《道德真經衍義手鈔》Vol. 7

Chapter 5 of Volume 7 in Handwritten Commentary on the Extended Meaning of the Dao De Zhenjing, compiled by the reclusive scholar Wang Shouzheng of Qing'an from Five Peaks, elucidates Chapter 26's teaching: "The heavy is the root of the light; the still is the master of the restless."

The scripture states: "Steadiness serves as the foundation for rashness; tranquility governs agitation." The commentary explains: When dragons and serpents coil in stillness, they appear dormant yet prepare for future soaring transformations. Though tigers and leopards exhibit fierce restlessness, they often fall prey to hunters and meet untimely ends. The Xici commentary of the Yijing (Book of Changes) observes how inchworms contract their bodies to extend forward, and how dragons and serpents hibernate to preserve their vitality (annotation: contraction precedes advancement; quiescence accumulates dynamic force—extreme stillness generates movement).

The Zhuangzi's "Gengsang Chu" chapter records Gengsangzi (a disciple of Laozi) remarking: Solitary creatures like the massive hanche beast that stray from mountain forests inevitably become ensnared. Thus noble men always travel with necessary provisions—even amidst dazzling sights, they remain detached. The commentary adds: Just as the seeker Nanrong Chu carried seven days' provisions despite traveling light, demonstrating that urgency must never override fundamental preparation.

The conclusion emphasizes: A ruler governing a state of "ten thousand chariots" (symbolizing a major kingdom) who acts rashly will lose the people's trust, while impetuous aggression forfeits sovereign authority. The Mencius' "King Hui of Liang" chapter similarly references "the state of ten thousand chariots" (annotation: cheng denotes war chariots as measure of power), underscoring how the ruler's gravity upholds the world's balance.

This passage primarily discusses the essential principles of state governance and the proper relationship between rulers and ministers.

It begins by quoting the Book of Changes (Yijing): what the sage values most is authority. How does one maintain authority? Through benevolent virtue (De). How does one attract talent? Through wealth. The text explains that authority forms the foundation of state governance, while wealth serves as the means to win people's allegiance. Only those who occupy high positions while generously bestowing benefits deserve to be called "the Great Treasure."

Next, it cites a historical account from the Book of Documents (Shangshu)'s "Canon of Shun": Emperor Shun exiled Gonggong (the legendary water god who failed in flood control) to Youzhou (modern northern Hebei), banished Huandou (a disloyal minister during Emperor Yao's reign) to Chong Mountain, expelled the Sanmiao tribe to Sanwei Mountain (modern Gansu region), and imprisoned Gun (Yu the Great's father, who failed in flood control) at Yu Mountain. These actions were taken because they harbored treacherous intentions and refused to submit to Emperor Yao's benevolent governance.

The text then quotes the Book of Changes again to emphasize the importance of confidentiality: if a ruler fails to maintain discretion, they will lose their ministers; if ministers fail to maintain discretion, they will invite fatal consequences. Handling confidential affairs requires utmost caution—the slightest leak could lead to disaster. This serves as a warning for those in power to be circumspect in speech and action.

Finally, two historical cases are presented: first, the scandal recorded in the Zuo Commentary (Zuozhuan) about Duke Ling of Chen's illicit affairs with ministers Kong Ning and Yi Xingfu involving Lady Xia Ji; second, the story of Han Xin's conquest of Qi. Both examples illustrate how improper handling of ruler-minister relationships can lead to severe consequences.

This passage elucidates the profound meanings of "skillful speech" and "skillful calculation" from the "Chapter on Good Conduct" in the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue).

Regarding "skillful speech leaves no fault to censure," it draws upon Zhuangzi's concept of "goblet words" (zhiyan). Like wine flowing naturally from a vessel without deliberate effort, Zhuangzi states in the "Fables" chapter that genuine speech should be as spontaneous as the sunrise and sunset, in harmony with the Dao (the Way). The most profound speech does not engage in forced debate but aligns with the inherent nature of things. All things have their own reasons for existence, with no absolute right or wrong. Speech that attains this level naturally remains flawless.

Concerning "skillful calculation needs no counting rods," it references Zhuangzi's Discourse on the Equality of Things. Zhuangzi argues that once distinctions are made through language, one becomes entangled in endless differentiation. Just as counting from "one" quickly becomes complex and convoluted, the most enlightened calculations require no tools because all things are fundamentally united with the Dao—why rely on counting rods?

