《道德真經集註(二)》Vol. 17

This passage discusses the principle from Chapter 73 of the Dao De Jing: "Courage in daring leads to killing; courage in not daring leads to preservation." Several Daoist scholars have provided commentaries on this:

Peng Si cites Emperor Huizong of Song's (Imperial Commentary) explanation: those who are rigid and stubborn tend toward death, while those who are gentle and humble preserve life. As the Liezi states, the most victorious principle under heaven is softness.

Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) further analyzes: the resolute person fears nothing, confronting threats without hesitation, directly executing the wicked even when dissuaded—this is the meaning of "courage in daring leads to killing." The Dao cultivator acts prudently, understands yielding, maintains a gentle and harmonious attitude, cannot bear to harm others, and responds to minor offenses with kindness—this is "courage in not daring leads to preservation."

Ye Mengde observes that those courageous in daring tend toward killing, while those courageous in not daring tend toward preserving life. Both hold firmly to their principles without yielding, hence both are called "courage."

Cheng Dachang explains: "courage in daring leads to killing" resembles the common saying "the violent die badly," as such behavior inherently contains the way to death; "courage in not daring leads to preservation" resembles the Dao De Jing's description of a state where "fierce beasts find no place to claw, weapons no place to strike."

The discussion then turns to: "These two may bring benefit or harm—who knows why Heaven dislikes them? Even the sage finds this difficult to grasp." Emperor Huizong notes that what accords with the Dao of Heaven survives, while what opposes it perishes—a principle even sages dare not take lightly.

Chen Jingyuan adds: Heaven and Earth's greatest virtue (De) is nurturing life, hence sages treasure compassion and dislike killing. Death is life's greatest suffering—all beings detest it. Courage in decisiveness easily leads to killing; courage in compassion preserves life. But stubborn adherence to either attitude misses Heaven and Earth's principle of life-and-death alternation. The phrase "may bring benefit or harm" indicates the difficulty in judging when killing is justified—those who do evil openly face human punishment; those who do evil secretly face retribution from spirits.

This passage discusses the different outcomes of "bravery" and "non-bravery" within the framework of cosmic law. Those who act recklessly may appear courageous but often invite death, while those who exercise caution and restraint, though seeming timid, preserve their lives. This reflects a universal principle of nature.

Yet reality presents exceptions: sometimes the bold survive by chance, while the cautious meet misfortune. People often become confused by these anomalies, overlooking the fundamental pattern. The Dao's workings are profound and inscrutable—even sages dare not lightly define its standards of favor and disfavor, relying instead on common principles for judgment.

Commentators offer varied interpretations:

Sima Guang notes that sages maintain reverence toward the Dao of Heaven; Su Zhe, quoting the Liezi, suggests that speculating on heaven's intent is inferior to flowing with spontaneity; Wang Pang observes that ordinary people see only superficial benefits, unaware of what the Dao abhors; Lu Dian argues that while strength appears to overcome weakness in appearance, the reverse holds true in principle; Cao Daochong cites examples where both bravery and non-bravery yield divergent outcomes; Dazhenzi distinguishes between the realms of "forced action" (youwei) and "non-action" (wuwei); Chen Xianggu points out that both extremes deviate from the harmony of the Middle Way; Ye Mengde emphasizes discerning justified and unjustified acts of violence.

Together, these interpretations reveal: the Dao's operations are mysterious and unfathomable, and the highest wisdom lies in aligning with nature rather than imposing one's will. Even seemingly advantageous "bravery," if contrary to the Dao, ultimately invites calamity.

This passage elucidates the operating principles of the Heavenly Dao (natural law). The Dao appears to take no deliberate action, yet effortlessly accomplishes all things. Just as all beings follow natural patterns in their growth and decline, the Heavenly Dao never forces anything, yet all things naturally align with it.

Regarding the relationship between life, death, benefit and harm: forced interference often brings misfortune. Preservation brings benefit when appropriate, but forced preservation at the wrong time becomes harmful. What is destined to perish is already rejected by the Heavenly Dao, yet ordinary people struggle to fully comprehend this profound mystery—even sages find it difficult to grasp completely. Only by observing the complete cycle of transformation can one understand that while the Heavenly Dao appears vast and seemingly imperfect, it never errs.

