《道德真經集義(一)》Vol. 6

Chapter 38 of the Dao De Jing discusses different levels of virtuous conduct and their effects. The highest virtue (Shang De) does not consciously display virtue, thus embodying true De (Virtue/Power). In contrast, those who deliberately maintain virtuous behavior (Xia De) lose the essence of De.

The supreme level of virtue follows natural Wuwei (non-action), requiring no deliberate effort. The next level involves intentional action. While benevolence (ren) still retains some naturalness despite being intentional, righteousness (yi) becomes more artificial. As for rituals and norms, when forcibly imposed without resonance, people will roll up their sleeves in resistance.

He's commentary cites the Zhuangzi: In ancient times, people lived in a state of primal simplicity, free from contention. Though possessing wisdom, they had no use for it—this represents the highest natural state. Later, as Dao and De declined, rulers like Yao and Shun began governing through artificial means, dispersing original simplicity and causing people to abandon the Dao while pursuing superficial goodness.

When humanity discarded innate nature and relied on intellect, finding knowledge insufficient to bring stability, they increasingly turned to elaborate rituals and complex regulations. Consequently, excessive rites obscured essence, and complicated knowledge drowned out original minds, leaving people confused and unable to return to authentic nature.

The indistinct, detached state of supreme virtue constitutes the "non-virtuous" realm. Consciously maintaining virtue loses its true meaning—this illustrates the principle that "those who act fail, those who grasp lose." Shang De's Wuwei manifests the highest harmony, while Xia De's deliberate action marks the beginning of worldly governance.

Though benevolence involves intention, it remains relatively uncontrived and not far from De. Righteousness, being more artificial, ranks lower still. Judging Dao and De by standards of benevolence and righteousness already deviates from the Great Dao toward superficial goodness. Both "non-virtue" and "non-action" refer to spontaneous, unintentional conduct aligned with heavenly Dao, whereas "not losing virtue" and "deliberate action" belong to the realm of human artifice.

As for ritual propriety—a further descent from righteousness—it employs external regulations (li) that stray from loyalty and trust, supplemented by complicated knowledge (zhi) that drifts further into artificial ornamentation. This increasingly distances people from their original nature. Excessive emphasis on rituals (Shang Li), demanding much without reciprocal response, provokes conflict, making people roll up their sleeves in resistance—this reveals the deterioration of ritual systems.

This passage discusses the hierarchical relationship between Dao (the Way), De (Virtue/Power), humaneness, righteousness, and ritual propriety, along with their application in governance. Laozi observes that when rulers forcibly demand compliance from the people yet receive no response, it resembles dragging someone by the arm to compel action—such coercive methods inevitably backfire.

Shangde (supreme De) represents the natural state of wuwei (non-action), perfectly aligned with the Dao; whereas xiade (inferior De) involves deliberate effort and thus deviates from the Dao. Humaneness and righteousness still approximate virtuous qualities and can serve as steps toward cultivating the Dao. Ritual propriety, however, is entirely artificial—attempting to standardize all things through uniform rules only breeds greater chaos. Deliberate action ultimately leads to flaws, yet by steadfastly adhering to fundamental principles, one may gradually progress: returning from humaneness to De, from De back to the Dao, ultimately attaining the state of wuwei.

Qin Guan of the Huaihai Qin lineage notes: Dao and De form the root source of humaneness, righteousness, and ritual propriety, while the latter three are merely partial manifestations of the former. One should take Dao as the foundation and employ humaneness-righteousness as practical means. Only after losing Dao do we speak of De; only after losing De do we discuss humaneness; only after losing humaneness do we emphasize righteousness; and only after righteousness fades do we resort to ritual propriety. Ritual propriety emerges precisely when loyalty and trustworthiness have grown thin, becoming instead the starting point of disorder. Those who pride themselves on foresight pursue only the superficial brilliance of the Dao, marking the beginning of folly.

Zhuangzi once lamented: How difficult true return to the root becomes when people mistake these conventions for ultimate truth! Yet the genuinely wise understand: What appears obscure but must be undertaken is acting in accordance with circumstance; what seems distant yet must be upheld is great righteousness; what requires extending oneself to others is humaneness; what demands restraint without excess is ritual propriety; what maintains centrality while continually refining itself is De; what remains unified yet eternally transforming is the Dao. Though these concepts differ in hierarchy and sequence, sages employ them with holistic mastery, recognizing their essential unity as expressions of the Dao.

Master Tongxuan (Tang dynasty Daoist Zhang Guo) offers the most incisive summation: Dao is the profound mystery governing all things; De is the totality encompassing yin-yang. Those who fully attain the Dao become sages; those achieving middling levels practice humaneness-righteousness; those grasping only surface forms cling to ritual propriety; the completely lost have strayed from humaneness itself. Lü Dongbin (of the Lü lineage) adds: Dao is the root of De; De is the function of Dao. Humaneness-righteousness is precious only when arising from one’s innate heart. As for ritual propriety...

This passage primarily discusses the gradual decline of Dao and De (Virtue/Power), and the path of returning to fundamental principles.

