《道德真經集義(一)》Vol. 3

The ancient masters who truly understood the cultivation of Dao attained a state so subtle and profound, so penetrating in its comprehension of mystical principles, that it defies ordinary understanding. Precisely because it is indescribable, we can only reluctantly use metaphors to approximate their outward manifestations.

Wu Cheng (Master Wu) explains that the term "scholar" here refers to one who has attained Dao. "Penetrating" means comprehending the principles of all things. The profundity of their realization is too subtle to perceive, their insight too deep to fathom—like water in an abyss whose depth cannot be measured. Since the essence cannot be directly expressed, we can only approximate it through external manifestations. The seven states mentioned later serve precisely as such metaphors.

Lin Xiyi (Master Lin) observes that this chapter describes the state of Dao practitioners in communion with the mysterious Dao. Because their inner being is completely empty and still, devoid of any deliberate cognition, their outward expressions flow forth naturally—hence the description as "reluctant approximations." Beginning with "cautious as if crossing a winter stream," each phrase accurately captures the state of a Dao-realized being.

He Daoquan (Master He) states that the realm of Dao cultivators is exquisitely subtle and mysteriously fluid, beyond ordinary comprehension. Since it transcends common understanding, any description can only be a tentative metaphor. As the text later illustrates: cautious as crossing a winter river, alert as guarding against neighbors, dignified as a guest, liberated as melting ice, sincere as uncarved wood, expansive as a valley, and turbid as muddy water.

Wu Cheng further elaborates: "Yu" and "You" are both animal names—"Yu" being a type of elephant, "You" a small dog. Elephants hesitate before moving, while small dogs test their steps repeatedly—hence the term "hesitant" describes this cautious state. Crossing a winter river fears the cold; guarding against neighbors fears enemies—thus one acts prudently. Those who embody Dao dare not rush ahead of the world, and these are their manifestations. "Dignified" describes solemn composure, yielding like a guest without taking initiative; "dissolving" describes dispersion, flowing like melting ice without solidification; "sincere" describes unadorned simplicity like raw material; "expansive" describes open emptiness like a valley's receptive hollow; "turbid" describes muddy containment, embracing both purity and impurity without ostentatious display.

He Daoquan adds: Just as commoners must cross rivers cautiously before bridges are built in the twelfth month, the winter river crossing metaphor illustrates the Dao cultivator's attitude of prudent gravity.

This passage primarily explains how Daoist practitioners achieve inner clarity and vitality through the dynamic interplay of movement and stillness.

The practitioner must remain as vigilant and guarded as a city wall, refraining from speaking carelessly, for dangers may lurk in every direction. Those of true cultivation neither initiate inquiries nor rush to speak first, much like how a host does not speak before the guest. They do not strive to be ahead of things, maintaining instead a dignified composure—as natural as water freezing into ice and melting back into water—remaining unattached to all phenomena.

The practitioner's state can be described through several metaphors: as solid as uncarved wood, as spacious as an unfilled valley, as turbid as muddy water yet capable of containing impurities. These images illustrate a realm of cultivation that transcends verbal expression.

Who can maintain stillness amidst this chaos, allowing the murky waters to gradually clarify? Who can sustain movement within stability, enabling vitality to slowly emerge? Turbidity represents the state of movement; when movement returns to stillness, clarity gradually arises. Stability represents the state of stillness; when stillness gives way to movement, vitality slowly manifests. It is precisely because of turbidity that clarity exists, and because of stillness that movement arises. From this we may deduce: the spacious, by not seeking fullness, becomes full; the solid, by resisting carving, becomes a vessel; the scattered, by not coagulating, gathers; the dignified, by not asserting dominance, leads; the hesitant, by not competing, advances.

This principle encompasses both substance and function, permeating the transformations of movement and stillness—it is no empty theory. Practitioners must withdraw their brilliance, blending with the mundane world, maintaining serenity within turbidity and nurturing vitality within stillness. The phrase "slowly and naturally" emphasizes allowing things to unfold without forced pursuit. Those who uphold this Daoist method do not seek perfection; precisely because they do not seek it, they can remain incomplete without striving for new achievements. Perfection implies an end, while incompletion suggests the potential for further growth.

This passage primarily discusses the state and significance of "emptiness and stillness" (xujing) in Daoist cultivation.

Those who maintain this Daoist practice do not pursue fullness, but preserve inner emptiness. The Dao itself is empty, yet its application is inexhaustible. Precisely because they do not pursue fullness, they move contrary to worldly pursuits. While ordinary people chase novelty and achievements, I remain content with what is old, unhurried in seeking new accomplishments. Only those who can maintain this state achieve true realization of the Great Dao.

