《道德篇章玄頌》

The "Mystical Hymn of Dao-De Chapters" elucidates the essence of Dao (the Way) in the Daode Jing and the essential techniques for self-cultivation.

The opening passage clarifies that ordinary principles should not be equated with the true Dao, nor should common labels tarnish the name of the "Great Dao." The scripture emphasizes that only by maintaining a state of desirelessness can one comprehend the essence of Dao; deliberate striving only obscures wisdom. The key to spiritual practice lies in preserving inner purity and tranquility, cultivating oneself before emotions and desires arise.

It further explains that truly virtuous individuals do not flaunt their goodness, and the greatest achievements stem from humility. Just as Fan Li retreated to the Five Lakes after achieving fame, Dao practitioners should embrace simplicity. The text critiques the superficial trends of exalting talent and pursuing treasures, advocating instead for discarding gold and jewels in mountain streams to return to one's natural state.

Ultimately, the scripture reveals that the true meaning of Dao lies in concealing fame and preserving one's original nature. Like Zhuangzi, who concealed his brilliance while serving as a lowly official in the Lacquer Garden, or Laozi, who remained detached at the Hangu Pass, practitioners should blunt their sharp edges and blend with the mundane world. Through the cultivation of an empty mind and a nourished core, one attains the state of Wuwei (non-action) governance—the genuine realm of blessed grotto-heavens.

(Note: "Lacquer Garden" refers to Zhuangzi's minor official post; "Hangu" denotes the Hangu Pass where Laozi departed; "Three Elixirs" signifies Neidan (internal alchemy) in Daoist practice; "Five Lakes" indicates the Taihu region where Fan Li retreated.)

Master Yin Xi, the guardian of Hangu Pass, maintained a mind as clear as still water while dwelling in the mundane world. Through cultivating the Dao, he attained longevity like the ancient great toon tree, forever vibrant with vitality. His presence resembled a precious jade tree guarding eternal spring, embodying the characteristic of the Dao existing prior to all things. The scripture commentary explains that the Dao's eternal existence stems from maintaining a state of emptiness and wuwei (non-action), never exhausting spirit or energy through desires—this teaches practitioners to emulate the Dao's nature in self-cultivation.

Though heaven and earth appear indifferent, they treat all things equally, showing no partiality even toward straw dogs used in sacrifices. The commentary clarifies that while heaven and earth nurture all beings (with humans being most honored), they demand no repayment, maintaining impartiality as with sacrificial straw dogs.

The space between heaven and earth brims with formless primordial Qi, allowing all things to grow naturally. If humans can eliminate desires, moderate food intake, and purify the five viscera, the Shen (spirit) will dwell peacefully within. Cherishing Qi, nurturing Jing (essence), and preserving Shen depend fundamentally on upholding De (virtue) and restraining speech. As the scripture states, excessive words lead to trouble—maintaining inner emptiness proves wiser. The commentary further advises cultivating inner virtue, nourishing spirit, treasuring Qi, and avoiding idle talk.

The Valley Spirit (the Dao's mysterious function) is the source of all creation, while the Mysterious Feminine (the yin-yang gateway of heaven and earth) marks the abode of immortality. The commentary explains this deathless secret lies in the "Mysterious Feminine"—where "Mysterious" represents heaven (corresponding to the human nose) and "Feminine" signifies earth (corresponding to the mouth). Transcending worldly distractions while harmonizing genuine Qi causes the six emotions to melt like ice; when the five virtues (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness) reach perfection, they exude fragrance like citrus. The commentary notes these five virtues correspond to the Hun (ethereal soul), while the six emotions relate to the Po (corporeal soul). Purifying emotions and perfecting the five virtues unlocks the Mysterious Feminine's secrets.

Applying the Dao should feel both present and absent—when merit reaches completion, one naturally perceives the Supreme Void Emperor (the Dao's manifestation). The commentary explains the Mysterious Feminine's function is subtle and unfathomable; its application seems simultaneously existent and nonexistent. Because it follows ziran (natural spontaneity) and wuwei, it never feels laborious.

The mystery behind heaven and earth's enduring existence lies in eliminating arrogance and contention. The commentary observes that despite creating and nurturing countless beings without claiming merit, heaven and earth achieve lastingness precisely through this humility.

This scripture elucidates the core Daoist principles of Wuwei (non-action) and humility, illustrating through various parables the wisdom of conforming to nature and embracing non-contention.

It begins by stating that humans should recognize their origin in the Dao (cosmic source) and refrain from boasting personal achievements. Like water that willingly occupies low places yet endures longest, apparent retreat often accomplishes greater good. The Daodejing commentary explains that sages put others first, forget themselves, and preserve life through detachment. Just as insects curl in soil to conceal their strength, or fine jade hides its luster within mountains, emulating such selfless qualities ensures one's words and deeds never stray from the Great Dao.

Chapter Eight employs water as metaphor: Supreme goodness flows like water—yielding yet unstoppable by obstacles, penetrating clouds to leave dark valleys without favoring imperial canals over willow-lined streams. Water nurtures all things impartially, circulating ceaselessly. The commentary notes that wise governance mimics water adapting to containers, rounding squares and softening edges—a superior approach to Emperor Qin's forced quest for elixirs.

Chapter Nine warns against complacency: The void mind fears fullness; never let wealth alter intrinsic nature. Commentaries state fullness invites collapse, while pride in riches courts disaster. Examples contrast Gongsun Hong's humility bringing blessings and Wu Rui's caution preserving rank with Fan Li sailing Five Lakes and Zhang Liang's grain-avoiding transcendence, proving reputation endures only when withdrawing after success.

Chapter Ten discusses self-cultivation and statecraft: Maintain mind-body unity ("embracing the One"), govern through Wuwei (non-action), thereby calming the three Hun (Daoist soul aspects) to prolong life while understanding without ostentation. The commentary clarifies that Wuwei governance naturally attracts people's allegiance.

This passage elucidates the Daoist principle of maintaining inner purity and returning to original simplicity. Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) paradoxically attain a childlike state free from discrimination. By concentrating on preserving their Shen (spirit) and maintaining the integrity of their Qi (vital energy), they avoid losing this pristine condition through divisive thoughts. As Daoist commentaries explain, focusing on harmonizing the internal Qi to a state of softness allows practitioners to return to an infant's pure, uncluttered state of mind.

Achieving merit without claiming credit exemplifies the manifestation of profound De (Virtue). The scriptures clarify that while the great Dao nurtures all things, it never seeks to dominate them—just as uncarved wood remains free from being fashioned into tools. A ruler who governs without unnecessary interference embodies this profound Xuan De (Mysterious Virtue).

The wheel metaphor follows: Thirty spokes converge upon the hollow hub, embodying profound metaphysical truth. Commentaries reveal these spokes symbolize the lunar cycle, while their convergence in emptiness mirrors how adepts must empty their five viscera of desires to allow the Shen to return. Similarly, governing requires skillfully uniting collective strength.

Clay vessels gain function through their hollow centers; doors and windows permit passage because of their emptiness. These exemplify the Dao of "emptiness." By abstaining from disputes, silently cultivating primordial nature, relinquishing greed, and maintaining meditative focus, one achieves unity. When the heart seeks nothing, people naturally trust—this is the transcendent state of carefree wandering. The commentaries emphasize how emptiness governs form.

A warning about sensory desires: By disregarding visual stimuli, the six passions (from eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) naturally subside. Sages cultivate inner nourishment ("feeding the belly") over sensory indulgence ("serving the eyes"). Craving delicacies leads to reckless speech; indulging hunting-like desires drives the Shen to frenzy. Commentaries critique those obsessed with worldly affairs as being like hunters chasing prey—actually enslaved by their own madness.

Transcendents aspire to crane-like purity, while worldly indulgence invites obstructive gales. Abandoning desires preserves true nature; contentment with simplicity enables carefree wandering without mountain seclusion. True liberation lies in mental state, not external form.

Laozi makes it abundantly clear in the Daode Jing: Whether receiving favor or suffering disgrace, both disturb the tranquility of one's Shen (spirit). Just as Yi Yin (the wise minister of the Shang dynasty) carried his cauldron to assist King Tang, or Fan Li (the strategist of the Spring and Autumn period) retreated by boat after achieving merit, truly wise individuals understand the importance of withdrawing at the height of success.

