《道德真經集註(二)》Vol. 4

This chapter examines human attitudes toward favor and disgrace, gain and loss. Laozi observes that both receiving favor and suffering disgrace disturb one's peace of mind, while excessive attachment to external things ultimately brings great calamity.

Ancient imperial commentators explain: The favored occupy lower positions while the honored occupy higher stations. If one becomes complacent upon receiving favor, this invites disgrace; if one feels burdened by high status, this invites disaster.

Master Bixu (Chen Jingyuan) elaborates: "Favor" refers to blessings like wealth, honor, and rewards, while "disgrace" denotes adversities like poverty, low status, and punishment. Those who have attained the Dao regard their bodies as temporary lodgings and view life and death as superfluous growths—neither prideful in prosperity nor ashamed in hardship. Understanding that high rank and generous salary are external phenomena that come and go temporarily, why would they be unsettled by favor or disgrace? Only ordinary people react this way.

Those of middling wisdom, though dwelling in comfort, remain mindful of danger; though receiving favor, they anticipate possible disgrace—thus maintaining constant vigilance. Worldly people chase fame and profit while fearing disgrace, while those of moderate insight perceive the underlying truth and remain wary of the hidden dangers in favor.

"Honor" refers to respected social positions, while "great calamity" denotes external things like official rank and wealth. Those who have attained the Dao don't even cling to their own bodies—how much less to these external trappings? Modern people mistakenly believe high positions and salaries can secure their lives, valuing them as highly as their physical selves, unaware that both body and external possessions are sources of calamity ultimately unworthy of such regard.

Lu Dian observes: Why does favor transform into disgrace, and honor into calamity? Because both favor and honor are external phenomena—things not truly ours yet forcibly claimed—and this forceful claiming becomes the root of great calamity and profound shame.

Cao Daochong warns: Valuing favor and disgrace more than life itself is profoundly dangerous.

Ye Mengde explains: The truly wise regard favor as they would disgrace, and view honor as great calamity. "Startle" refers to the panic of sudden encounter, while "body" constitutes the root of anxiety. Ordinary minds feel secure upon obtaining desires and panicked when deprived—hence people fear disgrace more than they cherish favor. But understand: excessive favor inevitably invites disgrace, just as disgrace may later yield favor. Therefore, the discerning remain as wary of favor as they are of disgrace.

This passage explores the profound Daoist understanding of the concepts of "favor" (宠) and "disgrace" (辱). It first observes that worldly honor and lowliness are not permanent states, and that excessive pursuit of honor may instead invite misfortune. Just like the elaborately decorated sacrificial ox that appears glorious but ultimately meets slaughter, what the world considers favor actually harbors hidden danger.

Huang Maocai, a Song Dynasty scholar, explains that what ordinary people regard as glory (宠) and honor are, from the Daoist perspective, precisely the roots of disgrace and calamity. History abounds with examples of those who suffered disasters due to their excessive pursuit of wealth and status.

There exist different interpretations of "favor is inferior" (宠为下): Emperor Xuanzong of Tang's commentary suggests that becoming arrogant upon receiving favor invites misfortune, making favor itself the source of disgrace. The versions by Heshanggong and Huangfu Mi, however, separate "favor" and "disgrace" into superior and inferior states, considering gain as superior and loss as inferior. Su Zhe (Master Yingbin) offers a unique perspective: favor and disgrace are actually two sides of the same coin, with disgrace inherently concealed within favor, yet people mistakenly regard favor as something good.

Lu Dian and Liu Jing further elaborate: those who can receive favor from others are inherently in an inferior position. Quoting Mencius, they note that the honor bestowed by the powerful (like Zhao Meng) can be taken away just as easily.

The discussion concludes with the observation about being "startled when gaining, startled when losing" (得之若惊，失之若惊). True Daoist practitioners (至人) understand that wealth and honor are like temporarily borrowed external ornaments (轩冕) - they neither resist their coming nor grieve their departure. Ordinary people, however, remain in constant anxiety over gain and loss. Master Chen Jingyuan of Bixu summarizes: worldly people cling to wealth and status, trembling with fear when gaining them and devastated when losing them, precisely because they fail to realize that gains and losses are ultimately beyond their true control.

This passage explores how one should perceive gain and loss, favor and disgrace, and how to transcend worldly anxieties. The core perspectives are as follows:

Those of average wisdom understand the cyclical nature of fortune and misfortune. Knowing that honor will eventually give way to disgrace, they remain vigilant even in advantageous positions, maintaining caution as if fearing loss. Wang Anshi observed that people's anxiety over gain and loss is precisely why honor transforms into disgrace.

Huang Maocai further explains: Being favored by others means being controlled by them—whether one receives favor depends not on oneself but on others. Thus, both gaining and losing cause unease. The truly liberated remain unshaken even when faced with great marshes burning, rivers freezing, thunder splitting mountains, or tempests shaking the seas—how much less would they be troubled by mundane gains and losses?

Regarding the question "Why is it said that regarding great calamity as we regard the self is important?", commentators note: Ordinary people chase power and the authority to reward and punish, making others fear them as if they were deities. Though this appears noble, sages refuse to be bound by such things. Just as one who transcends physical limitations and attains unity with the Dao (the Way) can remain at ease in any circumstance, ordinary people remain burdened by external attachments—unable to forget power while simultaneously trapped by their physical form. This is the true great calamity.

