《道德真經集註(二)》Vol. 3

This passage discusses the core teaching of Chapter 9 of the Dao De Jing (道德经), using commentaries from several Song Dynasty scholars to expound the principle that "a full vessel will overflow, and sharp edges are easily broken."

Peng Si (鹤林真逸) notes in his compiled commentary: Forcing something to remain full is inferior to knowing when to stop; deliberately displaying sharpness cannot be maintained long. Just as water overflows when full and blades break when too sharp, this reflects the natural order of all things. Clinging to perfection invites misfortune—better to maintain a humble and receptive state.

Chen Jingyuan (碧虚子) cites Yan Junping's observation: Wealth and status are like climbing a mountain to gaze afar—beautiful yet fleeting; fame and power resemble lightning, vanishing in an instant. Su Zhe (颍滨) elaborates: Understanding that fullness leads to overflow, one should embrace moderation; knowing sharpness invites breakage, one should withdraw one's edge. True sages possess without clinging, thus avoiding overflow; by following the Dao (the Way), they need not display sharpness.

Ye Mengde argues: The Dao itself never seeks fullness—human efforts to force it will topple it; the Dao is naturally round without edges—deliberate sharpness inevitably meets resistance. Without clinging to fullness, one avoids self-loss; without forcing sharpness, one prevents external harm.

Huang Maocai points out: The Dao is formless and unconstrained—human attempts to maintain perfection are futile. Such forced actions violate natural principles and should cease. Lin Dong concludes: The Dao abhors complacency while honoring humility, rejects sharpness while valuing harmony. Rather than straining to maintain fullness and edges, return to the natural state of neither fullness nor sharpness, for these are not the Dao's essential qualities and lead only to collapse and breakage.

When gold and silver fill the chambers, none can keep them forever; arrogance born of wealth and honor only invites calamity upon oneself. The Emperor (Huizong of Song) explains in his commentary that external possessions like gold and wealth are not the true principles of life—they cannot be relied upon nor held permanently.

Master Bi Xu (Chen Jingyuan) cites Yan Junping's interpretation: Material treasures like gold and jade affect the physical body, while fame and power influence the spirit (Shen), just as ice and charcoal cannot coexist. Empty reputation pollutes the spirit, while material gain harms the body. Nourishing the spirit with filth and accumulating bodily harm may seem beneficial but actually plants the seeds of disaster, leading to confused thoughts and inverted actions.

Huang Maocai offers another perspective: The "gold and jade" mentioned in the scripture refer to inner virtue (De)—like wearing coarse cloth while harboring jade-like integrity—not worldly riches. "Wealth and honor" denote the spiritual state of those who attain the Dao (as Laozi said, "When few know me, then I am honored"), not mundane glory. Ancient Daoist adepts maintained inner fulfillment, undisturbed by external things, valuing internal cultivation over fame and gain. Yet even enlightened scholars like Ji Kang, though having realized the Dao, ultimately met misfortune due to their arrogance—hence Laozi's warning to the world.

Achieving merit and fame yet knowing when to withdraw—this aligns with the natural order. The Emperor's commentary uses the waxing and waning of sun and moon, the cycling of seasons, to illustrate how extremes reverse. Sages understand that success and failure follow each other, that fullness and emptiness have their measure, thus remaining detached without pride. The ancient minister Yi Yin cautioned: "A subject should not cling to power by flaunting achievements."

Chen Jingyuan adds: Those who don't withdraw after great accomplishments are like fine bows stored after the birds are gone, or hunting dogs cooked when the cunning hares perish—such is heaven's inevitable law. Only those who perceive the Dao's cycles of growth and decline, who understand advancing and retreating, survival and demise, are true masters of the Way.

Huang Maocai concludes: The "merit" mentioned here arises through Wuwei (non-action)—not forced striving; the "fame" comes unsought—not through reputation-seeking. When such merit and fame are achieved, one naturally returns to original authenticity.

Observing the patterns of the four seasons reveals the principles of the Dao's movement. Ancient Daoist masters like Laozi, Zhuangzi, Liezi, Fan Li, the Four Haos of Mount Shang (reclusive sages of Qin-Han period), An Qisheng (Qin-Han alchemist), and Dongfang Shuo—historical records never documented their final outcomes. Does this not precisely indicate their successful cultivation of the Dao followed by reclusive withdrawal, leaving no trace for the world to know?

The chapter "Carrying the Ethereal and Corporeal Souls" states: Maintaining the unity of hun (ethereal soul) and po (corporeal soul)—can one achieve their inseparability?

Emperor Huizong of Song annotated: The po, being yin, attaches to the body with limitations, hence Laozi describes it as "encamped" (ying). The hun, being yang, rides on qi and roams boundlessly, thus the Yijing describes it as "wandering." The sage governs form with spirit (shen), using hun to restrain po, ensuring the spirit perpetually carries the po without being constrained by it. Like a cart transporting goods, or the four seasons cycling through heat and cold. When the mind communicates with nature and the six senses interconnect, transcending all creation while the spirit remains unweary—how could it ever be confined by the po?