When human nature excessively pursues external ornamentation, it drifts ever further from its authentic essence. Like a tree with lush foliage but sparse fruit, when people become obsessed with elaborate rituals while neglecting fundamentals, loyalty and sincerity gradually fade. What appears resplendent on the surface becomes hollow within. Aligning with Dao and De brings order, while opposing them brings chaos—there exists almost no middle ground between these states.

We witness this continuous moral decline: from the natural Dao of the Three Sovereigns era, it diminished to the De of the Five Emperors, then further reduced to the humaneness and righteousness of the Three Kings, until finally degenerating into the warfare of the Qin and Han dynasties. People admire cleverness and chase superficial brilliance, considering themselves wise while unaware this marks the beginning of folly. What's called "precocious wisdom" is merely the empty ornamentation of Dao—the very commencement of ignorance.

Loyalty and trust represent the substantial manifestation of Dao and De, yet they progressively thin: first declining into humaneness, then into righteousness, and finally into ritual propriety, until the profound De of loyalty completely fades. Ritual propriety, originally meant to maintain order, ironically becomes the source of chaos. Consider the tree analogy: Dao is the seed, De the root, humaneness the trunk, righteousness the branches, ritual the leaves, and knowledge the blossoms. Knowledge should bring wisdom, yet paradoxically leads to foolishness.

Therefore, the true great person chooses substance over superficiality, pursuing essence rather than empty display. This means valuing loyalty and trust above ritual propriety, grasping Dao's true meaning rather than the empty brilliance of cleverness. One must cast aside ornate appearances and return to simple authenticity—this constitutes the fundamental Dao.

This passage elucidates the hierarchical relationship between Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue/Power), while emphasizing the fundamental importance of "One" as the cosmic origin.

The text first explains the descending sequence of six conceptual levels: Dao stands as the supreme formless essence (the nameless), De manifests as its visible expression (the named), from which sequentially derive benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom—each step representing increasing distance from the essential nature. The author employs numerical ordering: Dao as One, De as Two, benevolence as Three, righteousness as Four, propriety as Five, and wisdom as Six.

The sage (one who has attained Dao) can directly grasp the essence of Dao, valuing the simple and substantial nature while discarding superficial embellishments. Just as nurturing life requires returning to one's unadorned essence, actions should leave no trace, with the spirit (Shen) preserved internally rather than sought externally. Stripping away external ornamentation to retain internal substance represents the fundamental principle for both governing a state and cultivating life.

Chapter 39 particularly emphasizes the significance of "One." This "One" embodies Dao's manifestation—throughout time, all existence depends on attaining this "One": Heaven attains clarity through "One," Earth gains stability through "One," spiritual forces (Shen) acquire efficacy through "One," valleys maintain fullness through "One," all beings achieve growth through "One," and rulers can properly govern only through "One." Zhuangzi identifies this "One" as the "Great Beginning," the undifferentiated chaos preceding all formed existence.

Various commentaries unanimously stress that "One" constitutes Dao's essential expression. Lin's annotation explains that both the operational principles of Heaven-Earth and rulers' governance methods originate from this fundamental "One." Lü's commentary further clarifies that this "One" derives from Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), with all things partaking in this "One" to fulfill their respective roles. This concept resonates with the Liezi's assertion that "the ungenerated appears uniquely solitary," emphasizing Dao's singular and eternal nature.

This passage elucidates the wondrous function of the "One Qi" (Yīqì, the primordial cosmic energy). The ability to maintain states of purity, tranquility, vitality, growth, abundance, and steadfastness all stem from grasping the profound mystery of this "One Qi."

The "One Qi" is singular and unique, originating before chaos, serving as the progenitor of all things, eternally unchanging beyond time and space. Sages comprehend it through self-observation:

The crown of the head corresponds to Heaven—attaining the "One Qi" brings dark lustrous hair, bright eyes, and acute hearing. The abdomen corresponds to Earth (the "Yellow Court" refers to the Dantian)—obtaining the "One Qi" nourishes all beings and maintains tranquility. When the heart-mind receives the "One Qi," it absorbs the essences of Heaven and Earth (the "Six Qi" denote wind, cold, summer heat, dampness, dryness, and fire), enabling one to cultivate immortality. The brain ("Celestial Valley") receiving the "One Qi" grants sharp thinking. The five viscera and six bowels infused with the "One Qi" ensure smooth Qi-blood circulation and robust health. When the Original Spirit ("Heart Sovereign," representing human consciousness) attains the "One Qi," one transcends mundanity to enter sagehood.

Master Wu explains that this "One" embodies the characteristics of emptiness and Wuwei (non-action). References in the Daode Jing to "embracing the One" and "the Dao begets the One" both point to this principle. Zhuangzi called it the "Great Unity" (Taiyi). This manifests the Dao of nature—appearing empty yet never exhausted, seemingly yielding yet leading, soft yet strong.

Losing this "One" brings catastrophe: Heaven deprived of clarity would collapse; Earth stripped of tranquility would quake; spirits bereft of numinosity would perish; valleys drained of abundance would wither; all creatures robbed of vitality would go extinct; and rulers (metaphor for the human spirit) severed from their root would topple.

