《道德真經衍義手鈔》Vol. 3

This passage explores the principle of "things reaching their extremes must reverse," illustrating through historical anecdotes the dangers of excessive pursuit of wealth and power.

The text first cites the warning from the Daode Jing: "When gold and jade fill your halls, none can keep them safe," pointing out that excessive accumulation of wealth makes it difficult to preserve, and that arrogance following riches invites disaster. It then recounts the story of Bai Gong Sheng of Chu: though he gained control of the Chu state, he failed to distribute the treasury's wealth to the people, ultimately meeting with defeat.

Subsequently, two Spring and Autumn period cases are referenced: first, when Fan Xuanzi increased the tributes from feudal lords during his administration, provoking Zheng's statesman Zichan to send a letter of remonstrance; second, when King Jing of Zhou favored Prince Zhao and his tutor Bin Meng, who used a "rooster" metaphor to hint at his desire for special privileges. These examples demonstrate the perils of overreaching for power and favor.

Finally, the passage grounds its argument in the Book of Changes hexagram Qian's line "The dragon at zenith has cause for regret," emphasizing the importance of understanding when to advance and retreat. Just as the sun declines after reaching its zenith and the moon wanes after becoming full, and as the seasons naturally cycle, this reflects cosmic law. The truly wise understand that timely withdrawal after success aligns with the Dao of Heaven.

When success is achieved, one must know when to withdraw.

Celestial Master Du explains: When the sun reaches its zenith, it must decline; when the moon becomes full, it begins to wane. After the heat of summer comes the cold of winter; spring's luxuriance gives way to autumn's withering—such is the Dao of Heaven. If humans can comprehend these waxing and waning patterns of celestial law, forget fame and fortune, and withdraw at the height of prosperity like following the natural rhythms of the Dao, they will avoid sorrow and calamity.

Consider Zhang Liang (styled Zifang) of the Han Dynasty, who after being enfeoffed as a Marquis of Ten Thousand Households, deemed his achievements sufficient and relinquished worldly riches to wander with the immortal Chisongzi. Or take the case of Shu Guang (styled Zhongweng) and his nephew Shu Shou from Lanling in Donghai during Emperor Xuan's reign. Shu Guang served as Grand Tutor to the Crown Prince while Shu Shou was Junior Tutor. Shu Guang remarked, "I have heard that knowing when to stop avoids danger, and understanding sufficiency prevents disgrace. Moreover, withdrawing after achieving merit and fame accords with the Dao of Heaven." Thereupon, both uncle and nephew pleaded illness to resign. The emperor granted them gold, and they petitioned to retire to their hometown. Are these not exemplary models of timely withdrawal in accordance with celestial principle?

Chapter 10 of the Dao De Jing states: "Can you keep the soul and the body united without letting them separate?" This means the human body is like a chariot carrying the spirit. "Yingpo" refers to the physical form and ethereal souls—the body serves as the vessel housing these spiritual components. The Western Ascension Scripture similarly describes the body as the spirit's carriage. Since the chariot metaphor is employed, one must understand the principle of conveyance.

The po souls belong to yin qi, constituting the physical form; the hun souls belong to yang qi, forming the spiritual consciousness. A body without yang qi attachment would be like insensate stone or withered wood; only when yang qi descends can movement occur. Thus the physical form, being yin, is called po, while the spiritual essence, being yang, is called hun. Ordinary people remain alive as long as a trace of yang qi persists, yet cannot attain immortality while any yin qi remains. Cultivation to the point of completely eliminating yin enables ascension to the nine heavens as an immortal, dwelling in pure yang; exhaustion of yang qi leads to sinking into the nine springs as a ghost, consorting with absolute yin. Therefore, one must nurture the yang hun and sustain the yin po to preserve life, holding fast to the Great Dao without allowing the slightest separation of hun and po.

As Qu Yuan wrote in "Encountering Sorrow": "Mounting the rainbow, charioting the clouds"—depicting precisely this ascent of the hunpo souls riding clouds. Dao cultivators should maintain their physical forms as carefully as preserving carriages, guard their spiritual essence as treasured jewels, ensuring the eternal unity of form and spirit without separation.

This passage elucidates several key concepts from the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) concerning cultivation and longevity practices.

The term "carrying the hun and po souls" refers to the practice of transporting one's ethereal souls upward on crimson mists (chixia) during spiritual ascent. Here, "mists" (xia) denote the ascending crimson clouds formed by vital energy, while "clouds" (yun) represent the condensed qi of mountains and rivers. Practitioners must eliminate distracting thoughts (likened to "floating clouds") to enable their souls to ride these crimson mists in celestial flight.

