《道德真經藏室纂微篇》

This passage presents Chen Jingyuan's profound commentary on the opening chapter of the Daode Jing (Scripture of the Way and Virtue) — "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao." The exposition revolves around two core concepts: "Dao" and "name."

Regarding the interpretation of "Dao": The true Dao is profoundly mysterious and ineffable, impossible to fully articulate through language and only comprehensible through spiritual realization. Here, a distinction is made between the "speakable Dao" (ke dao) and the "eternal Dao" (chang dao). The speakable Dao refers to tangible, teachable methods that adapt to circumstances, while the unchanging, eternal Dao operates through natural non-action (wuwei). It gives birth to all things yet remains hidden, accessible only through deep contemplation. Just as daylight needs no candle (symbolizing the Dao's spontaneous operation), lighting a candle at night (representing human-created teachings) serves only as a temporary aid.

Concerning the explanation of "name": Names denote the manifested forms of the Dao. What can be named (ke ming) refers to specific functions, while the true name of the Dao (chang ming) is infinitely mutable and unconstrained. Virtues like benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness are all expressions of the Dao, yet none encompass its totality.

Citing Yan Junping's perspective, the author emphasizes that what can be transmitted are concrete methods (ke dao), while the true Dao (chang dao) is the origin of heaven, earth, and all things — existing prior to all phenomena and giving rise to spirits, deities, and the cosmos. This distinction reveals the fundamental difference in Daoist thought between the transcendent noumenon and its manifested phenomena.

Liezi, a prominent Daoist figure, lived in seclusion in the gardens of the Zheng state for forty years, with none truly understanding him. Even the ruler and officials regarded him as an ordinary commoner—this exemplifies one who truly maintains the "eternal name" (the unchanging Dao).

"Namelessness" refers to the primordial state before heaven and earth took form. Here, "namelessness" means the Dao itself—before the generation of all things, no name could possibly be imposed. When the mysterious foundation first manifested and the primal chaos was about to divide, it resembled the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate) giving birth to the two polarities of Yin-Yang as described in the Yijing. Yan Junping (a Han dynasty Daoist scholar) said: "Nameless and formless, it merges with the divine. All things under heaven rely on it yet know not why, transforming within emptiness to become the origin of heaven and earth." This is the perspective of one who embodies the Great Dao.

"The named" refers to the state after heaven and earth formed. Heaven bestows Yang Qi while earth nurtures all beings, nourishing them like a mother nourishes her children—thus "the named" is called the mother of all things. In truth, the profound and mysterious Dao cares not for names or namelessness. The sages merely established teachings based on its functions to illustrate the unity of origin and manifestation. All that renews itself daily is called "nameless"; thus what gives birth to all things is "nameless," while what completes them is "named." Yan Junping remarked: "The transformative function of the named Dao honors De (Virtue), values Shen (spirit), and emulates the Great Harmony (the balanced state of Yin-Yang). Thus heaven and earth become the mother of all things." This is the perspective of one who applies the Great Dao.

Maintaining desirelessness allows observation of the Dao's mysteries; maintaining desire allows observation of its boundaries. "Desire" means thoughts arising from external conditions; "mystery" means the most subtle profundity; "boundary" means limits. The byways beside the Great Dao are called "boundaries," which also imply return. The formless Dao in quiescent stillness is called "desireless"; in responsive transformation of all things, it is called "desiring." Desireless observation of mysteries means abiding in emptiness; desiring observation of boundaries means mindful contemplation. We may say the truly constant is the Great Dao itself—both desireless and desiring are its different functional aspects. The Dao is originally formless and imageless, manifesting through resonance with all things. Its metaphysical aspect is called Dao; its physical manifestations are called vessels. Superior practitioners perceive both subtlety and manifestation, comprehending the mysteries fully before forms take shape—hence "constantly desireless to observe its mysteries." Average practitioners follow external phenomena, grasping functions only through observing various manifestations—since all things differ and truth is hard to fathom, they glimpse only its edges. Another interpretation: When one constantly embodies the Dao's subtleties, maintains the essentials of purity, returns to the origin of one's nature and life force, and remains unswayed by external temptations, one preserves a mind of serene detachment.