Attain the ultimate emptiness, preserve profound stillness. "Emptiness" means eliminating external distractions from the mind; "ultimate" refers to reaching the supreme state; "preserve" means guarding the mind like defending a city; "stillness" indicates an unwavering mind that doesn't wander outward; "profound" signifies unwavering persistence. When emptiness reaches its pinnacle, the spirit finds its dwelling; when stillness reaches its depth, the spirit becomes upright. The Liezi states that stillness and emptiness allow the spirit to settle, while the Western Ascension Scripture (Xisheng Jing) also says when humans achieve the state of empty non-action (wuwei), they don't pursue the Dao deliberately—the Dao naturally returns to them.

Liezi was once asked why he valued emptiness. He replied that emptiness itself holds no value—what matters is the state of stillness and emptiness. Emptiness is the constant state of the Dao; reaching ultimate emptiness makes one's nature luminous. Stillness is the origin of all things; preserving ultimate stillness makes the mind eternally tranquil. When one's nature becomes luminous and the mind tranquil, the Dao naturally arises. Ultimate emptiness generates spiritual awareness; ultimate stillness produces enlightenment. Those who reach this state can calmly observe the transformations of all things without being transformed by them.

All things move and change, while I observe how they return to their source. The growth of plants and the consciousness of animals are both movements. What we call "returning" means all things move from stillness to activity, ultimately returning to their original stillness. The vital energy (qi) of plants becomes latent, while animals...

The fundamental operation of all things lies in inner stillness. Lü Dongbin (one of the Eight Immortals of Daoism) taught that although the myriad things appear complex and diverse, they all originate from the invisible harmonious Qi. Observing their cyclical patterns, everything ultimately returns to the profound and mysterious source of nature. Those who attain the Dao comprehend nature's mysteries just as heaven and earth nourish all beings—emergence manifests as movement, while return manifests as stillness, as if holding the pivot of cosmic operation that harmonizes primordial Qi. Through cultivating embryonic respiration (a profound breathing technique), one can cause the True Qi (primordial energy) to coalesce anew and return to life's origin.

Liezi (a prominent Daoist figure) proposed: All living things ultimately return to the lifeless state. Sages deeply understand the principles of emergence and return, observing how all things arise from the mechanisms of creation, and must ultimately return to them. Therefore, sages do not fluctuate with external phenomena but maintain stillness at their core. What we call "returning to the source" means reuniting with the Dao to attain eternal existence.

Wu Cheng (a Yuan Dynasty scholar) explained: In spring and summer, the vital energy of plants grows upward from roots to branches and leaves—this is the state of "movement." In autumn and winter, this vital energy withdraws from branches and leaves back to the roots for storage—this is the state of "stillness." The life force heaven and earth bestow upon all beings is called "ming" (life/destiny), and returning to the original source of life constitutes "returning to ming."

Lü Dongbin further elucidated: All things originate from their inherent nature, like the roots of plants. Just as plant roots dwell underground while branches flourish above, humanity's root actually resides in the Mud Ball Palace (upper Dantian, located deep between the eyebrows). The Yellow Court Scripture records that the brain is the root of spiritual essence, the sacred space where the Original Spirit (Yuanshen) resides. Practitioners who can internally contemplate this area can coalesce countless spiritual energies and achieve the embryonic immortal state (an advanced stage of Neidan practice). Thus it is said, "Though the myriad things flourish diversely, each returns to its root."

True Dao cultivators must first investigate cosmic principles, then refine their innate nature, ultimately achieving return to life's primordial source. Guangchengzi (an immortal from the Yellow Emperor's era) instructed: Without looking or listening, maintain mental stillness—when the heart-mind becomes utterly pure, the Original Spirit will guard the physical form, the body will endure, and life will return to its origin.

This passage elucidates the core concepts of "returning to life's origin" (复命归根) and the "Supreme Dao" (太上之道) from the Daode Jing.

Regarding "returning to life's origin," it describes how one who attains perfect stillness can return to the source of life. This state is profoundly mystical—understanding it signifies the completion of one's spiritual cultivation. "Returning to life" means recognizing eternal truth; comprehending this truth is wisdom, while ignorance leads to reckless actions and misfortune. Those who understand eternal truth possess vast, all-encompassing minds, embracing all things. Such inclusiveness leads to impartiality, which aligns with the kingly way (王道); the kingly way resonates with the heavenly way (天道), and the heavenly way is the eternal Dao (大道). Those who embody the Dao remain forever within its protection, never facing peril.

Lin Xiyi (Master Lin) explains that achieving this state means grasping eternal, unchanging truth. Only those who understand this immutable Dao can be called wise. Ignorance leads to delusion and deviation from the right path, inviting disaster. Those who comprehend eternal truth have minds as vast as heaven and earth, embracing all without exception. Such inclusiveness fosters fairness, and governing with this fairness constitutes the kingly way. Aligning with the heavenly way means embodying the eternal Dao. One who holds this Dao remains forever secure within it—how could danger arise?