Master He further clarifies: Clarity represents Heaven's intrinsic nature—without understanding this principle of "One," daylight would darken and nocturnal illumination would fragment. Tranquility embodies Earth's essence—without maintaining this "One," the land would tremble in unrest.

This scripture employs metaphors of heaven, earth, and all things to expound the paramount importance of the Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle). The general meaning is as follows:

If heaven fails to comprehend this fundamental Dao, the Yin-Yang harmony will be disrupted, manifesting signs of celestial collapse and terrestrial rupture. Should earth lose this Dao, mountains will crumble and rivers run dry, with vital energy dissipating. When the divine spirits (referring to the creative forces of nature) lack understanding of this Dao, they lose their numinous efficacy and ultimately disperse. Valleys (symbolizing receptive emptiness) that fail to embody the Dao become desiccated and exhausted. All beings deprived of the Dao cannot grow and multiply, inevitably declining toward extinction.

This principle holds even greater significance for rulers. The sovereign, positioned above all people, must grasp this fundamental Dao to maintain proper governance. Losing this foundation, even the most exalted status becomes precarious, while virtue lacking constancy invites calamity.

Master Lü (likely commentator Lü Dongbin) further explains: Heaven represents Yang qi (vital energy), symbolizing the ruler. Without maintaining clarity, cosmic order descends into chaos. Earth embodies Yin qi, representing ministers. Without tranquility, mountains collapse and earth splits. Divine spirits (referring to nature's mysterious forces) deprived of their numinous essence invite frequent disasters. Valleys failing to maintain plenitude become parched and exhausted. All beings bereft of vital energy wither and perish.

For individual practitioners: When the supreme Yang qi in one's crown lacks clarity, the mind grows dull, teeth loosen, and the body deteriorates. If the "true earth" within (referring to spleen-stomach qi) lacks stability, essential essence (Jing) dissipates. Should the original spirit (Shen) lose its numinous quality, mental faculties stagnate and cultivation fails to bear fruit. When the five viscera and six bowels receive no nourishment, their functions decline. These examples universally demonstrate the fundamental importance of maintaining the Dao—whether in governing a state or cultivating one's person.

This passage expounds the core Daoist principle that "the noble takes the humble as its root, the high stands upon the low as its foundation." When rulers (houwang) presume upon their exalted status, it causes their "Dan Yuan" (Dantian primordial Qi) to become unbalanced, their true nature to deviate from its original purity, ultimately risking collapse and ruin.

Lin Xiyi explains that "lie" signifies division and instability, "xie" represents dissipation and loss of efficacy, while "jie" means complete exhaustion. Just as a vessel must remain empty to hold contents, rulers who fail to maintain humility become like those standing precariously on heights who easily fall. Thus ancient rulers styled themselves "orphaned" (fatherless), "widowed" (husbandless), and "unworthy" – these self-deprecating titles embody the principle of taking humility as one's foundation.

Wu Cheng further elaborates that all six verses address rulers. Though occupying honored positions, they should maintain the De (Virtue) of "chongxu" (emptiness and humility), like wheel spokes converging toward the hub. Adopting unflattering titles demonstrates conscious abasement. He Menggui cites the Yijing to illustrate this as the Daoist "Way of the Feminine One" (the principle of yielding and staying low) – seemingly simple yet universally applicable.

The concluding contrast between "gleaming like jade" and "plain as stone" reveals how true Daoists avoid ostentatious display. Lin Xiyi mentions an alternate version reading "excessive praise brings no praise," emphasizing how pursuing reputation too ardently forfeits genuine esteem. These teachings collectively manifest the Daoist wisdom of opposing showiness while advocating gentle yielding.

This discussion examines interpretations of certain concepts in the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue). Regarding the metaphor of "being like jade or stone," various commentaries point out that it emphasizes the principle of "transcending distinctions of nobility and baseness to embrace primordial unity." Just as individual spokes and components of a wheel are not the wheel itself—only when combined do they form a complete chariot—so too are the parts of the human body not the complete "self" when viewed separately. Only when the Four Elements (earth, water, fire, and wind, representing the fundamental constituents of the body) harmonize do they form an integrated being. One should not cling to distinctions between jade and stone but return to the unified essence of the Dao (the Way).

Zhuangzi teaches that from the perspective of the Dao, all things are equal—there are no inherent distinctions of nobility or baseness, length or shortness. Just as the small components of a wheel may seem insignificant, without them the wheel cannot function; similarly, the precious jade that emerges from stone should not lead one to despise ordinary rock. These teachings remind us to return to our original, authentic state.

Chapter 40 states, "Reversal is the movement of the Dao; weakness is the function of the Dao." Here, "reversal" refers to returning and maintaining stillness. Stillness is the root of movement, much like the Gen hexagram (representing mountain and stillness) in the Yijing (Book of Changes) is the foundation of all beginnings and endings. Only by maintaining softness and weakness can one ultimately become strong, while forceful striving leads to breaking. The operation of the Dao takes stillness as its foundation and weakness as its function.

