《道德真經集註(二)》Vol. 5

This chapter of the Collected Commentaries on the Dao De Jing discusses different levels of statecraft, with the ideal condition being one where the people barely perceive the ruler's presence.

The highest form of ruler (Taishang) resembles the unnamed sage-kings of antiquity who governed through "supreme De (Virtue) that does not appear as De." The people merely know a ruler exists but feel no pressure, as expressed in the Analects: "What has the emperor's power to do with me?" Under this Wuwei (non-action) governance, all things flourish naturally. The people live in peace and prosperity without knowing to whom they owe their blessings.

The next level of ruler is one whom the people cherish and praise. Such rulers implement benevolent policies, and their virtuous governance spreads far and wide. The people adore them like parents and revere them like the sun and moon. Yet this style of governance already shows traces of artificiality, departing from the perfection of the great Dao.

A step below are rulers whom the people fear. These monarchs use decrees to guide and punishments to restrain. Though order may be maintained, the natural harmony is already lost.

The lowest form of ruler is one whom the people despise and insult. In such times of decline, feudal lords covet the throne, ministers steal national treasures, and society descends into chaos. Scholar Liu Ji adds that rulers who seek the people's affection and praise have already failed to reach the state of "forgetting the world entirely," while those who govern through laws and punishments can only inspire fear.

Through these four tiers, the text reveals the Daoist ideal of "governing through non-action" as the supreme state, demonstrating how increasing human intervention progressively diminishes the effectiveness of rule.

This passage primarily discusses the principles of governance and the importance of sincerity, unfolding through several layers of meaning:

Huang Maocai uses the metaphor of fish to illustrate that when the spring dries up, fish stranded on land moisten each other with their saliva—appearing intimate, yet this forced closeness pales in comparison to their natural freedom in rivers and lakes, where they move freely without recognition. This analogy suggests that excessive intervention by rulers disrupts the natural order. The highest form of governance (the Dao of the Supreme, or Taishang) should achieve a state of "mutual forgetting" (xiangwang), not deliberate posturing.

Methods of governance are ranked in tiers: the lowest relies on harsh laws and punishments, yet this only breeds more thieves; a slightly better approach seeks praise and closeness, but this remains superficial; worse still are methods that inspire fear or contempt. All these stray further from the true Dao.

A lack of sincerity invites distrust. Just as in the Shang and Zhou dynasties, when rulers began enforcing oaths and covenants to bind the people, it only bred betrayal and suspicion. True trust should be like water or a mirror—naturally reflecting without external coercion.

Chen Jingyuan observes: Inner genuineness is called "sincerity" (cheng), while keeping one’s word is called "trust" (xin). If a ruler lacks sincerity, the people will naturally distrust them. Su Zhe adds that a truly self-assured ruler governs solely through the Dao. If they constantly worry about insufficiency and pile on benevolence, righteousness, laws, and punishments, they only erode the people’s trust.

Liu Ji concludes that when rulers and subjects deceive and suspect one another, the root of chaos lies in over-reliance on cleverness and a lack of fundamental trust in the Dao. The best governance resembles ancient times, where achievements felt natural to the people, never forced.

(Note: Here, Taishang refers to the highest form of governance, while xiangwang describes the ideal state where all things coexist naturally.)

The Dao may seem distant, yet it surpasses the folly of reckless speech that fails to gain trust and ultimately leads to rebellion. A ruler who truly embodies the Dao governs through wuwei (non-action), sleeves folded in repose, achieving merit without claiming credit. Through serene and tranquil teachings, affairs naturally come to fruition without forced effort. The people retain their simple, unspoiled nature, acting without artifice, perceiving all things as following their natural course. How then could thoughts of seeking praise or fearing disgrace arise?

Ye Mengde comments: A ruler's edicts and teachings are but words—can trust truly be built on these alone? When superiors fail to treat their people with genuine sincerity, the people will not respond with true devotion. Mutual suspicion between high and low breeds profound decay, yet still men value empty words. Lesser minds remain obstinately deluded to this extent. To reverse this, one must achieve merit naturally and complete affairs effortlessly, allowing the people to say, "This is simply how we are." Even if one sought deliberate praise, it would be impossible—only then can we return to the peace of antiquity. Like the ode praising Emperor Yao's virtue: "Vast beyond description, sublime are his achievements," the essence lies in "Only Heaven is truly great, only Yao could emulate it." What does Heaven do? It simply arches above, and all things naturally follow. This boundless vastness, beyond the people's power to describe, embodies the principle of "I am simply so."

