《道德真經注疏》Vol. 1

This passage elucidates the opening lines of the Daode Jing: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name." Gu Huan, a renowned Daoist master of the Southern Qi and Liang dynasties, expounds core Daoist concepts through his commentary.

The distinction between "speakable Dao" (可道) and "eternal Dao" (常道) is first explained: The Dao that can be articulated refers merely to specific methods of governance and moral instruction. The true eternal Dao transcends language and must be apprehended through Wuwei (non-action)—cultivating the spirit in stillness, quietly pacifying the people, concealing one's radiance without display. This ineffable truth constitutes the genuine Dao. The eternal Dao cannot be described through words nor comprehended through thought, as it surpasses all forms and concepts.

Similarly, the differentiation between "nameable" (可名) and "eternal name" (常名) follows this pattern: Worldly achievements and material rewards are all transient, while the eternal "name" resembles an infant before speech, an egg before hatching, a pearl concealed within its shell, or jade hidden in rough stone—radiant within yet outwardly plain.

The explanation of "the nameless is the beginning of heaven and earth" clarifies that this "nameless" refers precisely to the Dao. Having no concrete form, it cannot be named. "Beginning" signifies how the Dao generates primordial Qi from emptiness, transforming to produce all things as the fundamental source of creation. Though the Dao itself is nameless, it gives birth to the myriad beings, serving as the ultimate origin of heaven and earth.

The text emphasizes that the true Dao transcends language and conceptual thought as the ultimate source of all phenomena in the universe, requiring realization through Wuwei and inward contemplation.

The supreme Dao creates all things like a potter shaping clay vessels, and the movements of heaven, earth, sun, and moon (the Two Modes and Three Luminaries) all follow this principle. This ineffable "non-being" (wu) constitutes the origin of all things, which cannot be fully described through language.

"Having names" (youming) refers to heaven and earth, which possess concrete forms and positions, containing opposing attributes like yin-yang and hardness-softness. Heaven and earth are called the "mother of all things" because they contain primordial qi that nurtures all beings to grow and mature, just as a mother nourishes her children. From the mysterious origin (nameless) manifests concrete phenomena (named), from which all names and concepts arise. Sages establish names to elucidate the nameless Dao, much like a mother nurtures beings to help them return to the source.

By maintaining a state of desirelessness, one can perceive the subtle marvels (miao) of the Dao. If a person can preserve emptiness and wuwei (non-action), they can both comprehend their intrinsic nature and realize the ultimate truth of the universe. Here, "marvel" refers to the core essence of the Dao—the "One" that generates all things and governs distinctions between right and wrong.

When desires arise, one only perceives the superficial appearances (jiao) of the phenomenal world. If obsessed with desires and chasing external objects, one merely sees the surface phenomena of birth and death cycles, failing to realize the emptiness underlying "being." This passage contrasts "nameless" with "named," and "desirelessness" with "desiring," revealing the different levels of Dao cultivation.

(Note: "Two Modes" refers to heaven and earth; "Three Luminaries" refers to the sun, moon, and stars; "Chongxuan" is a key Daoist philosophical concept denoting the ultimate truth beyond dualities of being and non-being; "receiving life" means all things are generated by receiving the primordial qi of heaven and earth.)

Practitioners who reach advanced levels of cultivation can transcend worldly desires, maintaining a state of inner purity and emptiness. In this state, their spirit (Shen) becomes lucid and capable of illuminating all things. This is the realm where one comprehends the profound and subtle mysteries of the Dao (the Way).

The two states of "having desires" and "being desireless" both originate from the human heart, differing only in name. Desirelessness enables longevity and enduring vision, while desires lead to the dissipation of body and mind. People perceive the world from different perspectives, so their understanding of the subtle aspects of things also varies.

This unity is called the "Mystery" (Xuan, referring to the profound origin of the cosmos). Whether one has desires or is desireless, all are equally endowed with the Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth at birth. The so-called "Mystery" is both the boundless and profound truth and the state that transcends the duality of existence and non-existence. Desire and desirelessness share the same source, differing only in manifestation, ultimately returning to the Dao—this profound truth that is unattached to either existence or non-existence.

