaven to abide by their innate nature without veering into extremes. In this way, there is no room for the faults of harming, abrading, unrestraint, or glaring—and thus fortune and misfortune find no grounds to arise.

(This is Chapter 58, titled "Following Transformation" in the Heshang Gong version. Its core message encourages relinquishing cleverness and preconceptions, following natural laws, and dispelling the confusion of narrow views.)

In governing the people and serving Heaven, nothing is more essential than understanding restraint ("se"). The character "se" (pronounced "sè") signifies gathering one's spirit, conserving vital energy, and maintaining inner steadfastness and tranquility. Practitioners who persistently adhere to this principle will find their hearts expansive and their Qi abundant, ultimately attaining complete harmony with the Dao (the Way).

Those who embody utmost sincerity first fully realize their innate nature, then assist others in realizing theirs, and finally reach a state of standing alongside Heaven and Earth. This is because the principles of Heaven and human nature are inherently one, without any separation. As Mencius said: "Preserving the original heart and nurturing one's innate nature—this is the method of serving Heaven."

Precisely because they understand restraint, they can return early to their true nature. This early return is called "repeated accumulation of De (Virtue/Power)" ("chóng" is pronounced in the fourth tone, indicating repeated accumulation). Zhu Xi explained: "Early return" means that with restraint, one does not stray too far and can return in time; "repeated accumulation of De" means that one already has accumulated virtue, and by nurturing it further through restraint, the accumulation is reinforced. It is like practitioners who, upon early awakening, understand restraint before their essence is depleted.

With continuous accumulation of De, there is nothing one cannot overcome. When nothing is insurmountable, one's limits become immeasurable. Only De can transcend all things, so when selfish desires are completely overcome, one's state becomes boundless.

When De reaches an immeasurable state, one can govern a nation. Such magnanimity of De can encompass the world.

By grasping the fundamental principle of governance ("mother"), one achieves enduring stability. The people are drawn to De as children cling to their mother. The foundation of a nation lies in the ruler's own self—when one embodies the Dao, longevity is assured. If we compare the body to a nation, the "mother" refers to the root of life ("the Mysterious Feminine") and the authentic state of one's nature and life. This authentic state remains unchanged even by life and death, hence it is said to endure.

This is the principle of "deep roots and firm foundation" ("dǐ" is pronounced as "dīng jì qiē") and long-lasting vision. The Emperor's commentary states: By coexisting with Heaven and Earth, one achieves longevity; by shining with the sun and moon, one attains enduring vision. Duke Wending said: Governing the people with restraint preserves the nation; serving Heaven with restraint establishes deep roots and firm foundation. The ancient sages preserved the authenticity of their nature and life, never allowing external things to deplete their inner essence, thus their foundation was unshakable, making longevity and enduring vision possible.

Though governing human affairs and serving Heaven differ in their outward and inward aspects, the most essential principle in both is restraint. Cheng Yi said: Practitioners prolong their years, nations pray for enduring destiny, and ordinary people become sages—all because their efforts reach this level, and such effects naturally follow.

Governing a large state is like cooking small fish—the key lies in avoiding excessive stirring and disturbance. When the world is governed by the Dao, those ghostly beings (referring to yin energies) will not manifest their supernatural powers. It is not that these spirits lose their abilities, but rather that their powers cannot harm people. Nor is it that the nature of ghosts and deities becomes harmless, but rather because the sage does not harm the common people. When yin and yang cease to injure each other, their virtuous powers (De) naturally merge and harmonize.

The sage governs through wuwei (non-action), allowing the people to settle into their natural rhythms. Without excessive external desires or inner fears and anxieties, yin and yang achieve equilibrium, and the myriad things find their proper order. Under such circumstances, ghosts and deities have no opportunity to display their supernatural abilities. This does not mean these beings lose their powers—it is because the sage does no harm to the people that even spirits are transformed by the virtuous governance. Only when both sides coexist harmoniously, with their respective virtues blending together, can the highest form of governance be realized. As Liezi described perfect governance: "When the myriad things suffer no calamities, ghosts and deities cease to manifest." Zhu Xi (Master Wen) commented that when the kingly way flourishes, these aberrant energies naturally dissipate.

A great state should position itself like rivers and seas—content to occupy the lower position (symbolizing humility and inclusiveness)—so that all under heaven will flow to it like countless streams returning to the ocean. The converging point of the world resembles the feminine principle (pin, the receptive). The feminine consistently overcomes the masculine (mu, the active) through tranquility and yielding. For tranquility implies humility: when a great state adopts a humble stance toward smaller states, it wins their allegiance; when smaller states approach great powers with humility, they gain trust. Whether actively choosing humility ("taking through humility") or naturally occupying the lower position ("receiving through humility"), one must understand that the feminine principle of tranquil yielding always overcomes the masculine principle of forceful action—this is the universal pattern. To remain tranquil and humble is the constant way of victory.

(Note: "Heshang" refers to Heshang Gong, a renowned commentator on the Dao De Jing; "Master Wen" denotes Zhu Xi; "Wending" refers to Hu Wending—all being Song Dynasty scholars.)