He Yan (Master He) adds that understanding the natural cycles of growth and decline allows one to perceive the principles of waxing and waning without fixating on trivialities. Embracing both beauty and ugliness, right and wrong, leads to selfless magnanimity. This impartiality is the kingly way; the supreme kingly way is the heavenly way; the ceaseless heavenly way is the eternal Dao. The great Dao endures through all ages without decline—how could it face peril? This represents the pinnacle of stillness cultivation. Wu Cheng (Master Wu) clarifies that "peril" (殆) refers to life-threatening danger nearing death, while "end" (没) signifies termination.

Chapter 17 discusses the "Supreme Dao": The highest rulers govern so subtly that the people merely sense their presence; the next tier earns their affection and praise; the third inspires fear; the lowest incites contempt. Where sincerity is lacking, trust cannot be sustained.

Lü Huiqing (Master Lü) explains that "Supreme" (太上) denotes teaching through natural non-action (无为), governing without leaving traces, and merging completely with the Dao—the ultimate state. Though occupying exalted positions, such rulers remain humble, avoiding elitism, allowing all things to develop naturally and find their proper place. Like the legendary Huaxu Kingdom, where order seemed to arise spontaneously though no ruler was visibly governing, the people only knew a sovereign existed.

This passage describes the gradual degeneration of governance methods through the ages. In the earliest antiquity, people lived in utmost simplicity, barely sensing the ruler's presence ("Taishang" refers to rulers of the highest attainment). People then recorded events with knotted ropes and dwelled in nests, scarcely noticing seasonal changes—this represented governance in its most perfect state.

Later, with the emergence of Fuxi and Shennong, people began farming for food and weaving for clothing, gradually developing concepts like benevolence, righteousness, rituals, and music. Rulers of this era bestowed kindness upon the people, who in turn cherished them like parents, with grateful subjects comparing them to the sun and moon. Yet the more such affection and praise increased, the further it drifted from the ancient ideal of Wuwei (non-action) governance. As the Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) states, Emperor Shun's virtue made him beloved by the people—precisely this principle. Thus the second-tier governance earns people's affection and praise.

In subsequent ages, matters worsened further. People began scheming with cunning as benevolence and righteousness decayed, rituals and music collapsed. The clever deceived the foolish, and the world declined. Authorities resorted to decrees for control, punishments for restraint, and intimidation through majesty. People obeyed outwardly but feared inwardly, breeding deception. Once deception took root, contempt for rulers emerged. Hence third-tier governance inspires fear, while the worst provokes mockery.

Among the Five Constants (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trustworthiness), trust is paramount. As the Lu Yu (likely referring to the Analects) states: "Without the people's trust, nothing stands." Abundant trust stabilizes the realm; its absence brings peril. When ornamentation contends with simplicity, gains alternate with losses, and cunning schemes prevail—these all signal trust's deficiency. Lacking trust, people grow suspicious. Just as Zhou dynasty oaths bred rebellion, insufficient trust begets distrust.

Lin's commentary explains: "Taishang" references antiquity when people barely sensed their ruler's presence, unconsciously immersed in moral transformation. Later came affection and praise for rulers, then fear, finally mockery—revealing the world's progressive decline. As supreme virtue waned and trust became inadequate, suspicion arose. Like Shang dynasty oaths provoking rebellion or Zhou assemblies arousing doubt.

He's supplement adds: When sages occupy high positions, they embody the Dao (the Way) with few words, their grace naturally benefiting all. Offices seem idle, courts appear empty.

In the most ideal state of governance, the ruler neither arbitrarily conscripts the people for labor nor abuses punishments, yet all under heaven naturally revere his De (Virtue). At this stage, the people merely know of the ruler's existence without feeling any oppressive constraints—like fish swimming freely in rivers and lakes. This represents the highest manifestation of the "Supreme Dao (Taishang zhi Dao)."

When this ideal condition declines, the promotion of benevolence, righteousness, rituals, and music emerges. The ruler must then uphold society by commending virtuous deeds and establishing rites—much like fish in shallow waters moistening each other with their breath to survive. Though less carefree than before, harmony can still be maintained.

With further deterioration, governance becomes harsh and overly complicated, leaving the people trembling under the weight of laws and regulations. Worse still, when laws multiply, deceit proliferates in response. The people begin feigning compliance while secretly resenting their rulers—like fish in a drying pond biting at one another in desperation.

As Zhuangzi long ago observed: The ancient sages who understood the Great Dao first illuminated the natural Way (Dao), then spoke of benevolence and righteousness, and only resorted to rewards and punishments as a last measure. Sadly, the world's decline resembles an irreversible river current—it becomes nearly impossible to return to that ideal state where people lived unaware of any oppressive authority, as expressed in the saying: "What has the emperor's power to do with me?"

When rulers lack sincerity, the people's attitude shifts from affection to fear and eventually to contempt. Laozi's admonition—"Be cautious, treasure your words (you xi qi gui yan)"—refers to the highest form of teaching that requires no speech. Through Wuwei (non-action) governance, people obey naturally without punishments. When achievements are made, the people perceive them as spontaneous developments, completely unaware of any deliberate intervention by the ruler.