The Dao is profoundly mysterious and beyond description—it is neither a specific color (blue, yellow, red, white, or black) nor a fixed musical note (Gong, Shang, Jue, Zhi, or Yu), nor any particular form (long, short, large, or small). Only by relinquishing selfish desires and attachments can one grasp the true essence of the Dao. The Dao is neither bright nor dark; it transcends distinctions of high and low, flowing through and connecting all things.

Ancient adepts who attained the Dao (those who achieved mastery in cultivation) could commune with the heavenly Dao. Their state of being was unfathomably profound—appearing foolish yet embodying great wisdom, cautious as if crossing a winter river yet free as melting snow. This was because they remained untainted by worldly desires, thus maintaining a serene and composed mind.

This passage explains how Daoist practitioners can approach the state of Dao (the Way) by eliminating desires and maintaining emptiness and stillness. Practitioners should dissolve emotional attachments and obsessions gradually, like thin ice melting in springtime, until achieving inner purity. Just as turbid water naturally clarifies when left undisturbed, practitioners must preserve their original authenticity without deliberately pursuing lofty ideals, harmonizing with ordinary people without arrogance.

The key to maintaining this state of emptiness and stillness lies in not striving for perfection. If one clings to "purity" in pursuit of longevity, they will instead lose the Dao. Those who truly attain the Dao abide in simplicity, never flaunting their achievements. When the mind reaches profound stillness, it becomes like an empty valley that embraces all things, aligning one's De (Virtue/Power) with the heavenly Dao. In this way, one attains lasting peace and avoids danger.

The best form of governance follows the natural Wuwei (non-action) of ancient times. The ruler, like the sun illuminating all things, accomplishes great deeds without claiming credit. The people live in peace and prosperity yet remain unaware of being governed, just as farming and digging wells arise naturally. This governance embodies the wisdom of the "Supreme One" (Taishang, the highest state), preserving the innate simplicity and sincerity of human nature.

This passage discusses the decline of the Great Dao (the Way) and the moral degradation of society, while pointing toward the path of returning to natural authenticity through cultivation.

When people use the term "Dao" daily yet remain unaware of its true existence—believing everything occurs spontaneously—this represents the greatest ignorance. Departing from the simple and genuine original nature leads to losing touch with the true Dao, ultimately disrupting the grand cosmic order.

Ancient commentaries explain that as virtue (De) gradually deteriorates, rulers impose oppressive governance, burdening the people. When punishments are then used to intimidate, fear drives deception among the populace, while those in power remain oblivious. If rulers were sincere, officials impartial, and the people prosperous, how could such open deceit occur?

Only after the Great Dao was abandoned did people begin emphasizing humaneness and righteousness (just as filial piety stands out only when family harmony is broken). A ruler governing like someone driving six horses with a rotten rein cannot compare to the effortless governance (Wuwei) of ancient times when knots on ropes sufficed for record-keeping. When society prizes cleverness (as in the phrase "talent towering eight dou high"), hypocrisy flourishes; when loyal ministers are buried alive (like Duke Mu of Qin sacrificing three virtuous officials), it signals national decline. Only by returning to the Great Dao can one shine like the sun, dimming the stars by comparison.

True cultivation requires discarding sagely wisdom (cutting off artificial cleverness), roaming free like Zhuangzi while preserving one's genuine nature. Just as the sacred turtle drags its tail contentedly in the mud, or the "useless" tree escapes the ax, reducing selfish desires ("fewer desires, simpler heart") returns one to purity—where the inner alchemical platform (the realm of heart-mind cultivation) becomes the Jade Capital, the highest Daoist paradise. Only by severing worldly learning can one attain carefree serenity, achieved through accumulating merit and realizing enlightenment in heart-mind cultivation.

The text references historical figures: "Zhuang Sou" denotes Zhuangzi; Mi Heng was an unrestrained Eastern Han scholar; and the "Three Virtuous Ones" were Qin's three sacrificed ministers—all serving to illustrate its arguments.

The Daode Jing teaches that only by relinquishing worldly knowledge can one be free from vexations. The human mind naturally gives rise to thoughts of good and evil, but excessive fixation on these distinctions only breeds distress. Without severing such attachments, endless calamities will arise.

People constantly scheme with clever calculations, establishing countless rules and systems—when will such contention ever cease? The masses drown in sensual pleasures and desires—when will such indulgence ever end? True cultivators maintain inner purity; though they may appear dull and simple, they are actually cutting off worldly entanglements. Those who consider themselves clever, flaunting their cunning all day, only heap more worries upon themselves.

Those with great wisdom may seem foolish and clumsy on the surface, as if they understand nothing, yet their hearts are already awakened. This state of being far surpasses the delusional quest of Emperor Qin Shi Huang, who sent envoys across the seas in search of the mythical Penglai Isles.

Those of true virtue possess vast and open hearts, capable of embracing all things. Even when faced with filth, they remain humble and harmonious. Though they dwell in the mundane world, they steadfastly uphold the heart of cultivation. The Great Dao may seem elusive and formless, yet it gives birth to the myriad things; though unfathomably profound, it contains the essence of life. Know that the supreme Dao is eternal—like the ancient chun tree, forever verdant, or the spring within a cave that never withers.

Those who understand yielding and bending will ultimately preserve themselves. Excessive wealth only confuses the mind—only by guarding against this can one become a sage of true understanding. Just as Zhang Liang (strategist of the early Han dynasty) relied on wisdom for his far-reaching plans, and Fan Li (advisor of the Spring and Autumn period) chose to sail away after achieving success. Those who do not boast of themselves can truly accomplish great deeds; those who transcend right and wrong have no need to flaunt their merits.

The "Mysterious Hymns of Dao-De Chapters" elucidates the qualities of humility, naturalness, and non-contention that practitioners should cultivate.

Regarding the Dao of humility, the scripture reveals that sages never presume their own correctness nor belittle others, thus their virtue shines forth in the world. Just as water naturally gathers in low-lying places, only those who remain humble can accumulate De (Virtue/Power). If one maintains simplicity, modesty, and cultivates virtue in silence, the realm of immortals—like jade trees and celestial terraces—will manifest within the heart, with no need for external pursuit.

Chapter twenty-three discusses the principle of "rare speech and naturalness" (xiyan ziran). "Rare speech" does not mean abandoning words entirely, but rather using them to comprehend the Dao, ultimately reaching a state of naturalness beyond attachment to language. Sadly, many lose themselves in ego, like monkeys trapped in worldly snares. Only those awakened to the Dao can soar freely, like a white crane released from its cage. Violent storms do not last all day—likewise, practitioners should maintain inner stillness, like the bright moon in a cloudless night sky.

Chapter twenty-four warns against self-display. Those who deliberately flaunt their talents or elevate themselves only reveal their own ugliness and shallowness. Truly wise individuals conceal their traces, preserving their true nature while avoiding the calamities brought by vanity. Practitioners must guard against judgments that breed resentment and, above all, abstain from pride and complacency, keeping the mind pure and tranquil.

(Note: "Jade trees and celestial terraces" (qiongshu yaotai) symbolize immortal abodes; "spiritual platform" (lingtai) refers to the heart-mind; "rare speech" (xiyan) denotes either speaking sparingly or transcending language—all key concepts in Daoist cultivation.)

The Daoist scriptures state that those who are self-righteous and arrogant cannot maintain clarity in their spiritual platform (referring to the mind) for long. Do not teach others to harm people, and they will naturally revere you. Those who truly attain the Dao (the Way) will withdraw from worldly affairs like the ancient hermits Chao Fu and Xu You, never looking back.

The commentary explains that those who are self-righteous and ostentatious, if they hold high positions, are quick to harm others. Thus, all things fear and despise them. A person of true Dao would not remain in such a country.

In the chapter "There Was Something Undifferentiated," it is mentioned that the immortal mountains Penglai and Yingzhou are difficult to reach, with the vast sea churning in turbulent waves. People like Xu Fu (sent by Emperor Qin Shi Huang to seek elixirs), who are reckless and ignorant, waste their efforts in vainly searching for these immortal mountains. One must understand that the Four Great Elements (earth, water, fire, and wind) form the laws of all things in the world.

The scriptures say that the Dao is great, heaven is great, earth is great, and the king is also great. This is because the king follows the laws of earth, and earth follows the laws of heaven. The Three Pure Heavens (the highest celestial realms in Daoism) are not far away—the key lies in the human heart.