The concept of "focusing qi to attain pliancy" is illustrated through Mencius' observation: when willpower becomes concentrated, the breath follows accordingly, yet the movement of breath can conversely influence mental states. Just as when one stumbles or walks briskly, breath becomes focused on the physical action, thereby affecting consciousness. Thus cultivation requires both concentrated intention and properly regulated breath.

Quoting Chapter 55 of the Daode Jing — "crying all day without becoming hoarse" — the text explains that when the mind is tranquil, breath naturally harmonizes. Even prolonged wailing won't cause hoarseness, representing the state of perfect qi harmony.

Regarding "loving the people and governing the state through non-action (wuwei)", the passage emphasizes that Daoist practice begins with self-cultivation: reducing selfish desires, extending lifespan, and eliminating artifice. Only after perfecting oneself can these principles extend to governing the world, achieving the ideal of effortless rulership.

Finally, the "opening and closing of the celestial gate (tianmen)" is explained through Zhuangzi's description of tianmen as the gate of nature and source of all creation. Guo Xiang's commentary identifies tianmen as the collective name for all things, representing the portal of natural transformation.

(Note: The term "chao" indicates quoted annotations, while "yanyi" denotes the author's explanatory commentary)

This passage discusses the concepts of the "Heavenly Gate" (Tianmen) and the "Gate of All Mysteries" (Zhongmiao zhi men) from the Daode Jing. The Heavenly Gate (referring to the origin of natural creation) is also called the Gate of All Mysteries (the portal to all wondrous transformations). Master Cheng Xuanying explains that "Heaven" here means nature itself, and this natural principle is the gateway to creation. Though it is merely a name without physical form, we can observe that all things emerge from this gate.

Zhuangzi, in the "Gengsang Chu" chapter, states that where there is birth, there is death; where there is emergence, there is return. The Book of Changes similarly describes opening the gate as "Qian" (Yang) and closing it as "Kun" (Yin). This alternation of opening and closing constitutes transformation, and its endless flow is what we call penetration. Those who truly understand the principle appear unknowing, like a mirror reflecting objects with natural spontaneity.

Master Bi Xu uses the metaphor of a mirror: originally clear and luminous, a mirror becomes dim when covered with dust. Wipe away the dust, and it can reflect all things again. This illustrates how in cultivation, one must gather the hun and po (spiritual aspects), maintaining the original nature undispersed, so that the innate clarity naturally shines forth.

For those who govern a state, though their virtue may shine like the sun and moon, they should restrain their senses and avoid displaying cleverness, allowing the people to benefit naturally in their daily lives without noticing it. The Guangsheng Yi explains that true wisdom illuminates boundlessly, yet one must relinquish attachments and forget cunning intentions. Flaunting intelligence only leads one astray from the Dao. If a ruler governs solely by personal cleverness, issuing overly harsh decrees, the people will suffer. Laozi warns us to forget achievements and dim our brilliance—like stuffing silk in the ears or letting the tassels of a crown veil the eyes—embodying the principle of restraining the senses and obscuring cleverness.

Chapter 11 of the Daode Jing uses the metaphor of a wheel: thirty spokes converge at the hub (the center of the wheel), and precisely because the center is empty, the wheel becomes functional. The Rites of Zhou·Records of Examination notes that the round shape of the chariot canopy symbolizes Heaven, while the square carriage represents Earth. Another metaphor is that of a house: doors and windows are carved out to create a dwelling, and precisely because the interior is empty, the house becomes useful. In ancient times, people originally lived in caves.

The Book of Changes (Yijing) states that in ancient times, people lived in caves and the wilderness until the sages invented architectural dwellings—a principle embodied in the hexagram "Great Strength" (Dazhuang). The so-called "high antiquity" refers to the era before palaces and houses were built, when people nested in trees during summer and dwelled in caves during winter. Thus, the sages created buildings as replacements.

The line "they molded the earth and dug the caves" from the Book of Songs (Shijing) describes how ancient people reinforced their dug-out caves by piling excavated soil over the roofs. This passage comes from the Odes of King Wen section, specifically the poem Mian, which recounts the story of King Wen’s grandfather, the ancient Lord Danfu of Bin. At the time, he led his people with moral virtue (De), attracting many followers, yet they still lacked permanent dwellings. They either built semi-subterranean houses by heaping earth ("molding the earth") or dug directly into the ground ("digging the caves"). When fathers, sons, and spouses lived together, the concept of "family" took shape. Commentaries explain that ministers of feudal lords addressed their rulers as "Duke," while "molding" referred to constructing above-ground structures by piling earth, and "digging" meant excavating downward—both methods resembling the making of pottery kilns.