The Wu commentary explains that the Dao itself is supremely empty and still, yet it is precisely this emptiness and stillness that generate the movement and transformation of all things. Though the myriad phenomena appear complex and diverse, they must all return to the source of the Dao. Consider the cycle of the seasons: in spring and summer, growth and flourishing seem to manifest movement, while autumn and winter represent withdrawal and storage, appearing weak—yet this is precisely the function of the Dao. Those who cultivate the path of longevity must also understand this principle of returning to the origin.

The pursuit of immortality fundamentally lies in understanding the laws governing the entry and exit of life energy—this is what we call "return" (fan). Here, "return" refers to reverting to the primordial true qi of one's original nature, while "movement" activates the mysterious mechanisms of heaven and earth. Beginning with the initial resurgence of yang energy (symbolizing the birth of yang qi), one circulates internal qi through the meridians during meditative stillness, mastering the essential technique of "sevenfold return" (a Neidan term describing the practice of circulating essence and qi seven times within the body). By stabilizing the three Dantian (the body's major energy centers) and allowing true qi to permeate all meridians, one achieves integration. Without this internal movement, the root of life cannot be restored. Thus, "return" manifests the operation of the Dao.

The Dao itself has no fixed form or sound, yet this seemingly soft and weak state can overcome hardness and strength. Like the pure state of an infant before consciousness forms, nothing in the world is softer than water—yet water is less soft than qi, and qi is less soft than the Dao itself. This supremely soft energy can penetrate metal and stone, wear down sharp edges, and infiltrate everywhere without obstruction. Hence, "softness and weakness" represent the Dao's mode of operation. As the commentator Li explains: Returning to the source is the Dao's law of motion—when consciousness extends outward, it must be promptly withdrawn; maintaining softness is the Dao's principle of application—one must focus qi to achieve supreme pliancy.

All things under heaven arise from the state of "being" (you), yet "being" itself originates from "non-being" (wu). The commentator Lin elucidates: First came heaven and earth, then the myriad things—thus we say all things are born from "being." But heaven and earth themselves initially emerged from emptiness—this is "being born from non-being." Through the interplay of movement and stillness, strength and weakness, the origins of "being" and "non-being" are revealed. The commentator Lü adds: In the world, "being" and "non-being" transform into each other in endless cycles. Without "being," "non-being" cannot manifest; without "non-being," "being" cannot arise. The myriad things are born between heaven and earth—this is "generation through being"; yet heaven and earth themselves formed within the great void—this is "being through non-being."

Living beings ultimately return to the lifeless state; forms eventually revert to formlessness. The mutual transformation of being and non-being resembles an unceasing cycle, containing profound mysteries of returning to the origin. Sages deeply comprehend this principle—observing water, they perceive not its surface flow but its whirling patterns; observing trees, they see not their blooming flowers but their withering process. Thus, even amidst infinite diversity, they discern the Dao at a glance.

Heaven and earth are the parents of all things, while humans are the most spiritually endowed among them. What humans possess as "being" is form; what they possess as "non-being" is spirit. A fetus develops form in the womb—this is "being born from non-being"; all life activities emerge within the body—this is "non-being born from being." Therefore, the mutual transformation of form and formlessness constitutes the eternal mystery of life's cyclical nature.

This scripture explores the dialectical relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu), as well as the varying levels of people's comprehension of the Dao (the Way).

The text first explains the relationship between being and non-being: True "being" is not ordinary existence, nor is true "non-being" mere nothingness. Those who understand this principle naturally grasp the ultimate truth. All things originate from "being," yet "being" itself emerges from "non-being." Tracing back to the source, heaven and earth existed before the myriad things. But even heaven and earth arose from an undifferentiated chaotic state (hunlun), which represents the condition of "non-being." From "non-being" comes "being," as the formless Dao gives birth to the world of form. Ultimately, all things return to the state of non-generation—the formed inevitably reverts to the formless. This process mirrors how the Dao disperses from formlessness into form, only to ultimately return to formlessness. Those who become entangled in the material world while forgetting their origin lose themselves during periods of prosperity, drifting ever further from the Dao.

The text then describes different attitudes toward the Dao: Those of superior capacity diligently practice upon hearing the Dao; those of middling capacity remain half-convinced and doubtful; while those of inferior capacity mock it. The scripture emphasizes that precisely because the Dao invites laughter from the most foolish, its sublimity becomes evident.

In detail: Superior individuals (shangshi) possess innate purity and can penetrate profound mysteries—they believe without doubt upon hearing the Dao, practicing with urgent devotion. Middling individuals (zhongshi) have moderate dispositions—initially interested but prone to weariness, they waver in commitment to the Dao, desiring progress yet lacking perseverance. Inferior individuals (xiashi) have shallow understanding—mistaking humility for cowardice and emptiness for absurdity. Their mockery ironically proves the Dao's profundity. Precisely because few truly comprehend the Dao, its preciousness becomes apparent.

This passage reveals core Daoist cosmology: All things originate from being, being arises from non-being, and ultimately returns to non-being. Simultaneously, it clarifies that cultivating the Dao requires superior capacity—not everyone can understand or accept its ultimate truth.