Master Liu Ji of Qingyuan observes: If one values only the sage's words without understanding the sage's Dao, they miss how sages govern the world through the Dao. They guide people toward goodness and away from wrongdoing through gradual, natural transformation—as if acting from innate spontaneity, unaware of what prompts them. Thus when achievements are made, the people say, "We have always been this way." This is the highest art of governance.

Lin Dong notes: The character "you" (犹) implies slowness and difficulty in attainment, reflecting caution toward speech. Words should not be lightly uttered; trust must be earned, not demanded through admonition. The ancient saying about "closing the people's ears and eyes" is no absurdity—it aimed to free them from sensory desires, its efficacy manifest in sincere mutual trust.

(Transition to "Chapter 18: When the Great Dao is Abandoned") Only when the great Dao is abandoned do we speak of benevolence and righteousness. The Imperial Commentary explains: After losing the Dao, we speak of De (Virtue); after losing De, we speak of humaneness; after losing humaneness, we speak of righteousness. Humaneness establishes others' worth, righteousness establishes one's own standards—yet both are already distant from the Dao. Han Yu failed to grasp the sage's true meaning of Dao and De, mistakenly treating humaneness and righteousness as fixed norms.

Several Daoist scholars are discussing the relationship between "Dao-De (the Way and its Virtue)" and "benevolence-righteousness." Laozi considered excessive emphasis on benevolence-righteousness as a sign of shallow understanding, while Zhuangzi described it as a method to obscure the people's minds.

Chen Jingyuan used a fish analogy: When the spring dries up, fish on land moisten each other with spit (symbolizing forced maintenance of benevolence-righteousness), which is inferior to swimming freely in rivers and lakes (symbolizing the natural Wuwei of the great Dao). Su Zhe added: When the Dao prevails, benevolence-righteousness is naturally encompassed within it; only when the Dao declines do people begin to deliberately promote benevolence-righteousness.

Liu Ji countered: If white jade remains whole, why carve it into ritual vessels? If Dao-De isn't abandoned, why emphasize benevolence-righteousness? Huang Maocai explained that Laozi wasn't opposing benevolence-righteousness itself, but rather criticizing those who rigidly adhere to it without understanding the great Dao. Though Laozi doesn't speak of "benevolence," he often discusses "compassion"; though he avoids "righteousness," he emphasizes "decisiveness"—these concepts are fundamentally interconnected.

Cheng Dachang cited Zhuangzi's metaphor: In an era of perfect Dao-De, people lived naturally like wild deer—behaving properly without recognizing it as "righteousness," caring for each other without labeling it "benevolence." Just as when primordial Qi divides into Yin-Yang, people see only the duality while forgetting the singular origin. Deliberately distinguishing benevolence-righteousness is like fragmenting the complete Dao.

Finally addressing the saying "When wisdom emerges, great artifice appears," Chen Jingyuan viewed this as inevitable, while Su Zhe noted that when people fail to understand how the Dao naturally fulfills all things, various hypocrisies and affectations arise. These perspectives collectively illustrate: deliberately promoted benevolence-righteousness cannot match the spontaneous flow of Dao-De, and excessive focus on form causes the loss of essence.

This passage discusses how when rulers govern through cunning artifice, the people respond with deceit. Just as filial piety becomes conspicuous only when family harmony is broken, so too do loyal ministers stand out only when the state falls into chaos.

Su Zhe explains: When the six family relations (parents, siblings, wife) are harmonious, everyone naturally shows filial devotion and kindness, making no particular exemplar of filial piety stand out. In times of national peace, all officials fulfill their duties faithfully, leaving no special loyal ministers to be recognized. Emperor Yao was by no means unfilial, yet people only praised Shun's filial piety precisely because Shun had to contend with the notoriously cruel Blind Old Man (his father). Similarly, Yi Yin and the Duke of Zhou were not lacking in loyalty, but people single out Long Feng and Bi Gan for praise because they served under tyrants like Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang.

Huang Maocai further analyzes: It is precisely because of family discord that Shun's filial conduct became remarkable; it is due to national turmoil that Bi Gan's loyalty was highlighted. Only after the Dao (the natural way of non-action) was abandoned did Confucians and Mohists attack each other, making Laozi's writings valuable. Had the world remained in its pristine simplicity as in ancient times, Laozi might have remained unknown, with no need to write at all.

The chapter "Cut Off Sageliness, Abandon Wisdom" (Chapter 19) states: When so-called sageliness and wisdom are discarded, the people will benefit a hundredfold.