Finally, it mentions the "nine orifices" (referring to the body's nine sensory openings) as gateways for the spirit (shen) to enter and exit. Citing Zhuangzi·Knowledge Roams North, it explains that all manifest phenomena originate from the obscure, just as human consciousness operates through the physical senses as its portal.

The passage as a whole emphasizes the Daoist principle of "natural non-action" (wuwei): the highest actions leave no trace, the most perfect speech bears no fault, the subtlest calculations need no tools, and the strongest bonds require no ropes. All these stem from the state of unity with the Dao.

This passage expounds the Daoist concept of the Dao's omnipresence and the equality of all things, along with the sage's all-encompassing attitude toward creation.

Laozi believed all things emerge from the formless Dao (the Way). Life manifests through nine-aperture womb-born creatures and eight-aperture egg-born creatures—their emergence leaves no trace, their growth knows no bounds, as if freely moving through infinite space. The true Dao regards "not coming" as "coming" and "not going" as "going," allowing the spirit (Shen) to roam freely in a realm beyond traces.

In the Zhi Bei You chapter, Zhuangzi illustrates through a dialogue with Dongguozi that the Dao is present everywhere—from ants and weeds to tiles and excrement. The humbler the thing, the more it reveals the Dao's universality. Though the Dao itself is sublime and mysterious, it makes no distinctions between noble and base in the myriad things, allowing each to exist according to its inherent nature.

Sages excel at aiding others, so they abandon no one; they skillfully utilize all things, so they discard nothing. Just as the Chu general Zifa, mentioned in the Huainanzi, was adept at recruiting talents of all kinds, the wise can take even the unworthy as a mirror for reflection. Even seemingly useless things like tiles and weeds have their purpose—this embodies the principle of "constantly saving things."

The virtuous serve as teachers for the unvirtuous, while the unvirtuous become resources for the virtuous to reflect upon. This reflects the Daoist philosophy of universal equality, where all things have their place and function.

This passage expounds the Daoist concept of "spontaneous self-transformation" (duhua ziran). The core idea suggests that the highest attainment lies neither in deliberately venerating teachers nor clinging to external resources—appearing muddled yet profoundly attuned to subtle mysteries.

Zhuangzi employs the metaphor of form and shadow: just as snakes relying on belly scales or cicadas depending on wings lose their intrinsic nature through external dependence, true wisdom requires no such attachments. The enlightened follow their innate nature spontaneously. Thus, reclusive sages transcending worldly conventions demonstrate this state of "spontaneous self-transformation," proving that original nature is inherently complete—why forcibly pursue external veneration or resources?

Two illustrative analogies follow:

First, Bole (the legendary horse expert Sun Yang of the Spring-Autumn period) could never transform an inferior horse into a thousand-mile steed. Second, even the finest carpenter cannot craft fetid ailanthus (the foul-smelling, gnarled tree mentioned by Huizi) or porous oak into ridgepole timber. Zhuangzi thereby reveals all things possess inherent nature: though ailanthus defies the carpenter’s square and compass, its very "uselessness" spares it from felling, allowing unfettered growth across open wilderness. Like yaks too massive to catch mice—why demand such capability? Let great trees flourish in untrodden plains where people rest leisurely beneath their shade—is this not the finest destiny?

These examples collectively demonstrate true wisdom lies in harmonizing with innate nature rather than forced alteration. Inferior horses needn’t become prized steeds; ailanthus needn’t serve as structural beams. Preserving authentic states ultimately grants genuine freedom.

The Zhuangzi·Human World records a story: Artisan Shi (a carpenter named Shi) traveled to the state of Qi. When passing through a winding mountain path called Quyuan, he saw an enormous oak tree whose shade could shelter a thousand oxen. Its trunk was so thick it would take a hundred men to encircle it (with a diameter of a hundred feet), and its height nearly reached the mountaintop (about seventy feet). Its branches only began to fork high above the ground, with over a dozen limbs large enough to build ships. Crowds gathered to marvel at it as if at a marketplace, yet Artisan Shi walked past without even glancing at it.

His apprentice, however, couldn’t take his eyes off it and chased after his master, asking, "I’ve been learning carpentry from you for so long, yet I’ve never seen such magnificent timber. Why didn’t you even look at it?" Artisan Shi replied, "Enough—this tree is utterly useless. A ship made from it would sink, a coffin would rot quickly, doors or windows would ooze resin (its sap makes it unsuitable for crafting), and pillars would be eaten by insects. It’s an unworthy tree, and it’s precisely because it’s useless that it’s grown so large and old."