This scripture primarily discusses the manifestations of different spiritual states in the cultivation of Dao (the Way), along with common worldly misunderstandings about it.

Those of limited understanding (lower scholars) possess turbid natures and fail to comprehend supreme truth. When they hear teachings about Dao, they consider them pedantic and absurd—not only disbelieving but even mocking them. Yet the truly pure Dao consists precisely of what remains unridiculed by ordinary people.

Ancient sages left behind these adages: Those who truly understand Dao appear as if ignorant (ming dao ruo mei); those advancing in Dao cultivation seem to retreat (jin dao ruo tui); the smooth great Way appears rugged (yi dao ruo lei). The highest De (Virtue) resembles an empty valley (shang de ruo gu); the purest seems stained (da bai ruo ru); expansive De always appears insufficient (guang de ruo bu zu); establishing De requires cautious secrecy (jian de ruo tou).

True nature appears changeable (zhi zhen ruo yu); the greatest square has no corners (da fang wu yu); the most precious vessel takes longest to complete (da qi wan cheng); the loudest sound is barely audible (da yin xi sheng); the grandest form has no concrete shape (da xiang wu xing).

Commentator Lin explains these all represent ancient sage wisdom. Take "understanding Dao appears ignorant"—true wisdom seems foolish, as earlier chapters state: those who consider themselves wise are unwise, while those who don't are truly wise. "Advancing in Dao seems like retreat"—true progress lies in yielding. "The smooth Way appears rugged"—the great Dao is uniformly level, just as sages mingle indistinguishably with ordinary people (he guang tong chen). "Highest De resembles a valley"—supreme Virtue remains empty like a gorge. "Purest seems stained"—the most unblemished don't flaunt their distinction.

Commentator He adds that though these ancient sage maxims draw worldly ridicule, they contain the profound truths of Dao.

This scripture elucidates the profound characteristics of the Great Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle) and its process of generating all things.

First, it describes several seemingly paradoxical manifestations of the Dao: Those who truly cultivate the Dao appear to regress outwardly ("advancing in the Dao seems like retreating"), while the greatest courage appears as if there is no courage at all ("great courage resembles no courage"). The smoothest path seems rugged ("the level way appears uneven"), and the highest virtue (De) is like an empty valley—humble and receptive ("supreme virtue resembles a gorge"). The purest things seem sullied ("great purity appears tarnished"), and vast virtue always seems insufficient ("abundant virtue seems lacking"). Those who establish virtue appear indolent ("building virtue seems like laziness"), and the truest essence appears changeable ("genuine substance seems mutable").

Next, metaphors illustrate the characteristics of the Dao: The largest square has no corners ("the great square has no edges"), the most precious vessel takes the longest to complete ("the great vessel is late in completion"), the loudest sound is nearly inaudible ("the great sound is faint"), and the greatest form has no concrete shape ("the great image is formless"). The primordial, chaotic state of the Dao cannot be described in words ("the undifferentiated primal state is beyond naming"), for it is boundless and unfathomable.

Master Lü explains that cultivating the Dao requires concealing one's merits (known as "hidden virtue"), not flaunting one's abilities, but instead following natural laws and accumulating silently. This is the meaning of "building virtue seems mutable"—establishing virtue should appear as if the essence itself is shifting and unassuming.

Chapter Forty-Two describes the cosmic generative process: The Dao gives birth to the undifferentiated primordial Qi ("the Dao produces the One"), the One divides into Yin and Yang ("the One produces the Two"), Yin and Yang harmonize to generate the harmonizing Qi ("the Two produce the Three"), and the Three Qi transform to produce all things ("the Three produce the myriad beings"). All things carry both Yin and Yang within them ("bearing Yin while embracing Yang"), achieving harmony through the harmonizing Qi ("blending Qi to attain harmony").

Master He further elaborates: From emptiness comes spontaneity, from spontaneity comes the Dao, the Dao generates the One Qi, the Qi divides into Heaven and Earth, and Heaven and Earth give rise to all things. All things contain the original essence of the Dao ("embracing the One to achieve completion"), forming through the subtle transformative workings of Qi. Just as humans naturally turn their backs to the cold and face warmth, or turn from darkness toward light, all things instinctively seek a state of Yin-Yang balance.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "embracing Yang while carrying Yin." To "embrace Yang while carrying Yin" means to hold within oneself the pure Yang Qi (the vital energy of the Dao). Humans stand alongside Heaven and Earth as one of the Three Powers (San Cai), representing the most spiritually endowed beings among all creatures. Humans receive their spiritual consciousness (Shen) from Heaven and their vital essence (Jing) from Earth, being formed through the harmonious interaction of Yin and Yang energies. Thus, humanity's greatest treasure lies in nurturing Jing, Qi, and Shen to coexist with Heaven and Earth. Maintaining this harmonious Qi requires humility as its foundation, as ancient texts state: "Fullness invites loss, while humility receives benefit"—this is the natural order of things.

Master Lin explains: The Supreme Ultimate (Taiji) represents the "One," Heaven and Earth represent the "Two," and the Three Powers (Heaven, Earth, and humanity) represent the "Three," all emerging from emptiness and non-being. The Dao is the origin of all things and the principle of nature. Only after the establishment of the Three Powers can the myriad things come into being. All things contain both Yin and Yang energies, operating through the principle of emptiness to achieve harmonious states.