Yan Junping (a Daoist scholar of the Han dynasty) said: The mind of a Dao cultivator should be as firm as metal and stone, the body as still as withered wood, and the will as pure as a young animal when dwelling in silent solitude. Those without desires can return to the original truth of life, while those with desires chase after external things, becoming lost in trivial matters, abandoning the smooth path of Dao, and ultimately losing their true nature.

Ancient sages held that: Those without desires unite with the Dao through inner observation (neiguan, the practice of inward contemplation), naturally transforming all beings without deliberate action (wuwei); those with desires respond to affairs from the fundamental origin, establishing teachings and accomplishing worldly matters, thereby disciplining themselves while educating the people. Both approaches are complete in terms of self-cultivation and governing the world.

"The two are the same" refers to how both the "Dao that can be spoken" (the expressible Dao) and the "Dao that cannot be spoken," the "named" and the "nameless," the "desiring" and the "non-desiring," all originate from the silent source—before the distinction between substance and function arises, good and evil remain undifferentiated. "Emerging with different names" means that after manifesting from the origin into phenomena, though all stem from the human mind, their expressions—such as benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trust—differ, creating distinctions between the wise and foolish, and giving rise to varied states like life, death, longevity, and premature demise.

"Xuan" (the profound) signifies the deep and mysterious essence of heaven and earth. Whether named or nameless, desiring or non-desiring, all arise from natural endowment, forming the myriad things in their diverse appearances within the primordial chaos—this is the wondrous state of "the mystery beyond mystery." Those who comprehend this profound mystery attain "xuan de" (virtue in harmony with the Dao).

"The gate of all wonders" is the domain of the Dao. The great Dao is vast and boundless, without fixed form. In terms of personal cultivation, those who transcend the world appear no different from ordinary people, while those engaged in the world return to the wondrous origin. In terms of teaching, the perfected ones (zhenren, those who have attained the Dao) expound wondrous principles, while sages contain the marvelous Dao and teach according to circumstance. This quality of being ever-changing yet eternally constant is what is called "knowing the constant." What Zhuangzi called the "heavenly gate" is precisely this formless portal through which all things emerge and return—the gate of creation.

This passage elucidates the dialectical relationship between "beauty and ugliness," "good and not good" as discussed in the Daodejing. All things arise from "nothingness" (Wu), which is the source of all mysteries (the "gateway to myriad wonders"). Those who truly embody the Dao are the sages—they renew their understanding daily, adapting flexibly without clinging to fixed patterns.

What the world deems beautiful, once universally recognized as such, in fact becomes ugliness; what is collectively praised as good, when standardized, turns into its opposite. Beauty and goodness ultimately stem from subjective preferences—what one likes is called beautiful, what one dislikes is called ugly. If one indulges in personal judgments, imposing what they consider right as "good" and wrong as "not good," where then does true beauty reside?

Zhuangzi once said that his notion of "no-emotion" (Wuqing) does not mean lacking feelings, but rather not allowing personal likes and dislikes to harm one's innate nature, following spontaneity without forced effort. Sages are not devoid of concepts of beauty and goodness—they possess them but do not flaunt them, as if they had none. By not flaunting, they preserve their Virtue (De); by aligning with "nothingness," they avoid calamity. True beauty and goodness require no deliberate proclamation.

If one uses standards of beauty and goodness to instruct the world, ensuring everyone knows what is beautiful, this is still incomplete. As the scripture states: "Those of highest Virtue do not boast of it; those of lower Virtue cling to it and never let go." Moreover, good people are few in the world, while the not-good are many. Forcing correction will only provoke resistance, turning into evil.