The generative principle of heaven and earth: Heaven's One generates water, corresponding to human jing (essence); Earth's Two generates fire, corresponding to shen (spirit). Spirit originates from the Great Dao, while form is rooted in essential qi. Preserve jing without dissipation, unite it with shen, and essence-spirit will blend inseparably. Use jing to coalesce shen, employ shen to command form, and through form nourish shen. When jing remains complete without depletion, shen operates without exhaustion, and form grows without decay—it resembles the sun and moon clinging to heaven, or plants rooted in earth, never parting ways.

Further explanation: When human life takes form, jing coalesces into shen, and physical embodiment follows. The spirit permeates all directions without obstruction—reaching heaven above and penetrating earth below, nurturing all things yet remaining formless. This is the realm of sharing the name with the Heavenly Emperor. Yet worldly fools, driven by external objects, lose their innate nature in mundane affairs, never pausing to nurture spirit within. Instead, they chase endless desires, externally depleting jing. Consequently, hun becomes enslaved by po, and form instead burdens shen—ultimately decaying alongside all creation. Is this not delusion?

Daoist priest Chen Jingyuan said: Daoists name the yang spirit as hun (which delights in life), and the yin ghost as po (which prefers dissolution). Hun governs movement; po governs stillness. The Baihutong interprets ying as "wandering without settling," hence calling hun "encamped." Ancient commentaries explain zai as "to carry," while ying refers to hun—some interpretations suggest it means "guarding yang qi." As yang's essence, hun loves movement and dispersion; as yin's numinous substance, po...

This scripture discusses the relationship between Shen (spirit) and Po (corporeal soul) in Daoist cultivation, and how to achieve longevity through harmonizing Yin-Yang.

The text records methods for retaining the Hun (ethereal soul) and Po, as the Yin-natured Po tends to drift and delude. Thus, immortal scriptures teach techniques of subduing it—keeping the body constantly carrying Yang-natured Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy), while the Yin-natured Po guards the pure unified Qi of Great Harmony (Taihe), preventing their dispersal to ensure eternal longevity. The Daoist practice of "embracing the One" (Baoyi) is likened to a mirror containing light—how could light ever leave the mirror? This teaches the cultivation of the original Shen.

Su Zhe explains that sages maintain a stable mind and concentrated spirit, unshaken by external things. Though they dwell in the Po (the spirit of the physical form), when the Shen acts, the Po always follows—this is the Shen constantly carrying the Po. Ordinary people, however, are enslaved by external stimuli, their consciousness muddled, and are instead controlled by the Po, indulging in sensory desires—this is the Po carrying the Shen. Therefore, cultivation involves embracing the Shen and carrying the Po, ensuring they do not separate—this is the sage’s key to self-cultivation. The ancient perfected ones (Zhenren) achieved longevity precisely through this principle.

Wang Pang elaborates further: Po belongs to Yin and governs the physical form, while the Shen is vast and penetrating yet difficult to perceive. Often constrained by the Po, the Shen’s expansiveness narrows, and its fluidity stagnates. Practitioners must first expand their will and Qi, not burdened by the body, letting the Shen lead the Po rather than being led by it—thus attaining the "embracing the One" state where the Shen manifests. After death, ascent to heaven or descent into oblivion depends on whether the Shen submits to the Po. If one’s Shen is complete, even the Yin-stagnant Po can unite with Jing and reach everywhere. When sages pass away, their Shen does not scatter with the Po—because from the beginning, they carried the Po.

Lu Dian analyzes from a Yin-Yang perspective: Hun belongs to Yang and governs movement, while Po belongs to Yin and governs stillness. Hun assists the Shen—its changes are only in form; Po assists Jing—its stillness produces transformation in substance. Hence, "wandering Hun" describes transformation, while "nurturing Po" describes stillness. "Carrying the Po" is external operation, "embracing the One" is internal preservation—combining both forms the complete cultivation method.

Human life is composed of the two Qi (vital energies) of Yin and Yang. The Yang aspect is called the Hun (ethereal soul), while the Yin aspect is called the Po (corporeal soul). These reside in the liver and lungs respectively. Ordinary people may understand this principle intellectually, but only those with genuine cultivation can perceive it directly. The subtle Qi and the Shenming (divine illumination) are interdependent—what moves in and out with the Jing (essence) is the Po, while what interacts with the Shenming is the Hun. Here, the term "bearing the Ying and Po" refers to the Hun as the "Ying."

The Yellow Emperor once said that what governs the body's activities is called the Hun. The Book of Changes mentions "the wandering Hun brings about transformation," and Zhuangzi states "his Hun does not tire," both indicating that the Hun oversees the body's functioning. The Po, on the other hand, follows the movement of Jing and is primarily responsible for physical changes. All the bones and the nine orifices (eyes, ears, nose, mouth, etc.) in our body belong to the domain of the Po. Without the Hun to guide it, the body would be like a lifeless corpse. The Po cannot exist without the Hun, just as the moon cannot exist without the sun. The Po needs the Hun to function, much like the moon relies on the sun for its light. Here, "Ying" describes the function of the Hun, while "Po" refers to its physical manifestation. The term "bearing" (载) signifies the body's role as a vessel—the body is like a cart, and the Hun and Po are what it carries.