Master Lü further clarifies: The Dao generates the Primordial Qi (Yuan Qi), which then divides to form Heaven and Earth, which in turn give birth to all things. "The Dao produces the One" refers to the undifferentiated Primordial Qi before the division of the Supreme Ultimate; "the One produces the Two" signifies the clear Qi ascending to form Heaven and the turbid Qi descending to form Earth, as described in the Book of Changes: "The Supreme Ultimate generates the Two Modes (Liang Yi)." The interaction of Heaven and Earth's Yin and Yang creates harmony, thereby establishing human relationships and social order. "Embracing Yang while carrying Yin" means that Yin and Yang cannot be separated for even a moment. Practitioners regard the moon as the mother of Yin and the sun as the father of Yang, cultivating themselves by breathing celestial light and absorbing harmonious Qi. This practice fills the Celestial Valley (Upper Dantian) and surrounds it with the two luminaries of sun and moon (Yin and Yang energies), pacifying the ten thousand spirits (Wan Shen), ultimately leading to ascension to the Jade Purity (Yuqing) realm.

Master Dong offers a biological interpretation: In animals, the static back represents Yin while the active mouth, nose, ears, and eyes in front represent Yang; plants turn their cold backs away from and their warm fronts toward the sun—all governed by the movement of harmonious Qi. In general, spirit (Shen) belongs to Yang while physical form belongs to Yin—holding the spirit within is "embracing," while manifesting the form outwardly is "carrying." Qi has both active (Yang) and still (Yin) aspects that require balancing and regulation, becoming the key through which spirit governs physical form.

The passage concludes by noting: Ordinary people dislike terms like "orphaned," "widowed," and "destitute," yet rulers use these terms to refer to themselves. This demonstrates how things that seem disadvantageous may bring benefit, while apparent advantages may cause harm—embodying the Daoist dialectical principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong."

The commentator He explains that ancient rulers referred to themselves as "solitary," "orphaned," or "unworthy" (meaning morally deficient) - all terms denoting their lack of support and virtue. These three appellations, though most despised by ordinary people, were deliberately adopted to teach the world that excessive elevation leads to downfall, and extreme arrogance invites destruction, which are eternal truths. What appears as diminishment may conceal increase, while apparent gain may hide loss - this reflects the natural law of transformation. Therefore, the sages, as masters of the Three Powers (heaven, earth and humanity), always maintain a state of serene emptiness, willingly occupying the lowly positions others detest and accepting external diminishment. They understand that those who humble themselves will be elevated by others, and those who retreat will be advanced. Things that seem undesirable may not be truly bad, and apparent loss may not be actual deprivation. The Dao De Jing states "Though the Dao appears empty, its function is inexhaustible," where "fullness" stands as the opposite of serene emptiness. The Yi Jing similarly warns "what is overly flourishing cannot be preserved," hence advocates humility as balancing virtue. Humility and arrogance represent two opposing states.

The commentator Lin supplements that nothing is more detested than being called "solitary," "orphaned," or "unworthy," yet rulers use these terms for themselves, much like Daoist practitioners consciously display weakness and self-deprecation. The profound meaning lies in how all things in heaven and earth emerge from emptiness, with yin-yang qi forming material substance while the generative source remains the harmonious primordial qi. Dao practitioners should comprehend this principle, valuing the ability to maintain emptiness. Worldly phenomena often increase when diminished and diminish when increased - this law of mutual transformation isn't fixed. Like the moon that wanes after fullness (increase causing decrease) and waxes after waning (decrease leading to increase).

Regarding the passage "I teach what others teach: the violent shall die unnatural deaths - this I take as fundamental instruction": He cites ancient bronze inscriptions stating "the violent meet unnatural ends," adding "the aggressive inevitably encounter opposition," showing this teaching has ancient origins that he merely perpetuates. The "fundamental instruction" refers to concise, easily grasped essentials. Like the Dao generating all things, the "foundation of teaching" takes serene emptiness as its principle. Li simply interprets it as teaching goodness as others do. Wu explains from the perspective that "the soft overcomes the hard": the term "beam" originally denotes sturdy wood spanning water or roof structures, here metaphorically representing the violent - just as rigid wood ultimately snaps.

This passage elucidates the concept in the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) regarding how the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong.

The phrase "not meeting a natural death" refers to someone like Zilu, whose unyielding temperament led Confucius to predict he would not die peacefully—a prophecy fulfilled when Zilu perished in the turmoil of the Kong Kui rebellion. "Teaching father" denotes the fundamental principle of education, embodying paternal authority. Laozi teaches us the wisdom of appearing weak, as those who rely on brute force without understanding the Way of softness often fail to preserve themselves. What seems like dominance over others may in fact invite calamity—this is the paradox of "apparent gain becoming actual loss," a core tenet of Laozi's philosophy. As the Ni commentary explains, Laozi typically uses "mother" as a metaphor for the Dao (the Way), but here he specifically employs "father" to emphasize that education requires paternal sternness.