The sage's extraordinary caution with words stems from avoiding flashy decrees to instruct the people. Truly enlightened governance influences them through wordless example and Wuwei action, transforming them imperceptibly—the only way to adapt to the world's fluctuations. As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states: "To gain trust without words depends wholly on one's inner De (Virtue)."

This passage explains how the sage-rulers (those who embody the Dao) understood that every word they spoke would become the standard for the world. Therefore, they treasured their words deeply, speaking sparingly and maintaining silence. Modern rulers may also value words, but their words are often empty talk. A true ruler who embodies the Dao can guide the people to correct their faults, turn toward goodness, and distance themselves from wrongdoing without them even realizing it. Such a ruler governs with ease, allowing the people to live peacefully according to their customs, fostering simple and honest folkways and a prosperous society. When achievements are made, the people feel they have naturally arrived at this state.

Chapter 10 mentions that only after the great Dao (the original, pure, and natural Way) declines do people begin to emphasize benevolence and righteousness (Ren-Yi). When people pursue wisdom (Zhi), severe hypocrisy arises. Lin’s commentary explains that in an era where the Dao flourishes, benevolence and righteousness are inherently contained within it and need not be explicitly promoted. Once people start advocating for benevolence and righteousness, it is a sign that the Dao has already begun to decline. Similarly, once wisdom appears, all kinds of deceit and hypocrisy follow.

Wu elaborates further: from the era of the great Dao, where "the people barely know the ruler exists" (Xia Zhi You Zhi), to the era of benevolence and righteousness, where "the people love and praise the ruler" (Qin Zhi Yu Zhi), and then to the era of wisdom, where "the people fear or scorn the ruler" (Wei Zhi Wu Zhi), the moral hierarchy steadily declines. When wisdom further degenerates, it becomes great hypocrisy (Da Wei), forming a four-stage decline. The decline of the Dao and the emergence of benevolence and righteousness is a slow process, but the rise of wisdom leading to great hypocrisy happens very quickly.

Lü argues that the great Dao refers to the natural Way of governing through non-action (Wuwei) in ancient times. When the Dao flourished, benevolence and righteousness operated naturally within it, and the people lived by it without conscious awareness. Sages in their teachings first discuss Dao and De (Virtue) before addressing benevolence and righteousness, whereas worldly people do the opposite. In truth, benevolence and righteousness are aspects of human virtue and were originally inseparable from the Dao. But later generations turned them into rigid doctrines, causing the pure and simple Dao to become obscured and giving rise to various flaws. It would be better to abandon the deliberate promotion of benevolence and righteousness and return to natural spontaneity—this way, the great Dao would not be abandoned.

He cites Zhuangzi to point out: wisdom arises from the contention over benevolence and righteousness, just as thieves arise from poverty. When benevolence and righteousness are deliberately emphasized, wisdom (cunning and calculation) emerges. Once wisdom appears, great hypocrisy follows. When wisdom proves insufficient, people resort to deceit to compensate.

In the most ideal society, people behave properly without being conscious of practicing "righteousness," care for one another without perceiving it as "benevolence," remain honest and reliable without labeling it "loyalty," and speak and act appropriately without considering it "trustworthiness." Thus their actions leave no trace of artificiality, and their deeds are not particularly celebrated. This demonstrates that when labels like "righteousness, benevolence, loyalty, and trustworthiness" cease to exist, these qualities are genuinely realized. This represents the highest manifestation of virtue (De), the natural state of the Dao (the fundamental cosmic principle).

Only when family relations become discordant do filial children stand out; only when the nation falls into chaos do loyal ministers become recognizable. Lin Xiyi explains: After family conflicts arise, filial children are particularly praised; during national turmoil, the value of loyal ministers becomes apparent. Both statements use contrast to illustrate the principle. Wu Cheng further elaborates: "The six family relations" refer to father and son, elder and younger brothers, and husband and wife. If seniority and hierarchy naturally follow the Dao, maintaining family harmony, then children's filial piety becomes the norm—people wouldn't consider it extraordinary. Just as Emperor Shun's father Gusou was obstinate and unkind, which highlighted Shun's filial devotion; or how King Zhou of Shang's tyranny and his ministers' self-serving conspiracies emphasized the loyalty of the three virtuous men—Weizi, Jizi, and Bigan.

Li Xizhai connects this to earlier passages: Rather than waiting for national crises to reveal loyal ministers, it's better to govern through wuwei (non-action, governing by following nature), allowing people to be naturally transformed. Lü Huiqing cites examples: Only under the reign of the tyrant Jie of Xia did Guan Longfeng's upright loyalty become evident; only with the fall of Shang did Bigan's moral integrity shine.