This passage elucidates the philosophy of humble virtue (De) in the Daode Jing regarding "great states lowering themselves to small states." Laozi asserts that both large and small nations should maintain an attitude of humility. If a great state can remain humble—like King Tang of Shang's treatment of the Ge state—it will ultimately absorb smaller states. Conversely, if a small state practices humility, as King Goujian of Yue served the Wu state, it too may eventually gain acceptance from greater powers. Both parties achieve their needs, yet the greater state bears greater responsibility to actively maintain humility.

This humility is not born of calculated self-interest but aligns with the natural order (Dao). Just as the Yijing places the "Modesty" hexagram after "Great Possession," it teaches that preserving humility safeguards great achievements. Heshang Gong titled this chapter "Humble Virtue," emphasizing that only through virtuous conduct (De) can one inspire genuine allegiance.

The text employs the Dao as a metaphor for this ideal: like the deepest southwest corner of a house (the "mysterious recess"), the Dao embraces all things while remaining unfathomable. The virtuous cherish it as treasure, while even the unvirtuous depend on it for survival. Noble words earn respect, and good deeds influence others—thus, even those who act improperly should not be wholly cast aside. This reflects the Daoist vision of universal inclusion, resonating with the Xisheng Jing's description of the Dao as the profound abyss of primordial emptiness.

This passage speaks of the universal Dao-nature (innate essence) present in all people—even the most foolish possess it. The Dao is never distant from humanity; the most profound truths can be understood by common folk, and the noblest conduct lies within everyone's reach. If someone who committed wrongdoings in the morning hears the Great Dao by evening and thereby dispels delusions to restore their original nature, you would find no faults left to condemn. How could such a person ever be cast aside? Simply guide them with goodness—this is how even the unvirtuous find redemption.

Thus, even the Son of Heaven enthroned or ministers ranked among the Three Dukes (highest ancient offices), with their priceless jade discs and chariots drawn by four steeds, possess nothing as precious as sitting quietly to embody the Dao. In ancient ceremonial protocols, jade discs were offered before the steeds, yet neither imperial authority nor treasures compare to the dignity of cultivating the Dao in stillness. For the Dao is humanity’s innate birthright, while high rank and wealth are merely fate’s fleeting gifts—not attained by force. One should nurture the inner nature; why prize external accidents of fortune?

The ancients treasured the Dao precisely because it turns attention inward rather than outward, ensuring attainment for all who seek it. Those devoted to the Dao refrain from evil; needing nothing external, they transcend fortune and misfortune alike, untouched by calamity or harm. This is the world’s supreme treasure. As the saying goes: "Seek the Dao to gain the virtuous one’s treasure (the Dao itself), and even faults may be pardoned"—such is the safeguard for the unvirtuous.

(This is Chapter 62, titled by Heshang Gong as "The Dao as the World’s Ultimate Value")

Act through non-action (Wuwei), engage affairs through non-interference, savor the flavorless. Whether matters are great or small, many or few, resolve resentment with Virtue (De). Fixation on form breeds distinctions of size; obsession with quantity creates divisions of more and less—these are the roots of grievance. Only the Dao transcends such dualities: to accomplish great things, start with the subtle; to manage many tasks, begin with the few. Resolving resentment through Virtue reveals the Dao’s profundity.

Tackle difficulties through the easy; approach grand endeavors through the minute. For all under heaven’s hardships arise from simplicity, and all great undertakings accumulate from small beginnings. Thus, the sage never covets greatness, yet achieves it precisely by this refusal.

This passage describes the realm and cultivation methods of Daoist practitioners. The highest state is that of the sage who merges with the "realm of Wuwei (non-action)," acting without forced intention and savoring the true flavor of the ultimate Dao—the "tasteless taste." Their minds encompass the entire cosmos yet remain untethered by selfish desires, perceiving the essence of all things without being swayed by external phenomena. They regard all things equally, transcending distinctions of love and hate, even dissolving the boundary between sage and ordinary person. Naturally, there is no resentment to retaliate—only De (Virtue) embracing all.

Just as heaven and earth nurture all things without exclusion, this state is the most difficult for ordinary people to attain. One must begin with the small matters of daily life, cultivating step by step. The text emphasizes: approach difficulties by starting with what is easy, and undertake great tasks by beginning with the subtle. The Dao is hidden within the ordinary rhythms of daily existence—seemingly simple, yet its ultimate realization is achieved only by sages.

In cultivation, special attention must be paid to maintaining purity in the state "before thoughts arise" (referring to the "unmanifest stillness" in meditation). This state appears subtle, yet if expanded, its vastness cannot be measured even by heaven and earth. Therefore, one must proceed cautiously from small things; when De is perfected, one naturally stands shoulder-to-shoulder with the sages. If one remains ever-vigilant, never negligent from the start, even difficult tasks can be accomplished, and great undertakings fulfilled.