Liu Jing connects this to earlier passages: The five colors, sounds, flavors, hunting pursuits, and rare treasures assail us from within and without—these are the roots of great calamity. This misfortune arises from having a physical body, yet the body is bestowed by the Creator—how can we completely escape it? Holding high status means managing worldly affairs, toiling to please others, and fretting over events—how could such calamities ever be fully described? Zhuangzi noted that the noble-minded constantly ponder gain and loss by day and night, yet neglect the cultivation of their true selves.

Cao Daochong (Master Dao Zhen Ren Jing) clarifies: Worldly people fail to recognize that receiving favor is precisely what invites disgrace—a great calamity. Instead, they value disgraceful things as if cherishing their own bodies. Our great misfortunes stem from attachment to the notion of "self"; were we to forget the self, what misfortunes would remain?

The final commentary summarizes: Human life consists of a hundred bones, nine orifices, and six viscera. To fixate on any part as the true "self" is delusion. Those who embody the Dao (the Way) perceive this truth clearly.

(Note: "Great unity" here refers to the state of union with the Dao; "entrusting form to the Creator" means recognizing the body as bestowed by nature; "overstrained eyes" comes from Zhuangzi, describing the darkened eye sockets of one consumed by worry.)

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "having a body" (youshen) and "being bodiless" (wushen), as well as the path to liberation from worldly afflictions through transcending physical form.

Because humans possess physical bodies, we depend on external things for survival. Yet excessive attachment to life ironically leads us into peril. If one can achieve non-attachment to the body (wai qi shen) and non-attachment to thoughts (wang qi xin), merging with the natural transformations of creation—moving like withered wood and sitting like dead ashes—then worldly honors, disgraces, and calamities find no foothold. The "nothingness" discussed here doesn't refer to physical annihilation, but rather transcendence of bodily fixation.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) observes: Human nature remains unaffected by life and death, capable of filling heaven and earth, even penetrating through water, fire, metal and stone. Yet people often lose their original nature, becoming excessively attached to their physical forms, thereby inviting various misfortunes. Only the wise who understand the indestructibility of their true nature and the illusory nature of the physical body can forget their corporeal existence and transcend worldly troubles.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) notes: The body itself is the root source of misfortune—how much more so those external attachments even more difficult to relinquish than the body itself.

Liu Ji (Qingyuanzi) explains: Possessing a body means enduring hunger, thirst, heat, cold, aging, sickness and death. The so-called "bodiless state" refers to transcending life and death, regarding fortune and misfortune with equanimity, forgetting external things and even heaven and earth to reach selfless realization. Such individuals unite with the Dao (the Way), their spirit becoming like empty space, untouchable by life and death—let alone worldly gains and losses.

The concluding "Imperial Commentary" clarifies: Governing the world is a great responsibility only sages who embody the Dao can properly fulfill. Yet ordinary people who value their true selves without being burdened by external things may also become worthy of such responsibility.

This passage explores the relationship between the self and all things under heaven through various scholars' interpretations of the "entrusting the world" concept in the Daode Jing.

Sima Guang observes that those who truly revere the world will be revered by it in return; those who genuinely cherish the world will be cherished by it. The sage values the world precisely because they value themselves—only such individuals are fit to govern.

Su Zhe notes how people chase power and wealth even at great peril, originally intending to better themselves. Yet if we entrust the world to someone who can completely relinquish self-attachment, even the vastest empire would not burden them.

Chen Xianggu emphasizes that governing through positional authority isn't true entrustment, nor is administration driven by selfish motives. "If it can be entrusted, if it can be consigned" means only those who attain this state can bear the world's responsibility.

Ye Mengde explains that those who value self-cultivation over status won't cling to the world even when possessing it—treating it like an inn. Such people are fit to be entrusted. Those who cherish their true selves over vanity won't monopolize the world even when owning it—treating it as a temporary hut. These are the ones worthy of stewardship.

Huang Maocai points out people devalue themselves by overvaluing the world and undervaluing their being. Laozi's teaching reveals true worth lies within oneself—the world being merely external—thus it can be safely entrusted.

Lin Dong concludes that enlightened individuals avoid disgrace by releasing honors, avert calamity by forgetting selfhood. Like Emperor Shun possessing yet not owning the world, or Emperor Yao not clinging to the throne—this approaches the ideal. "Valuing and cherishing," "entrusting and consigning" ultimately convey the same meaning through different expressions.

This chapter discusses the three imperceptible characteristics of the Dao: what cannot be seen is called "Yi" (夷), what cannot be heard is called "Xi" (希), and what cannot be grasped is called "Wei" (微). These three characteristics cannot be fully explained through language, thus they are collectively referred to as "the One" (一).

Chen Jingyuan explains: That which has no form yet gives birth to all things in heaven and earth is "Yi"; that which has no sound yet forms the foundation of all musical tones is "Xi"; that which has no beginning yet initiates all phenomena is "Wei." These were the paths through which ancient cultivators comprehended the great Dao. If one can transcend the limitations of sight and hearing, relinquish attachments, and reach the state of undifferentiated unity, this represents the highest level of realization.