Master Cao Daochong observed: The physical form has no awareness on its own; it is only through bearing the Hun and Po that it becomes active. The Hun, being Yang, prefers clarity and emptiness, while the Po, being Yin, is prone to desires. Though collectively referred to as the Hun-Po, Laozi particularly emphasizes the Po because the Yin aspect of the Po easily gives rise to various cravings.

Ye Mengde explained: In human life, the heart stores the Shen (spirit), the kidneys store the Jing (essence), the liver stores the Hun, and the lungs store the Po—only then can a complete physical form be established. The Shen and Jing can transcend the limitations of the body, while the Hun and Po serve as its guardians. The Hun originates from Yang Qi, enabling it to ascend and disperse, while the Po comes from Yin Qi, making it prone to sinking and stagnation. When Laozi speaks of "Ying and Po," "Ying" refers to a tangible existence. Those skilled in nurturing life ensure that Yang overcomes Yin, preventing Yin from disturbing Yang, so that the Hun can continuously bear the Po in harmonious operation.

Zhu Xi added: The character "bearing" (载) is like using a cart to carry a person—a usage common across ancient and modern times. To have someone board a cart is also called "bearing," as seen in classical texts.

This passage explores the profound meaning of the phrase "carrying the luminous po (魄) while embracing unity" from the Daode Jing. Various commentators have offered differing interpretations:

The character "ying" (营) shares meaning with "glimmering light," while "po" (魄), as discussed in my Nine Songs commentary, represents the yin principle of stillness. The scripture holds that the hun (魂) soul belongs to yang and governs movement (associated with the number two and the Fire phase), whereas the po soul belongs to yin and governs stillness (associated with the number one and the Water phase). "Carrying the luminous po while embracing unity" thus describes using the active hun to guide the still po—movement preserving stillness, Fire regulating Water—to achieve harmonious unity. Like a rider remaining steadily upon a chariot, this allows the hun to stabilize and the po to clarify, preventing Fire from becoming agitated or Water from overflowing—the essential key to longevity and clear vision.

However, many commentaries deviate from this meaning. Heshang Gong mistakenly equates "ying" with "po," distorting both the character's meaning and the passage's intent by suggesting humans must "carry" their souls to survive and should cherish them. Only his interpretation of "carry" (载) is marginally correct. Wang Bi (styled Fusi) interprets "carry" as "dwelling," treating "yingpo" as the abode where humans permanently reside—a view similar to Heshang Gong's.

By the Song dynasty, Su Shi (styled Ziyou) and Wang Pang (styled Yuanze) proposed new readings: though typically at odds, both here identify hun as spirit and po as the physical form, advocating spirit's dominance over bodily movement while warning against the body burdening the spirit. Hong Xingzu (styled Qingshan) similarly states that when yang qi fills the form to create hun, and the hun can move, life becomes complete. These interpretations all understand "carry" as a chariot bearing a rider. Yet this not only strays from the original intent—if followed, the spirit would become overworked while the body finds no rest. Though avoiding sensual indulgence, such approaches forcibly drag subtle mysteries into turmoil, ultimately trapping practitioners in the common pitfalls of physical depletion and shortened lifespans without realizing it.

The passage concludes with "concentrating qi (气) to attain softness—can you be like an infant?" The Imperial Commentary cites the Yijing: "The Qian hexagram in stillness becomes focused," while Yang Xiong notes "softness suffices to..." —both emphasizing the vital importance of maintaining infant-like unity and pliancy.

This scripture primarily discusses how to achieve harmony of body and mind through regulating Qi (vital energy), with its core being the cultivation method of "concentrating Qi to attain softness."

The text mentions that maintaining inner tranquility free from distracting thoughts is called "concentration," while being gentle without violence is called "softness." Like an infant whose movements are natural and unaffected, whose mind makes no distinctions between right and wrong or beauty and ugliness, one can thereby concentrate Qi and soften both body and mind. Mencius said that when people hurry about agitatedly, their Qi rebounds to disturb the heart-mind. If the mind cannot govern Qi, it leads to Qi disorder and ultimately loss of mental control.

Sages interact with the world through emptiness and stillness, never allowing Qi to become domineering, thus achieving a state of calm without disorder, harmony without violence—indistinguishable from an infant's condition. While Mencius advocated cultivating the "vast and mighty" upright Qi, Laozi promoted "attaining softness," because strength serves to practice righteousness while softness serves to return to one's original nature. Ancient cultivation methods naturally encompassed various approaches.

Chen Jingyuan explained that "concentration" means focused attention and letting go—here Qi refers to the pure primordial energy humans are born with. If one can concentrate and preserve this innate Qi while forgetting acquired knowledge, allowing Qi to become naturally harmonious and the body naturally soft, one can maintain complete harmonious Qi like an infant.