"The Mystery beyond Mystery" (Xuan zhi you Xuan) refers to heavens beyond higher heavens. The Qi humans receive from heaven and earth varies in clarity and turbidity: those who attain balanced and pure Qi become sages and wise individuals, while those who receive chaotic and turbid Qi are prone to worldly cravings. Practitioners must not only transcend attachment to "existence" but also avoid fixation on "non-existence." By progressively dissolving attachments, they ultimately reach a state of great freedom—neither clinging to things nor to "non-clinging" itself.

Though all humans are endowed with the Qi of heaven and earth, its clarity varies: the higher the heaven, the purer the Qi; the lower the earth, the more turbid. Those who receive clear Qi become wise and virtuous, capable of perceiving the mysteries of the Dao without desires. Those who receive turbid Qi remain ordinary and ignorant, only able to observe superficial appearances through desires. These differences arise naturally.

This is the gateway to all mystical realms. If one can eliminate selfish desires and distractions, upholding the balanced Dao (the Way), they find the path to understanding the Dao. Like treating an illness with medicine, one first uses the "Mystery" as the middle way to dissolve the biases of "existence" and "non-existence." Once the illness is cured, even this "medicine" must be relinquished, reaching the supreme state where both self and objects are forgotten. This wisdom is subtle and profound, capable of exhausting the essential truths of all things in heaven and earth.

This passage presents the Daoist profound understanding of opposing concepts like beauty and ugliness, good and evil. The path through which all sages comprehend truth is actually the gateway to all mystical aspects of the Dao (the Way).

People often enjoy labeling what is beautiful, deliberately highlighting things they consider admirable, yet this very act constitutes a form of ugliness. When people obsess over distinguishing beauty from ugliness, it ultimately brings misfortune. Sentient beings indulge in external sensory pleasures, mistaking sensual desires for beauty, and this endless pursuit eventually turns against them.

Similarly, when people deliberately promote what they consider good or chase empty fame, such behavior itself becomes unvirtuous. Ordinary people often obsess over pursuing reputation, harming themselves and others for the sake of vain glory. True goodness should transcend such superficial distinctions. As Zhuangzi said, "Do good without seeking fame" - excessive attachment to virtuous reputation actually deviates from the essence of the Dao.

Opposing concepts like being and non-being, difficulty and ease are interdependent. When we perceive "being," the concept of "non-being" is already implied; what seems difficult exists only in contrast to what is easy. Upon deeper examination, these opposites are fundamentally illusory. Just as desires represent "being" and purity represents "non-being," they mutually presuppose each other's existence.

Those who truly comprehend the Dao understand that distinctions like beauty/ugliness and good/evil are all products of human attachment. Consider how renowned beauties like Mao Qiang and Li Ji, though universally admired by humans, are avoided by fish and birds. Thus the Zhuangzi states: "Those who consider themselves beautiful - I don't know wherein their beauty lies; those who consider themselves ugly - I don't know wherein their ugliness lies." Only by relinquishing these discriminating minds can one attain the state of wuwei (non-action).

This scripture elucidates the Daoist core concept of "mutual relativity and interdependence" through contrasting pairs. The text points out that difficulty and ease are mutually dependent—when maintaining an empty and luminous mind (kongxin huiguan), there is originally no distinction between difficult and easy; only when clinging to discriminating thoughts does the differentiation arise. As Wang Bi remarked: Restraining one's nature is difficult, while indulging desires is easy; choosing the difficult path yields virtuous results, while coveting ease invites calamity.

Length and height are likewise relative concepts. There exists no absolute "length"—an inch appears long compared to a centimeter, yet short beside a foot; what is high in one moment may become low the next. Sound follows the same principle: the five ancient tones (gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu) must harmonize to form music, yet upon investigation their essence proves illusory. Temporal sequence behaves similarly—today's "present" becomes yesterday in a blink, with no absolute before or after. Like karmic retribution, present actions sow seeds for future consequences.

