《道德真經集義(一)》Vol. 10

This passage examines the dialectical relationship between "courage" and "caution" in Chapter 73 of the Daodejing, synthesizing interpretations from multiple scholars:

Lin's commentary suggests that reckless individuals often bring harm upon themselves (self-destruction), while true bravery lies in approaching situations with prudent caution (apprehensiveness when facing matters), which ensures self-preservation. The Dao of heaven despises arrogance and favors humility—thus the reckless incur not only human disdain but celestial disapproval. Yet few understand this principle, hence the scripture's rhetorical question "Who knows its reason?" Even for sages, attaining this state proves exceptionally difficult.

He's analysis elaborates: Domineering individuals meet untimely ends (the violent die unnatural deaths), and those who constantly compete inevitably encounter worthy opponents—this is the warning behind "daring to be bold leads to execution." Success comes through cautious deliberation and strategic planning (achieving through careful planning)—the principle behind "daring to be cautious preserves life." This demonstrates how noble persons attract fortune while petty ones court disaster. Yet reality shows imperfect correspondence between virtue and reward—good people sometimes suffer misfortune while the wicked occasionally escape consequences. This makes ordinary people perceive heaven's preferences as inscrutable. But sages, reverently awaiting destiny while cultivating themselves (self-cultivation in readiness), never presume to judge through mundane perspectives.

Li connects this to the preceding chapter's "when people fear no authority," noting how disregard for legal sanctions leads the bold and combative to fatal outcomes. True courage manifests in two forms: brute impulsiveness (recklessness) versus principled restraint (caution). What heaven despises are actions violating natural law (cosmic order rejects them). Sages understand this profoundly, hence their extraordinary prudence in avoiding unnecessary displays of capability.

Through these layered interpretations, the text elucidates the Daoist wisdom of "the soft overcoming the hard" in worldly conduct, emphasizing the importance of cautious action and alignment with natural principles.

These two chapters of the Dao De Jing expound profound truths about the natural Dao of Heaven and the art of governance.

Regarding the Dao of Heaven: The natural order achieves victory without contention, responds without words, and arrives without summons. Though appearing unhurried, Heaven's way excels in planning—like an immense net that seems loosely woven yet leaves nothing uncaught. Lin Xiyi explains that sages emulate this Heavenly Dao; though appearing to practice non-action (Wuwei) and non-contention, their discernment of right and wrong remains impeccable. These passages use Heaven's way to illustrate the operation of the supreme Dao.

He Yan further elaborates: Though Heaven embodies strength, it never violates seasonal rhythms—this manifests its "non-contention." While human efforts may temporarily surpass Heaven's will, ultimately the Dao prevails over human force. Heaven speaks not through words but through natural phenomena; when people perceive these patterns, responses arise spontaneously. Like the sun and moon's courses or the alternation of seasons, these cycles require no summons yet come and go naturally. Though Heaven's way appears gradual and tolerant, its karmic retribution operates with precision surpassing human schemes, as if calculated by unseen spirits. Thus Heaven's net, while vast and inclusive, leaves nothing unaccounted for despite its apparent looseness.

Heshang Gong annotates: Heaven's net is supremely expansive—though seemingly distant, it clearly observes human good and evil without omission. Dong Sijing explains this chapter teaches people to devote themselves to cultivating the Dao rather than contending through force, concluding with the warning that none escape Heaven's net, inspiring deep conviction.

Chapter 74 discusses governance: When people no longer fear death, what use are death threats? If people truly feared death, wouldn't executing wrongdoers deter all crime?

Lin Xiyi interprets: This chapter shows how excessive distinctions between good/evil and attachments to preferences reflect ignorance of the great Dao. Using legalists as metaphor: punishments employ death to terrify people, but do people truly fear death? If they did, executing criminals would surely stop crime. Yet despite executions, lawbreakers multiply—proving people don't actually fear death.

Wu Cheng adds: This chapter criticizes rulers of his era for ineffective harsh punishments. Laozi observes that when governance makes life worse than death, capital punishment loses its deterrent power. True statecraft lies in ensuring people's prosperous livelihood—then they won't lightly transgress.

This passage explains the Daoist perspective on rulers employing punishments. Laozi (the founder of Daoism) criticized the rulers of his time for neglecting to first educate the people through virtue (De) and the Dao, instead immediately resorting to harsh laws and severe penalties.