The distinctive feature of the Heavenly Dao lies in prevailing without contention. Just as it neither refuses birth nor obstructs death, it accompanies all things through their cycles of prosperity and decline. This "non-contention" (Wuwei) manifests as: the Heavenly Dao never opposes anything, yet all things naturally submit; without verbal commands, the changing seasons and growth of all beings respond spontaneously. Like thunder and wind demonstrating celestial might, or the precise correspondence of blessings and misfortunes—all are natural responses of the Heavenly Dao.

Commentators offer varied insights: Chen Jingyuan observes the Heavenly Dao follows natural spontaneity without comparing strength with things; Sima Guang emphasizes allowing all things to develop naturally; Su Zhe notes the Heavenly Dao doesn't contend over temporary gains, yet ultimately achieves naturally; Wang Pang compares it to a kind father who wouldn't oppose his children; Liu Ji concludes that precisely because it doesn't contend, nothing under heaven can contend with it. The Heavenly Dao needs no words—all things respond spontaneously; requires no summons—what should come arrives of itself.

Chen Jingyuan (style name Bixuzi) observed that the Dao of Heaven is lofty and silent, yet when has it ever needed to summon the myriad beings? All things naturally turn their backs to the shade and face the sunlight, grow in spring and bear fruit in autumn, as heat recedes and cold arrives—these all manifest the workings of natural law.

Sima Guang (style name Sushui) added that the Heavenly Dao operates without haste yet moves swiftly, without shifting yet reaches everywhere. Su Zhe (style name Yingbin) likened it to the descent of divine presence—unfathomable and impossible to command, for who could truly summon it?

Wang Anshi (style name Linchuan) explained through the lens of Yin-Yang transformation: the alternation of Yin and Yang propels the turning of seasons, with the flourishing and decline of all things following temporal rhythms naturally, thus occurring spontaneously without summons. The Heavenly Dao appears serene yet conceals profound foresight—as Emperor Huizong's Imperial Commentary notes, its constancy in change ("chang yi") makes it appear magnanimous, while its prescience of dangers demonstrates strategic wisdom. Su Zhe further described the Dao as seemingly leisurely and non-active (Wuwei), yet its strategies surpass all human calculation.

Regarding the principle that "Heaven's net is vast, loose yet leaves nothing untouched": the Imperial Commentary states only sages comprehend this truth. They neither chase profit nor avoid calamity, ultimately gaining lasting benefit without harm, thereby uniting with the Heavenly Dao. Chen Jingyuan interpreted this as Heaven casting a natural net (tianwang)—spacious in mesh yet encompassing all directions, where neither light nor dark things escape.

Su Zhe cautioned the worldly: viewing Heaven's net through limited perception, one sees fragments and assumes gaps—witnessing good deeds met with misfortune or evil rewarded with fortune, thus doubting the net's justice. Only by observing beginnings and ends while understanding patterns of change can one realize this net, though wide and loose, leaves nothing unaccounted. Dazhenzi and Huang Maocai both emphasized that only those "courageous in non-action" (aligning with nature) can commune with the Heavenly Dao—those who comply survive while resisters perish, with no hope of deceiving this seemingly distant law.

Cheng Dachang employed arboreal imagery: if Heaven manifested only in minutiae (say, making trees grow but one leaf in three years), then foliated trees would be exceedingly rare. This illustrates the Heavenly Dao expresses its justice through holistic patterns, not partial phenomena.

Laozi here employs the metaphor of hunting to illustrate the importance of "grasping the whole." He says: If the divine archer Hou Yi focused solely on shooting each individual sparrow, he could indeed hit every target—but this would merely be using personal strength to capture single prey. If one takes the entire cosmos as their cage, then no sparrow can escape. This demonstrates that those who understand how to operate within vast frameworks are truly wise.