The commentary explains that the wondrous functions of the Dao are boundless, and it is impossible to force a name upon it. If you pursue it from a grand perspective, it will recede; if you chase it from afar, you will never catch up. If you can grasp this truth, you will realize that the Dao is actually within your own body and mind, verifiable through personal experience.

Emperor Qin Shi Huang's forceful search for elixirs was futile, and Emperor Wu of Han's exhausting efforts to refine the Golden Elixir (Jindan) were in vain. To recognize the true source, one must understand the principle of stillness, like the ancients who brushed their sleeves and retreated to the mountains and forests.

The commentary points out that humans should emulate the earth's quiet and gentle nature. To fully comprehend the truth of stillness, only those who sever worldly ties and cultivate in seclusion can penetrate it.

In the chapter "Heaviness Is the Root of Lightness," it is said that the Dao is like a heavy supply wagon—it cannot be separated from the body. Those who understand this principle know that stillness is the foundation.

The commentary explains that a supply wagon carries weight, and those who are frivolous and impatient should value stillness. Just as an army must protect its supplies—losing them leads to hunger and cold—those who indulge in frivolity invite disaster. The scriptures say stillness governs impatience.

Those with many desires are endlessly troubled, like tightly woven fabric; those with few desires, like lofty sages, are as free as clouds in the sky. Emperor Wen of Han's frugality and simplicity brought prosperity to the nation, while King Zhou of Shang's debauchery tainted the classics.

The commentary notes that the imperial palace is where consorts reside, and those who follow the Dao will distance themselves from such places. Emperor Wen of Han lived simply—even his consort Lady Shen did not let her robes drag on the ground. King Zhou of Shang, however, was bewitched by Daji's beauty and indulged in unrestrained pleasure.

To reach the state of no-mind (non-attachment) and harmonize with all things is like the white gulls on the river, undisturbed. In ancient times, a man entered an island, and because his mind was free of distractions, the gulls were unafraid of him. But when he conceived the thought of catching them, they flew away and never returned.

In the chapter "Skillful Action," it is said that those who truly understand the profound mysteries need not leave their homes, for their hearts are already as free as drifting clouds.

Those skilled in cultivating the Dao need not leave their halls or homes to perceive their true nature amidst various methods. Ordinary people obsess over smelting the Golden Elixir (Waidan, external alchemy) or traversing mountains seeking immortal herbs, unaware that seated meditation alone can reveal celestial mysteries. The misguided toil at compounding Five-Mineral Powder (a toxic immortality elixir popular in Wei-Jin dynasties) or wander the four seas seeking masters—all contrary to the Great Dao.

True cultivation embodies five skills: the adept mover leaves no tracks, the adept speaker makes no faults, the adept planner needs no counting tools, the adept closer requires no bolts, the adept binder uses no cords. When these five skills are subtly applied, one may ultimately behold the Celestial Worthy of Primordial Beginning (one of the highest Daoist deities) in the Three Heavens (highest Daoist celestial realms).

Though Emperor Wu of Han longed for immortality, he never transcended worldly attachments. Squandering treasures on elixirs, he dreamed of Penglai's fairy isles yet gained nothing. True awakening requires no external search—yet deceived by charlatans like Li Shaojun and Luan Da, his efforts proved vain. The sunset breeze over Maoling (his mausoleum) mocks such futile pursuits.

The Daode Jing states: "Knowing strength yet abiding in softness." Recognizing strength is easy; maintaining softness is hard. Cultivation requires infant-like purity and unshakable vital energy (Qi). Rather than chasing fame, better to quietly nurture the Three Dantian (upper/middle/lower energy centers).

True adepts don't shun impurity—like Ding Lingwei (Daoist immortal) who transformed into a crane dwelling among mortals—yet remain wary of glory, as one ascends the Altar of Heaven with reverence. Sages govern nations through the Dao without harming people, and cultivate themselves through the Dao without exhausting their spirit (Shen).

Those who force their rule upon the world inevitably fail. Sage-kings establish lasting peace precisely because they never force—hence never lose. Like Emperor Wen of Han who despised extravagance (his consort Shen夫人's robes never touched the ground), enduring virtue lies in embracing frugality.

Emperor Yao, the sage ruler of antiquity, though dwelling in a humble thatched cottage with earthen steps, ascended the throne with reverent awe. He understood that a ruler's words were like silken ribbons that would guide the multitudes of states to follow. This echoes the teaching in the Dao De Jing: the conduct of those above inevitably becomes the model for those below.

A true minister who assists the sovereign with Dao would never rely on military force to dominate the world. Just as barren fields require fallow periods for restoration, warfare turns fertile lands into brambles where nothing can grow. Since victory and defeat remain unpredictable, the use of arms demands utmost caution.

Wise counselors know when to halt conflicts, focusing instead on comforting the people and uniting communities. Even after successfully repelling enemies, one should never become complacent, for arrogance inevitably leads to downfall. Resolving conflicts through profound foresight represents the highest form of ministerial service—why flaunt military achievements?

Chapter 31 of the Dao De Jing states: "Fine weapons are instruments of ill omen." Competing through force proves inferior to mastering stillness. Emperor Yao exemplified the virtue of Wuwei (non-action), pacifying the realm without resorting to arms, governing simply by folding his robes and clasping his hands. The people thereby received blessings, and his imperial legacy flourished. Preserving his earthen steps while melting down weapons into plowshares, he became an eternal model for rulers.

In stark contrast, Emperor Qin Shi Huang—who violated Daoist principles—united the realm through cunning strategies but sowed the seeds of disaster through insatiable ambition. Shortly after constructing the Great Wall, his successor was murdered by Zhao Gao in the Wangyi Palace. Thus we witness the consequences of opposing the Dao.

Chapter 32 of the Dao De Jing teaches: "Though Dao appears simple and subtle, none in the world dare treat it lightly." Should feudal lords and kings preserve Dao's pristine unity, they could pacify all people. Like rivers naturally flowing to the sea that humbly occupies the lowest position, governance requires few words when allowing all things to develop spontaneously.

The commentary on the Daode Jing explains that when rulers (marquis-kings) maintain inner purity and govern by following the Dao's principle of Wuwei (non-action), all things will naturally submit. Just as when De (Virtue) manifests, all rivers flow to the sea of their own accord. The Dao operates in the world, resonating with human actions like mountain streams naturally connecting to rivers and oceans. By implementing governance through non-action, all things spontaneously yield.

If a ruler can uphold a mind singularly devoted to the Dao in its purest form, heaven and earth will harmonize in balance. The interplay of Yin-Yang brings auspiciousness, even causing sweet dew—a symbol of divine favor—to descend, nourishing fragrant orchids and thoroughworts. Without the need for forced edicts, fairness naturally prevails, like a gentle spring breeze nurturing all things. Those who comprehend the governing principles of ancient sages like Fuxi and the Yellow Emperor can illuminate the world eternally, bathing all under heaven in perpetual spring light.

Chapter 33 states, "To know others is wisdom," clarifying that true wisdom lies in discerning good from evil. The commentary elaborates: recognizing the virtues and flaws of others is wisdom, but understanding one’s own worth and limitations is true clarity. Flaunting oneself or suppressing others merely relies on power, whereas only by shedding selfish desires can one perceive the true self. The commentary further explains that subduing others through force is mere coercion, but conquering one’s own desires marks genuine strength.

Those like Yuan An, content with their lot, find poverty richer than wealth; those like Shu Guang, indifferent to fame, discover greater nobility in retreat. The commentary notes that true wealth belongs to the contented, and those who persevere in virtuous deeds align themselves with the Dao, which in turn favors them. Silent cultivators who achieve without fanfare bring enduring benefit to all. It adds that those who practice moderation in nurturing life, preserving their innate Qi (vital energy), may attain longevity akin to heaven and earth.

Chapter 34 describes the Dao’s vast inclusiveness, impartially nurturing all things. The commentary stresses that all beings arise from the Dao and cannot be measured by worldly standards. Though all things return to their source, the Dao never claims lordship. It explains that while all existence depends on the Dao’s transformative workings, the Dao never boasts of its achievements.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)." The sage emulates the Dao (the Way), concealing his virtues (De) and avoiding fame, maintaining constant humility. Just as Emperor Shun governed the world by playing the zither to transform all beings, reviving plants and trees with the gentle spring breeze.