In the natural order of heaven and earth, there already exists a cosmic mechanism governing life and death—the "sovereign executioner" of creation. Those deserving punishment will naturally face the judgment of the Dao's principles. This is called "there is always a proper executioner." When rulers hastily impose punishments themselves, it resembles an unskilled carpenter presuming to take the master craftsman’s place in chopping wood—rarely does such a person avoid injuring their own hand. This metaphor illustrates how rulers overstep their authority by usurping heaven’s role in administering justice, often bringing harm upon themselves in the process.

Wu’s commentary elaborates: The true "executioner" is the Dao of heaven, just as only a master carpenter can properly cut wood. For ordinary people to presume to carry out heaven’s punishments would be like a layperson trying to replace the carpenter—not only failing in the task but likely harming themselves. Those who force such actions will inevitably face either human retribution or celestial condemnation.

He’s supplementary explanation adds: While the authority of punishment resides with the ruler, it is not for private use. Hidden within the workings of the cosmos, the Dao upholds justice (the "five punishments for five applications"), while in the visible world, judicial officers administer laws according to proper standards (as the Book of Documents states: "officials regulate the people through balanced punishments"). The ruler merely holds the scales of justice, acting as heaven’s representative only when absolutely necessary.

The core message opposes rulers using capital punishment to terrorize the populace. Laozi argues that when people cease to fear death, punishments lose their deterrent effect. Rather than creating fear through executions, it is better to cultivate goodness through moral education and virtuous example.

This passage primarily discusses the relationship between rulers and the common people, with its core message being that the hardships of the populace often stem from the improper conduct of those in power.

The text first observes that people go hungry because the upper classes impose excessive taxes. The difficulty in governing arises when rulers rely too heavily on manipulative tactics. As explained by commentator Lin: heavy taxation means extracting too much from the people; excessive governing refers to overusing political stratagems. The more the upper class covets profits, the hungrier the people become; the more rulers play political games, the harder they are to govern.

Commentator Wu further elaborates: when rulers take too much grain and taxes from the people, poverty and hunger inevitably follow. When superiors employ political scheming to control subordinates, those subordinates will respond with deceitful methods to deceive their superiors, resulting in ungovernable chaos.

Commentator Lü approaches the matter fundamentally, viewing the people as the foundation of the state. Grain policies are of utmost importance, and officials overseeing agriculture bear tremendous responsibility. The sage ruler (the ideal leader) should equitably distribute land, ensure officials don't disrupt farming seasons, and establish reasonable tax systems (such as the traditional one-tenth levy), striving to minimize the people's burdens. Violating agricultural cycles, exhausting the people's strength, and satisfying endless personal desires will lead to oppressive taxation, resulting in famine, banditry, and various social problems.

The passage concludes with a bodily metaphor: just as human life depends on breath, the people are the "Qi" (vital energy) of the nation. Abundant Qi brings vitality; starving people indicate "insufficient Qi." When rulers cannot restrain their desires, the people cannot live and work in peace. Through multiple perspectives, this text emphasizes governance principles of light taxation and allowing the people to recuperate.

The people starve because their rulers impose excessive taxes. In ancient times, when people lived in peace and contentment—men tilling the fields and women weaving—they enjoyed ample food and clothing. How could such a society be difficult to govern? If rulers are insatiably greedy, with laws as dense as nets and harsh, convoluted decrees, they lose the people's trust. By disturbing the people without restraint, making their lives unbearable, governance naturally becomes difficult. Just as human breath struggles to remain pure and easily turns turbid, or becomes rough and hard to soften, how much more so when further disrupted by excessive governmental interference?

The very reason people trivialize life lies in their excessive pursuit of longevity. Those who do not deliberately seek eternal life are wiser than those who obsess over preserving it. Lin Xiyi explains: Ordinary people harm themselves by loving themselves too much, just as overeating leads to illness. Excessive pursuit of life's pleasures, through over-nurturing, can ironically hasten death. Only those who forget their physical existence can truly preserve life—this is the principle that "those who do not strive for life surpass those who prize it." Wu Cheng further clarifies: So-called "prizing life" means overvaluing it; excessive care can lead to premature death. Those who attain the Dao (the Way) do not neglect life but follow nature without forced attachment, thus preserving it effortlessly.