Those in the world who doubt the Dao (the Way) of Heaven are like people who see a single yellow leaf fall in summer and conclude that summer lacks pure Yang, or who spot a single flower blooming on a winter branch and claim winter isn't purely Yin. Such reasoning, which uses isolated phenomena to deny universal patterns, is absurd. For example, when the Zhou dynasty flourished, virtuous men of the fallen Shang (like Bo Yi and Shu Qi) chose to starve on Shouyang Mountain rather than eat Zhou grain. Emperor Wu of Han claimed to honor Confucianism yet castrated Sima Qian for advocating Huang-Lao thought. In the Records of the Grand Historian, Sima Qian used the story of Bo Yi and Shu Qi to lament, "The Dao of Heaven shows no partiality, yet it always favors the good"—if even such virtuous men meet tragic ends, where is Heaven's justice? This is precisely like denying summer because of one yellow leaf or winter because of a single flower—all stemming from a failure to comprehend the vast, all-encompassing unity of the Dao of Heaven.

Regarding the chapter on "the people not fearing death," Chen Jingyuan (Bixuzi) explains there are two kinds of fearlessness: those who awaken to the Dao transcend death by understanding its natural patterns, while fools grow numb by defying reason. Human nature inherently cherishes life and dreads death—men plowing, women weaving, nurturing life and mourning the dead are the norms of an orderly society. When people retain their simple purity and officials govern by law, both life and death follow natural principles—why would anyone fear death? Only when virtue declines, and rulers oppress with harsh laws until survival becomes impossible, do people react to minor fears with trembling and to great fears with numb desperation. At that point, what use is threatening the innocent with executions or clan extermination?

Regarding the "fear of death," there are two scenarios: one is the health-conscious person who fears premature death and thus cultivates virtue (De); the other is the wicked person who clings to life out of fear of execution and feigns obedience to the law. The natural state of a human being should be as serene as an infant playing with food in its mouth, as carefree as a well-fed wanderer, where even at the age of a hundred, one does not feel the approach of old age—this is the person who follows the Dao (the Way). Nowadays, laws and regulations are so numerous that people easily fall into mortal peril, keeping the populace in a state of perpetual fear. When people fear death, they cling to survival by any means, and those who do so inevitably first harbor wicked thoughts and resort to deceit to exploit legal loopholes. Once deceit flourishes, chaos arises, and rulers can then justifiably arrest and execute people, attempting to eradicate cunning through harsh punishments. But who can guarantee this will truly work?

Su Zhe (styled Yingbin) commented: When laws are overly complex and punishments excessively severe, the people become so bewildered they no longer fear death, rendering threats of execution useless. Only when people live in stability will they naturally cherish life and fear death. At that point, punishing those who disrupt society will ensure compliance.

Da Zhenzi (a Daoist master) observed: What people fear most is indeed death, yet they are often driven by desires and entangled by emotions, thus bringing death upon themselves—this is "constantly not fearing death." From the perspective of the Dao, if people truly do not fear death, what use is threatening them with it?

Chen Xianggu noted: Nowadays, some act wickedly yet do not fear death, making it difficult to execute them lightly.

Huang Maocai remarked: This is the duty of judicial officials, not something Laozi could undertake. Just as Confucius, serving as the Minister of Justice in Lu, executed Shao Zhengmao (a scholar condemned for his words) within seven days, there were many others among the common people whose behavior was equally aberrant.

It is always the duty of appointed law enforcers to carry out executions. To kill in their stead is like cutting wood for a carpenter—those who do the carpenter’s work often end up injuring their own hands.

Emperor Huizong of Song (in his imperial commentary) explained: The ruler should govern the world through non-action (Wuwei), while ministers should manage specific affairs through action—this is an unchanging principle. To execute in place of law enforcers or cut wood for carpenters is to blur the boundaries of roles, violating the Dao of governance. King Wen of Zhou never overstepped his authority in judicial matters, understanding that specialized officials must each fulfill their duties.

Su Zhe (style name Yingbin) explains that the authority over life and death belongs to the Dao of Heaven. When society is stable, those who act strangely and disrupt the community may behave recklessly, but this is actually because Heaven intends to abandon them. When we execute those whom Heaven has marked for abandonment, we are merely enacting celestial will rather than human judgment. If Heaven does not decree death yet we presume to execute, we arrogate the authority over life and death that belongs to Heaven alone. Just as substituting for a carpenter in woodcutting risks injuring one's hand, presuming to act as Heaven's executioner inevitably brings calamity upon oneself.