Su Zhe believed that if the Shen (spirit) cannot govern, Qi becomes disordered—the strong become aggressive while the weak shrink back. When the Shen is stable, Qi doesn't act recklessly, and emotions remain balanced—this is "concentrating Qi." When the Shen reaches utmost emptiness and stillness, softness manifests; when Qi reaches utmost fullness, strength appears. Complete return to original nature while diminishing Qi is "attaining softness." Infants make no distinctions of likes and dislikes, thus their nature remains complete, their Qi subtle, and their bodies soft.

Wang Pang pointed out that human life consists of Jing (essence), Shen, and Qi: abundant Jing makes Shen vigorous, and vigorous Shen can command Qi; if weakened Shen cannot govern Qi, behavior becomes disordered. Mencius said the will is Qi's commander, while Yang Xiong compared Qi to horses carrying people toward good or evil—when the commander is weak, subordinates rebel; when horses are unruly and the driver exhausted, control is lost.

This passage explores how to cultivate one's character and attain self-refinement through the regulation of Qi (vital energy). It explains that when people fail to maintain focused control over their Qi, they become enslaved by emotions like joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure. Ancient practitioners understood this principle well—Confucius' "Three Restraints" (guarding against lust, contention, and greed) were precisely meant to prevent the loss of Qi control. Only Yan Hui achieved such mastery over Qi that he could "not transfer his anger."

Human nature inherently possesses sage-like qualities, but without maintaining single-minded focus (concentration on the Dao) as one ages, one drifts increasingly further from the Way. By embracing the principle of "holding to the One" (abiding in the Great Dao), vitality flourishes, Qi becomes harmonious, and one's true nature remains intact, attaining a state of purity akin to an infant. As Lu Dian elucidates, inner concentration allows Qi to coalesce, while outer refinement renders it gentle—reaching this state makes the mind mirror-like, the spirit clear and bright, transcending all worldly attachments.

Cao Daochong observes that scattered thoughts lead to disordered Qi movements. Only through single-minded focus, allowing Qi to flow unimpeded while harmonizing with all things without resistance, can one return to original authenticity—resembling a fetus in its mother's womb. Chen Xianggu notes that Qi is the foundation of action, and softness the root of strength. Zhu Xi emphasizes that concentration isn't about forced control but sustained, unwavering focus that achieves ultimate pliancy.

The text concludes with "cleansing the mysterious mirror" (removing distractions to contemplate the inner self), advising practitioners to wash away worldly defilements and purge the five emotions (joy, anger, sorrow, pleasure, and desire) until both inner and outer become pure. This allows the mind to reflect all things without blemish—a profound method of mental cultivation. The scripture teaches self-cultivation through these three aspects before transitioning to state governance, illustrating how personal refinement relates to ruling a country: only when individuals are cultivated can their De (Virtue) become genuine; only when extended to the world can this Virtue become vast.

This passage elucidates the core principles of self-cultivation. The phrase "能无疵乎" (can one be flawless?) suggests that to purify the mind and eliminate distractions, one must examine their words and deeds as carefully as looking into a mirror, scrutinizing whether there remain any faults or blemishes in both inner thoughts and outward conduct.

Su Zhe explains that true sages (those who have attained the Dao) are neither governed by external desires nor swayed by internal emotions, thereby completely clearing the dust from their minds. In this state, their spiritual realm becomes vast and luminous, capable of perceiving the essence of all things. They understand that everything originates from innate nature, maintaining detachment whether observing purity or impurity, and thus naturally remain flawless.

Wang Anshi illustrates with a metaphor: eliminating distractions is like cleansing the heart, while contemplating the profound resembles the clarity of the bright moon and the purity of a pearl—only then can one truly achieve flawlessness. Liu Jing points out that the essence of this chapter lies in the complete cultivation of the Three Treasures: Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit). Purity like an infant is the key to nurturing Jing, and maintaining flawlessness is crucial for cultivating Shen.

Chen Xianggu further elaborates: clearing distractions should be like washing with water, and sweeping away impurities like removing filth—only then can one attain genuine profound insight. Liu Ji adds that sages, through this method of heart-cleansing, eliminate all chaotic thoughts, naturally comprehending the profound principles of the Dao. How could flaws remain?

Regarding "爱民治国能无为乎" (can one govern the people and the state without deliberate action?), Chen Jingyuan cites ancient commentaries: loving the people should be like caring for infants; governance must not be harsh, and taxes or labor must not harm livelihoods. Governing a state requires prioritizing agriculture and simplifying administration, allowing people to live in peace—this is the true meaning of Wuwei (non-action). The idea is that rulers who wish to love the people without harming their innate nature and govern while emphasizing fundamental agriculture must maintain an attitude of serene non-action.

Su Zhe proposes that such cultivation should be applied both to oneself and extended to governance. Even in significant matters like loving the people and governing the state, one must preserve an "uncontrived" attitude—deliberate efforts to love may harm the people, and forced governance may disrupt the state.