He Xinshan adds: Those who do not deliberately pursue longevity roam with the Creator, merge with the primordial Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth, transcend bodily senses, and rise above the cycle of life and death, wandering freely in the realm of Wuwei (non-action). By remaining unharmed by external things, they embody true wisdom. If all under heaven could live so naturally, would it not be the most sublime state?

Chapter 76 employs natural imagery: The living body is soft, while the dead stiffens; plants are tender when growing but brittle when withered. Lü Huiqing observes: The great Dao governs the spirit (Shen), and the spirit governs Qi. This chapter contrasts life and death to illustrate that softness embodies vitality, while rigidity signals demise—implicitly urging rulers to emulate nature's way of gentle yielding.

Human life is governed by the Dao (the fundamental principle of the cosmos). When the Dao resides within the body, the Shen (spirit) exists; where the Shen exists, primordial Qi is preserved. Thus living beings contain harmonious Qi within, embracing pure Jing (essence), with complete physical form and vibrant spirit. Their bodily energies continuously circulate and return to their source (yuan), manifesting the characteristic of pliancy.

At death, the harmonious Qi disperses, the pure Jing exhausts, the physical form decays and the spirit fades - whereupon the body becomes rigid. Just as all living plants remain supple while alive but become dry and brittle after death. When spring's Yang energy stirs, nourishing rain causes vegetation to sprout; but when autumn frost arrives with its killing energy, leaves wither and branches become barren.

Sentient beings define life and death by the presence or absence of the Dao, while insentient plants manifest vitality or decay through the gathering and scattering of Qi. Wu Cheng explains: Living human flesh remains soft and flexible, while corpses turn stiff; growing plants have tender branches that become brittle when withered. Lin Xiyi observes these metaphors all illustrate Laozi's core teaching that values "softness" - rigidity belongs to the state of death, while pliancy characterizes life.

Lü Huiqing elaborates: Where Yang energy exists, trees can bend and grass may knot; when Yang dissipates, water freezes and ice shatters. The root of spiritual vitality (Shenming) lies in Yang energy, with gentle moisture being the sprout of all growth. Those desiring strength must base it on flexibility; those seeking power must ground it in yielding. Entities insisting solely on rigidity cannot maintain harmony, and opposing all things inevitably brings damage. But the pliant maintain equilibrium, coexisting harmoniously with all beings, thus preserving life.

He Daoquan emphasizes: The Dao and Qi - though the softest things under heaven - penetrate heaven and earth while embracing all creation. Whatever belongs to the category of life necessarily maintains the Dao and Qi; whatever tends toward death must have lost their nourishment. Lin Xiyi clarifies that "category" (tu) indicates classification, while Wu Cheng connects this to the dialectical relationship between rigidity and pliancy discussed earlier.

The forms of humans and plants are soft when alive but become rigid after death. From this natural phenomenon we can deduce: those who are rigid and stubborn often meet untimely ends, belonging to the category of death; while those who are gentle and humble excel at preserving life, belonging to the category of survival.

Thus armies that rely on brute strength ultimately fail to conquer, just as trees that grow too thick become felled (the character "共" here means trees growing thick enough to require both arms to encircle). Strong things often occupy lower positions, while soft things surprisingly rise above.

Lü Shi (Lü Huiqing) explains: Weapons are instruments of violence, used for conflict and opposition. To underestimate enemies while boasting military strength is unrighteous conduct. How can an unrighteous army achieve victory through reckless warfare? Hence the saying "a strong army does not conquer." When trees are young they're supple and delicate, but when grown thick they're felled. If this is true for trees, how much more for humans? For nations? Therefore "when trees grow strong they're cut down."

Those who worship military might consider strength as victory, while those who revere virtue consider gentleness as triumph. The eternal principle of the universe is softness, while the inevitable path to defeat is rigidity. Ordinary people often trust in power while neglecting virtue, abandoning fundamentals for trivialities. Those who comprehend the Dao understand that softness overcoming hardness is an inevitable law of nature.

He Shi (He Xinshan) adds: Hard teeth break easily while soft tongues endure—this is nature's principle. "共" describes trees growing thick enough to require embracing with both arms. When things reach their peak they begin to decline—this represents deviation from the Dao. Strong armies fail to conquer because they rely on national might and population size to bully other nations—this is the so-called "arrogant army." Arrogant forces inevitably perish. "The strong belong below, the soft rise above" isn't merely about trees—it teaches that governing the world with gentle principles constitutes true rulership. Those who boastfully exaggerate their importance merely display the limited vision of frogs at the bottom of wells.