Yan Junping (a Daoist scholar of the Western Han dynasty) pointed out: What is conspicuous does not last; what is obscure will not remain so forever. Flowers and trees flourish in mid-spring, yet shepherd's purse and wheat thrive at the autumn equinox. At the winter solstice, all things sprout, while at the summer solstice, they wither. What reaches its peak must decline; extreme beauty gives rise to ugliness—even Yin and Yang follow this principle, let alone humans. This serves as a warning against boasting of beauty and goodness.

Thus, being (you) and nothingness (wu) transform into each other; difficulty and ease complete one another; long and short contrast each other; high and low depend on one another; sound and echo harmonize; front and back follow in sequence. These six phenomena arise because fixation on beauty and goodness leads to artificial contrivance. Once deliberate effort is applied, bias emerges, and mutual harm results in the loss of innate nature. Therefore, the sage advocates governing through non-action (Wuwei), preserving the profound Virtue without dissipation—because the nature of "being" and "nothingness" is inherently interdependent, not unilaterally generated.

This passage explores the interdependent relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu). All existence necessarily arises from emptiness, just as emptiness inevitably transforms into form. Consider how a potter excels at shaping clay but struggles with woodcarving, while a carpenter masters woodwork yet falters with clay. Each has distinct aptitudes—attempting exchanged tasks brings difficulty, whereas focusing on one's innate craft yields success. Herein lies the mutual completion of difficulty and ease.

Concepts like length and height are equally relative. A crane's legs appear long only when contrasted with a duck's, just as a duck's seem short beside a crane's. High and low positions hold no inherent superiority; when those elevated remain humble and those below free from insecurity, harmony prevails. But introduce comparison, and conflict emerges. Sound carries no intrinsic harmony—like wind through trees or birdsong in nature, each tone exists independently. Human-imposed musical scales create consonance. Sequence operates similarly: day follows night as footsteps alternate, cycling endlessly without terminus.

Yan Junping (Han dynasty Daoist scholar) synthesized this wisdom: Without form, emptiness goes unrecognized; absent difficulty, ease loses meaning. An inch seems short measured against a foot, mountains appear tall above valleys, sounds gain distinction through contrast, and sequence clarifies through mutual reference. These paired opposites—all manifestations of nature's fundamental patterns—arise together and cycle perpetually. Even divine spirits (shen) and the interplay of yin-yang obey this law. Thus, rulers governing by Dao (the Way) must align with these natural rhythms, avoiding forceful intervention.

(Note: This commentary elucidates the dialectical principles in the Daode Jing regarding "being and non-being generating each other" and "difficulty and ease completing one another." Through everyday analogies, it demonstrates relativity in all phenomena while emphasizing alignment with natural order.)

In ancient times, when enlightened rulers governed the world, they adopted the method of Wuwei (non-action). Without deliberately promoting virtue to educate the people, the world naturally achieved peace. The "Wuwei" mentioned here does not mean doing nothing or sitting idle all day, but rather transcending distinctions between beauty and ugliness, good and evil, eliminating artificial efforts, and returning to natural essence. In this way, the people could fully realize their abilities, all things would find their proper places, and harmony prevailed between rulers and subjects.

The meaning of "teaching without words" is this: The sage leads by example, influencing others through dignified demeanor and conduct, acting according to the right timing, and achieving merit by following circumstances. This method of teaching aligns with the Dao (the Way), surpassing the limitations of language.

All things grow and move naturally, and the sage never interferes arbitrarily. When the world is at peace, the people plow their fields and eat, weave cloth and dress themselves contentedly. After eating their fill, they joyfully pat their bellies and wander about, each finding their proper place. The sage allows all things to develop naturally without interference, because the people can be guided to follow the Dao without needing to understand its principles—this is the highest manifestation of De (Virtue/Power).