The Zhuangzi states that if a house lacks open space, conflict may arise between mother-in-law and daughter-in-law over passageways. This illustrates how cramped interiors can provoke disputes over movement, even between those bound by filial duty. It demonstrates that while physical structures (the "having") provide utility, it is the empty space (the "non-having") that truly enables function.

The Book of Changes distinguishes between the metaphysical "Dao" (the fundamental principle of clarity, emptiness, and non-action [Wuwei]) and the physical "vessels" (concrete, tangible objects). The five colors (blue, yellow, red, white, black) originally symbolized the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and denoted hierarchical distinctions, yet excessive pursuit of ornamentation dulls vision. Similarly, beautiful music was meant for moral cultivation, but overindulgence harms hearing; fine flavors were intended to nourish life, yet gluttony ruins the palate.

This scripture primarily elucidates the symbolic significance of ancient ceremonial attire and the pentatonic system.

Regarding ceremonial garments: The formal robes of ancient emperors and officials consisted of an upper garment and lower skirt, distinguished by twelve emblematic patterns denoting hierarchical status. The upper garment was of profound black (xuanse), while the lower skirt bore embroidered motifs. The upper garment displayed six patterns: sun, moon, stars, mountain, dragon, and pheasant (huachong) - designs that appeared both on ancestral temple vessels and embroidered vestments. The lower skirt featured six motifs: ancestral vessels (zongyi), waterweed (zao), fire, rice powder, grains, the axe-shaped fu pattern, and the interlocking fu design, embroidered on fine ramie cloth.

Each pattern carried profound meaning: The sun, moon and stars symbolized illumination; mountains represented benevolent virtue (ren); dragons signified transformation; pheasants embodied cultural refinement. Sages employed these emblems to govern the world, enabling both the people's peaceful livelihood and proper veneration of deities. Among the lower skirt's motifs: waterweed denoted pliancy and purity suitable for rituals; fire represented brilliance and swiftness appropriate for cooking; grains nourished the people; rice powder moistened all things; the fu axe symbolized decisive judgment; the interlocking fu pattern signified discernment. Later generations, however, became excessively preoccupied with ornate colors, losing sight of these patterns' original significance.

Concerning the pentatonic system: The five tones (gong, shang, jiao, zhi, yu) were originally established to manifest the sonic qualities of the Five Phases (wuxing - Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, Earth), using instruments of metal, stone, silk and bamboo to harmonize with the Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth. Han dynasty scholar Liu Xiang explained: The gong tone symbolizes central harmony, representing the ruler's virtue (de); shang signifies manifestation, denoting maturity of affairs; jiao represents germination, indicating the growth of all things; zhi embodies flourishing, symbolizing the expansion of matters; yu suggests gathering, representing the return and storage of all creatures. These concepts are also recorded in the "Yi Ji" chapter of the Book of Documents (Shangshu).

This passage explores the Daoist principle of moderation through three key aspects of human activity: music, diet, and hunting, each examined in distinct layers.

The discourse begins with musical regulation. The twelve pitch standards—comprising the six Yang pitches (Huangzhong, Taicu, Guxian, Ruibin, Yize, Wuyi) and six Yin pitches (Jiazhong, Zhonglü, Linzhong, Nanlü, Yingzhong, Tailü)—when harmonized with the five tones (gong, shang, jiao, zhi, yu) and eight instrument categories (metal, stone, silk, bamboo, etc.), were originally designed to align with cosmic harmony. However, excessive indulgence in musical pleasures can lead to the dissipation of one's original nature.

Next comes the discussion on dietary principles. The five flavors (sweet, bitter, sour, salty, pungent) embody the balance of the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). Yet people become obsessed with delicacies like cattle, sheep, pigs, and dogs (grass-fed and grain-fed livestock), consuming them with gluttonous abandon like the mythical Taotie beast. Such unrestrained pursuit of culinary pleasure pollutes the Shen (spirit) and tarnishes one's true nature, ultimately dulling the ability to discern authentic flavors.

Finally, the text addresses hunting restraint, citing the Zhouli's seasonal regulations: spring selection (avoiding pregnant game), summer culling (taking immature specimens), autumn mass hunting, and winter free-for-all. But as exemplified by King Taikang of Xia's excessive hunting along the Luo River (recorded in the Book of Documents' "Songs of Five Sons," where his hunting obsession cost him the throne), such immoderation leads to mental derangement and moral degeneration, as warned by the five admonishing ministers.

The overarching theme emphasizes maintaining the Middle Way: activities like music, dining, and hunting were originally established to harmonize heaven, earth, and human relations. When pursued without restraint, they instead disturb the Shen (spirit) and alienate one from fundamental truth.