Wang Anshi concludes: the highest form of loving the people appears as non-love yet achieves lasting care; the highest form of governing seems like non-governance yet brings true stability. Precisely because it accomplishes without deliberate effort, it is called "Wuwei." Genuine Wuwei skillfully utilizes existing conditions in the world, whereas forced action reveals inadequacy. This is the wisdom Laozi particularly emphasizes.

This passage discusses the connection between Laozi's concepts of "returning to the fundamental truth" and "loving the people to govern the state." Several Daoist scholars offer their interpretations from different perspectives:

Liu Jing cites Zhuangzi's viewpoint, suggesting that the true essence of the Dao (the Way) is for self-cultivation, while its remaining aspects serve state governance. Loving the people embodies De (Virtue/Power), while governing represents political affairs. Rulers and ministers cannot practice complete Wuwei (non-action), but if they regard common people like straw dogs (sacrificial objects symbolizing equal treatment of all things), they may comprehend the Dao of governance.

Qingyuanzi Liu Ji proposes that an individual's body mirrors a nation in miniature. Sages regard the heart-mind as the ruler, the body as the state, and Qi (vital energy) as the populace. When the ruler (heart) maintains Wuwei, Qi flows naturally and the body remains healthy. Nurturing Qi equates to loving the people, while preserving physical form corresponds to governing the state. Governing through non-action handles the world with ease, whereas forced action becomes entangled by worldly affairs.

Huang Maocai emphasizes that achieving Wuwei requires prolonged cultivation: one must first concentrate on preserving the Dao to attain a state of softness, with a mind clear of distractions, before natural non-action emerges. Forcing Wuwei only distances one from the Dao. The state resembles the body, its people like the spirit—loving the people and governing well parallels self-cultivation.

Regarding the "opening and closing of the celestial gate" (referring to nature's cyclical operations), imperial annotations explain that sages understand strength yet abide in softness, remaining humble like valley streams. They follow heavenly transformations—withdrawing when appropriate, acting when timely—always following rather than forcing, thus naturally attracting the world's allegiance.

Bixuzi Chen Jingyuan further clarifies that the celestial gate represents nature's creative portal where all life comes and goes. Its opening brings growth, its closure brings decay. Though producing countless beings, no trace of deliberate creation appears; though things perish, no active destroyer can be found. This natural rhythm exemplifies "maintaining the feminine" (preserving quiet receptivity).

This passage explores the wisdom of the "natural Dao" and "feminine stillness," with various Daoist scholars offering interpretations from different perspectives:

The cycle of life and death of all things leaves no trace—this is the profound mystery of nature. Only those of supreme virtue, the "great persons" (those who have attained the Dao), can truly comprehend the natural Dao. Their minds embrace the cosmos, their Qi harmonizes Yin and Yang, and their actions maintain a state of feminine tranquility, undisturbed even by concepts of life and death, prosperity and decline. Feminine stillness embodies the subtle manifestation of natural law; whether in self-cultivation or governing a nation, one should steadfastly uphold this gentle, quiet way.

Wang Anshi posits that all things emerge from and return to the "Heavenly Gate" (referring to the source of the Dao). Where there is opening and closing, there is movement and stillness; where there is movement and stillness, there is distinction between feminine and masculine. Only by maintaining feminine softness can one overcome rigidity; only by preserving stillness can one master restlessness. Thus, the Daode Jing asks: "When the Heavenly Gate opens and closes, can you remain in the feminine state?"

Liu Jing cites Zhuangzi's view that the "Heavenly Gate" represents the realm of "non-being," from which all things arise. The Dao of Heaven governs transformation; in governing the people, one need only follow Heaven's way without deliberate force, acting only when absolutely necessary.

Cao Daochong explains that "opening and closing" represents the pattern of change, while "feminine stillness" embodies the virtue that nurtures all things. Huang Maocai, from an alchemical cultivation perspective, compares the "Heavenly Gate" to an infant's unclosed fontanelle—when practitioners cultivate to this state, they connect with the Dao of Heaven. The "feminine" shares meaning with "motherly" (the receptive principle), symbolizing the qualities of gestation and inclusiveness.

Regarding the phrase "Can you be all-knowing yet remain unknowing?" Su Zhe uses the metaphor of the mind as a mirror—reflecting things as they come without retaining traces. Deliberately pursuing "knowing" splits the original mind into dualistic thought, which marks the beginning of delusion. Huang Maocai further explains that true "unknowing" is the natural state of omniscience, like seeing all things upon opening one's eyes—if one clings to "I am seeing," it becomes an eye disease. Similarly, deliberately distinguishing between knowing and not knowing is a disease of the mind. Maintain pure unity, gradually reaching a state of non-discriminatory awareness.

Wang Ni posed four questions, and Nie Que responded to each with "I don't know," yet he leaped for joy at this realization—a profound teaching indeed.

(This parable illustrates the wisdom of "knowing what you know and knowing what you don't know.")