Lin Shi (Lin Xiyi) observes: Armies depending on strength inevitably fail. All trees begin soft when sprouting, gradually hardening with age, until they wither when reaching arm-span thickness. Therefore those who understand the Dao value softness above all, considering hardness inferior.

Wu Shi (Wu Cheng) explains: "共" refers to the thickness requiring both arms to encircle. Dong Shi (Dong Sijing) concludes: This chapter teaches how maintaining softness preserves the harmonious Qi (referring to the balanced vital energy of Yin and Yang).

The Dao of Heaven is like drawing a bow: when the string is too high, lower it; when too low, raise it. When the force is excessive, reduce it; when insufficient, strengthen it.

Lü Huiqing (Daoist scholar of the Northern Song dynasty) explains: Heaven's Dao emulates the supreme Dao (Dao), sharing its efficacy. Though seemingly wuwei (non-action), it accomplishes all things; though silent, it transforms all beings spontaneously. The four seasons revolve by its power, and the myriad things grow by its virtue, never erring in maintaining perfect fairness and rectitude. Like a craftsman fashioning a bow—neither over-tightening nor leaving the string slack—it adjusts precisely to the standard. If the string is too taut, loosen it; if too slack, tighten it; remove what is excessive, supplement what is lacking—only then can the bow function properly. Similarly, rulers governing states should emulate Heaven's Dao: restraining the strong while supporting the weak, reducing surplus to compensate deficiency. Through such balancing, one achieves the accuracy of an archer hitting every target. Heaven's Dao maintains equilibrium through natural adjustments, mirroring and complementing the human way.

Li Yue (Tang dynasty scholar), continuing the previous chapter's discourse on the Dao of strength and weakness, states: What is strong must inevitably decline; what is weak must inevitably benefit—this is the law of Heaven's Dao.

Dong Sixing (Southern Song Daoist priest) observes: Heaven's Dao is impartial and selfless, always seeking the golden mean. It reduces excess to supplement deficiency, whereas the human way does the opposite—often depriving the insufficient to serve those who already have abundance.

Lü Huiqing further elaborates: What is noble acts through wuwei—this is Heaven's Dao; what is base acts through deliberate effort—this is the human way. What governs natural transformations is Heaven's Dao; what administers ritual laws is the human way. Heaven and Earth naturally adjust through decrease and increase—not by conscious intention but through silent resonance and spontaneous operation. Yet humans, having lost their innate balance, become emotionally biased, favoring elevation over humility, serving the abundant while neglecting the needy. Failing to maintain equilibrium like Heaven's Dao, they stray far from the great Dao.

Lin Xiyi (Song dynasty scholar) concludes: Heaven's Dao treats all things equally—why can't the human way do the same? Some always seek to benefit themselves at others' expense, attempting to satisfy their own excess by taking from the world's insufficiency. This completely violates the will of Heaven.

This scripture conveys two main teachings: first, how those who possess the Dao (the Way) handle wealth and virtue (De), and second, how the nature of water illustrates the principle that gentleness overcomes hardness.

First, it explains the conduct of those who embody the Dao: Truly enlightened individuals never hoard their surplus but share it to benefit those in need. As Lü Dongbin (Master Lü) states, those with abundance should reduce their excess, while those in want should receive supplementation. Those who attain the Dao not only care for their own kin but regard all people's children as their own. They are generous toward others yet strict with themselves—a state attainable only by sages.

Lin Ziqi (Master Lin) adds that only those who embody the Dao can diminish their surplus to nourish the world. Li Daochun (Master Li) further explains that such individuals align with heavenly principles, restrain selfish desires, enhance their innate nature, and use their excess to compensate for others' lack, continuously reducing personal cravings until achieving wuwei (non-action). Thus, sages perform good deeds without claiming merit and accomplish great deeds without pride, never seeking to flaunt their virtue.

Lü Dongbin observes that sages possess consummate wisdom, accommodating all things without self-importance, benefiting generations without claiming benevolence. They lack boastful hearts, performing good without arrogance; they harbor no conceit, achieving merit without claiming credit. Lin Ziqi notes that though sages govern the world, they never presume superiority; though accomplished, they never dwell on achievements; though possessing supreme virtue, they never display it. Wu Cheng (Master Wu) explains that while sages' deeds encompass the world—their "surplus"—they neither flaunt talent nor claim credit, always minimizing their excess.