Emperor Huizong of Song (in his imperial commentary) explains: The Dao and human nature were originally pure and undivided. Only when people strayed from the Dao in pursuit of De (virtue/power) did concepts like "sagely wisdom" emerge. By cutting off these artificial distinctions and returning to the wholeness of Dao, all things can abide in their true nature and receive the greatest benefit.

Daoist priest Chen Jingyuan quotes Heshang Gong: When the Five Emperors began establishing rituals and Cang Jie created writing, this proved inferior to the simple governance of the Three Sovereigns' knot-recording era. Zhuangzi similarly said: When petty cleverness is abandoned, great wisdom manifests naturally. The scripture points out: Governing through cunning artifice actually brings disaster to the state.

Su Zhe argues: While sagely wisdom is needed to comprehend the Dao, when rulers govern under the banner of sageliness and wisdom, some inevitably abuse clever stratagems. Ordinary people often misunderstand the essence of sagely wisdom, focusing only on superficial techniques and competing to imitate these lesser methods, thereby suffering harm. Thus by abandoning the labels of sageliness and wisdom, the people actually gain hundredfold benefits.

Wang Anshi states: This is about returning to original simplicity.

Master Dazhen concludes: After the great Dao was neglected, those who could practice it were called "sages," and those who understood it were called "wise." Thus these titles emerged precisely because the Dao had been abandoned. If the Dao were universally practiced, no "sage" designation would be needed; if the Dao were universally understood, no "wisdom" label would exist. When all people can practice and comprehend the great Dao, the masses naturally receive maximum benefit. The very need to emphasize "sageliness and wisdom" indicates their absence in reality.

This passage elucidates how sages cultivate themselves and govern the state through comprehending the true essence of the Dao (the Way). Master Liu Ji of Qingyuan explains that when sages understand the fundamental nature of the Dao to cultivate themselves, they relinquish attachment to sensory perceptions, transcend the constraints of intellect and cleverness, surpass physical form and artificial skill, thereby becoming one with the Great Dao. Even exalted qualities like sagely wisdom and humaneness-righteousness should be abandoned—how much more so worldly concerns?

Huang Maocai observes that ancient cultivators focused solely on the Dao, forgetting dualistic concepts like right/wrong and existence/nonexistence, dwelling freely in a realm beyond constraints. In such a state, even sagely wisdom becomes unnecessary—how much more so humaneness-righteousness? If humaneness-righteousness proves superfluous, how much more so clever schemes and profit? Attaining this realm allows one's entire being to function with natural subtlety, thus benefiting the common people hundredfold. By abandoning humaneness-righteousness, people spontaneously recover their innate filial piety and parental compassion.

The Imperial Commentary explains this enables people to return to their authentic nature—not merely loving their own relatives and children, but universally recovering innate filial devotion. Chen Jingyuan of Bixu further clarifies this reflects the aspiration for people to preserve their natural xing (nature) and ming (life).

Su Zhe (Yingbin) analyzes: Those embodying true humaneness-righteousness never neglect family nor disrespect rulers. While humaneness-righteousness could nurture filial devotion, when the world declines, people exploit these concepts for personal gain—leading to sons rebelling against fathers and fathers abusing sons. These distortions arise from clinging to superficial forms of humaneness-righteousness, hence their abandonment allows genuine filial compassion to reemerge.

Regarding "abandon cleverness and discard profit, then thieves and robbers will disappear," the Imperial Commentary notes that scheming minds and profit-seeking intentions constitute the root of theft. Chen Jingyuan advocates destroying precious jades and burning seals of authority to restore simple customs, making thieves naturally vanish.

Su Zhe remarks that while cleverness originally facilitated tasks and profit aided others, thieves cannot operate without these tools—hence abandoning them eliminates theft. Ye Mengde offers a dissenting view, arguing that merely pursuing profit, teaching filial piety, or prohibiting theft would instead create greater disorder.

Huang Maocai concludes that whatever harms natural harmony or disrupts authentic xing must be eliminated, making thieves nonexistent. He ultimately observes that humaneness-righteousness, filial compassion, and theft prohibition remain insufficient governance methods—requiring something more fundamental (referring to returning to the Dao). The Imperial Commentary adds that while ancient sage-kings governed through humaneness-righteousness, by the Zhou dynasty this had degenerated into excessive formalism.

This passage discusses the concept of "returning to simplicity and authenticity" (返璞归真) in the Daode Jing (道德经). During that era, societal customs were becoming increasingly superficial, with people obsessed with external forms while losing their innate, unadorned nature. Laozi (老氏), living in the late Zhou dynasty, sought to rectify this tendency by guiding people back to their fundamental authenticity.