Heaven and Earth give birth to and nurture all things yet claim no possession over them; they act without asserting merit, guide without imposing control—this is the most profound De (Virtue/Power), the Mysterious De (Xuande).

Emperor Huizong of Song (in his imperial commentary) explains: The sages, whose spirit is united with the Dao, participate in the transformation and nourishment of all things by Heaven and Earth. They allow all beings to grow naturally without thoughts of possession, nurture them without pride in achievement, and guide them without forceful domination. Such De is so profound and unfathomable, seemingly contrary to ordinary reasoning, that it is called Mysterious De.

Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) observes: Whether in self-cultivation or governing a nation, achieving these six states (giving birth, nurturing, producing without possessing, acting without claiming, guiding without controlling, and Mysterious De) resembles how the Dao generates all things—without obstructing their source, allowing them to achieve their natural course. It is also like how De nourishes all beings—without restricting their innate nature, preserving their inherent endowment. All things grow naturally, and the sage does not claim them; beings act on their own, and the sage does not assert authority; all develop themselves, and the sage does not dominate. This transcendence of fame and merit is the most profound De.

Wang Bi notes: The defining feature of Mysterious De is that while it possesses De, it remains ever obscure and unmanifest, never displaying itself.

Wang Pang states: Mysterious De is the subtlest and highest form of De. Just as Shun, while living among commoners, was praised in the Book of Documents for possessing Mysterious De, the highest De is often revealed in a state of natural, effortless spontaneity.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) explains: Although all things are generated by the Dao, it allows them to develop naturally without claiming ownership; though it shapes all forms, it does not boast of its ability; though it nurtures all beings, it takes no credit. This silent nourishment without display is Mysterious De.

Chen Xianggu adds: "Giving birth" means allowing all things to attain their proper place; "nurturing" means nourishing them with harmonious Qi (vital energy), enabling their natural growth and decline. The essence of governing the world lies in this—nurturing all things without possessing them, acting without asserting, guiding without dominating. The profundity of Mysterious De lies in its inner workings, never outwardly revealed.

Huang Maocai concludes: This passage discusses Mysterious De twice—first in terms of the Dao (as the source) and here in terms of De (as its function).

This passage elucidates the relationship between De (Virtue/Power) and Dao (the Way). When the Dao manifests concretely, it becomes De, while the subtle essence of De can harmonize with the Dao—hence it's called "mysterious De" (profound and inscrutable virtue).

Take a wheel as an example: Thirty spokes converge at the hub, and precisely because the hub's center is empty that the wheel can rotate and function. When kneading clay to make vessels, it's the hollow interior that allows them to hold contents. When carving doors and windows to build houses, it's the empty space within that makes them habitable.

Emperor Huizong of Song (in his imperial commentary) explains: Being (you) and non-being (wu) are unified—the utility of all things arises from their mutual coordination, which constitutes true wonder. Though they manifest differently, "being" forms physical structures while "non-being" creates function. This represents the fundamental principle of Yin-Yang interaction and all existence. A wheel's function lies in transportation, a vessel's in containment, and a house's in providing space. These marvelous functions all originate from "non-being," with transformations hidden within seemingly useless voids—just as a mirror, though formless itself, can reflect all things.

Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) further clarifies: This illustrates the interdependent functions of "being" and "non-being." The wheel hub's emptiness enables rotation; the carriage's hollow space carries people and goods. Potters blend clay to make vessels precisely to utilize their empty interiors. Ancient people dug cave dwellings with doors and windows to inhabit the created void.

Cao Daochong (Master Dao Zhen Ren Jing) summarizes: These three objects (wheel, vessel, house) all possess external form while relying on internal emptiness for utility. Emptiness requires form to contain, while form depends on emptiness to function.

Liu Ji (Master Qingyuan) interprets this through health cultivation: The renowned physician Bian Que described how the human body's five viscera (liver, heart, spleen, lungs, kidneys) gather vital Qi (energy), with each organ circulating six Qi pathways—totaling thirty energy convergence points like a wheel's thirty spokes. These energies circulate through a central pivot, just as spokes converge at the hub. Practitioners understanding this transformative key treat the body as a furnace and the three Dantian (upper, middle, and lower energy centers) as cauldrons, creating vitality within the formless void—just as wheels, vessels, and houses derive function from emptiness while maintaining physical form.

Zhu Xi explains that the emptiness at the hub of a wheel is precisely what allows the axle to be installed, enabling the wheel to turn continuously. Just as the wooden tube connecting all the ribs of an umbrella relies on its hollow center to slide freely along the handle, Zhuangzi’s statement—"the pivot finds its place in the center of the ring to respond endlessly"—conveys the same principle: a door hinge must leave space to rotate smoothly.

Huang Maocai further analyzes: Some forms of "being" (you) are concrete existences (being within being), while others are forms of "being" that rely on emptiness (being within non-being). Objects like wheels, pottery, and doors provide tangible benefits to people, yet it is the hollow spaces—the axle hole, the empty vessel, the room within a house—that truly enable their function. Those who cultivate the Dao (perfected individuals and enlightened scholars) understand how to apply this principle of emptiness, as expounded in classics like the Cantong Qi and Huangting Jing.