Chapter 78 uses water's nature to demonstrate gentleness overcoming hardness: Nothing in the world is softer than water, yet it conquers the hardest substances, and nothing can replace it. Lü Dongbin clarifies that while all things differ, water's gentleness is unparalleled. It fills valleys, penetrates metal and stone, clears blockages, overcomes hardness, benefits all beings, and permeates everything. Adapting to any container, yielding to obstruction or channeling, it eternally retains its gentle essence. This reveals how apparent weakness often harbors supreme strength.

The transformations of water are profoundly mysterious—it can become vapor, clouds, rain, frost, or snow. Thus, the ancients said, "Heaven first generated water" (the primordial substance of the cosmos). Surging endlessly, vast and mighty, water maintains its essential nature even after countless twists and turns, embodying the profound mystery of "Chongyi" (the fundamental characteristic of the Dao). In its interaction with all things, water can be strong or weak, firm or yielding, nearly attaining the realm of the Dao itself.

Among the softest things, none surpasses the saliva in the mouth (known as the "Nectar of the Hua Pool"). Those who attain the Dao circulate their inner Qi (vital energy), allowing this fluid to nourish the five viscera or guiding it through the Three Passes (key points in cultivation: the coccyx, the spine's central pass, and the Jade Pillow at the base of the skull), ascending from the tailbone through the spine to ultimately benefit the brain. This wondrous transformation of fluid exemplifies water's marvelous utility.

Master He remarked: Though seemingly weak, water can pierce mountains and shatter stone, toppling mighty dams. This truth has been acknowledged since ancient times. Master Lin added: Water conquers the hardest things through its supreme softness—nothing in the world surpasses it. Just as a thousand-pound dike collapses from the seepage of an ant's nest, this is clear proof of the soft overcoming the hard.

All under heaven know the principle that the soft overcomes the hard, yet few can embody it. Master Lü illustrated: Water extinguishes fire; Yin (the passive force) restrains Yang (the active force). A tender tongue outlasts hard teeth—these phenomena are widely recognized, yet rarely practiced. The Dao of Heaven does not contend with the myriad things, yet governs them all. People constantly strive to overpower external things, yet often fail. Only those who truly understand and practice the way of softness can achieve great deeds.

Master He cited the Liezi: "In the world, there is a constant way to victory and a constant way to defeat. The constant way to victory is softness; the constant way to defeat is strength." This principle seems simple, yet even the teachings Huang Shigong imparted to Zhang Liang amounted to just six words: "Softness overcomes hardness; weakness overcomes strength." Though some may grasp this truth, only sages can truly embody it. Master Lin lamented: Examples like water—where softness visibly triumphs over hardness—are plain for all to see, yet few cultivate themselves to be as yielding as water. Master Li concluded: The soft overcoming the hard—this seemingly simple truth contains the deepest wisdom.

All under heaven know that overcoming the strong is desirable, yet few can truly accomplish it. Why? Because people are unwilling to lower themselves and dwell in humility.

Thus the sages say: Only those who can bear a nation's humiliation are worthy to be its rulers; only those who endure a country's misfortunes can truly be kings of the world. These seemingly paradoxical statements contain profound truth.

Master Lü (Lü Huiqing) explains: The virtue (De) of sages is as vast as heaven and earth. Just as heaven and earth embrace all things regardless of size or beauty, so sages in their supreme position attract all people, wise or foolish, noble or humble. The sage can endure disgrace, tolerate humiliation, and maintain magnanimity, thereby assisting the way of benevolence and righteousness. This principle of the soft overcoming the hard ensures the people admire their virtue (De) without dispersing, naturally enabling them to protect the nation long-term as rulers.

The sage's humility and pliancy emulate the movement of the Dao. Wars, disasters, plagues, and locust plagues are all heaven's warnings to humanity. Sages don't shift blame but willingly shoulder responsibility, causing all lands to submit to their benevolence and the world's hearts to find peace, naturally becoming sovereign lords. Hence the saying "he who bears the nation's misfortunes is the true king." Ordinary people consider bearing humiliation hateful, while enlightened rulers delight in it—for delight brings blessings while resentment invites misfortune. These truths seem contrary to worldly views because while ordinary people conceal their faults and expose others', sages acknowledge their shortcomings while embracing others' flaws—moving in opposite directions. Thus "right words seem paradoxical."