The scripture mentions "holding the Great Image (grasping the root of Dao)," whereby the world naturally submits. The Dao has no form or appearance—it cannot be seen like the five colors or heard like the five tones. Governing a state with Dao brings prosperity, while cultivating it within oneself extends longevity; such effects are boundless.

Chapter 36 discusses the principle of restraining desires: first allow greed to expand to its extreme, then let it dissolve naturally. Softness ultimately overcomes hardness, as exemplified by Zhang Liang of the Han Dynasty who retreated to practice grain avoidance after achieving merit, or Fan Li of Yue who withdrew after success, leaving the king to commemorate him with a golden statue. Only by understanding how to accord with the times can one accomplish great deeds and leave an enduring legacy.

The final chapter emphasizes that "the Dao constantly does nothing (Wuwei), yet nothing is left undone." Heaven and earth operate spontaneously, and all things grow naturally without human interference. Those who comprehend this principle attain the state of "teaching without speaking, accomplishing without acting."

In the Dao De Jing, Laozi teaches that the great Dao (the fundamental principle of the universe) appears to do nothing, yet there is nothing it does not accomplish. All things transform naturally through the movement of the Dao, yet some rulers (feudal lords) attempt to govern through cunning and artificial means.

A truly enlightened sovereign should lead by example, pacifying the people through De (the natural and effortless law of the Dao). Just as the divine land of China was once imbued with pure simplicity, when those in power uphold the way of Wuwei (non-action), all states under heaven will return to tranquility and harmony.

If a ruler implements governance through Wuwei, auspicious signs will manifest in the world: rain nourishes all things in due season, clear springs emerge spontaneously, thatched roofs embody the virtue of frugality, and sacred mushrooms and auspicious plants grow naturally. These phenomena are all responses to the ruler’s serene and virtuous conduct.

When an entire nation follows the way of Wuwei, the world naturally returns to the right path. This profound teaching can stabilize a dynasty’s foundation, establishing a legacy that lasts for generations. As commentaries on the Dao De Jing explain, if one truly governs through Wuwei, the world will naturally settle into peace and order.

The Mysterious Hymn of Dao and De Chapters elucidates the distinction between "superior virtue" (shangde) and "inferior virtue" (xiade), along with the Daoist governing principle of "non-action" (wuwei).

Genuine superior virtue expects no recompense—the moment one seeks reward for benevolence, it descends into inferior virtue. A ruler who aligns with the Dao (yingdao zhi jun) quietly aids the people through profound virtue, and this consummate merit naturally transforms the world. Such leaders choose the unadorned root of morality over superficial rituals and formalities.

The text contrasts the simple customs of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors era with the decadent ethos of the Warring States period. In an age of purity, emphasizing rites is arrogance; in an age of decadence, abandoning rites is folly. True governance transcends ritual forms to return to the source of virtue, ultimately achieving the state of "forgetting virtue to merge with the Dao" (wangde hedao).

Meritorious governance far surpasses personal alchemical cultivation. From Fuxi's creation of the trigrams to the Yellow Emperor's statecraft, and through the sage-kings Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang—all established harmonious rule through wuwei, enabling people to thrive. How could solitary elixir refinement compare to such public benefaction?

The latter section "Attaining the One in Antiquity" (xi zhi de yi) observes: If feudal lords and kings uphold the fundamental Dao (de yi), the world will rectify itself. All beings flourish by following the Dao. Truly Daoist rulers never flaunt power—they humbly style themselves "orphaned" and "destitute" to embody emptiness. Just as an intact chariot is called a "carriage" (yu) but becomes mere wheels and shafts when disassembled, the Dao in its wholeness loses integrity when forced into conceptual divisions.

This scripture expounds key Daoist concepts of humility, the natural Dao (the Way), and the cultivation of self to govern the state.

It begins with the example of rulers referring to themselves as "the solitary, the widowed, the unworthy," illustrating how true nobility lies in maintaining humility. Just as the heavens remain lofty through their clarity and emptiness (qingxu, the state of purity and non-being), and the earth remains steadfast through its yielding nature to bear all things without faltering, the text uses the natural laws governing heaven and earth as metaphors for the principles of cultivating the Dao (the Way).

The scripture then presents two exemplars of Dao attainment: the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan Huangdi), who pacified chaos and brought prosperity to the people, and Wangzi Qiao (a Daoist immortal), who, though cultivating in solitude, still benefited all beings. This demonstrates that whether engaging with the world to aid others or withdrawing from it for personal cultivation, one can still embody the Dao.

The deeds of immortals like Chisongzi (Red Pine Master) and Wang Qiao are cited to emphasize that cultivation must be as constant as the movements of heaven and earth. Heaven maintains its eternity through the unceasing cycles of day and night, the four seasons, and the Dao practitioner must likewise sustain the continuous circulation of Qi (vital energy) within the body.

Regarding the relationship between governing the state and self-cultivation, the text states that a truly wise minister must understand the principle of "balancing expediency with substance"—knowing when to act and when to embrace Wuwei (non-action). Meanwhile, the Daoist cultivator must relinquish cleverness and intellectual pursuits, devoting themselves to practice until they attain the liberated state of carefree wandering.

In conclusion, whether refining one’s nature or ruling a nation, accumulating sufficient hidden virtue (undeclared good deeds) allows one to attain the Dao like Chisongzi and Wang Qiao, ascending to the immortal palaces (the "crimson towers," where celestial beings dwell). This reflects the Daoist ideal of "inner sageliness and outer kingliness," unifying personal cultivation with governance.

The Mysterious Hymn of the Dao and De Chapters elucidates people's varying attitudes toward the Dao and the essentials of cultivation.

Those of superior capacity diligently practice upon hearing the Great Dao, while those of middling capacity respond with half-belief, and inferior individuals actually mock it—such is the profound mystery of the Dao. Cultivation appears as retreat yet constitutes true advancement, like stepping cautiously toward a deep valley. Those who truly comprehend the Dao conceal their attainment, leaving no trace like floating clouds reflecting in distant skies.

Cultivating De (Virtue) should resemble stealthy movement—letting none perceive your meritorious deeds, thus ensuring your name is recorded in the Jade Emperor's celestial palace. Teach others through gentle and humble principles, for the domineering inevitably court their own destruction. Diminishing desires while maintaining humility accumulates lofty virtue, towering like majestic mountains; whereas coveting gain and indulging cravings only disrupts the shen (spirit).

Fan Li's abandonment of wealth and honor to dwell by Five Lakes with the clear breeze and bright moon exemplifies the wise action aligned with the Great Dao. The world's softest substance (the Dao) can penetrate the hardest objects. When human innocence becomes contaminated by worldly affairs, this originally pliant nature turns rigid. Dao cultivators should maintain inner purity, undistracted by external phenomena, preserving the wondrous state of "Xi Yi" (the formless void of Dao).

The key to preventing desires from disturbing the mind lies in understanding that "non-speaking" (不言) does not simply mean keeping silent. As the commentary on the Classic of Virtue (Dejing) explains, so-called "non-speaking" isn't mere abstention from speech, but rather realizing that "being" (有) and "non-being" (无) are fundamentally one, and that teaching itself is a unity of words and silence. It's like how sages instruct the world without incurring faults through their speech.

To comprehend the benefits of "non-being" is to naturally embody wuwei (non-action). The Dejing commentary states: "Thus I understand the wondrous function of 'non-being'." Like the clear cry of a crane in frosty skies or the transcendent solitude of green pines in snow, the commentary observes: only with purified body and mind can one harmonize with the Dao. Maintaining bodily stillness and mental clarity, forgetting covetous desires, and practicing cunxiang (存想, the Daoist meditation technique of focused visualization) of the Jade Capital Mountain (the Daoist celestial realm) constitute the primary conditions for cultivating the Dao. Those who revere the Great Dao will surely discern the path to immortality.

Regarding the question "Which is more precious—fame or life?", the Dejing states: "The more one accumulates, the greater the loss." Understanding when to stop is the mark of wisdom. The commentary warns: craving fame invites disaster, just as hoarding wealth to decorate houses ultimately harms oneself. Pursuing material goods originally aims to improve life, yet people often lose their lives because of wealth. Thus Daoism advocates discarding treasures to preserve one's true nature. Alas! What use are rooms full of jade if one dies from greed?