Thus when those who have attained the Dao (sages) govern the world, they adopt the method of wuwei (non-action)—that is, ruling by aligning with natural laws (Dao). Here "sage" refers to those who have realized the Great Dao and embody pristine inner purity, capable of both rectifying themselves and enlightening others. Using the wondrous method of non-action to govern beings with desires, this approach to governance extends the principle of mutual relativity discussed earlier.

When sages govern the world, they maintain inner emptiness and stillness while manifesting dynamic vitality in action. In stillness, they appear to practice wuwei (non-action) yet engage with worldly affairs; in movement, they seem active yet never depart from their essential nature of emptiness. This state reveals that wuwei and youwei (action) are fundamentally one—whether in court or mountain forests, there is no distinction—hence called "handling affairs through non-action."

Sages do not rely on verbal teachings but guide beings through personal example. Though they realize the wordless origin of truth, they still teach adaptively through silence. True wisdom lies not in speaking or not speaking—as Zhuangzi said: "Those with sufficient words speak all day yet expound the Dao; those lacking words speak all day yet only discuss mundane matters."

All things grow and operate naturally without the sage's forceful interference. Like a clear mirror or empty valley, they respond naturally to what comes without active pursuit. Primordial qi (vital energy) generates all things yet claims no possession; the Dao bestows grace upon all yet seeks no reward. With impartial hearts, sages benefit all beings without pride in achievement.

Precisely because they claim no merit, their virtuous deeds endure. Deliberately pursuing fame is like opening the floodgates of desire, inviting endless chaos. The sage's merit resembles heaven covering and earth supporting—illuminating all yet attributing accomplishment to nature itself. Thus it becomes truly everlasting.

This passage discusses the realm of sages and the way of governance. The sage (one who has attained the highest state of moral cultivation), though possessing immeasurable merit towards all beings, never claims credit for himself but instead attributes accomplishments to all things. Precisely because he can forget his own merits, his virtue (De) becomes even more profound, and this sagely virtue never fades away.

Regarding "not exalting the worthy": The "worthy" here refers to those considered capable in the worldly sense—those skilled in debate who deviate from the Dao (the Way) and pursue superficial achievements. Not honoring them means not granting them high positions or generous salaries. If rulers excessively praise such people, it will provoke competition for fame and profit. To make the common people non-contentious is to return to their natural state. This doesn't mean rulers shouldn't employ capable individuals, but rather advocates the virtues of humility, yielding, and putting others before oneself. If everyone could avoid esteeming themselves highly while looking down on others, contention would naturally cease.

Regarding "not valuing rare goods": This means rulers should not covet treasures—casting gold into the mountains and discarding pearls into the deep, so the people won't develop thieving intentions. If everyone in the world chases after valuables, thieves will multiply; if all regard precious things lightly, theft will not occur. This section also mentions a cultivation method: maintaining the "firm grasp" technique (a Daoist practice of clenching fists to consolidate primordial Qi) can dispel pathogenic energies.

Regarding "not displaying what excites desire": One should distance oneself from decadent music and flatterers, maintaining a mindset of non-action (Wuwei—acting naturally without forcing). The "objects of desire" here refer to worldly things that easily arouse greed, such as beautiful sights and music. "Not displaying" doesn't mean closing one's eyes and ears, but realizing these external things are illusory—like images in a mirror, visible yet intangible. While the previous discussions about "non-contention" and "non-stealing" addressed specific behaviors, this teaching fundamentally eliminates covetousness to purify body, speech, and mind (the three karmic actions), embodying the sage's open-mindedness and beneficence toward all beings.

The sage governs the world with the same principles as cultivating one's person. Here we primarily discuss methods of self-cultivation.

First, one must "empty the mind" (xū qí xīn), meaning to clear away distracting desires and thoughts, maintaining inner clarity. Specifically, this involves eliminating greed, dispelling vexations, holding fast to the Dao (the fundamental truth of Daoism), focusing the mind in unified concentration (shǒu yī), and nurturing the shen (spiritual energies) of the five organs. When the mind is undisturbed by desires, it naturally attains a state of emptiness and stillness. In other words, having no unwholesome thoughts is "emptying the mind"; while "filling the belly" (shí qí fù) refers to nourishing jing (essence, the vital energy) through breath regulation (bì qì).