Regarding resentment, the text points out that it accumulates from small beginnings. If one discerns its root at the outset, it can be resolved in the moment. Thus, sages never exalt themselves—yet precisely because of this, they achieve greatness. Practitioners should aspire to lofty aims but must avoid starting with the mindset of "doing great things," as this leads to arrogance and complacency, hindering the path. Only by emulating the sage's selflessness and humility can one truly accomplish great deeds.

(Note: "Realm of Wuwei" refers to the state of cultivation that follows natural spontaneity without artificial striving; "unmanifest stillness" is a Daoist technical term denoting the original purity of the mind before thoughts arise; "Dao-body" refers to the essence or fundamental nature of the Dao.)

Those who make promises lightly often lack credibility, and those who view matters as overly simple will inevitably encounter many difficulties. This is because their thinking is shallow and careless, leading to thoughtless words and actions that fail to match their commitments. Once a mindset of carelessness takes root, comprehending the Dao (the Way) becomes exceedingly difficult.

Though sages (those who have attained the Dao) naturally understand principles and align effortlessly with the Dao without deliberate effort, does this mean they act recklessly? Because their Virtue (De) is cultivated with equal care, treating all things—great or small, many or few—with the same prudence, they ultimately face no insurmountable difficulties. This serves as a warning to seekers: not the slightest trace of negligence should be allowed. One must practice courageously, hold fast to the Dao-heart, and act with consistent caution—only then will there be no true hardship.

(This passage corresponds to Chapter 63 of the Heshang Gong commentary, elucidating the sage’s complete mastery of the Dao.)

A stable condition is easy to maintain; matters not yet manifest are easy to plan for. Fragile things are easily broken, and subtle signs are easily dispersed. Therefore, one must prepare before problems arise and address disorder before it takes hold.

"Fragile" refers to a state as easily snapped as a tender sprout, symbolizing human desires before they solidify; "dispersed" describes melting ice and snow. Continuing from the previous chapter’s meaning: maintaining a natural state before thoughts arise is why it is called "easy to hold, easy to plan"; detecting and handling matters at their first signs is why it is called "easy to dissolve, easy to disperse." "Before they arise" refers to the natural state of no-thought and no-concern, while "before disorder" refers to actions just beginning, still untainted. Governing at this stage allows effortless success. However, the Dao must be grasped suddenly—awakening instantly dispels delusions. Cultivation cannot be achieved overnight; it requires gradual refinement. Hence, the following passage discusses the cultivation of Virtue (De).

A tree so vast it takes both arms to encircle grows from the tiniest sprout; a nine-tiered tower is built basket by basket of earth; a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step beneath one’s feet.

This metaphor illustrates: aspiration must transcend the concrete, yet practice must be grounded in the concrete. Seeking true knowledge and diligent action, treading solid ground without neglecting the minute or despising the simple—through meticulous cultivation and long-term accumulation, the small can become great, the low can rise high, and the distant can be reached. But if even a trace of profit-seeking or calculating ambition lingers, it will obstruct the path of cultivation. Thus, the following passage elaborates further on this principle.

This passage expounds the core Daoist concept of "governing through Wuwei (non-action)." Forced action often leads to failure, and excessive grasping results in loss. Therefore, the sage avoids failure by not acting deliberately and prevents loss by not clinging. Ordinary people often fail when their endeavors are near completion—if they could treat the end with the same caution as the beginning, they wouldn't experience such failures.

The movement of the heavenly Dao operates with exquisite subtlety, beyond the reach of human cleverness. Those who act deliberately are prone to failure; the slightest carelessness can ruin matters. Only by following natural laws and accumulating virtue over time can one's De (Virtue/Power) develop spontaneously. Thus, what the sage seeks is the state of "no desire," not valuing rare possessions; what they learn is the truth of "Wuwei," not indulging in complicated knowledge. They simply correct people's excessive desires and help all things return to their original state. All things follow their natural patterns—the sage merely guides people in accordance with these patterns, bringing them into harmony with the Middle Way, never daring to interfere recklessly.

The following section discusses the art of governance. In ancient times, those skilled in practicing the Dao did not teach people to become clever but kept them simple and genuine. The people could be guided to follow the right path, but they didn't need to understand too many doctrines. The difficulty in governing people arises from their excessive cleverness—thus, ruling through cunning is a disaster for the state, while ruling without cunning is its blessing. Understanding this distinction means grasping the principle of governance. One who comprehends this principle possesses the profound "Mysterious De." This virtue may seem contrary to worldly wisdom, yet it is precisely what aligns with the great Dao.

Both chapters emphasize the same truth: deliberate action and cleverness bring failure and chaos, while following nature and preserving simplicity are fundamental. The sage governs not through schemes and manipulation but by embodying virtue, inspiring people to return to their natural and authentic state.

Laozi profoundly foresaw the inevitable patterns of worldly change, harboring deep concern within his heart. The reason rivers and seas can become the sovereign gathering place of all streams is precisely because they excel at occupying the lowest position. Similarly, when sages wish to stand above others, they must be humble in speech; when they seek to lead the multitude, they must place their own interests last.