Su Zhe observes that even the wisest cannot fully explain these three characteristics—one must return to the essence of "the One." "The One" is human nature in its original state, while "Yi, Xi, Wei" are its functions. Initially, humans possess only pure original nature; it is through contact with external things that the various sensory functions differentiate. If one becomes engrossed in sensory experiences while forgetting to return to original nature, one drifts increasingly further from the Dao. This resembles the Buddhist concept of the "six roots" (eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and mind)—only by returning to the source can wholeness be restored.

Cao Daochong states: The great Dao is like "Yi"—smooth and colorless; like "Xi"—soundless; like "Wei"—empty and formless. These three have no concrete form and cannot be divided using tangible things, hence they are collectively called "the One." This cannot be understood through senses or intellect—just as the same wind produces different sounds, the same Qi manifests different functions through the seven orifices. It cannot be grasped through reasoning nor adequately described in words.

Liu Ji adds: "Yi" cannot be seen because it has no color; "Xi" cannot be heard because it has no sound; "Wei" cannot be grasped because it has no form. These three are difficult to interrogate—their names are merely provisional designations. In truth, the Dao is originally the undifferentiated "One."

Huang Maocai concludes: This chapter speaks of "true existence." Although the Dao's existence cannot be seen, heard, or touched—appearing close to nothingness—Laozi feared people might cling to "nothingness" while overlooking its true existence, hence this special explanation.

This scripture discusses the profound and mysterious nature of the Dao. It begins by noting that the Dao can be divided into three states—"Yi, Xi, Wei" (referring to the three subtle manifestations of the Dao)—yet when combined, they form an undifferentiated whole. These are real, tangible states of existence, not mere abstract theories, though ordinary people find them difficult to comprehend.

Regarding the line "Above, it is not bright; below, it is not dark," various commentators offer differing interpretations:

• Emperor Huizong of Song's imperial commentary states: The metaphysical Dao is so profound and unfathomable that it does not appear bright (jiao meaning brightness), while the physical manifestations of things have discernible Yin-Yang distinctions and thus are not dark (mei meaning obscurity).
• Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) argues: The Dao transcends form and color—dwelling high above the Nine Heavens yet not shining with light, hidden deep beneath the Nine Earths yet not shrouded in darkness. Those who cultivate the Dao can dwell above, sharing radiance with the sun and moon without dazzling brightness, and below, sharing stillness with tiles and stones without sinking into obscurity.
• Sima Guang explains: The Dao nourishes all things yet remains invisible; when things perish, the Dao does not vanish with them.
• Su Zhe observes: All formed things are constrained by Yin-Yang, hence they exhibit distinctions of light and dark. But the Dao is not bound by form—it cannot be judged by ordinary reasoning.
• Cao Daochong describes the Dao as "suddenly bright above yet not glaring, swiftly dark below yet not murky."
• Huang Maocai emphasizes that the Dao's "nothingness" is not mere emptiness—what people perceive as brightness or darkness does not reflect its true nature.

The text concludes by using the phrase "continuous and unnameable" to depict the Dao's essence—like the ceaseless cycle of day and night, yet its patterns remain unfathomable, ultimately returning to the state of "no-thing." This "nothingness" is not mere absence but the primordial state of the Dao, transcending concrete forms while remaining truly existent. All commentators stress the Dao's dual nature—simultaneously surpassing the opposition of Yin-Yang, light and dark, while permeating all things.

This passage discusses the fundamental characteristics of the Dao (the Way, core concept of Daoism referring to the origin of the universe and its operating principles) — its formless yet profoundly real nature. Several commentators elucidate this mysterious state from different perspectives:

First, the text explains the Dao's mode of operation: it moves eternally like an unbroken rope. When people observe this continuous motion, they assume there must be substantial existence, yet ultimately everything returns to emptiness. This state appears void yet contains all things, much like the vast sky that embraces everything without visible boundaries, or like the natural functioning of human spiritual awareness that remains elusive. We might say it exists, yet not as concrete existence; we might call it void, yet not absolute nothingness.

A vivid analogy follows: The sun and moon are distant from humans, yet bronze mirrors (jian) and yangsui (ancient fire-starting mirrors) can channel their fire and water energies. Where exactly do these fire and water elements reside? This "formless form and imageless image" precisely manifests the Dao.

The text then describes the Dao's ungraspable nature: It has neither beginning nor end, with no discernible source or conclusion, cycling endlessly without termination. Though seemingly empty, it truly contains "xiang" (manifest signs) and "wu" (substantial content), proving that emptiness isn't absolute nothingness.

Finally, it reveals the key to comprehending the Dao: By mastering the Dao that has existed since antiquity (gu zhi dao), one can govern present concrete phenomena (jin zhi you). Understanding the primordial state of all things (gu shi) means grasping the "dao ji" (the Dao's fundamental laws). This resembles how we recognize wind's existence through swaying leaves though the wind itself remains unseen; though the Dao has no form, we perceive its patterns through its effects on all things.

This passage presents interpretations of the "ancient Dao" concept by several Daoist scholars. Emperor Huizong of Song (Imperial Commentary) states: The alternation of Yin-Yang constitutes the pattern of the Dao. If one only emulates heaven's vigor while neglecting earth's yielding quality, one becomes rigidly attached to the Dao's movement; if one only follows Yin's softness while ignoring Yang's strength, one sinks into the Dao's stillness and becomes withered. Focusing solely on oneself abandons humaneness (De), while focusing solely on others abandons righteousness—neither represents the true ancient Dao. The Dao cannot be fully described in words; seemingly elusive yet genuinely present, mastering it enables flexible response to worldly affairs with maximum efficacy—this is the eternally enduring Dao since antiquity.

Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) maintains: The ancient Dao is formless and nameless, the source of heaven, earth and all things. Laozi teaches people to cultivate themselves and govern states through the primordial Dao of Wuwei (non-action) and naturalness, thereby restraining contemporary浮躁 tendencies and returning to simple authenticity, allowing all beings to fulfill their nature—this constitutes grasping the Dao's essential outline.

Lu Dian observes: Those who comprehend the ancient origin understand the present develops from the past, knowing beginnings determine endings, as Zhuangzi's "law without beginning" suggests.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) explains: What remains constant through eternity is the Dao; what adapts to circumstances are affairs. Self-cultivators uphold the ancient Dao, recognizing human Shen (spirit) shares the same indestructible origin as creation. Our physical forms derive from Yin-Yang Qi (vital energy) and parental Jing (essence), structured through the Five Phases. Preserving original Shen while nurturing the body constitutes maintaining the ancient Dao without losing its authenticity.

Liu Ji (Master Qingyuan) argues: Sages cultivate themselves with the Dao's true essence, applying remaining capacity to govern the world—this represents the method for engaging reality. Understanding the ancient origin means grasping the Dao's fundamental outline.

Huang Maocai concludes: The Dao appears neither lofty before Taiji (Supreme Ultimate), nor deep below the six directions; neither ancient prior to heaven-earth, nor aged beyond remote antiquity. While time distinguishes past and present, the Dao itself transcends temporal divisions.

This passage discusses the qualities of "the ancients who were skilled in cultivating the Dao" (those who attained the Way in ancient times) and why ordinary people find them difficult to comprehend. Here's a modern interpretation:

The truly Dao-attained individuals of antiquity possessed a state of being so subtle, mysterious, and profoundly interconnected with all things that their depth surpassed ordinary understanding. Like Lie Yukou who lived in obscurity in Zheng state for forty years without anyone recognizing him, or Laozi's remark to Confucius: "A truly good merchant keeps his treasures deeply hidden, while a virtuous gentleman appears outwardly like a dullard."

Su Zhe explains: When one exhausts the coarse level of perception, one enters the realm of subtlety; when subtlety reaches its peak, it becomes mystery; when mystery reaches its ultimate, it becomes profound mystery. Attaining this state of profound mystery allows complete penetration of all things, naturally becoming unfathomable. Cao Daochong notes that although these individuals lived in the world, they didn't appear extraordinary.

Huang Maocai cites ancient recluses like Nie Que, Wang Ni, and Puyizi as examples of those embodying subtlety and profound mystery—figures ordinary people couldn't comprehend, hence Zhuangzi's need to describe them through parables. During the Shang and Zhou dynasties, hermits like the Madman of Chu and the Elder with the Bamboo Staff always existed but were rarely recorded. Truly Dao-possessed individuals are the most difficult to understand, hence the scripture states they are "deep beyond knowing."

Precisely because they defy description, we can only approximate their appearance through analogies. Just as we cannot directly measure heaven's height or earth's thickness but must use metaphors like "the round heaven and square earth," Chen Jingyuan explains this serves to provide models for later generations to emulate, while Chen Xianggu believes it points the way for future seekers. Huang Maocai adds that although Dao-attained individuals are hard to recognize, traces of their form and bearing can still be glimpsed.

The passage concludes with vivid metaphors describing these individuals' states: cautious as crossing winter ice, alert as being surrounded by neighbors, dignified as an honored guest, liberated as melting snow. These figurative descriptions aim to help people understand what is ultimately ineffable.

This scripture describes the mental state and worldly attitude that Dao cultivators should maintain.

A cultivator should act with the caution of crossing a river in winter (yu), remaining ever vigilant as if wary of neighbors peering in (you). This state resembles the "fasting of the mind" described in the Yijing—an inner reverence and focus. One's nature should remain as simple and natural as uncarved wood (pu), while the mind should be as open and accommodating as a valley.

The cultivator does not deliberately flaunt purity or affect eccentricity, but maintains a state of natural wholeness, appearing turbid on the surface yet clear within. This stands in stark contrast to those who cultivate themselves ostentatiously to display their righteousness.

The Daoist acts in accordance with nature, treading even level ground as cautiously as wading through winter waters, ever mindful of the abyss. Dwelling in the realm of emptiness, they dare not act recklessly, deliberating deeply before moving—like people evading prohibitions, fearful of being reported by neighbors. Outwardly, they are as composed as a guest before a host, yet inwardly, they remain at ease.

Just as Dongguo Shunzi could influence others simply by maintaining proper demeanor, and Li Hanguang conducted himself in solitude as if facing the emperor, these exemplify the principle of being "reverent as a guest." The cultivator's outward solemnity belies an inner freedom like melting spring ice, where all attachments dissolve without a trace.

"Pu" refers to the unadorned, authentic state—the cultivator's nature remains pure and uncontrived, with speech and action flowing naturally. "Kuang" describes a mind as vast as a valley, capable of embracing both good and evil without disturbance, echoing like an empty ravine in its openness. The cultivator's inner clarity is veiled by an outward appearance of murky waters, blending with the world without contention—this is the realm of "appearing turbid" (hun ruo zhuo).