Master He (He Yan) adds: When rulers call themselves "solitary," "desolate," or "unworthy," they're applying the principle of the soft overcoming the hard. This is the ultimate truth of the world, yet people neither understand nor practice it. Hearing sages say the soft overcomes the hard, it sounds like contradiction, yet it's supreme wisdom.

Master Dong (Dong Sijing) concludes: This chapter teaches how embracing softness and tolerance attracts all things.

Chapter Seventy-Nine mentions: Forced reconciliation of deep enmity inevitably leaves residual hatred—how can this be called good?

Master Lin (Lin Xiyi) explains: Only complete forgetting of grievances constitutes realization of the supreme Dao (Dao). When others bear me deep hatred, if I deliberately reconcile, though surface enmity disappears, the mind still remembers "this was hatred," showing the heart hasn't transcended. Superficial peace with lingering resentment—how can this be ultimate goodness? This is a profound metaphor.

Master Lü continues: When accumulated hatred runs too deep, even surface reconciliation...

This scripture primarily discusses how to handle resentment in interpersonal relationships. Several Daoist scholars interpret the concept of "holding the left tally without demanding from others" from the Daode Jing from different perspectives.

First, it points out that when conflicts have already deepened, mere verbal mediation is unlikely to truly resolve them. Even if one repays resentment with virtue (De) or treats others with righteousness, lingering grudges may remain in the heart. The best approach is for both parties to let go of grievances and dissolve them through the wisdom of the Dao (the Way), allowing resentment to naturally dissipate. Master Bixu (a Song Dynasty Daoist) remarked that rather than attempting to reconcile after resentment has formed, it is better to avoid creating resentment in the first place. If one relies on laws and punishments to mediate resentment, how can this be considered true goodness?

Li (likely referring to Li Daochun) further explains that using kindness to reconcile resentment may appear to resolve the issue on the surface, but hidden resentment may still remain. It is better to reflect on oneself and forget both gratitude and grudges. When rulers can forget grievances, the people will naturally be moved by their virtue.

Regarding the metaphor of "holding the left tally without demanding from others": In ancient times, contracts (similar to modern agreements) were made of split bamboo or wood, divided into left and right halves. The creditor held the left tally, while the debtor held the right. Though the sage possesses the creditor’s claim (the left tally), they do not pursue repayment. Lin explains that this is like holding a legal document today—the sage keeps the proof of debt but does not demand payment, embodying the state of "forgetting and dissolving" (a Daoist ideal).

Lü (possibly referring to Lü Dongbin) adds that in ancient times, people kept records with knotted ropes and still honored their word; later, wooden tallies were used, and agreements were still upheld. The sage aligns human principles with the Dao of Heaven and harmonizes the human heart with the heart of Heaven. Thus, holding the left tally represents alignment, while holding the right tally represents trustworthiness. By not harshly demanding from others, harmony naturally arises between superiors and subordinates.

Wu and Wang further clarify that the left tally is held by the owner of goods as proof, while the right tally is given to the recipient. "Holding the left tally without demanding from others" means possessing a claim but not enforcing it, embodying a mindset free from attachment and demands.

In conclusion: A virtuous person (one with De) holds the contract but does not demand repayment, while a person lacking virtue nitpicks and insists on their due. The Dao of Heaven shows no favoritism, yet it always favors the good. This is like the modern saying, "Be magnanimous even when in the right"—holding an advantage yet treating others with generosity is the true mark of virtue (De).

This passage discusses two core concepts: the Dao's (the Way) protection of virtuous individuals, and the ideal of a small, self-sufficient society.

Regarding the principle that virtue brings blessings: While the Dao (natural law) shows no partiality, it invariably shelters those with De (Virtue/Power). It operates like an unspoken covenant—those with virtue naturally receive assistance without demanding it, while the unvirtuous gain no response even through coercion. Zhuangzi's notion of "comprehending all things" does not refer to sages alone; truly virtuous individuals not only receive human aid but also celestial favor. Heaven holds no bias yet supports only the virtuous. Good deeds accumulate benevolent Qi (vital energy), while wickedness gathers malign Qi—this is the principle of natural resonance. The highest form of virtue aligns seamlessly with the Dao, eliminating the need for external constraints like covenants, embodying the pristine ethos of antiquity.