Thus when they occupy high positions, people feel no oppression; when they stand at the forefront, people sense no harm. Therefore, all under heaven gladly support them without resentment. Precisely because they do not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with them. (Note: The "xia" in "shan xia" is pronounced "xiá," and "le" is pronounced "luò.")

The imperial commentary quotes the first line of the Zhun hexagram from the Book of Changes: "When the noble humbly treats the lowly, they win great popular support." When those in high positions do not feel burdensome to others, it is because they are sincerely supported; when they stand ahead without causing obstruction, it is because the multitude benefits. Thus, no one fails to submit willingly, and naturally, no resentment arises. The sage follows the Dao in adapting to changing circumstances—how could they be concerned with personal gain? This is simply the manifestation of humble virtue. Virtue that lowers itself appears all the more lofty; yielding actually leads to precedence. Yang Xiong said: "Those who willingly place themselves below will be elevated by the multitude; those who step back will be pushed forward." Therefore, all under heaven delight in supporting and upholding them without the slightest resentment—this is precisely the non-contending virtue of the Dao of Heaven.

(Note: This is Chapter 66 of the Daodejing, titled "Putting Oneself Last" in the Heshang Gong version, illustrating the virtue of humility and non-contention.)

All under heaven say my Dao is vast, yet it seems unlike any concrete thing. Precisely because it is boundless, it does not resemble anything specific. If it resembled any particular thing, it would long have appeared insignificant.

(Note: "Fu" is pronounced "fú." If the Dao resembled a concrete thing, it would be no different from other objects—how could it be called vast?) Zheng Xia explains: The Dao is supremely great, while all things are small. People rush about yet remain insignificant because they are bound by material concerns. "Yuan" (origin) is the root of goodness, and its ultimate development is "greatness." To reach the utmost yet not consider oneself great is to align with the Dao and differ from the mundane. Thus, all under heaven say my Dao is vast yet unlike any concrete thing.

I possess three treasures that I hold fast to: The first is compassion, the second is frugality, and the third is daring not to be ahead of the world. Because of compassion, one can be courageous (the benevolent are inevitably brave); because of frugality, one can be expansive (restraining oneself yet widely bestowing kindness); because one dares not take the lead, one can become the guide of all things (willingly standing behind yet ultimately becoming the leader of all).

This passage expounds on the core concept of "compassion" (慈), one of the Three Treasures (慈, 俭, 不敢为天下先) in Daoist philosophy. Laozi observes that just as the movement of heavenly Dao (the Way) appears effortless yet gives birth to all things, true greatness often contradicts worldly understanding. Modern people abandon compassion yet pursue martial prowess, discard frugality yet chase extravagance, reject yielding yet rush to be first—such inversion of priorities inevitably leads to dead ends. Those who rely on brute force and seek quick gains are actually courting self-destruction.

The highest wisdom lies in this: battles fought with compassion will be won, defenses built with it will stand firm. When heaven intends to save someone, it protects them through compassion. Compassion is the foundation for the continuity of life's Dao (the Way), the concrete manifestation of virtuous power (De), hence its primacy among the Three Treasures. Treat all beings with compassion, and they will cherish you like parents, even willing to go through fire for you. Thus the benevolent remain invincible—when human strength falls short, heaven intervenes with compassionate aid. This illustrates the law of cause and effect: as you treat the world, so the world treats you. Like King Wen of Zhou whose relocation from Bin to Qi initiated his dynasty's rise—such are the blessings compassion brings.

The text then presents four military wisdoms: True commanders don't rely on brute force (不崇尚暴力), skilled warriors don't fight angry (war is last resort, not personal desire), victors don't engage in contention (precisely by lacking competitive desire, they overcome reckless opponents—those who strike first often fail), and wise leaders remain humble (treating others with modest virtue (De) inspires willing service).

This embodies the virtue (De) of non-contention, the wisdom of harnessing others' strength, the supreme state aligning with heavenly Dao (the Way). Only through non-contention, humility, and relinquishing cleverness and preconceptions—by following natural law—can one merge with Dao's virtue (De). As Sima Guang (Duke Wen) noted, this Dao-aligned virtue (De) has been humanity's highest ideal since antiquity.

The passage concludes with military adages: "I dare not initiate war but prefer responsive defense, dare not advance an inch but would retreat a foot." This describes the state of marching without formation, raising arms without action, facing enemies without hostility, bearing weapons without using them. As Wen Dinggong explains: creating conflict is "host" (主), while responsive defense is "guest" (客).

When facing an enemy, the side that takes the initiative to attack harbors a contentious mind (like a guest), while the retreating side holds no intention to fight. Precisely because they lack this contentious mind, even when employing force, it is as if no force were used—this represents the most difficult state to achieve. Such an army yields easily but does not attack lightly. Even on the battlefield, they appear as if they have no formation to arrange, no arms to wield, no enemy to confront, and no weapons to grasp—all in perfect naturalness. When warfare is conducted this way, how could there be any fault?