Next, one must "soften the will" (ruò qí zhì), maintaining a gentle and humble attitude, free from contentiousness. Those whose inner being is rich in wisdom outwardly appear yielding and soft. At the same time, one must "strengthen the bones" (qiáng qí gǔ), which means treasuring jing and valuing yuanqi (primordial life-force), ensuring the marrow is abundant and the bones robust. Though sages may seem outwardly flexible, their inner purity remains undisturbed—movement and stillness do not harm their intrinsic nature—thus truly fortifying their foundation.

One should constantly maintain a mind free from discrimination and craving, returning to simplicity and authenticity. Eliminate thoughts of competition and sever insatiable desires. Here, "knowing" (zhī) refers to the discriminating mind, while "desiring" (yù) refers to the grasping mind. Sages use their clear wisdom to benefit all beings, guiding the lost to relinquish discrimination and abandon greed.

Let those who consider themselves clever dare not act recklessly, contemplating deeply before moving lightly. Action should follow nature, free from forced effort. In this way, one attains the state where nothing is left ungoverned—where moral transformation is profound, and the people live in peace. One must both relinquish desires to reach desirelessness and guard against clinging to the emptiness of "no desires." Thus, "daring not to act" (bù gǎn wéi) breaks attachment to "no desires," while "non-action" (wúwéi) further dissolves fixation on "daring not to act," ultimately achieving true governance.

This scripture primarily explains how to comprehend the Dao through the cultivation method of "dual negation." Practitioners must first relinquish desires (youyu, "having desires"), then abandon the deliberate pursuit of desirelessness (wuyu, "no desires"). In this way, they transcend dualistic concepts and truly grasp the essence of the Dao. In such a state, subject and object merge into oneness, wisdom and spiritual attainment reach a transcendent level, and this method proves perfectly suitable for governing both body and mind.

"The Dao is empty (chong), yet its function is inexhaustible" means that while the Dao is formless and void (chong here denotes emptiness and harmonious neutrality), its workings permeate all existence. Chong can also be understood as "the One," referring to the fundamental Qi (vital energy) circulating within the human body. The Dao eternally maintains a humble, receptive state, never becoming self-satisfied. Practitioners should emulate this characteristic of the Dao by preserving their natural disposition.

"Profound, it seems to be the ancestor of all things" describes the Dao as unfathomably deep like an abyss, appearing to be the source of all phenomena. Just as still water reflects all things, the sage's wisdom perceives everything with clarity. Yet the use of "seems" (si) indicates the Dao actually has no fixed origin—this source is indeterminate.

"Blunt its sharpness" advises restraining impatient, result-oriented attitudes and avoiding deliberate pursuit of fame and achievement. "Untangle its knots" refers to resolving inner resentment and anger. Upon reaching advanced stages of cultivation, one realizes all external phenomena are illusory, thereby helping others relinquish competitive desires. Anger stems from attachment to gain and loss, which in turn arises from deluded thoughts. The sage sees through the emptiness of both gain and loss.

This passage teaches practitioners to employ the "dual negation" method—letting go of desires while also releasing the forced pursuit of desirelessness—maintaining the Middle Way to ultimately reach the state where both self and objects are forgotten. Simultaneously, one must curb utilitarian impulses, dissolve resentment, and recognize the illusory nature of all phenomena.

This passage primarily discusses how Daoist practitioners should conduct themselves in the world and cultivate the Dao. The main idea is:

Practitioners must understand that delusional thoughts have no true existence—only then can they guide sentient beings back to their original nature. One should relinquish attachments and eliminate anger and ignorance.