Chapter 43 speaks of how the softest things in the world can master the hardest. Formless power penetrates even what appears seamless, revealing the benefits of wuwei (non-action). The Lin commentary illustrates this with water: the hard breaks easily, while the soft endures, just as dripping water wears through stone. "Seamless" refers to what seems without gaps, and "formless" to intangible things. For instance, though the body's blood and qi (vital energy) circulate in seemingly tight spaces, breath still flows freely; moonlight too can enter the tiniest crevices. The He commentary elaborates: nothing in the world is softer than qi, yet the Dao is softer still. The Dao's softness lies in its capacity to encompass heaven and earth and permeate all things. Laozi once told Guan Yin that the Dao and qi are soft precisely because they can penetrate the hardest metal and stone. The Dao's movement begins subtly and simply but ultimately becomes vast and unshakable. True softness is not weakness, just as true strength is not brute force—like the drops from Mount Tai that erode stone or the thin cord that can sever wood. The term "galloping" here refers to the Zhuangzi's notion of mastering all things. To grasp the Dao's essence, one must trace the hardest back to the softest, and the softest back to the root. As Liezi says, when body, mind, qi, shen (spirit), and emptiness merge, one realizes the Dao is without gaps—this is the highest attainment, through which the marvel of wuwei is truly understood.

This scripture elucidates the essential Daoist principles of "Wuwei" (non-action) and supreme softness.

Though water is the softest substance in the world, it still possesses form. Even softer than water is "Qi" (vital energy), the fundamental element that constitutes all things in Daoist thought. While appearing formless, Qi can penetrate material objects. Though inherently gentle, through cultivation it can attain a state of supreme magnitude and firmness capable of overcoming all hardness. When hardness confronts hardness, both sides suffer damage, whereas softness meeting hardness leaves neither harmed.

The softest "Dao-Qi" (the primordial energy of the Dao) flows freely through the hardest substances. Material resistance arises when form encounters form, but the formless entering the formed goes undetected. The supreme "Great Brahma Qi" has no fixed form, thus it encompasses heaven and earth while permeating the smallest particles. Sages who comprehend this principle cultivate their De (Virtue), gaining penetrating insight into all things and governing the world as if divinely assisted.

Those who attain the Dao can harmonize the "Mother of Qi" (source of primordial energy) and cultivate "Grand Harmony" (the supreme state of Yin-Yang balance), enabling their Shen (spirit) to dwell permanently within the body and move freely without obstruction. This is the realm where "the formless enters the seamless." The marvelous function of Wuwei exists prior to the formation of all things, dwelling within the cosmic origin of Taiji (Supreme Ultimate). Sages emulate this state—teaching without deliberate instruction, transforming others effortlessly; appearing inactive yet accomplishing all things.

True adepts govern through Wuwei, sparing their body and mind from exhaustion; forgetting both self and others, their spirit remains undiminished. Without consciously pursuing the Dao, the Dao naturally unites with them. Herein lies the benefit of Wuwei: wordless teaching and effortless action represent a state few in the world can attain.

Later commentators clarify that the preceding passages employ metaphorical language. Thus we understand "doing nothing yet leaving nothing undone" as the supreme truth. Just as heaven and earth display great beauty without speech, the seasons follow their natural order, and all things grow according to their inherent patterns—these are natural manifestations of the Dao that ordinary people find difficult to fully comprehend.

This passage expounds the core Daoist concepts of Wuwei (non-action) and the reverence for life.

The first section elucidates the principle of Wuwei: Just as boats move on water and sleds traverse mountains, as fields naturally occupy high ground while ponds form in low areas, the most effective approach is to follow natural patterns. Those who truly attain the Dao concentrate on preserving Qi (vital energy) through Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, maintaining supreme softness and emptiness while completely aligning with the Dao's movement. Thus few in the world reach this state—where one gains trust without words, attains without striving, preserves true nature while embracing the Great Dao, and naturally draws the world's allegiance.

The second section examines life's value through contrasting perspectives on fame and material gain: Which is more precious—reputation or life? More important—existence or possessions? Which brings greater suffering—gain or loss? Commentators offer various insights:

• Lin's interpretation states both fame and wealth are external to life, neither benefiting existence nor warranting distress over their fluctuation.
• He cites Zhuangzi's observation that Boyi died for reputation at Shouyang Mountain while robber Zhi perished for profit at Dongling—though motives differed, both violated life's fundamental nature. Martyrs die for fame as misers perish for wealth, never realizing life surpasses all worldly concerns in value.
• True Dao practitioners don't even cling to their physical forms, let alone external名利 (fame and gain). Ordinary people prize reputation and riches, yet heightened fame endangers life while accumulated wealth harms the spirit. Hence the saying: "What grants me fame kills my life; what gives me wealth injures my Shen (spirit)."
• Lü further explains that those who prioritize body over reputation or value form above possessions haven't reached true self-forgetfulness. The genuinely selfless don't cling to physical existence—how much less to名利? The wealthy toil day and night, increasingly estranged from life's fundamental truth.