The greatest calamity lies in underestimating the enemy. Underestimation leads to the loss of our most precious treasure: "compassion" (ci). Thus, when two armies stand opposed, the side that maintains a heart of sorrow and pity will ultimately prevail. (Note: In Daoism, "compassion" refers to the fundamental principle of cherishing life and avoiding unnecessary conflict.) Here, the shift between the "level tone" and the "falling tone" in pronunciation subtly contrasts "loss" with "raising." The scripture explains: Since compassion is regarded as a treasure, underestimating the enemy leads to reckless warfare, reckless warfare leads to killing, and thus the original heart of compassion is lost. When two armies are compelled to engage in battle, if they can maintain grief for the casualties, this sorrow will move Heaven and Earth to offer aid, making victory inevitable.

(This chapter uses the principles of warfare to illustrate the importance of "guarding compassion." Using the human body as a metaphor, harmful thoughts are more dangerous than enemy states, and greed is sharper than swords. Thus, one must reduce desires to preserve the inner treasure.)

My teaching is actually easy to understand and simple to practice, yet the world struggles to truly comprehend and follow it. Human nature inherently possesses this understanding—in principle, grasping it should not be difficult. But the Dao of Heaven is an undivided whole; even the slightest deviation leads to errors a thousand miles apart. This cannot be grasped through calculation—those who strive too hard go too far, while those who abandon effort fall short, making it hard to realize. Nor can it be attained through rigid steps—the impatient seek shortcuts, while the weak often give up halfway, making it hard to practice.

Words must have a foundation, and actions must follow the core principle. Language expresses the Dao, and conduct manifests it. True teaching lies in wordlessness, and great affairs rest in non-action—this is the fundamental principle. Those fixated on the surface of words are the ones who fail to understand and practice.

The sages of antiquity were free from thought and worry, acting naturally and effortlessly, maintaining a state of pure simplicity. This realm transcends what ordinary thought can reach, which is why the world ultimately cannot truly understand them.

Few truly understand me, and this is precisely what makes me precious.

Sima Guang (Duke Wen) explains: The Dao is vast and profound, so those who truly comprehend it are exceedingly rare. Therefore, the sage is like one who wears coarse cloth yet holds jade within. Emperor Huizong of Song (in his imperial commentary) adds that the sage keeps the great Dao deeply concealed within the heart without ostentatious display. Qingyuanzi further elaborates: wearing coarse cloth signifies harmony with worldly affairs, while holding jade symbolizes inwardly maintaining the Dao and cultivating De (Virtue).

Coarse clothing represents daily necessities that all people require, whereas fine jade is an exceedingly precious treasure possessed only by sages. That few understand me demonstrates the profundity of my Dao practice. Yet sages never consider themselves superior - their mysterious and unfathomable sacred state actually manifests in ordinary daily life, with the hope that all may attain this realm. This is what Confucius meant by "I hold nothing back from you."

(This is Chapter 70, titled "Knowing Difficulty" in the Heshang Gong version. The chapter clarifies that while the Dao appears easy to know and practice, those who underestimate it find it most difficult to grasp.)

True understanding lies in recognizing that "not knowing" is the highest state, while not knowing yet believing one knows constitutes a flaw. Only by reaching the realm of true knowledge can one unite with the Dao, unconstrained by limited knowledge - this is the highest De (Virtue). Those who haven't attained true knowledge yet believe they know will use ornamentation to obscure essence and erudition to disturb their original mind, forcibly pursuing knowledge that ultimately becomes an obstruction to De.

Only by recognizing flaws as flaws can one avoid truly falling into them. The reason sages have no flaws is precisely because they treat flaws as flaws. Sages are born with understanding - fundamentally flawless, they needn't first discover flaws before correcting them. What's called "treating flaws as flaws" is actually the sage's prescription for practitioners, helping them recognize the defect of forcibly seeking knowledge, thereby attaining genuine awakening to eliminate this flaw. When both medicine and illness disappear together, when both knower and known vanish, one realizes one was originally flawless - this is the state identical to the sage's realm.

(This is Chapter 71, titled "Knowing Flaws" in the Heshang Gong version. The chapter explains that true knowledge accords with truth, while attachment to delusion becomes a defect.)

When people no longer fear authority, greater威慑 will arise. Every person's original mind contains supreme power that fills heaven and earth - supremely bright, beyond what any creature can surpass, this is the greatest majesty. But people become bound by physical desires, drowning in various delusions, fearing life and death...

This passage discusses the proper attitude cultivators should maintain when facing gains, losses, life and death. Those who constantly worry about personal gains and losses become trapped by worldly threats, living their entire lives in unconscious fear. But those who truly understand the unity of life and death, gain and loss can advance courageously without hesitation—what appears terrifying then becomes clearly visible.

Do not confine the dwelling of your heart-mind (referring to spiritual realm), nor despise the source of your life. Only by not despising will you not be truly despised. "Dwelling" refers to the abode of heart-mind—when embracing all under heaven, one merges with the Great Void (cosmic origin); "Life" refers to the gathering of primordial Qi—when containing the essence of Supreme Oneness (Dao), one aligns with creation's work. But stubborn people struggle to comprehend the Great Dao. Those obsessed with minor techniques confine their spiritual realm, ultimately falling into nihilistic extremes and despising life.