Consider the ruins of the Weiyang Palace—how magnificent its countless gates and halls once stood, now overgrown with wild grass. The Golden Valley Garden's past splendor fills historical records, yet today only wild waters and slanting sunlight remain. These cycles of rise and fall sufficiently warn people to abstain from greed. True Daoist practitioners harbor no covetous thoughts—they wouldn't glance twice at treasures like the Marquis Sui's Pearl (the legendary night-luminescent jewel). The commentary explains: fame is but an appendage to reality, yet people die for empty reputation—we should abandon utilitarian pursuits to preserve our authentic nature.

Concerning the paradox that "the most perfect seems incomplete," the Dejing observes: "Restlessness can ward off cold, while tranquility resists heat." The commentary elaborates: only those practicing qingjing wuwei (serene non-action) with settled minds can transcend the duality of agitation and calm, becoming models for the world. This brings to mind Ji An, the forthright Han dynasty minister famed for his unyielding remonstrations—such genuine character is rarely seen today.

This scripture elucidates the Daoist wisdom of "knowing contentment" and "humble retreat" through historical parables. Let me explain section by section:

The Warring States rhetorician Su Qin, though he once gloriously wore the seals of six states as chancellor, ultimately met his demise by assassination in Qi due to his excessive reliance on clever speech. As the Daode Jing states: "Great eloquence seems stammering" - those who truly excel in debate appear slow of speech. Flaunting one's talents inevitably invites misfortune. Even flawless white jade contains imperfections, reminding accomplished Daoist practitioners to maintain a sense of self-awareness.

Clear river waters appear shallow yet run deep, mirroring the Daode Jing commentary's teaching that "embracing emptiness and stillness" is the way to preserve fullness and prosperity. The virtuous abdications of emperors Yao and Shun became legendary examples illustrating that the more outstanding a ruler's achievements, the more they should maintain humility - as the commentary says, "renewing their De (Virtue) daily" - thereby ensuring enduring blessings.

The Eastern Han tyrant Liang Ji, relying on his sister's position as empress, acted with unbridled arrogance, completely ignoring the Daode Jing warning that "no disaster greater than discontentment exists." During the Han dynasty's decline, the couple indulged in extreme luxury - Liang's wife Sun Shou obsessed over lavish clothing and cosmetics, while loyal minister Zhang Gang bluntly remarked: "When wolves block the road, why bother about foxes?" Ultimately, Liang's entire clan was executed, leaving eternal infamy.

The passage concludes with the Daode Jing philosophy: "Without going out the door, one knows the world." The commentary explains that sages need not peer beyond their windows because through inner contemplation they comprehend the Dao. Sages can "know the world through their own being" precisely because they maintain inner clarity, thereby perceiving external patterns.

This passage primarily discusses principles of governing a state and self-cultivation, with "tranquility and wuwei (non-action)" as its core philosophy.

Regarding state governance, it states: If a ruler can maintain tranquility and wuwei, auspicious signs will naturally appear, just as the Nine Categories (legendary governance principles revealed during Yu the Great's flood control) emerged from the Yellow River, or mountains spontaneously cheer "Long live!" Conversely, if one engages in constant scheming and shifting alliances like the Warring States period's six kingdoms, it will only lead to self-destruction.

Concerning personal cultivation, it quotes the Daode Jing: "The pursuit of learning requires daily accumulation of knowledge, but seeking the Dao (the Way) demands daily reduction of desires." Accumulating knowledge belongs to scholarly cultivation, while reducing desires is the gateway to Dao-realization. True sages don't deliberately display their talents, just as great talents emerge naturally from the land like rivers and mountains, not through artificial literary refinement.

On the sage's realm: Sages maintain no fixed ideas but take the people's hearts as their own. They treat all beings with maternal tenderness toward infants. They approach everyone with kindness and sincerity—even those lacking goodness or trustworthiness—seeking to transform them through virtuous example. They value harsh but honest advice while detaining indulgent, decadent music.

The text particularly emphasizes: The sage's mind is vast enough to embrace all things, emulating the Dao's natural operation. Through subtle transformation, they achieve governance through wuwei. If rulers can accept remonstrance and dispel confusion, they will naturally become embodiments of goodness and trustworthiness.

The Mysterious Hymns of Dao and De chapters primarily expound how the Dao gives birth and nurtures all things, and how sages emulate the natural Way to govern the world.

The opening verse "All nations joyfully follow as they return to the illuminating stillness, serene like the bright moon shining upon the imperial robes" depicts the sage's virtue as clear as the moon, with people naturally gravitating toward such radiance. Commentary explains that common folk instinctively observe the sage's words and deeds, transformed by this sacred virtue toward goodness.

In the chapter "Emerging into life, entering death," it states that enlightenment enables transcendence beyond life and death, while delusion traps one in cyclical rebirth. Cultivation requires discerning the principles of purity and turbidity—accumulating merit leads to ascension to azure heavens, whereas indulgence in worldly fame merely adds vain white hairs. The text references the immortal Wangzi Jin attaining the Dao at Mount Hou, riding white clouds heavenward, subtly symbolizing liberation from worldly dust.

The "Dao Gives Birth" chapter clarifies that all things originate from the Dao. Commentary elaborates: the Dao first generates the One (Taiyi), which produces the two qi of Yin and Yang, from which the myriad beings emerge. Without the Dao, nothing could exist. Sages propagate Dao and De, emulating heaven's perfection and purity. Like heaven that nurtures all without possession, accomplishes without claiming merit, letting all unfold spontaneously—this constitutes heaven's virtue (De). Rulers should govern nations accordingly.

The text emphasizes the importance of wuwei (non-action). Dao and De fundamentally embody non-striving—they don't forcibly seek honor, yet all things naturally revere them. Like dew nourishing plants or benevolent governance benefiting people, the Dao not only generates beings but also nurtures, matures, shelters and preserves their vital essence. Rulers who emulate this governance through non-action attain genuine nobility.

The concluding "All Under Heaven Has a Beginning" chapter advises restraining the six roots (senses and mind) and curbing sensory desires to avoid calamity and preserve lifelong peace. Commentary notes Dao's nobility stems not from human-conferred titles but from its natural veneration due to nurturing all creation.

Through analogies between natural phenomena and statecraft, the scripture articulates core Daoist principles of "the Dao models itself on nature" and "governing through non-action."

This passage from The Mysterious Hymns of Dao and De elucidates principles for self-cultivation and state governance.

Regarding personal cultivation, the scripture warns that indulging the six roots (eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and mind) in sensory pleasures invites calamity. Conversely, restraining these desires keeps one from harm. It particularly emphasizes how the tongue most easily stirs trouble, as gossip and gluttony both arise from it. If the gates of perception—eyes, ears, and nose—are not led astray by cravings, one avoids toil and distress. Even delicacies like bear’s paw should be abstained from.

The essence of cultivation lies in preserving the harmonious Qi (vital energy of balanced Yin-Yang) within the body, preventing its dissipation, thereby ensuring enduring health and tranquility. Adhering to the soft and yielding path paradoxically yields true strength, aligning most closely with the nature of the Dao (the Way). The text cites Kong Guang of the Han dynasty, who, when asked about the trees before the palace’s Warmth Chamber Hall during his high office, remained silent—a testament to cautious discretion.

In governance, the true Dao is inherently smooth and straightforward, yet people often take treacherous shortcuts. Lavish palace construction leads to neglected farmlands and empty granaries. Prioritizing military might over civil virtue (De, manifested through rites and culture) entirely contradicts the principle of Wuwei (non-action). A sage ruler governs like the sun shining upon the earth; only by occupying the highest position can they save the world.

The passage concludes with the adage, "What is well planted cannot be uprooted," illustrating how truly stable foundations are as unshakable as heaven and earth. The mention of "grass" may imply resilience like wild foliage or reflect textual variations.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles of establishing oneself and governing a nation through Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue). Building personal character and national foundations upon these virtues is like a deeply rooted tree that cannot be easily shaken by external forces. Such individuals or nations resemble the eternal incense in ancestral temples—where descendants' worship never ceases, and the state's sovereignty endures perpetually.

When a ruler cultivates the Dao of governance, a harmonious relationship between sovereign and ministers naturally emerges: the ruler trusts his officials, who in turn serve with loyalty, thus fostering an atmosphere of benevolence and righteousness. Practicing Dao-De at the local level manifests as respecting elders, cherishing the young, and enlightening the ignorant—such virtuous conduct creates the most enduring and profound influence.