Chapter 19 states: "Abandon artificial wisdom and cleverness, and the people will benefit a hundredfold; discard forced righteousness and benevolence, and natural filial piety and kindness will return; eliminate cunning and profit-seeking, and thieves will disappear." Wu Cheng explains: "Abandon" means complete renunciation, "discard" signifies thorough rejection. "Sagely wisdom" refers to contrived intelligence, "cunning profit" denotes hypocritical cleverness. Lü Huiqing adds: Establishing norms and systems belongs to "sagehood," while political scheming and manipulation constitute "cleverness." Yet those who deliberately pursue wisdom fail to attain the highest wisdom. Those who have attained the Dao worry that people might lose their innate nature by obsessing over such artificial wisdom, hence they advocate returning to fundamentals—renouncing sagely wisdom so people may become simple as children, devoted to farming and mulberry cultivation. The benefits to the people would far exceed a hundredfold. True filial piety and kindness are natural endowments from heaven.

Benevolence and righteousness are innate human virtues that arise naturally and cannot be forcibly altered. Those who embody kindness naturally draw people close, while those who act with propriety earn praise. Yet when such closeness and praise become objects of deliberate pursuit, humanity's original purity is lost. The perfected person (zhiren, one who attains the Dao) severs such thoughts before they arise and discards them before they take form, returning people to their primal nature—only then can genuine filial piety and compassion fully manifest. Hence the saying: "Abandon contrived benevolence and righteousness, and people will naturally return to filial devotion."

Exquisite carvings and intricate mechanical locks represent the pinnacle of craftsmanship; pearls, jade, measuring tools, and contracts symbolize material wealth. When people compete in technical refinement, they disregard integrity; when chasing material gain, they forsake moral principles—this is the root of banditry. By returning to innate simplicity and preserving unadorned genuineness, what place remains for thieves? Thus: "Reject cunning artifice and forsake profit, and thieves will vanish of themselves."

Lin Xiyi (Master Lin) explains: The moment labels like "sagehood" and "wisdom" appeared, calamity befell the world. Better to utterly discard such concepts and let the world operate spontaneously. Once benevolence and righteousness were named, distinctions emerged between filial and unfilial, compassionate and unkind—better to forget these categories and merge with the Dao, where people naturally embody filial devotion without conscious differentiation. Similarly, cunning and profit breed banditry; their complete abandonment aligns with Laozi's teaching: "Not prizing rare goods prevents the people from stealing."

Li Yue (Master Li) adds: This continues the previous chapter's theme—sagehood, benevolence, and cunning should all be categorically rejected and rendered obsolete, allowing people to transform and return to simplicity.

Addressing potential objections, Lin Xiyi clarifies: Some perceive Laozi's "abandon benevolence and righteousness" as conflicting with Confucianism. In truth, Laozi traces virtue to its source—while Confucian virtues can govern, they remain inferior to transforming people through the Dao itself, where harmonious coexistence emerges naturally as the highest ideal.

Finally, these three principles (rejecting sagehood, benevolence, and cunning) remain incomplete as theory, necessitating foundational guidance: preserve unadulterated genuineness ("manifest plainness, embrace simplicity") and minimize selfish desires ("reduce the self, lessen desires"). Lü Huiqing (Master Lü) concludes that while these principles outline cultivation stages, the Dao transcends language—all descriptions remain approximations. Those awakened might miss the truth through verbal constructs, hence the need for written transmission despite inevitable misinterpretations.

(Note: "Zhiren" denotes one who has realized the Dao; "manifest plainness, embrace simplicity" (jian su bao pu) describes preserving primal authenticity; "Master Lü" refers to Song dynasty scholar Lü Huiqing.)

This passage expounds the Daoist approach to governance and self-cultivation, with returning to primordial simplicity as its core principle. It reveals that true wisdom lies not in superficial accomplishments but in essential nature. When rulers maintain pure authenticity (embracing simplicity), uphold innate genuineness (holding to the uncarved block), and reduce selfish desires (minimizing personal concerns), the people can live in peace, returning to the golden age of Fuxi's era.

For personal cultivation, practicing these three principles preserves mental clarity, shielding the spirit from worldly contamination. This manifests as: maintaining a mind pure as blank paper (empty whiteness), returning to the undifferentiated primordial state (abiding in chaos), aligning daily activities with natural rhythms (where eating, resting and daily routines all accord with cosmic harmony), and elevating consciousness beyond mundane attachments (dwelling in the realm of formless mystery). All these are achieved through desire reduction and returning to simplicity.

The text specifically clarifies that it's not the sage's wisdom and skill that are problematic, but rather people's tendency to pursue their reputation while neglecting their essence. Like the virtues of humaneness and righteousness—when superficially proclaimed without sincere practice, they become tools for hypocrisy (greed's instruments). True sages benefit all creation without boasting of benevolence (blessing ten thousand generations without claiming humaneness), for their actions are themselves manifestations of the Dao.