Here, the tree serves as a metaphor for the principles of master-disciple transmission: when encountering someone with innate talent, they can be taught to become "useful timber," just as fine wood can be crafted into beams. But if their nature is unsuitable, even a master like Bole couldn’t train a nag into a thousand-mile steed, nor could the finest carpenter transform a stinking ailanthus or oak into quality lumber.

The Liezi records that Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) studied under Lao Shangshi and befriended Bo Gaozi, eventually attaining the state of "riding the wind"—a sign that his internal and external cultivation had reached a profound level.

The Liezi·Yellow Emperor Chapter recounts: Liezi studied under Lao Shangshi and formed a friendship with Bo Gaozi. After mastering their Daoist methods, he could ride the wind home. A man named Yin Sheng heard of this and stayed with Liezi for months without returning home, repeatedly begging to learn the technique but being refused. Frustrated, Yin Sheng decided to leave, and Liezi didn’t stop him. Months later, Yin Sheng returned, and Liezi asked, "Why do you come and go like this?" Yin Sheng replied, "Earlier, I resented you for not teaching me. But now I’ve reflected and returned." Liezi said, "I once thought you had deep understanding, but it seems you’re quite shallow. Sit, and I’ll tell you of my learning experience—after serving my teacher and befriending fellow practitioners for three years, I finally reached a state where my heart no longer dwelled on judgments of right and wrong."

This passage describes the gradual process of a Daoist practitioner transcending worldly distinctions of right and wrong through a dialogue between Confucius and his disciples.

At the initial stage of cultivation, when the disciple still harbored thoughts of right and wrong in his mind while cautiously avoiding discussions of gain and loss, Confucius merely glanced at him indifferently. After five years, as the disciple began to let go of such dualistic thinking and could speak openly about worldly matters, Confucius finally smiled approvingly. Seven years later, when the disciple's heart no longer distinguished right from wrong and his speech no longer concerned profit and loss, Confucius invited him to sit beside him as an equal. After nine years, both mind and speech became completely transcendent—the disciple became unaware of either his own or others' notions of right and wrong, gain or loss. He even forgot Confucius was his teacher and others were his friends, achieving the state of inner and outer unity.

At this stage, sensory distinctions dissolved completely. The concentrated spirit caused the physical form to melt away—bones and flesh seemed to dissolve, with no awareness of bodily support or where the feet touched ground. Drifting with the wind like withered leaves or empty husks, one couldn't discern whether the wind carried him or he rode the wind. Reflecting on how the disciple had complained frequently during early training, Confucius remarked that such a mindset wouldn't even be accepted by the Qi (vital energy), nor borne by the earth—how could it possibly attain the state of wind-riding? The disciple, ashamed, remained silent for a long time.

The passage then references a story from the Zhuangzi's "Mountain Trees" chapter about Confucius' hardship in Chen and Cai. The Duke of Tai uses the metaphor of the "sluggish bird" of the Eastern Sea—it flies slowly, neither leading nor lagging behind; when feeding, it never competes to be first, thus avoiding calamity. Just as straight trees get felled first and sweet wells run dry earliest, this illustrates the Daoist principle of concealing one's sharpness and embracing softness.

The commentary notes that genuine Daoist practitioners ultimately reach the state of "not valuing their teacher nor cherishing their resources," where even the teacher-disciple relationship is naturally forgotten—like Liezi's complete unity with his teacher Lao Shangshi. It was precisely this realization that later led Confucius to bid farewell to friends and dismiss his disciples.

This scripture conveys two main teachings:

The first layer uses the story of the Yellow Emperor seeking the Dao to illustrate how deliberately pursuing fame and wisdom leads to losing one's original nature. Like a well that dries up faster the more it's adorned and flaunted, truly wise individuals (Great Accomplished Ones) understand that self-promotion yields no real merit, and achievements with fame will ultimately fade. Only by relinquishing worldly success and living with the simplicity and naturalness of ordinary people can one connect with the Great Dao. Consider the hermits Confucius praised—wearing coarse cloth, eating wild fruits, harmoniously coexisting with birds and beasts—even animals didn't dislike them, let alone humans.

The second layer references the story of the Yellow Emperor seeking the Dao from the Zhuangzi's "Xu Wugui" chapter. The Yellow Emperor, accompanied by six wise ministers (seven sages in total), journeyed to Mount Jucí to visit the Great Taoist Master Dawei (an idealized Daoist adept). Yet they lost their way in the outskirts of Xiangcheng. There, they encountered a horse-tending youth who not only knew Mount Jucí's location but also where Dawei resided. When the Yellow Emperor asked about governing the world, the youth replied: "Governing the world is as simple and natural as tending horses—why force it?"