All things grow naturally, each with its unique form, yet the sage never claims them as possessions. People accomplish things through their own efforts, yet the sage never takes credit. When achievements are completed, the Dao has already permeated all things, and the sage's mind remains still like water, never placing himself above others. Precisely because he does not claim merit, the sage's virtuous deeds never fade. Just as when the Chu general Zi Fa conquered Cai, King Chu wished to reward him, but he declined, saying: "The state's prosperity stems from the ruler's virtue; the enemy's retreat comes from the generals' might; victory in battle depends on the people's strength. If I were to claim these achievements to seek rank and wealth, it would violate the principles of righteousness." This exemplifies the ideal of "achieving merit without claiming it."

(Note: The text in parentheses here represents original commentary, explaining that once intellectual distinctions arise, oppositions between good and evil and comparisons of superiority emerge, making it difficult to maintain natural balance. Highlighting differences in talent provokes competition—hence the subsequent discussion on "not exalting the worthy.")

This passage discusses how rulers can influence the people through self-cultivation. When a ruler refrains from flaunting worthiness (where "worthy" refers to talent and virtue) and maintains a humble, low-key demeanor, the people will follow naturally like grass bending to the wind, without developing contentious hearts. As the Dao De Jing states: When I practice non-action (Wuwei), the people transform themselves; when I remain tranquil, they rectify themselves naturally.

To elaborate: If the ruler maintains inner purity while ministers enforce laws justly ("impartial punishments" referring to fair penalties), showing no favoritism toward the powerful while extending benevolence to the lowest levels—allowing both the capable and ordinary to find their proper places—then scholars won't contend with one another. Conversely, if the ruler is indecisive and ministers flatter, superficially praising worthies while harboring ulterior motives, then the more talent is recruited, the more deceit and hypocrisy will flourish, inevitably leading to contention. As the ancient saying goes: Those of superior virtue naturally take the lead, while those of lesser ability follow. True sages do not appear frequently—heaven-sent worthies cannot be produced through mere promotion.

Consider this analogy: When inferior horses race alongside thoroughbreds (Hualiu denoting fine steeds) on level ground, or when swans fly with quails (Chunyan referring to small birds) under the same sky, superiority and inferiority become self-evident. This is simply the natural order, requiring no deliberate emphasis.

Regarding "not valuing rare goods": Rare goods refer to gold, jade, pearls, and rhinoceros horn. If rulers uphold tranquility and non-action, allowing people to focus peacefully on farming and weaving—leaving gold in the mountains and pearls in the deep, neither pursuing wealth nor favoring the rich—then the people naturally won't develop thieving desires. Just as with luminous night pearls (like the Black Dragon's luminous pearl), gold, jade, and embroidered silks—if the ruler doesn't prize them, subjects won't covet them. The ancients said: When those above lack greed, even rewards for theft won't tempt anyone. The Huainanzi cites Emperor Shennong's system: If able-bodied men don't farm, the world goes hungry; if women of age don't weave, the world suffers cold. Thus, the ruler plows personally and his wife weaves, setting an example for all under heaven. Guided this way, people naturally won't value rare goods.

Concerning "not displaying objects that excite desire": These are external things that tempt the mind and stir covetousness. "Not displaying" doesn't mean complete isolation, but rather maintaining a Wuwei attitude of non-attachment. If the ruler encounters external things without developing craving—undisturbed by material temptations (Sēchen referring to sensory allurements)—he preserves his innate purity and returns to the state of primordial unity (Zhenyi, the most authentic expression of Dao).

This scripture primarily discusses the sage's method of governing the world, with its core principle being the preservation of inner purity and natural essence.

It first states that if a ruler can maintain "Zhenyi" (the purest manifestation of the Dao), the people's minds will not be disturbed, and society can return to a state of simple naturalness. Quoting Junping, the text explains: When society does not exalt the worthy, people won't compete to emulate them; when material goods aren't overvalued, greed won't arise; when excessive sensory pleasures (referred to as "sanwu" or various desires) are eliminated, people won't indulge in hedonism. These all follow natural principles.