The conclusion emphasizes how people commonly misunderstand the teachings to "abolish sageliness and discard wisdom" or "renounce humaneness and abandon righteousness." These actually urge a return to the spontaneously complete Dao (the way of undifferentiated perfection), freeing practitioners from formal constraints to recover their simple nature (understanding leads to plainness, non-action returns to simplicity). Authentic cultivation lies in preserving inner unity (guarding the One), refining the interior without ornamenting the exterior (cultivating within without decorating without), ultimately achieving complete harmony with the Dao (embracing spirit while embodying nature).

This passage expounds on the Daoist pursuit of returning to primordial simplicity. Laozi believed that when humans reduce selfishness and desires, ultimately reaching a state of selflessness and desirelessness, they can return to their original pure nature. At this stage, intelligence no longer needs to employ cunning, benevolence requires no deliberate display, righteous actions need no forced implementation, and all manner of clever techniques become unnecessary—the world naturally returns to harmonious order. This is the fundamental truth the sages sought to convey, yet worldly people often fail to comprehend it.

Master Wu explains that those who follow the Dao (the Way) maintain outward plainness and inward genuineness. "Plainness" resembles undyed silk, "genuineness" like uncarved wood—preserving the most authentic state is sufficient, why pursue ornate embellishments?

Chapter 20 discusses "abandoning learning to be free from sorrow." Master Li interprets this "abandoned learning" as rejecting worldly knowledge to instead study supreme truths ordinary people neglect. Common people constantly worry their learning isn't profound enough, thus often anxious; while sages discard such concerns to wholeheartedly contemplate the Dao, naturally becoming carefree. The difference between "respectful assent" (wei) and "casual response" (a) seems slight, good and evil appear close, yet in reality they're vastly different. What people fear (referring to karmic retribution) should indeed be feared.

Master He further explains this "abandoned learning" is actually the Dao itself—the state of natural non-action (Wuwei) that transcends the constraints of form and reputation. Reaching this realm, one naturally forgets worldly worries. Though appearing carefree, one must still maintain reverent caution. Just as "respectful assent" and "casual response" differ by just a tone, good and evil are separated by a single thought—yet their consequences differ greatly. Zhuangzi said good reputations require long accumulation, while misdeeds once committed are hard to undo—how can one not be cautious? Thus while transcending worldly affairs, sages never disregard them.

From the perspective of "abandoning learning to be free from sorrow," one sees formless forms, hears soundless sounds, tastes flavorless flavors, and comprehends wordless teachings. Like Cook Ding who saw no whole ox when butchering—what worries could remain? From the perspective of "respect and disregard, good and evil," one achieves eyes that don't gaze indiscriminately, ears that don't listen carelessly, and a mouth that doesn't speak recklessly.

Zhuangzi said that people fear immense things because of their own insignificance. Yet the true Dao (the cosmic origin) stands transcendent between heaven and earth—this is the state of "abandoning learning to be free from sorrow." When one attains the highest realm of Wuwei (non-action), the Dao naturally manifests. It knows no distinction between large and small, beginning and end. To seek its boundaries would be like facing the boundless ocean with no shore in sight.

The masses live boisterously, delighting as if attending lavish banquets or enjoying spring outings. Yet I (the Dao cultivator) maintain serene detachment, my inner state resembling a newborn infant who does not yet smile, utterly unresponsive to worldly temptations. Master Wu explained that ordinary people pursue learning for external pleasures, like savoring delicacies or admiring beautiful scenery, while Dao cultivators preserve crystal-clear minds with unawakened desires, remaining as unattached to external things as an infant. Master Lin added that practitioners are content with simplicity, free from countless thoughts—this state resembles the pure innocence of an infant before it grows into a knowing child.

The Daoist's condition is like drifting with the wind, having no fixed abode. Master Wu described this as the spirit dwelling within all things yet clinging to none; Master He portrayed it as riding clouds with perfect freedom; Master Lü compared it to an empty boat following the current or fallen leaves dancing in the wind—body and mind completely merging with nature. In this realm, one finds neither trace of beginning nor glimpse of ending, moving in perfect accordance with the natural Dao.

The worldly chase after fame and profit with insatiable greed, forever feeling what they possess is never enough. Yet those who cultivate the Dao appear as if they've lost all desires, their minds empty and luminous, free from want. This state resembles what Master Lin (note: Song Dynasty Daoist Lin Xiyi) described: ordinary people constantly crave more, while Dao cultivators seem to have abandoned all covetousness.

Master Lü (note: Lü Huiqing, Song Dynasty Daoist scholar) explains: worldly people indulge in wealth and pleasure, believing themselves happy and satisfied. But those who attain the Dao are different—they regard fame and profit as chaff, view official positions as worthless weeds, understanding that external possessions are illusory, their mental states clear as the void. Thus the Daode Jing states: "All people have more than enough, yet I alone appear to lack."