A ruler who cultivates Dao to govern the state can observe the lessons of fallen dynasties that neglected virtue (like the tyrannies of Jie of Xia and Zhou of Shang) and use the sagehood of Yao and Shun as a mirror to achieve a golden age. By emulating Heaven's Dao—governing with clarity, stillness, and wuwei (non-action)—auspicious omens like the longevity star (anciently believed to herald national prosperity) will appear.

Chapter 55 describes the state of maintaining one's original pure nature. Those with profound De resemble newborn infants in purity, having eliminated three fundamental afflictions: poisonous insects represent anger (resentment), fierce beasts symbolize ignorance (lack of understanding), and birds of prey signify greed. Historical exemplars include Zhang Liang of the Han dynasty, who abandoned fame and fortune to follow the immortal Chisongzi, and Xu Mai of the Jin dynasty, who retreated to mountains to cultivate Dao—both embodying liberation from worldly desires.

Those who truly comprehend life's essence do not cling to official ranks or emoluments. Ordinary people compete for fame and profit, unaware that excessive pursuit invites calamity. Just as all things inevitably decline after reaching their zenith, those who bully the weak will ultimately reap what they sow.

A truly powerful person does not actually conform to the patterns of the Dao (the Way). This chapter explains: those who truly understand the Dao (the Way) do not speak much, because genuine realization is like the legendary azure phoenix—difficult to express in words. The commentary on the Daode Jing states that the Dao has no concrete form and cannot be described through language; only personal experience can bring true understanding.

The closeness or distance between people is as elusive as the cranes hidden among clouds. The Daode Jing commentary explains that those who attain "mysterious unity" (the state of merging with the Dao) have no selfish desires, so they cannot be measured by worldly standards of intimacy or estrangement. It further states that such individuals harmonize with all things, making it impossible to define them through concepts of distance or separation.

Just as a turtle dragging its tail remains unaffected by external gains or losses, the Daode Jing teaches that those who truly embody the Dao are neither tempted by profit nor harmed by misfortune. Like Xu You, who retreated to Mount Ji and refused Emperor Yao's offer to rule the world, or Yan Ziling, who declined Emperor Guangwu's generous treatment to return to fishing by the Tong River, those who have attained the Dao remain unmoved by worldly honors.

Eliminate greed and attachment, and the mind naturally becomes pure. The Daode Jing commentary explains that without greed and attachment, the gates of desire close. The reason De (Virtue/Power) is revered is that it transcends the mundane—unaffected by closeness or distance, untouched by gain or loss, neither seeking honor nor avoiding humility. This is the most noble state in the world.

Governing a country should be as effortless as wearing loose robes. The Daode Jing teaches that only through Wuwei (non-action) can the world be well-governed. A wise ruler maintains inner tranquility, and the people naturally transform. The commentary states that the way of the sage lies in not allowing desires to disturb the heart—thus, extravagant and flashy things naturally fall into disuse. When the people are taught in this way, their customs naturally become simple and honest.

Reducing banditry cannot rely on harsh laws. The Daode Jing warns that the more severe the laws, the more thieves arise. To allow the people to live in peace, taxes must be lightened. The commentary explains that the more prohibitions there are in the world, the poorer the people become—because natural resources are restricted while heavy taxes are imposed. How could they not fall into poverty?

A clear and enlightened government is like the mellow wine of Emperor Yao's era, its influence far-reaching. The Daode Jing commentary states that when governance follows Wuwei (non-action) and treats people with generosity, the people naturally become honest and simple. A stable society is as clear as the moon over the Wu River. The Daode Jing teaches that when the ruler values tranquility, the people naturally behave with integrity.

This passage mainly explains several essential points from the Daodejing (Classic of the Way and De) concerning governance and the wisdom of life, supporting them with historical allusions.

Laozi points out in the Daodejing that if those in power are excessively harsh and scrutinizing (chacha), the people will become cunning; conversely, if lenient and generous policies (menmen) are implemented, the people can preserve their simple, honest nature. This is like the principle that misfortune and fortune depend on each other—disaster contains hidden blessing, and blessing harbors latent misfortune. The truly virtuous sage, though inwardly bright, never flaunts his intelligence or cleverness (shines but does not dazzle, guang er bu yao), always maintaining humility and low profile.

The text cites the example of the Wu-Yue struggle for hegemony: after King Goujian of Yue was defeated, he retreated to Kuaiji Mountain, slept on brushwood and tasted gall, and eventually restored his state; while the victorious King Fuchai of Wu indulged in pleasure, built a nine-story terrace, killed the loyal minister Wu Zixu, and was ultimately destroyed by Yue. This confirms the pattern that extreme prosperity must decline and that misfortune and fortune transform into one another.

It also cites the experience of Jia Yi of the Han dynasty: because he was ostracized and banished to Changsha, he wrote the "Rhapsody on the Owl" to explore the impermanence of fate. Its metaphor of "Heaven and Earth as a furnace" illustrates that life’s circumstances are like forging in a furnace, with fortune and misfortune hard to predict. Later this indeed came true—Jia Yi was eventually recalled to Chang’an. All this illustrates the cyclical nature of the Heavenly Dao and the principle that when adversity reaches its extreme, prosperity arrives.

Finally, it emphasizes that the root of governing the state and nourishing life lies in "se" (frugality and cherishing). If a ruler economizes on expenditures, fills the granaries, enables the people to know propriety, and follows the agricultural seasons, he will naturally receive Heaven’s protection. Enlightened rulers always remain humble and follow the way of frugality and cherishing in order to guard the foundation of the state.

This scripture elucidates the core Daoist principles of governing the state and cultivating the self through historical parables:

When the virtuous minister Yanzi wore the same fox-fur robe for thirty years, it demonstrated how the wise cherish resources. Emperor Wen of Han immediately halted construction of a terrace upon learning it would cost the equivalent of ten households' wealth, embodying the sovereign virtue of frugality.

Sages willingly reduce their own surplus to relieve others' deficiencies. In contrast, Emperor Wu of Han, presuming upon his empire's might, exhausted military campaigns—waging war in Yunzhong and seeking immortals at sea—until the treasury was depleted and the people suffered.

Understanding desire-restraint and self-cultivation (deepening roots and securing foundations) is the path of longevity. Should rulers practice such virtue, they would not only stabilize the realm but, like the Yellow Emperor, attain Daoist transcendence (riding white clouds to the celestial realm). During Emperor Wu's reign, Li Shaoweng claimed occult knowledge and was enfeoffed as General Wencheng, only to be executed when his fraud—hiding silk prophecies in a cow's belly—was exposed. This proves reckless pursuit of immortality invites calamity.

Governing with the Great Dao (Dao) eliminates forced blessings, leaving no room for spirits to cause mischief. The Book of Zhou states the fragrance of perfect governance moves the gods—an aroma not of sacrificial grains, but of sagely virtue (De). Yu the Great channeled rivers through Dragon Gate to save the nine provinces, embodying heaven-aligned action. Yet Qin Shihuang, relying solely on military conquest without cultivating civil virtue (De), fell to Liu Bang and Xiang Yu.

The text concludes with metaphors of moonlight zither-playing and autumn rain on ponds, illustrating governance should maintain zither-like harmony and pond-like clarity. These parables collectively emphasize: the essence of statecraft and self-cultivation lies in serene non-action (Wuwei), frugality, and compassion—not indulgence or forced immortality.

This passage from the Daode Pianzhang Xuansong (Mystic Eulogy on the Chapters of the Daodejing) mainly expounds Daoist political wisdom concerning humility, keeping to softness, and governance by Wuwei (non-action), as well as the profound nature of Dao (the Way) as the source of all things.

On how great and small states should coexist: just as the sea can gather the hundred rivers because it occupies a low position, so a great state, if it can maintain a humble and low-key posture, will naturally draw all states to attach themselves to it. The text gives two historical examples: Duke Wen of Jin, while in exile, promised the King of Chu that he would “retreat three she,” and later kept his word and became hegemon; by contrast, Crown Prince Hu of Zheng refused a marriage alliance with Qi, lost powerful foreign support, and was ultimately driven out. This shows that a great state should treat others with the De (Virtue/Power) of humility, while a small state should make good use of the support of great states.

In governing the state, the ruler should maintain a soft and still mind and guard against pride and complacency. He should be like a diligent ruler who still reviews memorials late at night, remaining alert at all times. Here “na huang” refers to late night, while “xiaoyi” means rising before dawn to attend to official business; both are metaphors for diligent governance.