Concerning the ideal society: Laozi envisioned a small, harmonious state with a modest population. In such a society, even if advanced tools ("various implements") exist, they are seldom used. The people value life and avoid distant migration. As Mencius noted, peace under heaven could be achieved even within a tiny territory. When governed by a ruler embodying the Dao, citizens dwell contentedly like the ancient well-field system—each possessing what they need without contention, all embodying noble humility. Ordinary folk, deterred by penalties, refrain from wrongdoing and remain dutiful. This social model emphasizes simplicity, self-sufficiency, and rooted contentment, rejecting excessive exploitation and far-flung journeys.

This passage expounds Laozi's ideal approach to governance. The core message conveys that governing a state doesn't depend on territorial size or population numbers, but rather on adhering to the principles of the Dao (the Way). When a country is ruled according to the Dao, even small states can achieve great significance.

In ancient military organization, five soldiers formed a "Wu" unit, ten made a "Shi", and a hundred constituted a "Bo". The "Shi-Bo implements" refer to large tools requiring collective use. Laozi advocated that people should possess such tools but refrain from using them—signifying reduced labor burdens, avoidance of material hoarding, and enabling people to live peacefully. Whether large or small, states maintaining harmony with nature through Wuwei (non-action) governance would prosper, whereas forceful interference would only cause displacement.

The Wu commentary explains: When people cease coveting external possessions or obsessing over livelihoods, these large implements naturally fall into disuse. Those who value life regard death seriously, thus avoiding unnecessary migration. Laozi sought to remedy the Zhou dynasty's decline by returning to simple living, believing small states with sparse populations were easier to govern—allowing people contentment through self-sufficiency.

The described utopia continues: Though boats and carriages exist, none travel afar; though weapons and armor are kept, none are displayed in use; people revert to knotting ropes for record-keeping. Citizens find their food sweet, their clothes beautiful, their dwellings comfortable, and their customs joyful. Neighboring states remain within sight and earshot (exchanging cockcrows and dog barks), yet people never visit each other throughout their lives.

The Lin commentary adds: Avoiding boats and carriages means not pursuing distant profits; storing weapons undisplayed indicates victory without force; replacing writing with knotted ropes signifies returning to simplicity. The He commentary observes: Boats and carriages serve desires that vanish when cravings diminish; weapons exist for conflicts that disappear when contention ceases.

In the ancient times before written records, people lived with simple and natural purity. If we could return to this unadorned way of life today, people would find contentment in their own happiness: coarse tea and plain rice would taste sweet, simple clothing would feel comfortable, farming would provide self-sufficiency, and weaving would meet their needs—free from hunger and cold.

People would dwell in peace and prosperity, living with leisurely ease. They would sleep soundly and wake unhurried. Neighboring states might be close enough to see each other, with the sounds of crowing roosters and barking dogs reaching across, yet they would not interact or seek anything from the world. People would live out their years in contentment, enjoying the pure and simple customs. This idyllic vision arises because the ancients followed the great Dao (the Way).

Wu’s commentary explains that this passage speaks of possessing fine tools but not using them. Boats, carts, and weapons are not objects that individuals can employ alone—they are "tools of the multitudes." If there is no need to travel, boats and carts serve no purpose; without conflict, weapons have no use. When customs are pure and affairs simple, even reverting to the ancient practice of knotting ropes to keep records would suffice. Though writing later replaced knotted cords, there would still be no need for such complex implements.

People would be satisfied with their food and clothing, content with their lot, and cherish their lives. Those who value life would rather live out their days where they were born than migrate lightly. The people would all cling to their homeland; even if neighboring states were within sight and the sounds of chickens and dogs carried between them, they would not interact.

Chapter 81 states: "True words are not ornate; ornate words are not true. The good do not argue; those who argue are not good. The truly wise do not boast of their knowledge; those who boast of their knowledge are not truly wise."

Lü’s commentary explains: True words are like clear water—plain and flavorless, yet enduring. Sweet words are like sweet wine—pleasant to the taste, but quick to spoil. Those with good hearts focus on action rather than debate, preserving their simple nature. Those skilled in argument indulge in verbal contention, clinging to disputes of right and wrong.