The text clarifies that Laozi did not actually believe traditional virtues like benevolence (仁), righteousness (义), sagely wisdom (圣智) were incapable of governing the world. The ancient kings' way of ruling operated in cyclical patterns—to correct the excesses of overemphasis on formalism, the best approach was to return to the essence of simplicity. Hence, Laozi advocated "manifesting plainness and embracing simplicity, reducing selfishness and diminishing desires" (见素抱朴，少私寡欲)—preserving one's pure, original nature while lessening personal cravings.

Sima Guang (涑水) explained that sagely wisdom, benevolence-righteousness, and clever advantage were originally good traditions of antiquity. Yet later generations used them merely as superficial ornaments, lacking genuine sincerity, until they became empty labels. Su Zhe (颖滨) observed that when society exalted these three things—assuming the world's disorder stemmed from insufficient formalism—the result was worsening chaos. Instead, returning to the root by restoring people's innate nature would render such external forms naturally unnecessary.

Wang Anshi (临川) particularly highlighted the nuanced word choices: "manifesting plainness" (见素) is more proactive than "preserving plainness" (守素), "embracing simplicity" (抱朴) more active than "returning to simplicity" (返朴), "reducing selfishness" (少私) more practical than "eliminating selfishness" (无私), and "diminishing desires" (寡欲) more feasible than "eradicating desires" (绝欲). This reflects the Daoist emphasis on gradual progress and natural spontaneity. Chen Xianggu further noted that reducing selfish desires is key to uprooting superficial trends.

Huang Maocai states that the most profound Dao (referring to the cosmic origin and ultimate truth) has no ornate appearance—its essence is pure simplicity. When one observes the world with an unadulterated heart, everything perceived becomes a manifestation of the Dao. When one maintains this fundamental simplicity, all that is embraced embodies the true essence of the Dao. Selfish desires can be completely eradicated—why merely reduce them? Greed can be utterly severed—why merely restrain it? "Seeing the uncarved wood and embracing simplicity" (preserving one's innate purity) is the realm of the highest sages, while "reducing selfishness and lessening desires" serves as guidance for intermediate and novice practitioners.

Regarding "Abandon learning and there will be no sorrow" (Chapter 20):

Emperor Huizong of Song (Imperial Commentary) explains: Following the natural state of life's innate truth brings inherent joy, thus eliminating sorrow.

Master Bixu (Chen Jingyuan) remarks: What people study today amounts only to the dregs of knowledge. "Abandoning learning" does not mean rejecting all study, but rather safeguarding one's natural essence.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) observes: Pursuing scholarship endlessly accumulates knowledge, while seeking the Dao requires continuous reduction. Without understanding life's true essence, merely using learning to expand one's knowledge creates increasing inner chaos—until the burden of sorrow becomes unbearable. Thus, the sage does not reject learning but always takes the Dao as fundamental.

Cao Daochong (Master Dao Zhen Ren Jing) states: Those who attain the Dao need not study, for they themselves embody the Dao. Since I am the Dao, what remains to be learned? When principle is thoroughly penetrated without obstruction, what cause remains for sorrow?

Master Dazhen points out: People study because they have not yet reached the state of realization. Before attaining the Dao, the mind inevitably harbors attachments, thus producing sorrow. After realization, the mind becomes unburdened, and sorrow naturally vanishes. Upon reaching this sorrowless state, learning loses its purpose—hence "abandon learning and there will be no sorrow."

Ye Mengde concludes: Without learning, one cannot comprehend the Dao, yet once the Dao is truly seen, learning becomes superfluous.

Liu Ji (Master Qingyuan) analyzes: In the pursuit of scholarship, daily accumulation of knowledge leaves principles still unmastered and the mind unsatisfied—how could this not bring sorrow? Seeking the Dao, however, involves daily reduction—not listening, not looking, continuously letting go until reaching the state of wuwei (non-action) that accomplishes all things. Only then can one rejoice in heaven's mandate and know contentment—thus "abandon learning and there will be no sorrow."

Huang Maocai adds: Attempting to exhaustively comprehend the principles of heaven, earth, and the myriad things through personal intellect—probing into the unsearchable—only brings endless sorrow.

Lin Dong finally clarifies: Abandoning one's innate nature to seek the Dao externally, treating other fields of learning as objectives—these are all outward pursuits. Only by severing such externalized learning and following one's nature to realize the Dao spontaneously can one become truly sorrow-free.

This passage discusses how people often become attached to distinguishing between right and wrong, good and evil, when in essence these opposing concepts differ very little. It's like the difference between responding with "wei" (a respectful reply) and "a" (a casual reply) - superficially one seems respectful while the other appears negligent, but fundamentally both are just vocal responses.