This passage compiles annotations from multiple Daoist scholars on verses from the Dao De Jing such as "cautious as crossing a winter stream, hesitant as fearing one's neighbors," primarily discussing principles of governance and self-cultivation.

Su Zhe (Master Yingbin) explains: Prudent action is called "Yu" (hesitation), being as careful as crossing a river in winter; reluctant hesitation is called "You" (indecision), shrinking back like fearing neighbors' watchful eyes. Those who truly attain the Dao maintain reverence for all things, understanding that everything originates from emptiness, remaining unattached to external phenomena. When artificial efforts are completely dissolved, one returns to original nature, becoming as receptive as an empty valley. The so-called "harmonizing radiance and blending with the dust" means not deliberately seeking novelty, but merging completely with all existence.

Wang Anshi (Master Linchuan) adds: Though one should merge with all things, the fundamental must never be forgotten. Remain as simple as uncarved wood, as spacious as a valley that embraces everything. Yet the true Dao cannot be distinctly delineated, hence one ultimately becomes like turbid water—completely undifferentiated. From "Yu" to "You" to "muddled as turbid water," all are forced attempts to describe the ineffable realm with language.

Lu Dian further elaborates: Those who attain the Dao always prepare for rain before it falls, cautious as crossing winter rivers; they also prevent problems before they arise, alert as fearing neighbors. Though cautious and guarded, their inner state remains dignified. Like ice about to melt, they flow naturally, unbound by external things. Being simple as uncarved wood demonstrates their flawless completeness; being spacious as valleys shows their boundless receptivity. Upon reaching this state, one merges with the Dao unknowingly and unconsciously, becoming indistinct like turbid water.

Liu Gai contends: Both "Yu" and "You" describe a state of not daring to advance recklessly. Because one doesn't rush ahead of all things, caution resembles treading on thin ice; because one doesn't act as the primary agent, dignity resembles the reverence of a guest.

Cao Daochong (Master Dao Zhen Ren Jing) concludes: Establishing virtue should be as effortless as being lazy; performing good deeds without self-praise. "Yu"—like treading on thin ice—represents ultimate caution; "You"—like fearing neighbors—represents ultimate thoroughness.

Ye Mengde explains that "yu" (豫) refers to taking precautions before events occur. The ancients associated elephants with "yu" because large creatures are easily detected in advance. Just as crossing a river in winter obviously requires caution, one must prepare beforehand. "You" (犹), on the other hand, denotes lingering doubts after an event. The character originally represented a timid animal (the you-beast) that feared humans and excelled at climbing trees. Even when no one was climbing, it remained fearful—this illustrates the nature of hesitation. Though there's no need to fear close neighbors, maintaining vigilance reflects this state of post-event wariness.

"Yan ruo rong" (俨若容) describes dignified bearing, while "huan ruo bing jiang shi" (涣若冰将释) portrays relaxed ease. Like ice that melts gradually without suddenly losing its solidity, governing people requires maintaining authority through solemn demeanor—yet like Confucius in private after rituals, one can then relax naturally. Being "dun ruo pu" (敦若朴) means embodying the unadorned simplicity of raw timber, with inner substance; "kuang ruo gu" (旷若谷) reflects the emptiness of a valley that receives all things. But displaying these qualities constantly without knowing when to restrain oneself makes one transparent to others. Hence the highest state is "hun xi qi ruo zhuo" (浑兮其若浊)—seeming turbid while harmonizing with the multitude. Maintaining purity is easy; flowing with the vulgar without losing one's essence is difficult.

Liu Ji adds that "yu" means preventing problems beforehand, cautious as when forced to cross a winter river; "you" means retaining vigilance afterward, like withdrawing from neighbors out of wariness. "Yan ruo rong" is dignified solemnity, while "huan ruo bing shi" represents dissolving obstructions to achieve mind-body fluidity—the state Liezi (a Daoist master) called "form and spirit both released" (形神俱释). "Dun ruo pu" is returning to original simplicity, "kuang ruo gu" is embracing emptiness, and "hun ruo zhuo" is mingling with the common light—these seven qualities were the cultivation methods of ancient adepts. Like merchants concealing their treasures, great wisdom appears foolish and remains unfathomable. Thus Liezi lived in Zheng State for forty years without anyone recognizing his extraordinariness.

Zhu Xi particularly notes that the expression "yan ruo ke" (俨若客, dignified as when hosting guests) is most exquisite, though later textual variants often corrupted it.

This passage discusses how practitioners of the Dao should embody the "demeanor of Dao and De (Virtue/Power)" through their conduct, while critiquing the unrestrained behavior of Jin dynasty literati. The "seven phrases with three rhyming sequences" refers to the seven descriptions of realized masters in Chapter 15 of the Dao De Jing, where every three lines share a rhyme.

A Dao cultivator's bearing should be as cautious as crossing a winter river (yuxi ruo dong shechuan), as alert as being wary of surrounding neighbors (youxi ruo wei silin), maintaining dignified composure without frivolity when dwelling (yan ruo rong), and flowing as naturally as melting ice (huan ruo bing jiang shi). The heart should remain as simple as uncarved wood (dunxi qi ruo pu), the mind as expansive as mountain valleys (kuangxi qi ruo gu), while engaging with the world harmoniously without resistance (hunxi qi ruo zhuo). These are the natural outward manifestations of Daoist cultivation that inspire genuine reverence.