The text then illustrates this with the story of King Zhuang of Chu: Faced with an extravagant banquet, the king voluntarily declined, knowing his virtue wasn't sufficient to withstand such pleasures, fearing he might become addicted. This exemplifies the principle "not seeing desirable things keeps the mind undisturbed."

The sage's method of governance unfolds through four progressive levels:

1. "Emptying the mind": Clearing mental distractions, not chasing external things, maintaining inner tranquility. As Zhuangzi said, when the mind is empty and pure, natural radiance and auspiciousness will emerge.

2. "Filling the belly": When inner virtue (De) overflows and spiritual fulfillment is achieved, greed cannot take root.

3. "Softening the will": Acting with humility and gentleness, avoiding forceful competition, thus aligning with the Dao.

4. "Strengthening the bones": Abundant spiritual energy naturally leads to physical vitality—this follows nature's way.

Finally, the text clarifies that sages cultivate themselves this way to set an example for the people, guiding society back to simplicity. When people lack excessive cleverness and desires, those who consider themselves clever won't dare act recklessly. As Confucius said, when one's own conduct is correct, what difficulty is there in governing?

This scripture primarily discusses "governing through non-action (Wuwei)" and the empty, yielding nature of the Dao (the Way).

Even if ordinary people engage in pretentious or vain behavior, when influenced by the atmosphere of serene non-action, they will naturally restrain their restless minds and dare not easily give rise to reckless desires. By practicing the Dao of non-action, there is nothing that cannot be well-governed. "Acting through non-action" means following the principle of Wuwei—non-action refers to not overstepping one's inherent nature and proper boundaries. By preserving one's nature without transgressing limits, the natural order remains intact, and all actions then become expressions of non-action. If all things can maintain this state of non-action, the impulses of vanity and the pursuit of fame and profit will completely vanish. A simple and honest atmosphere will prevail naturally—what could possibly remain ungoverned?

"Dao is empty (chong)" refers to the hollow, yielding quality of the Dao. "Chong" signifies emptiness and harmony. The Dao takes emptiness as its fundamental function, and harmonious Qi (vital energy) can circulate universally precisely because of this emptiness. If a ruler can apply this principle of emptiness, even possessing the wealth of ten thousand chariots will not stir pride. If ordinary people understand this truth, they will not feel impoverished even in humble, cramped dwellings. To dwell in the halls of power while maintaining the mind of a mountain recluse, or to wear coarse hemp without envying fine robes and official caps—this is the true realization of the empty Dao, free from self-satisfaction. Master Yan Junping said: "Deliberately pursuing emptiness leads to its loss; forcibly seeking harmony results in discord." Only by not striving for it can one naturally attain the state of harmonious emptiness. Emptiness is rooted in nothingness, and harmony finds its fulfillment in non-action. Those who achieve nothingness and non-action can eternally preserve harmony—this is the true mastery of the Dao's empty and yielding function, without ever becoming complacent.

"Abyss" describes the profound stillness of the Dao. This empty substance of the Dao never diminishes nor overflows. Its nature is concentrated and clear, so unfathomable that it is called an "abyss." This immeasurable truth is neither existence nor non-existence—it defies precise description and can only be tentatively called the "seeming" origin of all things. All beings are daily nourished by the Dao, which embraces all phenomena in the world. Whether good or evil, beautiful or ugly, animals or plants—all return to it, making it the ancestor of the myriad things.

"Blunting its sharpness" means restraining the edges—"sharpness" refers to pointedness and aggression. To resolve disputes, one must first temper excessive words and actions.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concepts of "emptiness and harmony" (chongxu) and "blending with the light while identifying with the dust," while explaining the profound meaning behind "Heaven and Earth are not benevolent."