Several Daoist scholars elaborate on this principle from different perspectives: The Imperial Commentary explains that respect and negligence originate from the same vocal source, just as good and evil arise from the same nature. Ordinary people cling to distinctions, while those with understanding see through to the fundamental unity. Chen Jingyuan (Bixu Zi) adds that from a ritual propriety standpoint, "wei" appears respectful while "a" seems rude, but essentially both are just sound responses. Excessive pursuit of good reputation harms the body, while extreme evil invites punishment - in truth, both good and evil are just external labels.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) observes that scholars often become confused by superficial appearances, seeing respectful and negligent responses as vastly different, let alone the opposition between good and evil. The sage understands all things share the same fundamental nature - just as painted horses and oxen or carved tigers and pigs aren't real creatures, why insist on distinguishing right from wrong?

Liu Jing quotes Zhuangzi: what we call miraculous and what we call rotten can transform into each other - the boundary between good and evil is actually quite blurred. Like vocal responses that fundamentally have no difference, yet people insist on assigning meanings of respect or negligence.

Cao Daochong (Daoist Master Zhenren Jing) concludes: Responses inherently contain no difference, why trouble over respect or negligence? Both doing good and committing evil exhaust the heart-mind. Da Zhenzi further explains that distinguishing "wei" from "a" reflects moral decline, while distinguishing good from evil stems from losing one's true nature. When worldly customs deteriorate, people consider respect a virtue; when true nature is lost, practitioners are called good and non-practitioners evil. Actually, changing "a" to "wei" isn't impossible - people simply choose not to do so.

This passage discusses the relationship between good and evil, and how Daoist practitioners should conduct themselves in the world. Several Daoist scholars have offered insights on this matter:

Huang Maocai argues that people are not incapable of reforming from evil to good, but rather unwilling to cultivate themselves. The difference between good and evil is actually quite small, as illustrated by Zhuangzi's parable of Zang and Gu losing their sheep. Truly wise individuals should contemplate transcending the duality of good and evil. To simplistically equate evil deeds with good ones would mislead people toward wickedness, which was never Laozi's original intention.

Cheng Dachang and Lin Dong point out that while good and evil appear vastly different, Laozi's statement "how little difference between them" encourages wrongdoers to swiftly return to the path of virtue—just as the distinction between the affirmative responses "wei" and "a" is minimal. What ordinary people fear, Daoist practitioners cannot disregard.

Chen Jingyuan (Master Bixu) explains that those who attain the Dao (the Way) transcend attachments to good and evil in their hearts, yet still conform to worldly rituals in conduct. Living among humans, one must cultivate De (Virtue/Power), observe ceremonial norms, and uphold moral precepts. This demonstrates true mastery of Daoist principles.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) contends that sages eliminate the distinction between self and others, maintaining inner emptiness, yet never violate worldly laws. What people fear, sages also fear; what people do, sages also do. Though living within relationships of ruler-subject and father-son, following systems of rites, music, and governance, they never appear abnormal. Their freedom from external attachments stems from their mental state.

Cao Daochong (Master Daozhen Renjing) and Huang Maocai both emphasize: how can one preserve oneself and avoid calamity without proper caution? People have both fears and desires. To fear what should be feared while not desiring what should be desired shows wisdom. But to desire whatever others desire is mere vulgarity.

Regarding the phrase "vast like the unbounded," Chen Jingyuan interprets "yang" as meaning center or limit. Wang Anshi describes the great Dao (the Way) as boundless and infinite. Cao Daochong views this as representing Laozi's approach to life—appearing limitless yet profoundly unfathomable.

This passage describes how people's innate nature becomes obscured by external things. The Daoist master Dazhenzi offers an analogy: just as a field becomes overgrown with weeds, human nature becomes clouded by material desires.

Ye Mengde notes this obscured state is difficult to fully articulate, so the scripture describes it as "boundless wilderness." Huang Maocai explains this "wilderness" resembles the deluded states of being obsessed with hunting ("game wilderness") or infatuated with beauty ("beauty wilderness").

The bustling crowds of ordinary people are likened to attendees at a grand sacrificial feast (the "Great Sacrifice" referring to ancient China's most elaborate ritual banquet) or springtime mountain excursions. Chen Jingyuan, known as the "Master of Azure Emptiness," observes that worldly people become artificial through scholarly pursuits and lose their authenticity by chasing external phenomena. Cao Daochong explains this occurs because people's eyes and minds become completely occupied by dazzling external spectacles.