Master Wu (note: Yuan Dynasty Daoist Wu Cheng) interprets "lack" as meaning "to lose." Ordinary people delight in flaunting their gains, while Dao cultivators seek nothing, yet their hearts remain peacefully empty as if something were missing. Master Dong (note: possibly Yuan Dynasty Daoist Dong Sijing) explains it as "forgetting"—possessing yet appearing to have nothing.

The mind of a Dao cultivator may seem dull and chaotic, yet this is the wisdom that resembles folly. Master Lü says: True eloquence lies not in clever speech but in understanding silence; the highest wisdom shines not through outward brilliance but through apparent foolishness. Appearing foolish all day long actually preserves one's inner spirit (Shen).

Master Wu uses the term "dull and muddled" to describe this state—like the primordial chaos before heaven and earth separated, free from discriminating thoughts. Master Lin also compares this to the ignorant simplicity mentioned in the Zhuangzi, identical to the state of "benign stupidity."

Worldly people display sharp intelligence outwardly, while Dao cultivators appear dim and silent. Master Lü explains: ordinary people direct their cleverness toward chasing external things, parading about as if holding up the sun and moon; those who attain the Dao keep wisdom inwardly concealed, like wearing coarse cloth while harboring precious jade within. The worldly nitpick and criticize, obsessing over trivialities; Dao attainers follow heavenly principles, embracing all things, appearing inscrutably obscure.

Master Lin concludes: This "dim and dull" state is precisely the realm of primordial chaos. The worldly are shrewd calculators, while Dao cultivators dwell in chaotic Wuwei (non-action)—this marks the fundamental difference between those who attain the Dao and ordinary people.

Ordinary people always appear clever and sharp-eyed, discerning every detail, while I seem muddled and confused. The world considers knowledge as wisdom, yet I alone maintain a state of innocence and ignorance, appearing dull and foolish.

Like a boat adrift on the vast ocean, tossed by howling winds with no harbor in sight, or like duckweed floating aimlessly on the boundless waves; like an unceasing gale, unsure of where it arises or where it will finally rest.

The world knows its goals and directions clearly, yet I alone seem like a numb and insensible fool, oblivious to the outside world. Like a crude villager dwelling in remote mountains, ignorant of worldly affairs. People strive for action and achievement, while I remain content in a state of desirelessness, thus appearing stubborn and uncouth. The world only values what is useful, unaware of the wonder in what seems useless.

The reason I stand apart is that I cherish drawing nourishment from the "Dao," the mother of all things. The Dao is like the nursing mother (referring to the primal force that nurtures all existence). The sage discards all worldly pursuits, devoting themselves wholly to embodying the Great Dao, maintaining humility and holding fast to simplicity. What I treasure is this way of life—returning to the source and drawing spiritual sustenance from the Dao.

(Note: The phrase "drawing nourishment from the mother" is a Daoist term, symbolizing receiving sustenance from the Dao; "maintaining humility and holding fast to simplicity" refers to preserving a soft and yielding state while abiding in the root of the Dao.)

Thus the ancients said "free from worry and care." Master Lü (Lü Dongbin) explained that the Dao is the origin of all things. Just as fish cannot survive without water—perishing when separated from it—what happens when humans lose the Dao? The key lies in understanding that Shen (spirit-consciousness) is the child of Qi (primordial energy), and Qi is the mother of Shen. Without a mother's nourishment, one cannot live; without the sustenance of Qi, existence is impossible. Therefore, it is said that one must empty the mind to receive the Dao's nourishment, continuously merging with the Qi of Heaven and Earth. In this way, the body may become imperishable, and the spirit may remain undiminished. Hence the saying: "What is precious is returning to the source."

Some ask: Why do some interpret this as "returning to the source through cultivation," while others explain it as "like an infant relying on its mother"? Though the expressions differ, the principle is the same—both point to realizing the true essence of the Dao.

Chapter 21

The manifestation of great De (Virtue) wholly follows the patterns of the Dao.

Master Lü said: The eternal Dao has no name; it is only revealed through De. The highest De has no foundation; it takes form by aligning with the Dao. The Dao has no shape, yet when it operates and manifests as De, it becomes visible. De never departs from the Dao for even a moment, hence the phrase "only the Dao is followed." Master Wu (Wu Cheng) explained: "Great De" refers to magnificent Virtue, and "manifestation" means visible expression. "Following" signifies origin. All things arise from De; every visible form and substance is a manifestation of De. Yet De itself can manifest only because it emerges from the Dao.

Master Lin (Lin Xiyi) said: "Great" means vast and profound. Those who awaken to the Dao fully align with it, and outwardly, they naturally display magnificent Virtue. "De" means "attainment"—what one realizes within is called De. The Dao cannot be seen, but De can, so De serves as the visible form of the Dao.

This thing called the Dao—it seems to exist, yet seems not to; elusive and hard to grasp.