As for the nature of Dao: Dao is the profound truth inherent in all things. Only those with a broad mind and a heart as humble as an empty valley can grasp its true meaning. A truly worthy minister should assist the ruler in implementing governance by Wuwei (non-action). The sage uses fine words and quiet conduct to educate those who are not good, just as one uses the sweet taste of Dharma to guide those who have lost their way.

Finally, it points out that cultivating Dao emphasizes realization rather than forcing. Once one truly awakens to Dao, one can eliminate the entanglements of karmic offenses and reach a state of purity of mind. “Yujing” is the immortal capital in Daoist legend, and the “cinnabar crane” symbolizes immortal affinity, meaning that one who awakens to Dao will naturally be connected with the immortal realm.

Chapter Sixty-Three, “Wuwei (Non-Action),” discusses the wisdom of those who have attained the Dao (the Way) in dealing with the world. When such people handle affairs, they can see through to the essence—the workings of the dusty world; ordinary people, when they encounter matters, create even more trouble, while those who cultivate the Dao can settle the trouble. The true flavor of the Dao is not worldly enjoyment; one should not cling even to such a supreme realm, much less to worldly desires. One should always maintain humility, value promises (rash promises inevitably break trust), and never harbor resentment over others’ faults—repay every grievance, great or small, with De (Virtue/Power). Just as Emperor Shun used music to civilize the Sanmiao tribes, the sage’s actions appear active (tuning the warm breeze, dancing with shields and feathers), yet in reality they achieve the effect of governing by Wuwei. Emperor Shun, with robes hanging and hands clasped (seated behind the screen with pendants motionless), could bring about Great Order; why must one be like King Mu of Zhou, going all the way to Yaochi in pursuit of illusion? Those ways of seeking the Dao by exhausting horses and carriages instead run counter to the original mind of purity and stillness.

Chapter Sixty-Four, “What Is Calm Is Easy to Maintain,” emphasizes the principle of preventing minor problems from growing. When body and mind are at peace, stability is easiest to preserve (this is true whether governing the body or the state), and the calamities of desire are easiest to eliminate just as they sprout. A tree large enough to embrace grows from a slender sprout; a nine-story terrace is built up from baskets of earth (these images show that great undertakings begin from small beginnings). King Huiwen of Zhao coveted the He Shi Bi and nearly ruined his state (valuing goods that are hard to obtain), while Dong Zhongshu lowered the curtain and studied hard in pursuit of fame and rank; neither accords with the purpose of the Dao. The sage studies the “learning that is not learning” (a state that transcends worldly scholarship) precisely in order to avoid such deviations. In handling affairs, one should be as cautious at the end as at the beginning, and only then will one avoid failure; cherishing one’s spirit and vital energy (avoiding youwei, contrived action) and refraining from reckless and arbitrary action—this is the way to lasting endurance.

Supplementary notes: “Gan and Yu” refer to the shields and pheasant feathers used in ancient civil dance; the story of Emperor Shun using music and dance to transform the Sanmiao tribes comes from the Book of Documents. “Fuyi ningliu” describes the upright seated posture of a ruler; here it is a metaphor for governing by Wuwei. “Dong Sheng lowering the curtain” comes from the Book of Han: Dong Zhongshu did not look into his garden for three years as he studied hard; here it serves as a counterexample of attachment to conventional learning.

The truly enlightened masters of ancient times who comprehended the Dao (the Way) did not govern people through cunning intellect, but guided them to preserve their simple and natural essence. Like wise rulers who transformed the populace through Wuwei (non-action), they kept the people unspoiled, preventing clever schemers from obscuring humanity's true nature. As Laozi observed, the difficulty in governing people stems precisely from their excessive cleverness.

The Yellow Emperor (Huangdi), legendary progenitor of Chinese civilization, embodied this principle in his rule. Embracing the great Dao in his heart, he governed effortlessly through "hanging sleeves" governance (a metaphor for non-interference), ultimately achieving his merit before withdrawing from worldly affairs—ascending to immortality astride white clouds above Dinghu Lake. This exemplifies the Dao De Jing's teaching: a nation's true blessing comes when governed without cunning artifice.

Rivers and seas become kings of all waterways precisely because they excel at occupying low positions. Similarly, when sages wish to stand above others, they speak with humility; to lead the multitude, they place personal interests last. Thus positioned high, people feel no oppression; walking ahead, none feel harmed. The world gladly supports such leaders precisely because they contend with nothing—making them unconquerable under heaven.

All under heaven proclaim the Dao's greatness, yet it resembles no concrete thing. Neither wisdom nor foolishness, it differs from all phenomena. Laozi declared he possessed three treasures: first compassion, second frugality, third reluctance to precede others. Frugality builds without waste, compassion saves multitudes and achieves great merit.

When benevolent De (Virtue) permeates the central plains, the pure Dao connects with celestial principles. The "three delusions" refer to greed, anger, and ignorance—obstacles to transcend in Daoist practice—while the "four directions" symbolize worldly dimensions. Practitioners eliminate desires and preserve simplicity, allowing their true nature (primordial essence) to become like withered wood—serenely inactive—ultimately merging with the supreme Dao.

The Mysterious Hymns of Dao-De Chapters elucidates how governing a state and employing military force must be rooted in the "Three Treasures" of compassion, frugality, and humility, while opposing the reckless use of violence.

The scripture reveals that when a ruler embodies these three virtues—benevolence, restraint, and deference—the celestial and earthly spirits will come to their aid. The First Emperor of Qin abandoned these treasures, relying solely on military might and cunning stratagems, leading to the swift collapse of the Qin dynasty. A truly adept ruler does not glorify force but instead employs the gentle Dao (the Way) of open-mindedness to transform others.

A skilled warrior does not act in rage, much like Emperor Shun pacified the Sanmiao tribes through ritual dance, or King Wu of Zhou achieved victory by heeding Jiang Taigong’s strategic counsel. In contrast, Xiang Yu fled in panic after defeat at Gaixia, and Fu Jian, ignoring Wang Meng’s warnings, suffered a crushing loss at the Battle of Fei River—both cases stemming from arrogance and underestimating their foes.

The art of warfare emphasizes the "Four Excellences": an exceptional commander does not rely on brute force, a skilled fighter avoids reckless anger, a master of victory does not engage in direct confrontation, and a wise leader remains humble in employing others. Military campaigns must maintain a stance of yielding, as Laozi states: "Dare not take the lead but follow; dare not advance an inch but retreat a foot." True strategy is founded on compassion, for arrogance and contempt only invite defeat.

Through historical parables, this scripture demonstrates that statecraft and warfare must adhere to the Daoist principle of "the soft and weak overcoming the hard and strong," rejecting militarism while emphasizing the importance of winning hearts through De (Virtue) and triumphing through wisdom.

This scripture elucidates several core principles of worldly wisdom from the Daode Jing through historical allusions and metaphors:

King Fuchai of Wu relied on his mighty army to oppress Yue, unaware he would ultimately face ruin (his grand Gusu Terrace reduced to ruins where deer roam). This illustrates the Daode Jing's warning that "to despise one's enemy is to nearly lose what is essential"—the highest art of warfare lies in restraint, harming none even when compelled to fight.

The profoundest truths are often the simplest. The Daode Jing states, "My words are very easy to understand, very easy to practice," yet people "neither understand nor follow them." Like eyes blinded by lavish robes, ears deafened by decadent music, restless desires polluting body and mind, fame binds the heart like ropes. The commentary notes: indulgence in desires prevents comprehension; chasing fame and gain obstructs practice.

Those who truly embody the Dao resemble "wearing coarse cloth while holding precious jade" (plain in appearance yet luminous within). They perceive the essence yet blend with the mundane. To know what one does not know is the highest wisdom; pretending to know what one doesn’t is the root of delusion. Sages avoid this error precisely because they grieve that all beings suffer from this ailment.

When people cease to revere the laws, great calamity befalls them. The commentary reveals the key: the shen (spirit) dwells in the heart-field (dantian). Only by purging distracting thoughts and desires, maintaining a mind empty and clear (xu bai), can right and wrong naturally manifest, averting disaster. Like the heavens sheltering all things without bias, sages aid beings according to circumstance, ever abiding in the serene and genuine qi (vital energy) of their original nature.

The "Mysterious Hymns on the Dao and De Chapters" primarily expounds the principles of self-cultivation and maintaining humility. The sage clearly recognizes their own merits and faults, yet never boasts about their virtue. By preserving abundant Jing (essence), Qi (vital energy), and Shen (spirit), one becomes united with the Great Dao.