Only those who have attained the Dao remain serene, their inner peace resembling that of an infant who hasn't yet learned to smile (the "pre-smiling" state). Su Zhe clarifies that ordinary people indulge in their respective pleasures, finding banquets delightful and spring outings joyous, blindly following these without recognizing their illusory nature. The sages alone see through this illusion, remaining unmoved by temptations, pure as unsmiling infants.

Huang Maocai notes how the masses chase pleasure while Dao-realized individuals remain transcendent. They appear aimless ("floating freely" like an empty boat adrift), which Wang Anshi explains manifests their spirit wandering in the realm of emptiness. Cao Daochong describes this as harmonizing with all things without being constrained, while Liu Ji compares it to an infant's purposeless movements or an empty boat drifting randomly. Cheng Dachang adds that when people indulge in pleasures, Dao practitioners focus on the unmanifested source of the Dao, like ignorant infants completely unaware why people chase after pleasures.

The masses always feel they possess abundance, which Emperor Huizong's commentary points out appears as mere leftovers and superfluous actions ("leftover food and redundant deeds") to cultivators. Chen Jingyuan says this stems from psychological satisfaction derived from wealth and status, while Su Zhe observes how ordinary people each consider their lives abundantly sufficient.

Liu Jing states that human nature is originally complete and flawless, and what is called "excess" refers to things that go beyond one's fundamental nature. Chen Xianggu adds that this "excess" is actually a manifestation of self-inflation.

Regarding the phrase "I alone seem forgotten" (我独若遗), Chen Jingyuan (also known as Bixuzi) explains that those who understand the transient nature of glory and wealth, like passing guests, can remain detached as if they have forgotten them. Liu Jing further clarifies that this "forgetting" does not mean actual oblivion but rather non-attachment to external things. A true Daoist practitioner does not reject learning but adopts this attitude because worldly knowledge has become excessive and needs correction.

Cao Daochong (revered as Daoist Master Zhenren Jing) observes that while others feel they possess much, I alone seem forgotten, as if I have nothing. Ye Mengde remarks that attachment creates a sense of excess, while letting go creates a sense of forgetting. Huang Maocai points out that while the masses inflate themselves with wealth and arrogance, I alone seem forgotten, appearing dull and ignorant.

Concerning the "mind of a fool" (愚人之心), Emperor Huizong of Song cites Confucius’s praise of Yan Hui to illustrate that this seemingly foolish state actually aligns with the Dao (the Way) and represents great wisdom. Su Zhe (also known as Yingbin) notes that what appears foolish is not truly so. Liu Jing explains that while the masses pursue cleverness, I abandon such pursuits, hence appearing foolish. Cheng Dachang describes this state as so pure that it defies conventional understanding.

Regarding the lines "The worldly are bright, I alone seem dim; the worldly scrutinize, I alone am muddled" (俗人昭昭我独若昏，俗人察察我独闷闷), Emperor Huizong comments: Conforming to the world makes one appear clever, but such cleverness is narrow-minded. Those who nitpick seem wise but are actually rigid. Those who transcend material desires appear dull yet are truly awake, seemingly slow yet profoundly sharp—a state incomprehensible to ordinary people.

Chen Jingyuan (Bixuzi) elaborates: "Brightness" (昭昭) refers to flaunting intelligence, "scrutiny" (察察) denotes harsh judgment, while "muddled" (闷闷) suggests broad-minded tolerance (some interpret it as dimness). He quotes Zhuangzi, stating that the highest Dao (the Way) is formless chaos. Su Zhe argues that the worldly take discrimination as wisdom, but the sage knows falsehood is not worth distinguishing, hence appearing confused outwardly yet clear inwardly. Cao Daochong notes that worldly people exhaust their intellect to scrutinize things, fearing they are not conspicuous enough, yet fail to grasp the realm of "not knowing, not hearing."

The world is full of people who calculate with shrewd precision, seeing everything with crystal clarity, while I alone appear dim-witted and unknowing. Ordinary people pursue fame and prominence, shining brilliantly, while I maintain a state of primordial simplicity. The world exhausts its cleverness at every turn, while I remain silent and seemingly dull.

The mind of one who has attained the Dao (the Way) is as deep and vast as the ocean (where "澹" signifies serene detachment and grandeur), yet as free and unconstrained as the long wind ("飂" suggesting boundless openness and clarity). As the Imperial Commentary explains: A heart-mind as tranquil as an abyss reflects the essence of the Dao, while its flowing transformations without stagnation reveal the Dao's marvelous function. Master Chen Jingyuan of the Azure Void adds: Its unfathomable depth is likened to the sea, yet in responding to change it resembles drifting waves without fixed direction—appearing to move without purpose. The Sage of Attainment considers this state a transcendent vastness beyond worldly concerns.