The text criticizes the so-called "unrestrained freedom" of Jin dynasty scholars—with disheveled hair, barefoot drinking, and raucous shouting—as fundamentally contrary to true Daoist attainment. Genuine practitioners achieve this: maintaining stillness amidst chaos, allowing turbid waters to gradually clarify (shu neng zhuo yi jing zhi xu qing); nurturing vitality within tranquility, enabling all things to grow naturally (shu neng an yi dong zhi xu sheng). This state isn't forced pursuit of stillness or movement, but alignment with natural patterns—unshaken by external disturbances (wanwu wu zu yi nao qi xin), nor bound by mundane concerns (wanwu wu zu yi xi qi lü).

Master Chen Jingyuan (Bixuzi) further explains: Who among ordinary people can emulate realized adepts who maintain spring-clear awareness even in turbid circumstances? Who can discern the precise timing to activate growth during prolonged stillness? These demonstrate the cultivator's "heart like deep springs"—achieving outward grace through inner refinement.

Su Zhe (style name Yingbin) remarked: Ordinary people have their innate nature disturbed by external things, just as turbid water can never regain clarity once stirred. Ascetics who forcibly suppress their nature through rigid stillness are like stagnant water that loses all vitality. Now understanding that turbidity disrupts our nature, we must calm the mind—gradually clarity will return naturally. Recognizing that suppression violates the Dao's movement, we must activate our being—gradually vitality will be restored. The Book of Changes states: "Quiescent and unmoving, yet responsive it penetrates all." The "movement" mentioned here follows this same principle.

Huang Maocai observed: The vast Dao has no fixed name. When encountering turbidity, stillness brings clarity; when facing stagnation, movement generates renewal. Only thus can one join the endless transformations of all things.

Those who preserve this Daoist practice never seek fullness. Precisely because they don't pursue fullness, they maintain primordial simplicity without contrived novelty. The Imperial Commentary (by Emperor Huizong of Song) explains: Accumulation creates perceived insufficiency, while non-hoarding yields perceived abundance. Dao-realized individuals accumulate nothing, preserving perfect emptiness. Those who grasp this Dao yet believe all worldly beauty belongs to them reveal limited vision. Thus the Dao De Jing states: "The whitest seems sullied, the most virtuous seems deficient."

Master Bi Xu (Chen Jingyuan) noted: Those who maintain this gradual clarification and renewal embody humility and tranquil emptiness. Only the non-full (reiterated here)—only Dao-realized beings avoid complacency, thus preserving eternal simplicity. Even with new attainments, they remain unassuming, continually pursuing higher realms without resting on minor achievements—this reveals the sage's profound meaning.

Wang Pang reflected: Dao-realized individuals never feel self-satisfied, hence they never perceive new attainments. The Dao's function remains undiminished through ten thousand generations, for it knows neither decay/renewal nor success/failure. Decay stems from pursuing novelty; failure arises from craving achievement. Practitioners who maintain humility after realization will never truly decline. Those who grow arrogant upon minor attainment already violate the Dao. The Dao De Jing says: "The most perfect seems flawed, yet its function never fails"—this progressive revelation ultimately teaches that true accomplishment lies in sustained humility. Ancient Dao practitioners created no obstructions; if modern people emulate them, what faults could arise from pursuing realization? The only fear is insufficient sincerity in their cultivation.

This passage primarily discusses the states of "emptiness" (虚) and "stillness" (静) in Daoist cultivation.

Huang Maocai explains that "fullness" stands in opposition to "emptiness"—when something becomes excessively full, it creates obscuration and concealment. Laozi said that a skilled merchant hides their treasures as if possessing an empty valley, illustrating the principle of not pursuing excessive fullness. All things have their new and old aspects, their successes and failures. Without the new, how could there be the old? Without success, how could there be failure? Only by understanding this principle can one truly preserve the Great Dao (大道).

Chapter 16 speaks of "reaching the ultimate emptiness and maintaining profound stillness" (致虚极，守静笃). The imperial commentary notes there is nothing more precious than emptiness, nothing more beautiful than stillness. Emptiness and stillness form the root of all things—only through emptiness can one contain all beings, only through stillness can one respond to myriad changes. "Ultimate" (极) refers to the convergence point of all phenomena, while "profound" (笃) represents the state achieved through dedicated effort. When one attains ultimate emptiness and maintains profound stillness, even amidst countless phenomena the mind remains transparent; facing endless transformations, the heart remains tranquil. This is what's called "Heavenly Joy" (天乐), incomprehensible to those who haven't realized the Dao.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) adds that if one's pursuit of emptiness isn't thorough enough, remnants will remain; if one's maintenance of stillness isn't steadfast enough, fluctuations will persist. It's like removing a mountain but leaving dust behind—this cannot be called ultimate or profound. Superficial emptiness and stillness still belong to the realm of "having" (有); surface-level stillness remains trapped within "movement" (动), let alone other aspects. Without reaching ultimate and profound states, expecting the effects of emptiness and stillness is difficult.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) points out that regarding emptiness as emptiness still falls short of true emptiness; treating stillness as stillness still misses genuine stillness. Only when even the concepts of emptiness and stillness are forgotten does one achieve true ultimacy and profundity.