"Harmonizing its radiance" means: although adepts possess unique wisdom, they should remain as humble as ordinary people, avoiding the use of dazzling brilliance that might disturb others. The sage's wisdom shines like the sun and moon, yet conceals its radiance, blending harmoniously with common folk without deliberately displaying one's virtue (De).

"Joining with the dust" explains that sages should live among the masses without flaunting their special status. Worldly temptations like sensual pleasures are like dust that can stain purity, yet sages maintain inner clarity even while dwelling in the mundane—this is what distinguishes them from ordinary people.

The text then describes the characteristics of the Dao (道): though seemingly empty, it truly exists, predating heaven and earth. The cosmos treats all things like straw dogs (indicating impartiality), and sages treat the people the same way. The workings of heaven and earth resemble a bellows (tuoyue)—appearing void yet never exhausted, generating more energy the more it operates.

An essential cultivation principle is proposed: excessive speech often leads to trouble, whereas maintaining inner emptiness and stillness is preferable. The "Valley Spirit" (referring to the Dao's mysterious function) eternally endures as the source of all things in creation—seemingly subtle yet inexhaustible. Heaven and earth endure precisely because they don't strive for their own existence.

Practitioners should emulate these qualities: like water that nourishes all without contention, willingly dwelling in lowly places others despise; like sages whose humility allows them to lead, whose selflessness brings personal fulfillment. Seeking excessive perfection is inferior to knowing when to stop; revealed sharpness cannot last, while wealth and arrogance invite disaster. Withdrawing after accomplishing one's task accords with the natural way (Dao).

Finally, the core cultivation methods are revealed: concentrate the spirit (yingpo) to maintain body-mind unity, and regulate Qi (气) to achieve a harmonious state. These are essential Daoist methods for self-cultivation and nurturing life.

This scripture primarily discusses attaining a state of infant-like purity and desirelessness through cultivation, while illustrating how governing a state and self-cultivation share the same underlying principles.

Regarding cultivation, the text emphasizes concentrating one's spirit and regulating breath to prevent the dispersion of Qi (vital energy), allowing the body to respond accordingly and become supple. Like an infant whose mind remains free of distracting thoughts and makes no forced distinctions about external matters, one's Shen (spirit) will not dissipate. The specific method involves focusing on preserving primordial Qi (the innate life energy) without letting it scatter, allowing the Dao to flow naturally throughout the body. When one achieves singular focus in breath and attains a state of harmony and softness, they become free of discriminating thoughts like a newborn. Since human life exists through the gathering of Qi and perishes with its dispersion, we must diligently nurture this primordial energy and master the way of gentleness. This leads to the cessation of judgmental thinking internally and transcendence of cognitive limitations externally, ultimately reaching a state where both body and mind are forgotten.

The phrase "cleansing the mysterious mirror" refers to purifying the heart-mind until it becomes immaculate. Residing in profound mystery, the mind observes and comprehends all phenomena; thus we must eliminate distracting thoughts and desires to maintain the Shen-Qi (spirit-energy) in a state of serene emptiness. Practically, this requires clearing turbid energies from the five viscera and six bowels while resolving the five emotional desires, thereby attaining insight into profound truths with flawless internal and external purity. Upon reaching this state, the body naturally follows Wuwei (non-action), the mind abandons attachments, and one transcends dualities of existence and non-existence—such practice becomes free of faults.

Governing a state and cultivating oneself operate on parallel principles. Self-cultivation requires cherishing Qi to complete one's spiritual essence, just as governing requires cherishing the people to stabilize the nation. In cultivation, one regulates breath to make it subtle and silent; in governance, one spreads beneficence so the people feel no trace of deliberate action. While the earlier passages describe personal cultivation achievements, the subsequent purpose involves benefiting others—most importantly through state governance and caring for the populace. True statecraft employs simple, Wuwei methods to educate the people, eradicate cunning and wickedness, and eliminate discriminatory thinking, thereby restoring the pristine social customs of antiquity.

This passage discusses the governance principles from the ancient knot-tying record-keeping era. Governing a state with cunning intellect ultimately brings calamity, while ruling without such artifice becomes the nation's true blessing.