All people strive to become useful material, while I alone remain like an uncarved block—clumsy and coarse. The Imperial Commentary employs a botanical metaphor: The cassia tree is felled for its edible bark, the lacquer tree wounded for its useful sap. People understand only the utility of the "useful," failing to grasp the greater function of the "useless." Liu Jing observes that worldly learning pursues only practical value—who comprehends the true worth of apparent uselessness? Huang Maocai remarks: Who among the extraordinarily talented doesn't desire recognition? Yet I alone find contentment in this seemingly foolish state, for Dao cultivators are satisfied with the Dao itself rather than worldly validation.

Both Cheng Dachang and Lin Dong recognize here an exposure of humanity's pursuit of branches while forgetting the root. Like an infant clinging to its mother, the Dao attainer single-mindedly seeks the Dao as mother of all things—for the Dao nurtures and sustains all existence with maternal qualities. This return to the origin constitutes the fundamental distinction between Dao cultivators and those immersed in worldly affairs.

Master Bi Xu (Chen Jingyuan) explains that some question why Laozi advocates blending with worldly affairs ("harmonizing the light and mixing with the dust"), yet here emphasizes the distinction between sages and ordinary people. In truth, this is not the sage's original intent but rather an expedient teaching. The sage's actions are fundamentally no different from ordinary people's—it is simply that worldly people invert movement and stillness, thus necessitating didactic statements that establish these distinctions.

Su Zhe (Yingbin) clarifies that the Dao is the source of all things. Ordinary people chase external phenomena and forget the root, while sages transcend phenomena to take the Dao as their foundation. This is like an infant who simply knows to seek nourishment from its mother—a state of pure simplicity.

Liu Jing observes that just as an infant takes its mother as its foundation, the Dao is the root while conventional learning represents branches. Sages do not deliberately seek novelty, but to counter the worldly obsession with superficial knowledge, they must employ extreme expressions like "abandon learning" to awaken people.

Master Cao Daochong (Dao Zhen Ren Jing) points out that ordinary people seek externally, while Dao cultivators focus inwardly on nourishing Qi (vital energy). Qi is like the mother, Shen (spirit) like the child—when spirit and Qi rely on each other without separation, when form and spirit guard one another, natural stability arises over time. This isn't isolation but rather the essential simplicity of nurturing life.

Master Da Zhen adds that worldly people pursue external manifestations rather than internal roots, like demanding food from a child while ignoring the mother—a complete reversal of priorities.

Chen Xianggu suggests the sage's "difference from others" lies in refusing to follow worldly trends of conventional learning. Huang Maocai identifies the "mother" as the Dao itself, referencing the Daode Jing's statement: "The named is the mother of all things."

Chapter 21 ("The Appearance of Supreme De") explains: The highest virtue completely follows the Dao's principles. Emperor Huizong's commentary states that the transformations of Yin-Yang constitute the Dao, while all things manifesting through attaining the Dao constitutes De (virtue). The formless Dao is indescribable—virtue makes it visible; virtue's concrete manifestations reveal the Dao through all phenomena.

Su Zhe further elaborates: The formless Dao, when operating visibly, becomes tangible virtue. Thus virtue is the Dao made manifest, and all forms are the Dao appearing through different phenomena.

Wang Anshi (Linchuan) identifies "supreme virtue" with what Mencius called "flourishing virtue." When human speech and action perfectly accord with the Dao, the demeanor of highest virtue naturally emerges.

Ye Mengde explains that the character "德" (De, Virtue/Power) signifies "attainment." While the Dao itself is formless and intangible, its presence can be perceived through De. The Dao has no concrete shape, yet De manifests its essential qualities.

Lin Dong elaborates that when people deviate from the Dao, they must rely on De to return to it. De possesses tangible manifestations—particularly through noble virtues and beautiful phenomena—that reveal traces of the Dao. Though the Dao is inherently formless, its existence becomes discernible through great virtue (Kong De) and the world's harmonious expressions.

Regarding the nature of the Dao, the scripture describes it as both seemingly existent and non-existent, elusive to grasp. The Imperial Commentary notes that the Dao's essence is emptiness, yet its function is undeniably real. Within the state of "huanghu" (a trance-like vagueness), there are faint impressions of form (huang) and discernible patterns (hu). This paradoxical quality of presence-in-absence constitutes the Dao's profound mystery.