Thus, the Daode Jing states: "Being gives advantage, non-being gives function"—the solid provides utility, while the empty enables efficacy. Su Zhe (Yingbin) adds: Without substance, function cannot manifest; without emptiness, efficacy cannot unfold. The sage observes both the boundaries of "being" and the mysteries of "non-being," recognizing their inherent unity.

Lu Dian emphasizes their interdependence: Focusing solely on emptiness makes it hard to actualize function, while fixating on substance obscures ethereal subtlety. Clinging to form leads to stagnation; skillfully employing emptiness ensures perpetual vitality.

Cao Dao Chong (Master Renjing) interprets this from a cultivation perspective: For humans, "being" is the timely use of the physical body, while "non-being" is the eternal operation of spirit and Qi (primordial energy). The mind is as fluid as emptiness, the body as concrete as an object. Thoughts move Qi through the body, and Qi animates the body through the mind—this is the mutual generation of being and non-being.

Liu Ji (Qingyuanzi) observes: People often misunderstand cultivation as rejecting the physical form, yet Laozi’s metaphors of wheels and houses reveal the profound truth of attaining the Dao through the body. Just as Qian and Kun (Heaven and Earth) generate through Yin and Yang, form and spirit must harmonize to realize the Great Dao.

This scripture primarily discusses how excessive pursuit of sensory pleasures damages human nature, warning people to practice moderation.

All things in heaven and earth follow their natural patterns (the Dao of change). If heaven and earth were destroyed (with the collapse of Qian and Kun), these patterns could no longer manifest. Similarly, if the human body deteriorates, the spirit (Shen) loses its vessel. Therefore, the most precious state is maintaining both body and spirit in harmonious integrity.

Specifically: Overindulgence in dazzling colors (五色) dulls vision (causing "eye-blindness"); constant exposure to varied music (五音) impairs hearing (causing "ear-deafness"); excessive consumption of delicacies (五味) numbs taste (causing "mouth-failure"); obsessive hunting and chasing disorders the mind; relentless pursuit of rare treasures leads to improper conduct.

Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) elaborates: The five colors (blue, yellow, red, white, black) originally distinguished hierarchy through ceremonial robes, but later generations fixated on ornate embroidery, becoming so dazzled by external hues that they lost sight of true essence. The five musical notes (宫商角徵羽) were meant to harmonize celestial and earthly Qi, yet people became addicted to decadent tunes, forfeiting the ability to hear nature's voice. The five flavors (sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty) properly nourish the body, but gourmands craving exotic dishes lose sensitivity to food's authentic taste.

Regarding hunting: Originally part of state rituals—spring hunts called "sōu," summer "miáo," autumn "xiǎn," winter "shòu"—serving sacrifices, hospitality, and kitchen provisions. But disregarding regulations through prolonged obsession leads to mental derangement.

As for gold, jewels, and rare treasures, insatiable pursuit not only obstructs spiritual cultivation but invites calamity. Yan Junping wisely observed: Obsession with colors, music, and flavors makes all people dull; hunting mania drives madness; treasure lust exhausts the world. These sensory indulgences become "spikes blinding eyes" and "plugs deafening ears."

(Note: "Shuǎng" denotes loss or impairment; "field-hunting" refers to organized ancient hunts; "dried sacrificial beans" were preserved meats for rituals.)

This scripture primarily warns against indulging in sensory pleasures, as such attachments cause one to lose their innate nature. It employs vivid analogies: obsession with beauty renders people blind though their eyes remain open, excessive music indulgence makes one deaf in hearing, and craving fine flavors paradoxically dulls the palate. These conditions arise from chasing external stimuli at the expense of one's fundamental essence.

Several Daoist scholars elucidate this principle from different perspectives:

Su Zhe (Master Yingbin) posits that human vision, hearing, and taste are originally innate capacities bestowed by heaven. However, when eyes become dazzled by colors, ears overwhelmed by sounds, and mouths preoccupied with flavors, people forget their true nature. Though seemingly capable of seeing, hearing, and tasting, they've actually lost genuine perception.

Liu Jing analyzes through bodily structures: the liver manifests through the eyes, kidneys through the ears, and spleen through the mouth. When people indulge in sensory pleasures, the foolish perceive only enjoyment while remaining blind to harm—as if truly deaf or blind. This isn't physical impairment but mental delusion. Quoting Zhuangzi, he observes that even with Li Zhu's legendary vision, Shi Kuang's acute hearing, or Yu'er's refined palate, those led astray by external things will be first to suffer misfortune.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) further explains that activities like hunting and galloping disturb the body's yang qi (vital energy), inducing madness. The Yellow Emperor's Inner Canon similarly describes madness as loss of behavioral control. The pursuit of rare treasures, he warns, clouds judgment with greed, creating greater harm.