The scripture advises nurturing one's spiritual essence and vital energy, achieving the transcendent state of Zhuangzi's butterfly dream where self and object merge, and enjoying the carefree delight of Hui Shi observing fish. Those who understand self-preservation, avoid dangers, and cherish life will attain joy beyond worldly concerns.

The truly wise never grow arrogant with self-satisfaction, exemplified by Yuan An of the Eastern Han dynasty who remained content behind closed doors during heavy snowfall, indifferent to wealth and status. Chapter 73 of the Dao De Jing states that aggressive competitiveness violates heavenly principles, akin to self-destruction. Maintaining gentle humility preserves life. Eliminating greed and confusion naturally attracts benevolent affinities.

Though Heaven appears tolerant, retribution for good and evil never errs—just as Xiang Yu, despite his Herculean strength, ultimately fell on his sword at Wu River. Chapter 74 observes that people often fear not death, making capital punishment ineffective. King Tang of Shang demonstrated mercy by leaving three sides of his hunting net open, yet relentless slaughter cannot sustain order. Emperor Wen of Han governed through Huang-Lao Daoist principles, scarcely employing punishments—this exemplifies true wisdom.

When Emperor Gaozu of Han, Liu Bang, entered the Guanzhong region, he established simple laws with the local elders: those who killed would face execution, while those who injured others or committed theft would be punished according to the severity of their crimes. All other harsh laws of the Qin dynasty were abolished. As a result, officials and commoners lived in peace and prosperity. This exemplifies the principle of governing in accordance with the Dao (the Way), where people naturally submit when rulership aligns with the natural order.

A commentary on the Daode Jing (Classic of the Way and Virtue) states: If a ruler can guide the people to reduce their desires and govern through Wuwei (non-action), the people will cherish life and fear death. It is like an unskilled person trying to chop wood in place of a carpenter—not only will they struggle to follow the proper measurements, but they may also injure themselves. Similarly, when a ruler governs on behalf of Heaven but imposes unjust punishments, they will suffer the consequences. Thus, caution is essential.

When the Yellow Emperor (Xuanyuan) ruled the world, he embodied boundless compassion for all living beings. Not only did he bring peace and harmony to the four directions, but after successfully casting the sacred tripods, he ascended to Heaven on a dragon. This symbolizes the highest achievement of De (Virtue/Power).

A passage on the suffering of the people states: When rulers indulge in extravagance, the people starve. The Daode Jing commentary explains: The reason people suffer from hunger and poverty is that those in power impose excessive taxes. The root of a nation’s unruliness lies in the ruler’s forceful and arbitrary actions. If those in authority focus only on their own pleasures and exploit the people to the point of desperation, the masses will begin to disregard the value of life.

A true cultivator of the Dao does not seek titles or wealth, nor do they allow material temptations to cloud their mind. Instead, they maintain a heart as open and empty as a valley. Like the recluse Zhang Zhongwei, who lived contentedly in a humble dwelling overgrown with weeds, they nurture their nature in tranquility. If a ruler can govern with Wuwei—sitting calmly with folded sleeves—the people will naturally prosper, and the foundation of peace will be secure.

The way of all living things is like that of plants and trees: when their branches and leaves flourish, it is because they retain a supple vitality; when they wither and fade, it is due to the harshness of wind and frost. This teaches us that softness and flexibility harbor life, while rigidity and force invite destruction.

The "Mysterious Hymn of the Dao-De Chapters" explores the core Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong."

The text begins with an arboreal metaphor: mighty trees with thick trunks grow hidden in deep valleys, while slender branches reach prominently skyward. This illustrates how the root (Dao) remains powerful yet willingly occupies the low position, while the foliage (appearances), though delicate, naturally rises above. Daoism teaches that preserving softness safeguards life, whereas forceful dominance leads to losing one's fundamental nature. The historical example of Fu Jian (emperor of Former Qin during the Sixteen Kingdoms period) demonstrates this—his arrogant underestimation of enemies led to catastrophic defeat at the Fei River and ultimately his demise.

Chapter 77 employs the imagery of drawing a bow to explain celestial law (Tian Dao): the bowstring must be adjusted between high and low to achieve balance, just as the Dao of Heaven reduces excess to supplement deficiency. The sage (Daoist ideal ruler), even after accomplishing great deeds, conceals his merits and avoids ostentation, thereby aligning with Heaven's principle of "diminishing surplus to aid insufficiency." This mirrors how the Yellow Emperor, after his victory at Zhuolu, immediately journeyed to Mount Kongtong to seek wisdom from the immortal Guangchengzi.

Chapter 78 specifically examines water's yielding nature: though appearing supremely soft, it penetrates the hardest stone. A ruler who, like water, can "contain filth" (metaphorically accepting criticism)—by establishing "slander poles" (ancient pillars for public grievances) and "drumming for remonstrance" (allowing ministers to beat drums when offering admonitions)—embodies true enlightenment. Yet the text laments how worldly people remain blinded by conventional thinking; though many understand this principle, few genuinely practice it.

Through natural phenomena and historical parables, these chapters repeatedly emphasize the Daoist wisdom of "guarding softness"—demonstrating how yielding endures while forcefulness ultimately invites failure.

This passage conveys three key teachings on governance through historical parables.

The first layer discusses the art of rulership through the story of Xiagan Mu, a virtuous recluse of the Warring States period. Though he refused official position, his De (Virtue/Power) alone deterred the Qin state from invading Wei. This illustrates how truly virtuous individuals need no deliberate action (Wuwei) to influence others - like the sage who holds the left half of a contract (symbolizing integrity) without making harsh demands. The text criticizes rulers who indulge in luxury while imposing strict moral standards on others, comparing such hypocrisy to "living with one's son while killing his father, or dwelling with brothers while harming them."

The second layer serves as a warning through the tragic tale of Emperor Chen Shubao, the last ruler of Southern Chen dynasty. Obsessed with pleasure, he planted jade trees (symbolizing decadence) in his palace and favored corrupt ministers like Jiang Zong. Though showered with imperial favor, Jiang failed to remonstrate with his sovereign, ultimately leading to the dynasty's conquest by Sui. This demonstrates how even the most fortified cities ("iron urns and golden jars") cannot protect a state that has lost its moral foundation.

The third layer paints a vision of ideal society, echoing the Dao De Jing's concept of "small states with sparse populations." Here, people possess vehicles and boats but choose not to use them (rejecting material excess), living like Yan Hui - Confucius' disciple who found joy in simple meals while embracing the Dao. In such well-governed lands ("realms of longevity"), weapons become obsolete. This subtly critiques the Six Dynasties regimes that established capitals at Jinling (modern Nanjing), relying solely on military defense along the Yangtze rather than cultivating true moral influence.

This passage expounds on the principle of returning to simplicity and focusing on substance in both self-cultivation and governance.

It begins by stating that when a person maintains inner tranquility and practices Wuwei (non-action), they can find contentment even in remote places. If state governance returns to pristine simplicity, allowing people to preserve their innate purity, society would regain the natural harmony of ancient times when knots were used for record-keeping—perfectly embodying the Daoist ideal of "governing through non-action."

The text then warns with the historical lesson of the Western Jin Dynasty's collapse: Emperor Wu initially practiced frugal governance, and after unifying the realm, had the opportunity to implement Daoist principles of quietude and non-action to restore simple customs. However, he later succumbed to sensual pleasures, while Emperor Hui proved incompetent. Minister He Zeng foresaw that such short-sighted indulgence would invite disaster. Indeed, during the Yongjia era, rebellions led by Liu Cong resulted in the capture of Emperors Huai and Min, leading to the dynasty's downfall.

Quoting Chapter 81 of the Daode Jing (Scripture of the Dao and Its Power), it continues: "True words aren't ornate; ornate words lack truth. The truly virtuous don't argue; the argumentative lack true virtue." Like the old man who draws water with an earthen jug (symbolizing rustic simplicity), such unpretentious sincerity is more valuable than eloquent sophistry.

Finally, it emphasizes that the sage's way of governance lies in concretely benefiting the people without claiming merit—just as harmonizing the four seasons allows all things to flourish naturally. Here, "jade candles" metaphorically represent seasonal climates, as ancient belief held that virtuous rulers could harmonize natural rhythms through their De (Virtue/Power).