Ye Mengde explains that knowing emptiness as emptiness and pursuing it may not lead to true emptiness, because "substantiality" still stands in opposition; knowing stillness as stillness and maintaining it may not achieve real stillness, because "movement" still provides contrast. Therefore, the pursuit of emptiness must reach its ultimate, and the maintenance of stillness must be unwavering. Ultimate emptiness transcends the concept of emptiness itself—this is true emptiness; unwavering stillness goes beyond the notion of stillness—this is genuine stillness.

Huang Maocai concludes that the key to attaining emptiness and stillness lies in complete mastery. If the pursuit of emptiness isn't ultimate, one cannot be truly empty; if the maintenance of stillness isn't profound, one cannot be truly still. When all things flourish and transform, I observe their patterns of returning to the source. The imperial commentary states that when all beings move and change, I perceive how movement ultimately returns to stillness, how departure ultimately circles back to the origin—thus one may comprehend the operating principles of Heaven's Dao (天道).

This passage elucidates the fundamental principle governing all existence. Several Daoist scholars offer distinct perspectives on the concept of "returning to the root":

Chen Jingyuan (Bixuzi) explains that all beings—not just humans—originate from a silent, formless state, ultimately returning to the profound and unfathomable source to preserve their true nature. The Book of Changes speaks of "recovering the heart of Heaven and Earth," referring precisely to this return to primordial emptiness.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) proposes that only by observing the transformations of all things from a state of perfect stillness can one avoid being misled by appearances. He offers an analogy: if one becomes agitated along with the myriad things, their essential truth remains obscured.

Wang Anshi (Linchuan) emphasizes that "return" signifies reverting to the origin. Only those who attain supreme stillness can perceive the truth of all things returning to their roots. Chen Xianggu adds that when phenomena reach their zenith, they naturally revert to quiescence—a state most conducive to profound observation.

Huang Maicai observes that humans and all things share a common source; only through stillness can one recognize this return to the primordial state. While superficially observing external phenomena, one is ultimately turning inward to contemplate one's true nature. Cheng Dachang employs botanical metaphors: luxuriant branches represent development (growth), while withered blossoms returning to the roots exemplify this homecoming. Just as chess players often lack the clarity of spectators, or sailors lose their way while shorebound observers discern the correct course, maintaining detachment allows one to perceive profound truths.

The term "yanyun" (flourishing multitude) receives special attention: the Imperial Commentary describes it as depicting the vibrant stirrings of creation—like plants cycling through sprouting (Zhen hexagram), flourishing (Li hexagram), fruiting (Dui hexagram), and withering (Kan hexagram)—all ultimately returning to their source. Chen Jingyuan notes that "yanyun" conveys both luxuriance and dynamic transformation. Su Zhe concludes that all things develop from their intrinsic nature only to return to it again, just as leaves grow from roots and fall back to them, or waves rise from water only to subside into stillness.

The essence of water ultimately returns to water. As Lu Dian explains, the myriad phenomena of the world may appear complex and flourishing (芸芸者), yet they are all manifestations of illusory transformations (幻化) that ultimately return to their source (各归其根)—this source being emptiness. Illusory phenomena may perish, but emptiness itself remains indestructible.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) observes that although the myriad things are in constant motion, when they reach their limit, they inevitably return to their origin—a process requiring no artificial intervention. Liu Ji (Qingyuanzi) adds that the sages teach people to calm their desires and scattered thoughts, returning to the original stillness of the mind, just as plants grow from their roots and ultimately return to them.

Regarding "returning to the root is called stillness, stillness is called returning to life (复命)": Su Zhe (Yingbin) argues that if one fails to return to their inherent nature and forcibly suppresses thoughts in pursuit of stillness, it is not true stillness. Only by returning to the source can one attain genuine stillness. "Life (命)" is the profound manifestation of "nature (性)." While nature can still be described, life transcends language. The Book of Changes states that one must exhaustively investigate principles and penetrate nature to comprehend life.

Wang Anshi (Linchuan) describes life as the noumenon that transcends birth and death, eternally existing. When all things return to their root, they return to stillness, and through stillness, they return to life. Cao Daochong further explains that this is a return to the primordial life (元命), a restoration of original purity (天真). Chen Xianggu notes that all things are inherently pure and tranquil; it is only through external influences that change arises.

Huang Maocai interprets this from a cultivation perspective: observing the return of all things to their root is the exhaustive investigation of principles (穷理); returning to the root in stillness is the complete penetration of nature (尽性); and the return to life in stillness is the attainment of the highest state (至于命).

Regarding "returning to life is called constancy (常)": Emperor Huizong of Song (in his imperial commentary) states that after returning to life, one transcends the vicissitudes of phenomena and unites with the Dao. Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) points out that those who awaken to the Dao abide in this state in their daily lives. Su Zhe uses the metaphor that even mountains, rivers, and the earth may change, yet only by returning to one's nature can one attain eternal constancy. Cao Daochong emphasizes that all things undergo cycles of flourishing and decline, birth and death—only the Dao remains unchanging. By realizing the truth of life and nature, one comprehends this eternal principle (真常). Huang Maocai concludes that through exhausting principles and penetrating nature to reach the state of returning to life, one attains eternal wisdom (知常明).