Chen Jingyuan (Bixuzi) asserts that the Dao transcends verbal description and sensory perception. The term "object" (物) is used metaphorically to approach its profundity through relatable concepts. This state of huanghu embodies the Daoist view of form and emptiness: apparent forms are ultimately empty (即色是空), while emptiness itself is not mere nothingness (即空是色).

Wang Anshi emphasizes that while the Dao is not an object, language forces us to borrow material terms to describe it—hence the contradiction expressed as "huanghu." Huang Maocai interprets this through Yin-Yang theory: huang represents Yang, hu embodies Yin, and the Dao's movement reflects their dynamic interplay. The term "huanghu" is preferred over "Yin-Yang" because this transformation is too subtle for ordinary perception, requiring intuitive insight.

Within huanghu reside the Dao's imagistic manifestations (象) and substantial essence (物). The Imperial Commentary analogizes this to wind and thunder emerging from emptiness, or water and fire generated by earth—such wondrous creativity reveals the Dao's marvels. Chen Jingyuan identifies "象" as vital energy and "物" as divine entities, akin to Zhuangzi's "True Sovereign" (真君), which corresponds to human nature. Lu Dian traces this to cosmogony: "Taishi" (the Primordial Beginning) marks the inception of form, where these latent images first crystallize.

This passage elucidates the profound nature of the Dao (the Way). "Simplicity" refers to the primordial state of matter—seemingly void yet containing real existence. The so-called "indistinct and elusive" state (referring to the mystical condition between being and non-being) does not represent two separate realms, nor are "images" and "objects" fundamentally different categories—they are all varied manifestations of the Dao.

Within the profound and mysterious state (indicating unfathomable depth), pure and subtle energy (Qi) is contained. This energy is absolutely real ("truly authentic") and follows constant principles ("with reliable patterns"). Just as spring brings growth, autumn brings harvest, summer brings heat, and winter brings cold, these natural laws never deviate. This subtle energy divides into two types: Yin and Yang. The Yang within Yin is called Yang essence (Yangjing), while the Yin within Yang is called Yin essence (Yinjing)—both truly exist and operate with perfect order.

From ancient times to the present, the essence of this subtle energy has never changed ("its name does not fade"). By observing it, one can comprehend the origins of all things ("the beginnings of multiplicity"). The sages grasped this subtle essence, enabling them to perceive the patterns underlying all transformations. They appear to practice non-action (Wuwei), yet resonate with the mysteries of heaven and earth; they seem utterly still, yet understand all changes under heaven. Only those who have mastered the most refined principles can attain this state.

(Note: The "Zi" and "Wu" mentioned refer to earthly branch time periods—Zi hour marking the birth of Yang and Wu hour marking the birth of Yin—used to illustrate the precision of Yin-Yang transformations.)

Su Zhe (styled Yingbin) remarked: Though eras have changed from ancient to modern times, the essence of Dao (the Way) has never departed. Precisely because Dao exists eternally, we can observe the transformations in all things' forms. "Fu" signifies beauty - no matter how beautiful things may be, none can escape change. The reason sages comprehend the essence of all things lies in their constant unity with Dao, never separated from it.

Lu Dian explained: The life-generating force evolves from "Taiyi" (the primordial state of the universe) to "Taisu" (the stage of material formation) - this is the ceaseless creativity of nature. Yet the origin that gives birth to all things neither arises nor perishes, so its name remains undiminished from ancient times to the present, enabling us to observe the beauty of all things. "The name does not vanish" refers to the eternal, unchanging true name. Though all things undergo birth and destruction, the essence of Dao neither arises nor ceases, thus allowing this everlasting name to examine all phenomena. Zhuangzi's statement that "the miraculous transforms into the decayed, and the decayed transforms back into the miraculous" precisely illustrates how all forms (zhongfu) mutually transform.

Liu Ji (styled Qingyuanzi) held that Dao endures through ten thousand generations without decline, eternally present in its complete nature. Though the beauty of all things flows away moment by moment, the purest essence never perishes, thereby enabling one to perceive the entire cycle of life and death in all phenomena.

Huang Maocai interpreted: The Daode Jing states "I do not know its name, so I style it Dao" - yet the name itself manifests Dao. As the mother of all things, though the phenomenal world is ever-changing, Dao's true name forever remains. "Fu" refers to the beauty inherent in all existence between heaven and earth. Whether in the vastness of the cosmos, the multitude of people and events, or the minute insects and plants - all contain this beauty. Where this beauty is absent, Dao is not present.

(This passage from Collected Commentaries on the True Scripture of Dao and De Volume 5 compiles four scholars' interpretations on the eternal nature of Dao and its relationship with the transformations of all things.)