Liu Ji (Daoist name Qingyuanzi) further elucidates: True sovereignty over life and death resides with the transformations of Nature. All beings follow their inherent cycles of birth and demise governed by the Creator, requiring no human interference. When humans presume to determine life and death in place of cosmic transformation, they court danger like an amateur replacing a master carpenter. If even woodworking substitutions risk injury, how much more perilous is usurping Heaven's authority over human lives?

Chapter 75 discusses why people suffer hardship: The people starve because their rulers impose excessive taxes; they become difficult to govern because their superiors interfere excessively. Emperor Huizong of Song annotates: Heavy taxation impoverishes the people, while complicated decrees breed cunning behavior—thus people lose their original simplicity.

Chen Jingyuan (Daoist name Bixuzi) analyzes: Rulers who act excessively create complicated governance, whereas wuwei (non-action) makes administration simple. Simplicity invites compliance while complexity breeds resistance. When rulers feast on delicacies, the commoners must eat spoiled food. Sima Guang (style name Sushui) observes: Excessive interference makes people hard to govern.

Su Zhe supplements: When rulers guide people through excessive action, the people respond in kind, creating endless complications. Huang Maocai remarks: Crushing taxes exhaust the people's vitality, causing starvation; convoluted laws corrupt their innocence, making them unruly.

People risk death lightly because they excessively pursue luxurious living. Emperor Huizong comments: Excessive pleasure-seeking breeds greed that stops at nothing. Chen Jingyuan explains: When governance becomes harsh and taxes oppressive, people lose their means of livelihood—they then fight over treasures, break laws, and brave dangers to survive, thus "risking death lightly." Sima Guang concludes: Though profit-seeking aims at survival, people often perish through their very greed for gain.

Su Zhe (Master Yingbin) explains: If rulers guide the people with profit and desire, the masses will compete in pursuing material pleasures. Thus even when facing mortal danger, people will still greedily chase gain without satisfaction.

Wang Pang observes: Those who truly understand life cultivation do not obsess over preserving life, yet thereby preserve their innate nature. When one excessively pursues pleasure, desires become endless—ultimately taking reckless risks and treating life lightly.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) points out: Excessive desires lead to wasteful extravagance, resulting in perceived scarcity. This sense of deprivation breeds greed, compounded by compulsive cravings and the pressure of hunger and cold, driving people to disregard life itself in pursuit of profit.

Chen Xianggu remarks: Becoming immersed in sensual love while forgetting impending disaster—this is the common condition of ordinary people.

Huang Maocai analyzes: When social customs become extravagant and superficial, people will struggle desperately to satisfy desires, thus devaluing life.

Truly enlightened are those who don’t treat life as an object of pursuit—this surpasses deliberate life cultivation in worth.

Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) illustrates: Those who cling to life yet chase profit are like sheep voluntarily walking to slaughter, ironically hastening death. Only those indifferent to life and death feel no disgrace in menial work, savor coarse food with contentment, and remain composed like hermits amidst worldly dangers—standing in stark contrast to deliberate cultivators. Those who overvalue life constantly seek bodily comfort, fine cuisine, elegant attire, and sensual pleasures.

Sima Guang (Master Sushui) concludes: Not overvaluing oneself paradoxically preserves life.

Su Zhe further elaborates: Overemphasizing life ultimately leads to reckless death—only by not treating life as an object of pursuit can it be naturally preserved.

Wang Pang adds: Though this passage presents three principles, understanding one reveals the others.

Chen Xianggu notes: Not deliberately pursuing survival—this is the profound mystery of the Dao (the Way).

Ye Mengde extends the thought: Rather than anxiously controlling people through force, govern through wuwei (non-action) to let them self-regulate; rather than fearing starvation and imposing heavy taxes, lighten burdens to let them sustain themselves.

Huang Maocai finally emphasizes: Laozi’s teachings shouldn’t be interpreted one-sidedly. While originally valuing life cultivation, his statement about "not deliberately pursuing life" specifically targeted extreme hedonists like Gongsun Chao and Gongsun Mu of Zheng (who advocated indulging in wine and pleasure, believing life is short)—Laozi’s words aimed to dispel such delusion.

Cheng Dachang illustrates with examples: Plain food sustains life, yet people always crave delicacies.