The sage's wisdom lies in valuing oneself above the entire world—this paradoxical perspective alone achieves life's authentic preservation.

If people cannot let go of self-attachment, they will find it difficult to comprehend this truth. Let all under heaven understand that fame is not worth pursuing, nor are material possessions worth hoarding. Thus, Bo Yi (a recluse of the Shang dynasty) chose to starve to death at the foot of Shouyang Mountain—this was death for the sake of fame; while Robber Zhi (a legendary bandit) died on Dongling Mountain—this was death for the sake of profit. Between these two, who suffered the greater loss?

Conventional wisdom holds that those who sacrifice themselves for fame are noble, while those who die for profit are petty. People rejoice in gain and grieve over loss, coveting acquisition while fearing deprivation, forgetting righteousness at the sight of profit. This is like using the legendary Suihou Pearl as a pellet to shoot at a sparrow a thousand feet in the air—though one may catch the sparrow, the pearl is lost. When what is lost is precious and what is gained is trivial, is this not lamentable?

People cling stubbornly to acquisition, suffering when they cannot obtain what they desire; yet once they possess it, they fear losing it, and this suffering is even greater than before. Only by treating gain and loss with indifference, viewing possession and absence as equal, can one be free of these afflictions.

Excessive craving inevitably leads to great exhaustion, and hoarding too much will bring severe loss. As Lin explains: Fixation on something compels the mind to expend energy in pursuit—the deeper the attachment, the greater the expenditure. Those who greedily accumulate wealth will inevitably suffer devastating loss when it slips away. Small accumulations bring small losses, while great hoardings bring ruin.

To know contentment is to avoid disgrace; to understand moderation is to avert danger—only then can one endure. Lin remarks: Only those who are content will not bring shame upon themselves, and only those who know when to stop can escape peril. He adds: The excessive pursuit of reputation is itself an extreme craving—fame is but an accessory to reality, and the greater the fame, the greater the mental toll. Wu observes: Those who crave reputation love fame more than their own bodies and will inevitably exhaust their spirit and shorten their lifespan; those who covet wealth value possessions more than life itself and will ultimately forfeit their very existence.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "knowing contentment and knowing when to stop" (知足知止). Those who understand contentment will recognize proper limits regarding fame and wealth they've already attained, withdrawing at the appropriate moment—thus avoiding disgrace. Those who know when to stop will not grasp for undeserved gains, thereby steering clear of danger and preserving themselves long-term.

Commentators offer varied interpretations: He suggests that inner satisfaction prevents external cravings, naturally shielding one from humiliation; recognizing when to cease allows relinquishing all attachments, maintaining safety. Lü adds that understanding one's inherent blessings as predetermined leads to contentment without greed, avoiding shame from improper conduct; seeing the futility of external pursuits enables cessation, preventing life-draining dangers. Li observes that chasing fame and fortune through forced action can never endure—only knowing contentment and limits brings lasting stability.

Chapter 45 illustrates the Dao's (道) nature through five paradoxical pairs: The most complete appears deficient, yet functions inexhaustibly; the most full seems empty, yet operates boundlessly; the straightest appears bent, the most skillful seems clumsy, the most eloquent seems taciturn. Lin explains that precisely because great achievers maintain a "seemingly incomplete" state, their efficacy never dries up; the abundantly full preserve an "as-if-empty" (若冲) condition, making their function limitless. This mirrors earlier chapters stating "only low-lying places become full, only the worn becomes renewed."

Li connects this to previous themes: knowing contentment prevents disgrace, hence the discussion of "great completion seeming incomplete"—those with abundant virtue (德) yet appearing insufficient enjoy longevity; those with ample wealth yet appearing modest demonstrate wisdom. Wu further notes that surface-level achievements, fullness, straightness, skill, or eloquence remain shallow—true greatness lies in the capacity to "appear imperfect."

This passage discusses the relationship between agitation and tranquility, cold and heat, as well as the importance of the Dao's state of clarity and stillness (Qingjing). Lin's commentary explains that excessive agitation ultimately leads to cold, while excessive tranquility ultimately leads to heat. Agitation and tranquility actually represent the two states of Yin and Yang—when either Qi becomes imbalanced, problems arise. Only the Dao's state of clarity and stillness, which neither leans toward being nor non-being, neither moves nor remains static, can serve as the true path of the world.

He's further elaboration clarifies that the Dao regards clarity and stillness as orthodox, and only through clarity and stillness can one attain the greatest state. When agitation overcomes cold, the Yang Qi reaches its extreme and generates Yin Qi; when tranquility overcomes heat, the Yin Qi reaches its extreme and generates Yang Qi. These phenomena occur because of extreme bias toward one side. The clarity and stillness of Heaven and Earth, however, represent the most correct Dao in the world—without bias or extremes, thus enabling vastness and longevity. As the scripture states: If a person can maintain constant clarity and stillness, all things in Heaven and Earth will naturally return to them.

(Note: Here, "Yin-Yang" refers to the fundamental opposing yet complementary forces in Daoist cosmology, while "clarity and stillness" denotes the state of mental purity and detachment from external disturbances sought in Daoist cultivation.)