Therefore practitioners are admonished: The heart-mind governs primordial Qi—boundlessly vast, it should be continually expanded; Life carries the Dao—infinitely marvelous, it should be properly nurtured. Only thus can one cultivate Qi to perfect life, fulfill nature and reach destiny, free from aversion or craving. True longevity isn't about clinging to life and fearing death, but about abiding with the Dao—thus the Dao won't despise you.

Therefore sages (those who attained the Dao) possess self-knowledge without self-display, practice self-love without self-exaltation. Thus we should abandon self-promotion and pretentiousness, choosing instead self-awareness and self-care. Self-knowledge enables inward reflection without confining the heart-mind; self-love severs external desires without despising life. Though understanding their own attainment, they don't deliberately display it; though cherishing their cultivation, they don't belittle others. Only by eliminating such fears does the true "Great Dignity" (Dao's majesty) manifest. Sages maintain this transcendent attitude whether in motion or stillness.

This scripture primarily discusses the operating principles of the heavenly Dao (the Way) and the wisdom of human conduct, using contrasting examples to illustrate the different outcomes of rigidity and softness.

The Dao of heaven operates through these patterns: It achieves victory without contention (buzheng er shan sheng), responds accurately without words (buyan er shan ying), arrives without being summoned (buzhao er zi lai), and appears ordinary while concealing profound meaning (tanran er shan mou). Like the precise rotation of seasons or the infallible retribution for virtue and vice, the heavenly Dao resembles an immense, all-encompassing net (tianwang huihui) – seemingly loose yet missing nothing.

Regarding human conduct: Excessive boldness and forcefulness invite destruction (yong yu gan ze sha), while the courage to yield and remain soft preserves life (yong yu bugan ze huo). Though both approaches have merits, rigid dominance ultimately incurs heaven's disapproval. Even sages find its subtleties difficult to master.

In governance: When people no longer fear death, threatening them with capital punishment becomes ineffective (min chang bu wei si, naihe yi si ju zhi). True deterrence comes only when citizens live securely and value life, allowing legal punishments for wrongdoers to carry weight.

The text ultimately emphasizes: One should demonstrate courage in following the Dao (yong yu dao) rather than brute force (yong yu li). All actions must align with natural principles, for though heaven's way appears lenient, no good or evil ultimately escapes its justice.

When governing a state, if rulers indulge in pleasures, fear death, or tolerate those with eccentric behaviors who disrupt social order, how dare these people remain disobedient when I (referring to the ruler who embodies the Dao) intervene to rectify them?

Between heaven and earth, there exists the natural law of the Dao (the Way) that governs life and death (the "executioner"). If mortals overstep their authority and presume to carry out killings in place of the Dao's decree, it would be like an unskilled person wielding an axe for a master carpenter—those who insist on doing a carpenter's work will rarely avoid injuring their own hands.

The Duke of Wending explained: The true "executioner" is the natural order of the Dao's operation. When society is stable, those who act deceitfully and disrupt the community may behave recklessly, but they are ultimately abandoned by the Dao's principles. Punishing them according to law represents the Dao employing human hands to execute justice, not personal will. To kill arbitrarily in violation of this principle is to usurp heaven's authority. Just as forcing oneself to do a carpenter's work leads to self-harm, those who overstep their bounds in administering heaven's punishment will eventually bring calamity upon themselves. Master Cheng Yi (Yichuan) once remarked: Those whose virtue (De) remains unformed yet rush to achieve merit belong precisely to this category.

People starve because their rulers impose excessive taxes; people become difficult to govern because their rulers act recklessly with too many interventions. The Imperial Commentary notes: Heavy taxation leads to public hardship, while excessive governance breeds cunning and hypocrisy.

The very reason people court death so rashly is their excessive pursuit of pleasure. The Imperial Commentary explains: Overindulgence in pleasure drives people to chase profit by any means, committing all manner of depraved and dissolute acts. The Duke of Wending adds: When rulers lead by pursuing selfish gains, the people will follow suit, risking death to chase pleasure without ever finding satisfaction.

Only those who do not treat personal pleasure as life's goal surpass those who cling desperately to life. Sima Guang (Duke Wen) reveals the profound truth here: Those who do not deliberately preserve themselves actually preserve life more effectively.

Living beings have soft bodies when alive but become rigid after death; plants have supple branches when growing but turn brittle when withered.

This passage elucidates two fundamental principles: the philosophy of softness overcoming hardness, and the law of cosmic balance.

First, let us consider the Way of Softness. Hard objects are prone to breaking—just as withered branches snap easily. Thus, excessive rigidity approaches death, while pliant things possess greater vitality. In warfare, brute force does not guarantee victory; towering trees invite the axe. The most refined things are often soft, while the coarse tend to be hard—this is nature's pattern. As Zhuangzi observed, wisdom manifests outwardly as gentleness and humility. True victors do not rely on sheer might, just as flexible trees survive storms. Hence, hard things belong below, while soft things naturally rise—a principle that also applies to human character cultivation.