This passage reveals profound truths about softness and hardness through natural observations. Consider the phenomenon of life: when alive, the human body remains soft and supple, yet turns rigid after death. Similarly, living plants are tender and flexible while dead ones become brittle and dry. Thus, what appears strong tends toward destruction, while what seems weak embodies vitality.

Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary explains that all things contain both Yin and Yang forces, and only their harmonious balance sustains life. When the destructive Yin energy prevails, the harmony of life is disrupted. Therefore, hardness belongs to the realm of death, while softness represents the way of life.

Master Chen Jingyuan elucidates: Living humans maintain soft bodies through harmonious Qi (vital energy) and vibrant Shen (spirit), whereas death brings Qi dispersion and Shen dissipation, leaving the corpse stiff. While plants flourish or wither according to Qi's gathering and scattering, humans must understand that the Dao's presence determines life and death.

Su Zhe further observes: Maintaining balanced Qi within prevents bodily rigidity; comprehending this fundamental principle keeps one from forceful actions that lead to predicaments.

The conclusion mirrors nature's wisdom: an overly aggressive army rarely achieves victory, just as towering trees become targets for felling. Thus, the seemingly strong often occupy vulnerable positions, while the apparently weak rise to prominence - much like how a tree's sturdy trunk supports the delicate branches flourishing above.

This passage presents various commentaries on the "softness overcomes hardness" concept from the Daodejing (Classic of the Way and Virtue). Laozi posits that gentleness can ultimately triumph over brute strength—a cornerstone of Daoist practical wisdom.

Zhuangzi elaborates that one should outwardly embody humility and pliancy. Chen Jingyuan (Bixuzi) analyzes this from a military perspective: Weapons are inherently dangerous, and an excessively powerful army often leads to rulers underestimating enemies, generals growing arrogant, and soldiers becoming tyrannical. Such forces collapse from internal discord before even engaging in battle—how could they prevail? He cites historical examples like the Xia and Shang dynasties, Qin Shihuang, Xiang Yu, Wang Mang, Fu Jian, and Emperor Yang of Sui, all of whom commanded vast armies yet met defeat, proving that "an overbearing military cannot win."

Wang Anshi (Linchuan) and Wang Pang interpret the character gong (共) as conveying "defiance," much like how towering trees invite the axe. Dazhenzi quotes military strategy: True victors refrain from aggression, advancing instead by retreating; they triumph not through brute force. Just as supple trees survive and yielding armies prevail, gentleness belongs above while rigidity lingers below.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) observes natural patterns: The most refined things appear delicate atop, while the coarsest seem unyielding beneath. Huang Maocai cites the Liezi, which records Laozi’s original words: "An army at its peak meets ruin; a tree at its hardest breaks." He suggests that gong in current editions may be a scribal error and should instead read zhe (折, "break") as in the Liezi.

Ye Mengde concludes that this embodies true statecraft—ruling not through martial dominance. Through military, natural, and philological lenses, the text illuminates the profound Daoist principle: "Softness overcomes hardness."

The movement of the Dao resembles the drawing of a bow: when the string is pulled too high, it is lowered; when too low, it is raised. Where there is excess, it is reduced; where there is deficiency, it is supplemented. The Dao invariably takes from what is surplus to compensate what is lacking. Yet human laws operate contrarily—they often take from the insufficient to serve the excessive.

Emperor Huizong of Song (Imperial Commentary) explains: The Great Dao itself neither increases nor decreases, yet all things undergo cycles of flourishing and decline. To maintain equilibrium like an inexhaustible spring is the realm of sages. Observing the operation of all things, even heaven and earth wax and wane with time—how much more so for humans? The Dao takes the Middle Way as its supreme principle, thus lowering the excessive to prevent surplus and raising the deficient to avoid lack. Just as the four seasons alternate—what should come comes, what should recede recedes—each follows its proper sequence. Complacency invites loss, while humility receives replenishment—this is the Dao's way.

Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) cites Yan Junping: When craftsmen fashion bows and arrows, they neither deliberately destroy nor create, but simply follow compass and square. If the bowstring is too taut, it is loosened; if too slack, it is tightened. The excessive is trimmed, the insufficient supplemented. Making bow and string complement each other, upper and lower harmonized, with balance as the guiding principle—only thus can the arrow function. This method of adjusting heights and balancing quantities mirrors the very operation of heaven and earth.