This passage uses historical anecdotes to warn rulers against indulging in pleasures while neglecting governance. It first recounts the story of Tai Kang (a Xia dynasty ruler) who became so obsessed with hunting that he wandered outside his capital for a hundred days without returning, prompting five ministers to compose admonishing songs. Tai Kang indulged in inner palace pleasures while obsessively pursuing outdoor hunts, drowning himself in wine and music while constructing extravagant buildings. Any one of these behaviors alone would inevitably lead to a kingdom's downfall.

The text then contrasts two governing philosophies through parallel anecdotes: Duke Ai of Qi (Spring and Autumn period) so loved hunting that his subjects imitated him, considering hunting prowess as virtue and the chase as glory—a trend that weakened the state. In contrast, the dialogue between King Wei of Qi and King Hui of Wei (Warring States period) reveals enlightened rulership—when King Hui boasted about his luminous pearls that illuminated his carriage procession, King Wei responded that his true "treasures" were four capable ministers: Tanzi guarding Nan City deterred Chu invasions, Xizi defending Gaotang prevented Zhao incursions, Qianfu governing Xuzhou attracted neighboring populations, and Zhongshou maintaining public security created a society where lost items went unclaimed. These ministers' achievements shone across a thousand miles, far outshining twelve carriage-loads of luminous pearls.

The passage concludes with the origin myth of these "night-illuminating pearls": the Chu minister Marquis Sui saved an injured snake that later transformed into a sea dragon, gifting him luminous pearls in gratitude. These stories collectively demonstrate that true statecraft treasures aren't rare curios but virtuous ministers and enlightened governance. Rulers who indulge desires, disregard laws, obsess over hunts, squander resources, or wander endlessly from court duties—like Tai Kang—invite chaos upon their realms, a madness no different from outright insanity.

This scripture elucidates the core Daoist principle of "rejecting extravagance to embrace simplicity" through multiple historical parables.

The text begins with the legend of the Marquis of Sui's pearl: After saving an injured snake, the snake later repaid him with a luminous night-pearl. Yet quoting Mencius, it observes that when rulers treasure such jewels, calamity befalls them. True treasures should be fertile lands, devoted people, and wise governance.

Next comes the Shangshu account of Duke Shao admonishing King Wu of Zhou: When the Western Rong tribe presented fierce hounds, the Duke counseled that enlightened rulers conquer through virtue (De), not by coveting exotic beasts from distant lands. Only by valuing worthy talents can the people live in peace. The text particularly stresses how "rare goods make men stray" — precious objects obstruct moral conduct.

The Tang Dynasty anecdote follows: When the Linyi Kingdom offered a talking parrot, Emperor Taizong, pitying its fear of cold, ordered its return to the wilderness. Minister Wei Zheng's memorial of admonition implicitly echoed Daoist warnings against exotic treasures.

Concluding with the Liezi tale of the gold-obsessed Qi man, it illustrates how sages cultivate inner nourishment ("serving the belly") over sensory desires ("serving the eyes"). The teaching urges abandoning covetousness (the "six passions" of sight, sound, smell, taste, touch, and thought), keeping one's gaze from extravagance to preserve original purity.

These parables collectively reveal one truth: Genuine statecraft lies in cultivating virtue (De), employing the worthy, and cherishing the people's strength — not pursuing rare curios. Personal cultivation likewise requires restraining material desires to return to unadorned simplicity.

In the "Gengsang Chu" chapter of the Zhuangzi, it is said that six things—glory, splendor, wealth, high status, fame, and profit—disturb the human mind (commentary: these six are all tools that disrupt one's innate nature). This passage further explains that the desires of the five senses (the "five dusts") harm one's true nature, and one must forget external things to preserve their genuine essence (referring to humanity's original, authentic nature).

The Jade Emperor's Scripture of Fundamental Conduct mentions that the "six dusts" (the external objects corresponding to the six senses—eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) thoroughly defile both body and spirit, triggering the entanglement of the three evils—physical, verbal, and mental misconduct (the "three karmas"). Those burdened by such heavy transgressions remain submerged in calamity for long periods, indulging in the six senses' attachment to sensory objects, losing their clarity of awareness, and ultimately becoming completely corrupted by the six dusts.

(Note: The "five dusts" refer to the external objects corresponding to the five senses—form, sound, scent, taste, and touch. The "six dusts" add "mental dust" (fa chen), the objects of conceptual discrimination. Daoist cultivation emphasizes restraining the six senses and not chasing after external objects to maintain mental purity.)