Next, we examine the Law of Heaven. The cosmos operates like drawing a bow: what is high must be lowered, what is low must be raised; excess is reduced, deficiency is replenished. The Dao (the Way) always trims the surplus to supplement the lacking, maintaining equilibrium. Yet human ways oppose this—often taking from the poor to give to the rich. Just as a bow must be drawn back before release, the Dao first gathers before giving, prioritizing fairness and harmony. This adjustment occurs naturally, impartial and selfless. Human actions, however, frequently defy this principle, extracting from the world without introspection, creating imbalance where the strong grow stronger and the weak weaker. As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states: "Diminishing the upper to benefit the lower brings increase; exploiting the lower to enrich the upper brings ruin."

(Note: "Chongqi" refers to the harmonized Qi (vital energy) of Yin-Yang; "Dazhenzi" is an honorific for Daoist practitioners; "Heshang" denotes the Heshanggong Commentary edition of the Daode Jing.)

Who in the world can take from what is excessive to supplement what is deficient? Only the Dao can accomplish this. Therefore, the sage (one who has attained the Dao) acts without claiming merit, achieves without dwelling on accomplishments, for they have no desire to display their worthiness.

Only those who have truly attained the Dao can act with the natural spontaneity of heaven, neither boasting of their actions nor taking pride in their achievements. If one acts and then boasts of their merits, their worthiness becomes conspicuous to the world—this is tantamount to using excess to nourish oneself.

(This passage is from Chapter 77, known as "The Way of Heaven" in the Heshang Gong version, illustrating how the Dao operates with impartiality and how the sage emulates this heavenly principle.)

Nothing in the world is softer or weaker than water, yet nothing surpasses it in attacking the hard and strong—for nothing can alter water's intrinsic nature. Water excels at dwelling below and maintaining its gentle essence unchanged, thus preserving itself while overcoming external forces.

The principle that the soft overcomes the hard and the weak overcomes the strong is known to all under heaven, yet few can put it into practice. Observe water's nature and you will understand this truth—the matter lies plainly before us, the principle is clear—where is the difficulty? It is only because people's faith in the Dao lacks sincerity that they cannot embody it.

Therefore, the sage says: Only those who can bear a nation's humiliation are fit to be its rulers; only those who can shoulder a nation's misfortunes may become kings of the world. (Sima Guang comments: Only by encompassing impurity can one achieve greatness.)

True words that accord with the great Dao often sound contrary to worldly opinions. Such words go against superficial human sentiments but align with the supreme truth of the Dao.

(This passage is from Chapter 78, titled "Trusting in Weakness" in the Heshang Gong version, demonstrating how qualities of softness and inclusiveness attract the submission of all things.)

To seek reconciliation for great enmity will inevitably leave residual resentment—how can this be considered perfect? Enmity arises from illusory perceptions—since illusion is fundamentally unreal, from where does enmity truly come? If one does not address the root cause but merely seeks surface-level reconciliation, though outward appearances may suggest harmony, the heart remains unsettled—this is "remaining resentment." How can it be good? If one thoroughly perceives the fundamental truth, one can truly forget and return to stillness.

Therefore, though the sage holds the left tally of a contract (ancient agreements were divided into left and right portions, with creditors keeping the left), they do not press others for repayment. The division into left and right tallies was originally meant to establish trust and resolve disputes. The sage shares the same fundamental nature as ordinary people—it is merely that common folk cling to illusions and become entangled in contention, thus becoming deluded by great enmity and losing their true nature, unaware that their authentic being is free from illusion. Thus the sage simply maintains this original true nature—without deliberately seeking harmony with others, enmity naturally finds no foothold.

The passage presents two main sections: the first employs the metaphor of a "contract," while the second depicts an idealized society of small states with sparse populations.

The first part draws on the ancient practice of wooden contracts: in antiquity, people would split a piece of wood into left and right halves as proof of an agreement, with the ruler holding the left half and the subject the right, reuniting them when verification was needed. Here, the "left contract" symbolizes humanity's innate, authentic nature. A virtuous person (De) is like one who holds the contract—they need not act deliberately, yet the people are naturally influenced. Those lacking virtue, however, constantly seek to mediate conflicts. The Dao (the Way) shows no partiality to anyone but naturally assists the good. A truly good person neither seeks repayment from others nor deliberately prays to Heaven; they simply follow the natural course.

The second part describes an idealized, simple society: the state is small, and its population is sparse. Though the people possess tools, they do not use them; they value life and are unwilling to travel far. Though they have carts and boats, none ride in them; though they have weapons, there is no occasion to wield them. They return to the simplicity of knotting ropes to record events, content with plain food and clothing, at ease with their own customs. Though neighboring states are within sight and the sounds of each other’s chickens and dogs can be heard, the people grow old and die without ever interacting. This portrays a life of returning to primal purity, where people are inwardly fulfilled, free from the need for external material pursuits or social exchanges.

This passage primarily discusses the attitude and cultivated state that Dao practitioners should maintain in life.