Ultimately, this scripture reminds us that excessive pursuit of sensory stimulation and material enjoyment appears self-gratifying but actually constitutes self-harm. From rulers to commoners, all should heed this caution.

Excessive exposure to chaotic sounds damages hearing, while overstimulation from visual distractions harms eyesight—both result from the wasteful depletion of Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy). People indulge their desires and become addicted to various cravings, thereby losing the innate tranquility and simplicity of their original mind.

Authentic practitioners (zhenren) nourish themselves through techniques like "rinsing the mouth and swallowing saliva" (the "Jade Pool" refers to the oral cavity), stabilizing the foundation of life (linggen) to cultivate primordial Qi. Yet those obsessed with hunting exhaust their Shen (spirit) scanning the surroundings, deplete their Qi and blood in pursuit of prey, scattering their consciousness to the point of madness. Such behavior—harming life and disrupting harmony—is profoundly destructive. Similarly, worldly people chase desires, coveting fame, wealth, and sensory pleasures until utterly spent, forcibly seizing what was never rightfully theirs. These futile pursuits not only prove elusive but also obstruct others' virtuous deeds.

Huang Maocai remarked: The value of eyes lies in perceiving the Dao (the Way). If one cannot see the Dao, how is this different from blindness? Is this not the result of being deluded by the Five Colors? The value of ears lies in hearing the Dao. If one cannot hear the Dao, how is this different from deafness? Is this not the consequence of being eroded by decadent music? The Dao, when spoken, seems bland and flavorless. If one only craves rich delicacies, how can they appreciate the true taste of simplicity? Practitioners who consistently swallow their own saliva (a longevity technique) naturally transcend attachment to the Five Flavors, having grasped this truth. Galloping after game may not seem like madness, but from the perspective of Daoist cultivation—which honors stillness and Wuwei (non-action)—is it not a form of derangement? Han Yu once warned of polo's dangers: The meridians connecting our five organs are exquisitely delicate, all suspended within the chest and abdomen—how perilous are violent jolts and reckless riding!

Those with even basic understanding of the Dao regard gold and jewels as dung—why would they covet material wealth? This isn’t meant literally. By that time, texts like the Shennong Bencao Jing (Divine Farmer's Materia Medica) and Huangdi Suwen (Yellow Emperor's Inner Canon) were already circulating, inevitably promoting methods like consuming rare herbs, jade, or alchemical elixirs for longevity. Laozi considered these external pursuits neither beneficial to life nor easily obtained—more obstacles than aids. Turning inward proves far simpler.

Thus, the sage prioritizes inner fulfillment ("filling the belly") over external chasing ("chasing with the eyes"), hence abandoning the latter for the former. The Imperial Commentary explains: In the Bagua (Eight Trigrams), the Kun trigram symbolizes the abdomen—representing the virtue of bearing all things with profound tolerance. The Li trigram symbolizes the eyes—representing outward observation. Tolerance embraces everything, while observation remains limited. Sages take the entire world as their measure, thus choosing the inclusive "belly" over fragmented engagement with external objects.

Zhuangzi said that the greatest misfortune lies in deliberately pursuing external displays of virtue (De). The reason sages can transcend ordinary people is precisely because they abandon this mentality of forced effort.

Su Zhe (Master Yingbin) explained: Sages and commoners alike enjoy beautiful sights, listen to music, savor delicious food, engage in hunting for recreation, and use precious objects. Yet why do ordinary people consider these things burdens while sages regard them as blessings? Because sages "act for the belly, not for the eyes" — ordinary people greedily chase external things with their eyes, while sages peacefully receive them with their belly (symbolizing inner acceptance). External things are imposed from outside, while one's true nature is inherently internal.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) maintained that one must preserve soft, continuous breath (Qi) to nourish the inner being, and reduce deliberate outward observation to cultivate genuine wisdom. Chen Xianggu further clarified that "acting for the belly" means enriching the inner self and nurturing inner light, while "not acting for the eyes" prevents external temptations from eroding one's original mind. This constitutes the sage's standard for discernment.

Liu Ji (Master Qingyuan) pointed out that sages remain unperturbed by sensual pleasures, fine flavors, hunting, or material goods precisely because they follow the principle of "acting for the belly, not for the eyes." The belly symbolizes containing the inner being, while the eyes represent chasing external things. Sages withdraw their gaze, turn inward to listen, return to the source of life, cultivating the internal rather than the external, making demands on themselves rather than others. True "clarity" (ming) isn't about seeing external objects clearly, but recognizing oneself; true "acuity" (cong) isn't about hearing external sounds, but listening to one's original mind; true "attainment" (de) isn't about acquiring external things, but returning to one's inherent nature.

Huang Maocai concluded: The belly is easily satisfied, while the eyes' desires are endless. Therefore, Dao practitioners must withdraw their gaze, contemplate inwardly, and observe silently through meditation. From ancient times to the present, there has only been this fundamental Great Dao (Da Dao) — all other paths are deviations. Thus one must abandon external pursuits and choose inner cultivation.