Finally, it cites the wisdom of the Daodejing: "Know honor, yet keep to humility." Using the growth of plants as a metaphor: when vegetation flourishes (honor), one must remember to stay low (humility), remaining as open and receptive as a valley. Only then can one preserve the constant virtue (chang de) of one's true nature and return to the simplicity of the origin (pu). As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states, the transformations of heaven and earth make plants thrive, but their roots remain firmly in the soil.

This passage elucidates the principles governing celestial movements and sage governance. When the two energies of Yin and Yang (the fundamental forces of heaven and earth) intermingle harmoniously, they nourish all beings, causing plants to flourish abundantly. Just as unworked timber (pu) transforms into useful vessels through craftsmanship, sages employ these natural laws to administer the world, ensuring that perfected institutions never violate the intrinsic nature of things.

The Analects records an exchange where Zigong asked Confucius: "What do you think of me?" The Master replied: "You are like a vessel." When Zigong pressed to know what kind, Confucius likened him to a hulian (an exquisite jade ritual vessel used in ancestral temples for grain offerings). Here, the precious ceremonial object symbolizes the value of cultivated talent.

Chapter 29 teaches that those who attempt to seize the world by force and govern according to personal will inevitably fail. Consider Emperor Shun's example: After Emperor Yao's passing, Shun voluntarily withdrew south of the Yellow River, yet feudal lords and commoners spontaneously rallied to him—this authority wasn't seized through might. As Mencius records, Shun assisted Yao in governing for twenty-eight years, an arrangement determined by heavenly decree rather than human coercion. After completing the three-year mourning period, Shun again withdrew, but when legal disputes and folk songs all pointed to his virtue, he finally ascended the throne in accordance with celestial will and popular sentiment.

The empire is a sacred vessel (shenqi, denoting imperial authority) that cannot be forcibly possessed. Those who seize it violently will surely fail; those who cling too tightly will ultimately lose it. The throne is a divine treasure bestowed by heaven and earth. The Book of Changes states that the great virtue of the cosmos lies in nurturing all things, while the sage's supreme treasure is attaining proper position—which can only be maintained through benevolent virtue (De). This demonstrates that celestial spirits govern the empire's mandate—how could military force ever secure it? Even temporary possession must eventually be relinquished—shouldn't this inspire utmost caution? Zhuangzi's account of Tian Gen's travels through the Shang capital further confirms this truth.

Tian Gen (an allegorical figure) was wandering by the Liao River at the southern foot of Mount Yin when he encountered a recluse named "Nameless One." When Tian Gen asked him about methods of governing the world, Nameless One rebuked him: "How can you, a vulgar man, raise such a tiresome question?" He then revealed that true governance lies in maintaining a serene mind, following natural laws without selfish desires—only then can peace prevail naturally in the world.

This passage draws from the allegory in Zhuangzi's "The Responsive Ruler" chapter: excessively carving seven orifices (symbolizing artificial intervention) ultimately killed Hundun (the primordial state of chaos). Just as whipping a horse may seem to drive it forward, it actually exhausts its vitality. Thus, the sage ruler must avoid three extremes: excess, extravagance, and arrogance.

Confucius exemplifies this principle—he never acted excessively (as recorded in Mencius' "Li Lou" chapter). Regarding rituals, Confucius believed frugality was preferable to extravagance (Analects 3.4). Mencius also cited Shun, who accepted Yao's abdication of the throne without feeling it excessive, as it aligned with righteousness ("Teng Wen Gong" chapter). These examples illustrate how rulers who indulge in these three extremes inevitably court ruin, which is why sages diligently avoid them.

This passage discusses how practitioners of the Dao should maintain a state of emptiness and naturalness. The term "chongxu" (referring to an ethereal, empty stillness within) means keeping oneself in a state free from attachment or forced effort, while "zishou" means guarding one's original mind without being swayed by external things. By achieving this state, one can merge with the Great Dao (the supreme truth in Daoism) and attain the state of "hezhen" (unity with the Dao).

Naturally, this prevents excessive desires and attachments from arising, freeing one from various afflictions. The entire passage emphasizes that the core of cultivation lies in maintaining inner purity and wuwei (non-action), avoiding excessive pursuit of external things, thereby achieving harmony with the Dao.

The "Daode Zhenjing Yanyi Shouchao" is a Yuan Dynasty Daoist commentary on the "Daode Jing." This passage comes from its seventh volume, primarily explaining Laozi's concept of "reaching the ultimate emptiness" and "maintaining profound stillness."