Regarding the interpretation of the character "望" (wang), its meaning is similar to the phrase "冠盖相望" (a metaphor for detachment), indicating that practitioners should preserve a desire-free mindset. Only by achieving this state of non-attachment can one reach such a realm.

Truthful speech requires no ornate embellishment, while flowery rhetoric often lacks sincerity. Because words that accord with the Dao (the Way) need no superficial beauty, whereas deliberately adorned language merely seeks to please others and may not be trustworthy.

Truly virtuous people are not skilled in clever debate, and those fond of argumentation may lack genuine virtue. Those rooted in goodness do not deliberately engage in disputes, while those focused on contention often lack true benevolence.

The genuinely wise do not pursue extensive knowledge, for grasping fundamental principles enables comprehension of all things. Yet those obsessed with erudition may deviate from the true Dao.

Sages accumulate no personal possessions—the more they help others, the richer they become; the more they give, the more they receive. Having achieved unity with the Dao, sages don't even cling to the concept of "one," naturally transcending all notions of accumulation. With pure and selfless hearts, they bestow De (Virtue/Power) without feeling diminished and propagate the Dao without exhaustion.

The Dao of heaven nourishes all things without causing harm, while the sage's principle is to act without contention. Those capable of benefiting others could also harm them; those able to act could also compete. But like heaven, sages possess these capacities yet never employ them negatively—this distinguishes them as exemplars transcending ordinary people.

Through contrasting authenticity with superficiality, virtue with contention, and specialization with erudition, this scripture teaches practitioners to pursue inner cultivation rather than external display, maintaining a selfless mindset that benefits others, ultimately achieving unity with the Dao of heaven.

This passage primarily discusses the historical evolution of commentaries on the Daode Jing and the similarities and differences between Confucian and Daoist thought.

It first observes that since Heshang Gong (a renowned Daoist scholar of the Han dynasty) divided the Laozi into chapters and verses, the originally holistic Daoist philosophy became fragmented. The Great Dao (Dao) is fundamentally ineffable, yet sages had to employ words to elucidate the complete truth of heaven and earth for human understanding. This Collected Commentaries on the True Scripture of Dao and Virtue serves as a pathway to the Great Dao, through which scholars may apprehend its true meaning.

The author praises Guishan (likely referring to a particular commentator) for his compilation work, likening it to lighting a lamp in dark, bewildering paths—helping people directly grasp the true significance of Laozi's "Way of Undifferentiated Completion" (referring to the Dao's inherently unified nature).

The text then compares the differences between Confucius's and Laozi's philosophies: Confucius studied under many teachers, including Laozi. While Confucius particularly esteemed Laozi's teachings on Dao and Virtue (De), their intellectual systems differ. Confucius emphasized the principle of "substantial existence," explaining the generation of all things through concepts like the Supreme Ultimate (Taiji) and the Two Modes (Yin-Yang). Laozi, however, took "emptiness and non-being" as fundamental, proposing the cosmogonic theory that "Dao begets the One, the One begets the Two, the Two begets the Three, and the Three begets the myriad things." Their perspectives on the Dao differ, yet they are ultimately interconnected in essence.

Regarding cultivation methods, Laozi advocates "embracing simplicity and holding to purity" (preserving one's innate simplicity) and "reducing selfishness and desires" for mental cultivation. For physical cultivation, he promotes "carrying the vital essence (Jing) and embracing the One" (spiritual concentration) and "continuous practice as if it endures" (sustained cultivation). His principles for conduct include "regarding the heavy as the root of the light" (steadfastness as fundamental) and "taking stillness as the basis of movement" (movement arising from extreme stillness). He emphasizes attitudes of non-contention, non-action (Wuwei), and desirelessness in life. These all contrast with Confucius's this-worldly philosophy, yet both represent different interpretive approaches to the Dao.

The great Dao that governs the nation and the world is a fundamental principle that even sages cannot contradict—"the elimination of extremes, extravagance, and excess." Just as the profound valley (Gushen, the Valley Spirit) and the mysterious feminine (Xuanpin, the Dark Feminine) give birth to all things naturally, Cheng Yi (Master Cheng) derived from this the principles of nurturing Qi, and Zhu Xi (Master Zhu) also incorporated these ideas. How dare we, later scholars, rashly question this?

Daoist Master Dong of Guishan (a renowned Daoist mountain) annotated the Laozi Daode Jing, synthesizing the essential points from various schools throughout history to elucidate its fundamental tenets. Although practitioners of cultivation often base their teachings on Laozi's philosophy, the relationships between root and branch, primary and secondary still require careful discernment. Master Dong's commentary demonstrates profound mastery and has contributed greatly to promoting Laozi's teachings—readers must not overlook this.

This passage is the preface written in the summer of 1257 (the fifth year of the Baoyou era of the Southern Song Dynasty) by Huang Bichang (courtesy name Jingfu), who once served as acting prefect of Enping. He points out that Master Dong's commentary not only honors Laozi's original intent but also integrates the thought of great Neo-Confucian scholars, offering valuable insights into understanding the Daoist way of governing the state and cultivating the self.