Those pursuing fame and fortune should comprehend the empty tranquility of the Dao (the Way), restrain greedy delusions, and avoid self-aggrandizement. When the heart swells with arrogance and internal-external disturbances persist, one must experience the profound serenity of the Dao to dissolve constraints, resolve conflicts, and return to the pristine clarity of original nature. Master Heshanggong (note: a renowned Han dynasty Daoist scholar) interprets "conflict" as resentment—referring to those insidious, angry, hateful emotions festering within. Only by embracing the harmonizing Qi (vital energy) of the Dao can these negative emotions melt away like ice and snow.

The supreme Dao takes emptiness and harmony as its fundamental function, its influence permeating all existence. Faced with light, it harmonizes without separation; encountering worldly dust, it coexists without rejection. In engaging with all things, it blends seamlessly with light and dust; in returning to its source, it remains pure and untainted. When probing its mystical essence, the Dao appears elusive and intangible, yet observing its practical manifestations reveals undeniable clarity—thus it exists in a state of seeming presence and absence.

Laozi refers to himself as "I" when explaining the Dao: I know not whose offspring the Dao might be—it seems to have existed before the Lord of Heaven. Profound and mysterious, its workings are immeasurable, nurturing all things since time immemorial. The Dao has neither ancestors nor sects—how then could it have descendants? Upon reflection, the Dao appears to predate even the celestial sovereign.

Heaven and Earth show no partial affection, treating all beings as straw-dogs for ritual sacrifice; the sage likewise shows no partiality, regarding the people as straw-dogs. These ritual objects, woven from grass, were used in ancient ceremonies for exorcism before being discarded. Neither treasured during use nor despised when abandoned, straw-dogs derive value from serving the divine—yet the divine doesn't depend on them. This independence signifies absence of selfishness, and without selfishness there can be no favoritism. Thus Heaven and Earth, seemingly devoid of kindness, generate immense benevolence; the sage, appearing unmerciful, accomplishes natural compassion. Here "not benevolent" means not deliberately displaying kindness, not cold indifference. Heaven and Earth regard all things with detached equanimity as straw-dogs, demanding no recompense; sages similarly treat the people without seeking reward—this embodies the natural disposition of Heaven and Earth.

The operations of Heaven and Earth follow natural laws: the clear Heaven above, the solid Earth below, with the two energies of Yin and Yang flowing smoothly, allowing harmonious Qi to circulate naturally. Heaven and Earth do not act with deliberate intention, yet all things flourish spontaneously. They neither exhaust their Shen (spirit) nor strain their Jing (essence) through forced action, nor do they feign compassion or bestow favors to make things grow. This is the principle expressed in the Daode Jing: "Heaven and Earth are not benevolent; they treat all things as straw dogs."

The sage rulers who embody the Dao maintain their harmonious and serene nature, consistently aligning with natural transformations, their spirit in communion with the great Way. When governing the world, all things flourish naturally. Sages do not tax their minds, disturb their Shen, or deplete their Qi, nor do they anxiously display benevolence or micromanage the people. This is the true meaning of "The sage is not benevolent; he treats the people as straw dogs."

The space between Heaven and Earth is like a bellows or a flute: empty within yet never collapsing—the more it moves, the more it functions. Just as a bellows fans flames and a flute produces melodies, the sage's mind remains clear and tranquil, responding to worldly affairs without opposing nature. Like the bellows and flute that never exhaust their function, the sage maintains a selfless, desireless state, never acting to seek favor or profit.

Yan Junping (a Han dynasty Daoist scholar) observed: If Heaven and Earth were to abandon the Way of natural emptiness and instead deliberately bestow favors, they would obstruct natural transformations, and all things would struggle to thrive. If sages were to forsake Wuwei (non-action) and act with forced intention, their benevolence would fail to reach all, and the world would be hard to unify. For the methods of benevolence are limited, while the needs of all things are boundless. To address infinite needs with finite means is as futile as trying to quench thirst with frozen water.