"Understanding that illuminates all directions" describes the Dao as radiant like the sun and moon, pervading all eight directions of the world. Even at the farthest reaches of heaven and earth, though the Dao cannot be seen or heard, it permeates the ten directions with brilliant luminosity. No one can fully comprehend this Dao that fills the universe. "Four directions" here signifies omniscience of all eight compass points—by closing off distracting thoughts and severing delusions, one achieves eternal existence. Practitioners who embody this can connect with the ancient sage-kings. The "illumination" refers to wisdom's clarity, "purity" indicates spotless serenity, while "all directions" represents unimpeded penetration. Sages with empty-mind wisdom thoroughly comprehend mysterious truths, perceiving all realms with perfect understanding. Though only four directions are mentioned, this encompasses all eight, allowing natural responsiveness to all things in stillness.

Regarding "the opening and closing of the heavenly gate": the "heavenly gate" refers to the Purple Tenuity Palace at the North Pole (considered the celestial emperor's abode in Daoism), while "opening and closing" symbolizes cosmic cycles. For self-cultivation, the "heavenly gate" represents the nostrils—"opening" being inhalation and "closing" exhalation. The North Star resides within the Purple Tenuity Palace where five directional emperors govern in rotation, hence the gate's periodic movement. Opening signifies penetration while closing indicates obstruction, mirroring seasonal transitions: spring sees the Green Emperor's (Eastern Emperor) gate open while others remain shut, with other seasons following this pattern. "Five cyclical periods" refers to the alternating phases of the Five Elements (Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth). Facing these transformations, sages maintain soft stillness, unaffected by cosmic fluctuations. Cultivators must regulate breathing—making inhalations and exhalations gentle and silent, maintaining feminine tranquility to attain Wuwei (non-action).

"Can you remain like the feminine?" advises self-cultivators to emulate the quiet pliancy of the feminine principle, while governance requires adaptable harmony without forceful dominance. Some versions read "the opening and closing of heaven and earth," referencing the kalpic cycles of cosmic formation, duration, decay and emptiness. This means sages dwell within heaven and earth yet remain untouched by the three calamities (fire, water, wind disasters). Though the world undergoes rise and fall, their inner void remains eternally serene.

Zhuangzi said that even when floods reach the heavens, they cannot drown those who have attained the Dao; even when great droughts melt metal and scorch mountains, they cannot burn such individuals. This describes the realm where enlightened beings transcend material constraints.

The Dao (cosmic origin) creates and nourishes all things without claiming possession. Like when yin and yang energies interact to generate myriad beings, life emerges spontaneously. The Dao's benevolent virtue manifests while concealing its function - though active, it leaves no trace, never claiming credit. Thus sages emulate the Dao, perfecting both self-cultivation and benefiting others, naturally nurturing all existence. As later passages state: The Dao gives birth to all things, while De (Virtue) nourishes them, bestowing form. Though the Dao shapes beings like a potter crafting vessels, cultivating the Three Powers (heaven, earth and humanity), its essence remains empty and mysterious, never deliberately seeking to dominate or instruct.

The Dao bestows blessings without seeking repayment. Precisely because it holds no concept of "objects needing instruction," when benefiting all things it feels no virtuous merit to claim. The Dao perpetually nurtures creation without controlling it. "Control" here means domination. When sages nurture beings - essentially serving as teachers of transformation - they forget their achievements and dissolve their egos, thus claiming no dominion. As Gu Huan explained: The Dao eternally nurtures without ruling; sages guide without dividing. Though accomplishing all and serving as true teachers of transformation, they forget merit and dissolve selfhood.

This constitutes the most profound virtue (Xuande). The Dao's virtue is so deep and obscure as to be unfathomable, aiming to unite human hearts with the Dao. Zhang Junfang said: "Xuan" means profound, "De" signifies supreme virtue. Praising such merit-forgetting sages who merge with creation may be called possessing profound superior virtue. Xuande also accords with heavenly principle - acting without self-reliance, harmonizing with celestial virtue.