This passage elucidates the eternal nature of the Dao (the Way). Those who truly understand the Dao (mingdao zhe) do not shift their stance with external circumstances, thus reflecting all things between heaven and earth like a mirror. Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) explains that this "knowing" refers to enlightened awareness, sometimes written as "daily illumination," meaning wisdom grows with each passing day.

Su Zhe (Master Yingbin) contends that any understanding ungrounded in returning to one's original nature (fuxing) amounts to mere worldly cleverness—what seems like understanding is actually ignorance. Those unaware of the eternal Dao invite calamity through reckless action. The Imperial Commentary notes that chasing after external things leads only to endless troubles. As the Yijing states, "Returning to one's nature prevents misguided action"—yet those who remain lost while claiming understanding exemplify such misguidance.

Chen Jingyuan further observes that the ignorant mistake spiritual powers (shen) for demonic tricks, view longevity as absurdity, perceive stillness as emptiness, and regard returning to the origin (guigen fuming) as annihilation. Pretentious explanations resemble the Yijing's warning: "Virtue (De) without constancy brings disgrace." Thus ignorance of the eternal Dao invites self-inflicted misfortune.

Su Zhe adds that without returning to one's nature, one drifts with external tides—every action becomes erroneous, and temporary gains yield ultimate loss. Huang Maocai emphasizes the Dao's profound subtlety, comprehensible only to the genuinely wise. Since the Qin and Han dynasties, charlatans like Xu Fu and Luan Da peddled false immortality arts, precisely the calamity Laozi foretold.

Those who understand the Dao embrace vastness. The Imperial Commentary explains that knowing the eternal Dao dissolves attachments to right/wrong or beauty/ugliness, enabling true inclusiveness. Su Zhe analogizes: the lost see enemies everywhere—how could they embrace others? Recognizing illusions transforms even foes into objects of compassion. Chen Xianggu states that abiding in cosmic principle (tianli) without contention naturally embraces all things. Liu Ji (Master Qingyuan) holds that understanding the eternal Dao aligns one with heaven-and-earth's virtue (De), covering and sustaining creation like the cosmos itself. Huang Maocai concludes that the truly constant Dao embraces everything—its knowers inevitably develop all-encompassing minds.

Only through inclusiveness comes impartiality. The Imperial Commentary observes that without partiality, one wouldn't privilege kin—how then could selfishness arise? Su Zhe remarks that when nothing is excluded, distinctions between self and other vanish—what room remains for bias?

This passage gathers interpretations from multiple Daoist scholars on core concepts such as "impartiality" (gong), "kingly virtue" (wang), "heaven" (tian), and "Dao" (the Way). Liu Ji states that only by embracing all things selflessly, as heaven and earth cover and support all creation, can one achieve great Virtue (De) — this is the realm of true impartiality. Huang Maocai further explains that genuine inclusiveness requires the capacity to encompass the cosmos, reaching a state where self, others, and external objects are forgotten, merging completely with the Great Dao.

Chen Jingyuan observes that when a person can embrace all things without selfish intent, their mind becomes vast and unimpeded, attaining perfect impartiality. When such impartial virtue spreads universally, it draws people to gather like spokes converging at a hub. Su Zhe adds that those who embody complete impartiality will naturally attract universal allegiance.

Regarding the concept of "kingly virtue," Huang Maocai notes that when rulers possess this virtue, it becomes imperial virtue; when practiced by those below, it constitutes the path of sages. Chen Jingyuan remarks that when multitudes willingly submit, heaven itself protects such individuals. Wang Anshi asserts that the kingly way represents the pinnacle of human virtue — at its zenith, it merges with the heavenly Dao. Cheng Dachang uses heaven’s impartial canopy as metaphor: just as the sky covers all things without bias.

Concerning the relationship between "heaven" and "Dao," commentaries clarify that Dao is the source of all existence. Su Zhe observes that while heaven has discernible form, Dao remains the ultimate reality. Wang Anshi maintains that heaven and Dao are fundamentally one. Huang Maocai states that heaven takes Dao as its governing principle.

Finally, the eternal nature of Dao is discussed: Dao never decays, and all things flourish by attaining it. Liu Jing calls this the everlasting truth that has existed since antiquity. Huang Maocai explains that Dao is self-originating, existing prior to heaven and earth. Those who attain Dao achieve permanence — though their physical form perishes, they never truly vanish. He poses a rhetorical question: If the body inevitably decays, why does the text state "the body perishes yet does not perish"? Perhaps this implies that while form transforms, the spirit endures — death is not true annihilation.

Lin Dong (the commentator) explains: Though Heaven is vast, it still has discernible forms, yet the Dao is boundless and inexhaustible. Even when my physical form perishes, the Dao will never decay or be endangered. From this we can see that true gentlemen who comprehend the Great Dao become increasingly serene the longer they accompany it. This state originates from attaining the ultimate state of emptiness (Xu) and steadfastly maintaining perfect stillness (Jing).

(Here we see how Dao practitioners achieve unity with the eternal Dao through the cultivation method of "reaching the extremity of emptiness and guarding perfect stillness" - pursuing an ultimate state of inner void and tranquility. In Daoist practice, "attaining emptiness and preserving stillness" constitutes essential foundational work, where one realizes the Great Dao by eliminating distractions and returning to original authenticity.)