Those who truly understand the Dao do not engage in debate, while those fond of debate do not genuinely comprehend it. Those who grasp the Dao apprehend its fundamental principles—seizing its core essence is sufficient. This is what is meant by "understanding the root allows resolution of all matters"—why chase after extensive knowledge? Those pursuing breadth often become mired in particulars, losing the essence amidst complexity, as extensive knowledge can disturb the mind. They merely chase distinctions of right and wrong, unaware that excessive knowledge breeds confusion. Thus, the truly wise do not seek breadth, while those who pursue breadth fail to grasp the truth.

Lin Xiyi (Master Lin) explains: Genuine speech requires no embellishment—flowery words often conceal falsehood. The Zhuangzi states that truth is frequently obscured by ornate language; those who boast of erudition do not truly understand the Dao. Li Xizhai (Master Li) remarks: Trustworthy words lack beauty, just as honest advice grates the ear; beautiful words cannot be trusted, like sweet but empty flattery. True speech is plain and unadorned, while false words are deliberately crafted. Those who genuinely cultivate the Dao do not cling to distinctions of right and wrong, hence they do not debate; skilled debaters easily provoke contention, making them undesirable. The truly enlightened shine inwardly without display, so they do not seek breadth; those pursuing breadth focus only on outward show, missing the essence.

The sage does not hoard wealth—the more they assist others, the richer they become; the more they give, the more they receive.

Lü Huiqing (Master Lü) explains: The Zhuangzi states that the Dao's operation never hoards, thus all under heaven submit. The sage's "non-hoarding" refers to spreading virtue and teaching others—as people benefit, the sage's virtue grows more radiant, like a mirror undiminished by reflecting objects. Distributing surplus wealth to the poor enriches both recipient and giver, just as a clear well never exhausts though all draw from it. The Liezi says assisting others with wealth makes one worthy, while teaching virtue makes one sagely—both exemplify non-hoarding. To hoard creates lack; to hold nothing back brings abundance. Thus, the sage does not hoard—the more they assist, the richer they become; the more they give, the more they receive.

He Xinshan (Master He) explains: Why does the sage not hoard? Because the Zhuangzi states the Dao operates without hoarding, thus generating all things—the sage emulates this, so all submit. Thus, hoarding creates lack, while non-attachment brings surplus. The sage's ability to enrich themselves by assisting others and receive more by giving—whether through virtue or material aid—stems from demonstrating sincerity, fostering goodwill, and widely dispersing what they accumulate.

This passage explores the correspondence between the Dao of Heaven (natural laws) and the Way of the Sage. Though the Dao of Heaven appears empty, it never exhausts itself—the more it operates, the more it generates all things. The sage (one who has attained the Dao) emulates this principle: the more they give to others, the more abundant they themselves become.

The defining characteristic of the Dao of Heaven is nourishing all beings without causing harm. Consider the movement of the four seasons: spring and summer foster growth, while autumn and winter bring maturity—all with perfect impartiality. The sage who comprehends this truth acts in harmony with nature, assisting others without contention. As described in the Yijing (Book of Changes), the "Creative Origin" (Qian Yuan, the primordial energy that generates all things) moistens the world through clouds and rain yet never claims merit.

Commentators further explain: though the Dao of Heaven benefits all things, it never flaunts its actions. The moment it acquires a reputation for "bestowing benefits," harm inevitably arises. The sage's actions may appear as Wuwei (non-action), yet in reality they accomplish everything. Precisely because they claim no credit, no one in the world can contend with them. The core teaching of the entire Daode Jing is non-contention, which is why it concludes with this very statement.

The greatest virtue of Heaven and Earth lies in generating all things—hence "benefiting without harming." The sage maintains their position through De (virtue/power)—hence "acting without contending." This embodies the Daoist wisdom of "governing through non-action": by refraining from deliberate struggle, one accomplishes all.

Always keep these two words—"non-contention"—in mind, practicing them in daily life until they become completely natural. In this way, one spontaneously attains the state of Primordial Chaos (referring to the undifferentiated unity before Heaven and Earth separated). The true and eternal Dao becomes fully manifest at this stage. Even before the appearance of the "Lord of Forms" (referring to the Creator or supreme deity), that luminous and subtle essence already existed.

This is precisely the teaching expounded in the tenth volume of Collected Commentaries on the Perfect Scripture of Dao and Virtue.