The Commentary from the Kaiyuan Daoist Canon observes: This reveals how human ways often violate the Dao's principle of equilibrium. As seen in the Yijing: the Sun hexagram (Mountain over Lake) decreases below to increase above, while the Yi hexagram (Wind over Thunder) decreases above to benefit below. When the Tai hexagram (Earth over Heaven) decreases below, it becomes Sun; when the Pi hexagram (Heaven over Earth) decreases above, it becomes Yi. These are profound truths the sages revealed through hexagram imagery.

Su Zhe (Master Yingbin) adds: When drawing a bow, the sinews contract; when releasing, the curved bow rises—this natural phenomenon perfectly illustrates the Dao's regulation of high and low. The Dao, being impartial, maintains balance; human ways, being partial, create imbalance.

Ye Mengde concludes: The bow's operation—first drawing taut then releasing—embodies the rhythmic self-regulation of the Dao, adjusting heights and balancing surplus with deficiency. All transformations perfectly accord with nature's cadence.

This scripture primarily discusses the distinction between the Dao of Heaven (natural law) and the Dao of humanity (human artifice), as well as the way of being for sages.

The Dao of Heaven operates spontaneously, reducing excess to supplement deficiency, maintaining balance like the drawing of a bow. In contrast, the Dao of humanity follows the opposite path—people constantly seek external gratification, taking from what is lacking to satisfy their own surplus. The human spirit (Shen) is inherently limited, yet it is driven day and night by external desires. Is this not precisely "taking from the insufficient to serve the excessive"?

Only those who have attained the Dao (dedao) can emulate the way of Heaven by "reducing excess to compensate for deficiency." Sages (those who embody the Dao) act without claiming merit for their achievements, and though they accomplish great things, they do not cling to their accomplishments. They have no desire to display their wisdom and virtue, thus maintaining humility.

True sage-kings and enlightened beings, though occupying lofty positions, remain mindful of the common people, treating subordinates as if serving elders. Their wisdom penetrates all things, harmonizing with and nurturing all creation without boasting of benevolence or righteousness. They bestow blessings upon future generations without claiming kindness, exist as one with antiquity without asserting seniority, and shape all things without flaunting their skill. Precisely because they do not claim merit, they become models for all beings.

Those who embody the Dao are content with simplicity. By giving to others, they enrich themselves; by offering to others, they find greater abundance. Without relying on their achievements or claiming credit, their wisdom and virtue remain hidden from the world, thus avoiding the trap of "serving their own excess." Only those who have attained the Dao can follow the way of Heaven—acting without claiming merit, achieving without becoming complacent. This is the realm of sages. True sages do not even wish to display the reputation of being "wise and virtuous."

This passage discusses how the Dao regulates the balance of all things. Master Liu Ji of Qingyuan observes: Who can take from what is abundant to supplement what is lacking? Only the Dao can achieve this. The Dao exists in the world—all beings rely on it for growth yet it never refuses them; all draw from its resources yet it never depletes. Where there is excess, it reduces; where there is deficiency, it replenishes. Following celestial principles and sharing Heaven's virtue (De), it maintains natural equilibrium throughout the cosmos. Without self-aggrandizing intentions, it acts without claiming credit; without complacent thoughts, it accomplishes without dwelling on achievements. Precisely because it neither flaunts its actions nor boasts of merits, it never deliberately displays sagacity.

Huang Maocai depicts the realm of those who have attained the Dao: They dwell in emptiness, make their home in voidness, and take delight in the sun, moon, mountains, and rivers. Riding clouds and Qi, they command Yin-Yang, drink celestial dew (referring to the essence of Heaven and Earth), and consume the qi of perfect harmony (the purest energy). These are the inexhaustible, abundant resources of the cosmos, used to nourish their spirit (Shen) without depletion. Who but sages could achieve this? Yet when have they ever flaunted their deeds or paraded their accomplishments to demonstrate wisdom?

Herein lies the core of Daoist cultivation: emulating the Dao's balancing principle by drawing upon nature's abundance to compensate for personal deficiencies, attaining spiritual plenitude without complacency. Though adepts may harness natural forces, they remain ever humble, never ostentatiously displaying their cultivation.