He further illustrated: Just as lice in one's hair disturb sleep, mosquito bites irritate the skin, and bee stings pierce the heart with pain, so too does harboring thoughts of seeking reward for kindness disrupt one's pure and harmonious nature, depleting Qi and blood. Words spoken in excess often lead to contradiction—far better to maintain a state of serene equilibrium.

This passage elucidates the essential principles of Daoist cultivation concerning "guarding the center" (shouzhong) and "nourishing the spirit" (yangshen).

It begins by observing that excessive speech often hinders practice. Just as heaven and earth operate through empty stillness and wuwei (non-action), and like bellows functioning without conscious intent, one should simply maintain a state of natural harmony. The text cites an allegory: Wang Shou carried books to visit Xu Feng, who advised that true wisdom lies in adapting to circumstances rather than rigidly adhering to texts. Upon hearing this, Wang burned his books and danced, exclaiming: "Too many words bring embarrassment—better to guard the Middle Way."

Next, it explains the profound meaning of "the valley spirit never dies." Here, "valley" symbolizes the Great Void (the cosmic origin), while "shen (spirit)" represents the wondrous creativity of the Dao—both being eternal manifestations of the Way. Genuine practitioners should cultivate a mind as expansive as the Great Void and nurture their primordial shen (inner vital force), thereby uniting with the Dao and transcending life and death. The commentary by Heshang Gong (a renowned scholar of the Daode Jing) clarifies that by preserving the shen-qi (spirit-energy) of the five viscera (liver, lungs, heart, kidneys, spleen) and maintaining purity and emptiness—free from desire's contamination—one safeguards both form and spirit.

Finally, it reveals the "Gate of the Mysterious Feminine" (xuanpin zhi men) as the root of all creation. Though all phenomena undergo birth and dissolution, they originate from this harmonious source in the Great Void. Heshang Gong notes that the principle of immortality lies precisely in this vital origin. Practitioners must understand that all tangible existence is fundamentally rooted in this harmonious emptiness—the true "Root of Heaven and Earth."

The core teaching is threefold: refrain from empty talk to preserve stillness; nurture internal shen-qi to return to life's source; recognize all things as manifestations of the Dao's creative power—only thus can one attain the state of enduring vision and lasting life.

This passage explains the cultivation principle of how the human body connects with heaven and earth. The nose corresponds to heaven (xuan, the Mysterious), while the mouth corresponds to earth (pin, the Feminine). Heaven bestows upon humans the five qi (subtle vital energies) through the nose, which enter the heart and transform into spirit (shen), wisdom, voice, and other faculties—these are governed by the "hun" soul, which belongs to yang. Earth provides humans with the five flavors (dense, heavy tastes) through the mouth, which enter the stomach and transform into the physical form, bones, flesh, and blood—these are governed by the "po" soul, which belongs to yin.

The nose and mouth act as gateways connecting the primordial qi of heaven and earth. The earlier mention of "the valley spirit (gu shen) never dying" teaches methods for nurturing the spirit, while the "gate of the Mysterious Feminine (xuan pin)" discussed here instructs in refining the physical form. Only when both body and spirit are cultivated to a state of subtle perfection can one unite with the Dao. Ordinary people cling to their physical form and consciousness, leading to the cycle of life and death—this cannot be called attaining the Dao. If the mind is restless and unstable, it is far from achieving tranquility. Only by emptying both form and spirit, forgetting the distinction between self and objects, and neither perceiving the gathering of qi as birth nor its dissipation as death—only by reaching this state of neither birth nor death can one truly embody the "valley spirit."

"Continuous, as if ever-present, used without exhaustion" describes the unceasing state of cultivation: nurturing the spirit must reach a profound, empty tranquility, perceiving all things yet never interrupted; refining the form requires harmonizing qi through breath regulation, guiding blood and qi, and consuming elixirs to keep the limbs supple and free from fatigue. Only then can one share roots with heaven and earth and connect with the great Dao.