Master Lü said: The Dao is profound and ineffable; no concrete thing can compare to it. Calling it a "thing" is merely a forced label to explore its mysterious principles. Since the Dao has no form, where can one grasp it? Searching for it in concrete things yields nothing, yet abandoning things to seek the Dao leads only to boundlessness. Examine its state of seeming existence and non-existence: in a flash, it appears to be there—the being within non-being; in a blur, it seems not to be—the non-being within being. In non-being, it is not absolute emptiness, for emptiness is form (matter); in being, it is not solid reality, for form is emptiness. This principle of seeming existence and non-existence can be contemplated—thus the phrase "the Dao as a thing is elusive and indistinct." Master Wu said: Seeming to be and not to be, impossible to grasp definitively—this is why it is called "elusive."

This passage elucidates the Daoist ontological understanding of the Dao (the Way), focusing on its enigmatic and elusive nature that seems to exist yet remains intangible.

The lines "In the indistinct and hazy, there are images; in the hazy and indistinct, there are things" describe how the Dao, though vague and unfathomable, contains the embryonic forms and essence of all things. It is as if within this blurred state, the fundamental patterns of existence are already present; within this chaotic obscurity, concrete entities are already being nurtured.

"Deep and dark, within it lies the Jing (essence)" further explains that within this profound and mysterious state exists the subtle creative mechanism of transformation. This Jing is utterly real and operates according to definite principles ("within it is certainty"). As Lü's commentary clarifies, these "images" come and go without trace—unseen, unheard. To call them "non-existent" would ignore their generative power, yet to call them "existent" would overlook their formless nature.

The "images" in the Great Void (cosmic origin) appear to exist yet are ultimately insubstantial, yet from them arise creation and the nurturing of all things. The "things" in the Great Void seem intangible yet are truly present, giving rise to natural phenomena like wind, thunder, frost, and dew. With "images," the names of "things" are established; with "things," their subtle essence gives birth to form.

The legendary Daoist immortal Guangchengzi said that the highest Dao is profoundly mysterious. From the perspective of the human body, the heart is the dwelling of "haziness," the kidneys the abode of "dark profundity," with the heart's Shen (spirit) and the kidneys' Jing both residing in this state of indistinct obscurity. This Jing can penetrate all things—in Neidan (internal alchemy) practice, it is called the "Great Medicine" (the foundation of cultivation); in the Yijing, it is termed "Central Sincerity." Unchanged by external conditions, it moves spontaneously, responding immediately, thus accurately manifesting the seasonal cycles of spring's growth and autumn's harvest.

He's commentary explains that this "thing" is no ordinary thing, and this "Jing" is no common essence. Heaven becomes clear because of it, Earth becomes tranquil because of it, and humans become enlightened because of it. Only by holding fast to the profound Dao, focusing in stillness, seeking the Jing within the dark depths, and seeking the "thing" within the haze can one attain the state where form and spirit are in harmony, unifying with the Dao. Wu adds that earlier Confucian scholars regarded the nature of the Dao as empty, still, and Wuwei (non-acting).

This passage discusses the eternal nature and all-encompassing characteristics of the Dao. Though formless and nameless, the Dao permeates all ages, eternally present. From antiquity to the present, its essence remains unchanged, capable of observing and governing the birth and dissolution of all things in the world ("zhongfu" refers to the myriad beautiful manifestations of creation).

Master Lü explains: From ancient times to the distant future, the Dao exists with crystalline constancy, manifesting its function at all times. Though inherently nameless, we provisionally call it the "True Jing (essence)." It endures through millennia without wavering, like an immutable fundamental nature, silently witnessing the various splendors of heaven and earth and the cycles of life and death. Precisely because the Dao itself is profoundly mysterious and eternally indestructible, it can respond to the transformations of all things and maintain cosmic order.

Master He further elaborates: This Dao existed before the formation of heaven and earth, yet never grows old despite the passage of time. Though usually nameless, its essence never disappears (what the first chapter of the Daode Jing calls the "Constant Name"). It serenely observes the natural manifestation of all beautiful forms in creation. "Zhongfu" refers to the complete array of beauties in all things, all perfectly contained within the Dao. Thus we say the Dao is supremely subtle yet contains all beauties—this is the principle of heaven and earth and the virtue of sages.

Master Lin adds: The concept of Dao spans all ages, indispensable for even a single day, as all beautiful things originate from it. "Zhongfu" means various beauties, while "yue" signifies observation through experience. The coming and going, the transformations of all things, all emerge from this Dao.

Master Wu concludes: "Not departing" means eternal existence, "yue" means to observe through experience, and "fu" means beauty. "Zhongfu" represents the myriad things of the universe—while their beauties change and vanish with time, only the "Supreme De (virtue)" that arises from the Dao remains unchanged from antiquity to the present. How do we know the impermanence of all things? It is through this unchanging Dao and the Supreme De it generates that we comprehend this truth.