Ancient chariots had thirty spokes (thirty辐 converging on one hub), imitating the moon's thirty-day cycle. The convergence of multiple spokes at the hub's central void symbolizes principles for governing states and cultivating self: Cultivators should empty desires to let the five viscera become vacant, allowing spirit to return to its place; rulers must skillfully gather weaker forces to support the strong. As Yan Junping and Gu Huan explained, ancient chariot-makers followed lunar numerology - thirty days make a month, thirty spokes make a wheel. The moon...

The sun, moon, and stars ceaselessly traverse the heavens, just as cart wheels endlessly turn upon the earth. Ancient people used the wheel as a metaphor for the moon—thirty spokes converging at a single hub (the axle center), mirroring how thirty days form a month. Though a wheel has many spokes, they all lead to the same central axis—just as the world's myriad doctrines may appear diverse yet ultimately return to the same fundamental truth. Governing a state follows this principle: multitudes of people require guidance from a few wise rulers, just as a single hub can set numerous spokes in motion. The Rites of Zhou·Records of Examination notes that thirty spokes symbolize thirty days forming a month. A wheel turns precisely because the hub is hollow; a carriage carries people because its interior is empty. Though a cart is assembled from various parts, upon careful disassembly, its illusory nature is revealed—and so it is with all things in the world.

The usefulness of objects lies in their emptiness. Take, for example, kneading clay to form vessels (yanzhi: mixing clay with water). It is precisely because the center is hollow that they can hold things. The ancients said that unfired clay crumbles when wet, just as a practitioner who fails to refine their form (lianxing: Daoist cultivation of body and mind) through proper methods remains an ordinary person. The artisan blends clay and fires it into vessels, which are useful because of their hollowness; the sage's mind is empty and luminous, thus capable of embracing all things. Clay holds the potential to become a vessel, realized only through crafting; humans inherently possess Dao-nature (daoxing: the nature aligned with the Dao), which can be realized only through cultivation.

When building a house, doors and windows are carved out—it is because the interior space is empty that people can dwell within; because doors and windows are empty, people can enter, exit, and observe. The sage's mind, empty and luminous like a house, can contain all things; their senses, unobstructed like doors and windows, freely perceive the external world. Carts, vessels, and houses share the same principle: the cart represents dynamic movement, the house represents static containment, and together they reveal the wondrous function of "non-being" (emptiness).

This passage explores the dialectical relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu). When concrete objects move, they inherently contain both motion and stillness—a dual nature that requires special explanation.

The value of "being" lies in its practical utility. Just as a vessel's form determines its function, or a house gains meaning through human habitation (otherwise empty buildings deteriorate easily), so too does the human body persist only when inhabited by the Three Treasures (Jing, Qi, Shen). The Jiejie commentary explains this as the manifestation of Dao.

"Non-being" functions through its capacity to contain all things. Like empty space that appears formless yet holds tangible objects, Dao itself resembles this void. The Jiejie further clarifies that sages (those who embody Dao) maintain the "One" (Dao's primordial state), following nature's course through wuwei (non-action).

"Being" and "non-being" achieve functionality through mutual dependence. Consider a chariot's construction: solid components require hollow spaces to function. Sages understand how to use "being" to fill emptiness and employ "emptiness" to guide substance—rejecting attachment to either extreme to manifest sagely efficacy.

Concretely: axles enable wheel movement, vessels hold food, dwellings shelter people, and bodies house the Shen (spirit)—these demonstrate "being's" benefits. Yet the Shen's invisible influence on the body approaches "non-being." While the Shen sustains life, emptiness allows the Shen to operate.

Dao transcends pure "being" or "non-being": "non-being" generates function while "being" benefits creation. Benefits manifest through form ("being"), while function arises from emptiness ("non-being"). Here "non-being" denotes pure void, and "being" signifies the Shen's activity. Conventional scholarship often misinterprets this, narrowly studying Laozi's wuwei doctrine. If Dao were absolute nothingness, how could it benefit existence? In truth, Dao's benefit operates through form, while its emptiness serves as the vessel for all things.