Finally, the explanation of "heaven is eternal, earth is enduring": heaven is everlasting because its vast qi envelops all things, while earth is enduring because its solidity bears all things. The reason heaven and earth can last so long is precisely because they do not exist for themselves—thus, they endure. This sets the stage for the principles to be discussed next.

(Note: "Taihe" in the text refers to the harmonious primordial qi between heaven and earth, while the "fountain of endless life" and "herb of longevity" both symbolize elixirs of immortality.)

Heaven and Earth maintain their clarity and tranquility eternally because they bear and nurture all things, allowing every living being to draw nourishment from the wondrous source of the Dao. They never boast of their creative power, remaining in a state of serene Wuwei (non-action) and upholding constant De (Virtue), thus achieving everlasting existence. Another interpretation suggests that all things in Heaven and Earth arise through spontaneous transformation, wholly following natural laws without striving for artificial gain, which is why they endure. This is a profound revelation bestowed upon us by the cosmos.

The sages who embody the Dao—those who comprehend the Great Way—humbly withdraw from contention yet are revered by all; they disregard personal gain yet preserve their lives. Though they may appear to govern from court, their hearts remain as detached as if dwelling on Mount Guye (legendary abode of immortals). Emulating Heaven and Earth's nurturing of all things, they treat everything impartially without bias. Though occupying lofty positions, they maintain humility and never presume to lead. The people naturally cherish them without feeling burdened, willingly exalting them without weariness, thus they stand at the forefront. Moreover, sages transcend fame and desire—the world reveres them as parents, and the divine protects them as one cradles an infant, ensuring the preservation of their lives.

Is this not precisely because their selflessness accomplishes their own fulfillment? Heaven and Earth transform and nurture all things; sages sacrifice the lesser self for the greater whole—neither claims benevolence as their own, so how could selfish thoughts arise? True selflessness leads to enduring harmony, and because of this endurance, it paradoxically achieves personal fulfillment. Li Yue remarked: "To seek benefit for others rather than oneself—though the wishes of the multitude may go unfulfilled, one's own aspirations are realized." The Honglie Jie records: When Gongyi Xiu served as prime minister of Lu, he loved eating fish, and people across the state offered him fish. Yet he refused all gifts. When his disciple asked why, he replied: "It is precisely because I love fish that I cannot accept them. If I took the fish and were dismissed from office, I could no longer enjoy fish. By refusing, I ensure I can buy fish myself for years to come." This illustrates the wisdom that benefiting others ultimately benefits oneself. Hence the scripture states: "Is it not because they are selfless that they achieve their own fulfillment?"

Regarding textual variations: The Heshang Gong and Yan Junping versions read "because they are selfless," Wang Bi's ancient edition has "is it not because they are selfless," while Emperor Xuanzong of Tang's annotated edition uses "is it not precisely because they are selfless"—each phrasing carries nuanced meaning for the reader to contemplate. (This passage elucidates the sage's wisdom of humility and selflessness, preparing the way for the following teaching on "the highest goodness resembles water" to further expound the virtue of yielding harmony.)

The First Volume of "The Repository of Subtleties: A Compilation on the True Classic of Dao and De"

This is the important commentary by Song Dynasty Daoist priest Chen Jingyuan on Laozi's "Classic of Dao and De." The term "Repository" refers to the place where scriptures are preserved, while "Compilation of Subtleties" means to systematically organize and elucidate the profound principles within the classic. Through this work, Chen Jingyuan systematically interprets the mystical doctrines of the "Classic of Dao and De," blending Daoist cultivation philosophy with principles of state governance. As the opening volume, it establishes the exegetical tone for the entire text, primarily exploring the ontological characteristics of Dao (the Way) and its manifestations throughout heaven, earth, and all things.