《道德真經藏室纂微篇》Vol. 2

The Daode Zhenjing Cangshi Zuanwei Pian uses water as a metaphor to illustrate the highest form of virtuous conduct and the cultivated character of Daoist practitioners. Chen Jingyuan (Bixuzi) analyzes the qualities of water to elucidate the spiritual state that approaches the Dao (the Way).

The supreme goodness (Shangshan) resembles water. Here, "supreme goodness" refers to individuals of the highest cultivation, while "like water" employs the characteristics of water as an analogy. Those who have attained true cultivation maintain inner emptiness and stillness, free from greed and desire. They adapt to the changing circumstances without violating the conditions of causality, performing good deeds without clinging to the reputation of virtue—hence they are called "supreme goodness."

Water possesses three qualities that closely align with the essence of the Dao, along with seven virtuous acts that benefit all things:

First, water excels at nourishing all beings without contending for merit. Its nature is tranquil, capable of moistening everything. Without water, the heavens would parch, and the earth would turn to dust. This quality of benefiting all things manifests great benevolence (Ren).

Second, nothing in the world is softer or weaker than water. Water always flows toward emptiness, avoiding heights and seeking the low. When blocked, it stops; when released, it flows—completely yielding to external conditions. This non-contending nature demonstrates the virtue of humility (Qian).

Third, human nature tends to despise lowly positions, yet water willingly dwells in the humble, embracing turbidity and bearing filth alone. This willingness to occupy what others disdain exemplifies the forbearance of endurance (Renru).

These three qualities of water—the benevolence of benefiting others, the humility of non-contention, and the endurance of dwelling in lowliness—all approach the realm of the Dao. If a cultivator can embody these virtues, they will not be far from the Dao.

From the perspective of the Five Phases (Wuxing), water is the origin of Qi, governing the north. The north represents the beginning of Yang and the end of Yin. The generative number of water is one, the same as the Dao. The "one" of the Dao is absolute, while the "one" of water is relative—water manifests the function of the Dao.

Highly cultivated individuals also embody seven virtuous acts:

• In dwelling, they excel at choosing humble places.
• In temperament, they excel at maintaining depth.
• In treating others, they excel at kindness.
• In speech, they excel at trustworthiness.
• In governance, they excel at order.
• In action, they excel at utilizing their abilities.
• In movement, they excel at seizing the right timing.

Just as water always flows downward, Daoist cultivators should maintain an attitude of humility, naturally influencing those around them.

This scripture elucidates seven virtues of those who have attained the Dao through the seven characteristics of water. First is "the heart excels in depth" - the enlightened maintain inner tranquility, their minds like clear deep pools that perceive subtle truths. Second is "association excels in benevolence" - they practice universal kindness like water nourishing all things without discrimination. Third is "speech excels in trustworthiness" - their words mirror truth as faithfully as water reflects images. Fourth is "governance excels in order" - they administer with impartial clarity, purifying like water cleansing impurities. Fifth is "affairs excel in adaptability" - handling matters according to circumstances, like water taking the shape of any vessel. Sixth is "movement excels in timeliness" - acting in harmony with seasons as water changes form. Seventh is the virtue of "non-contention" - by not competing with all things, they incur no resentment.

The latter section explains the principle of "holding until full": forcibly maintaining fullness is inferior to knowing when to stop, just as an overfilled vessel easily spills, and excessive wealth accumulation cannot endure. This warns people to understand humility and moderation. Yan Junping (a Han dynasty Daoist scholar) interprets "amassing until overflowing" as referring to how excessive hoarding of treasures instead invites misfortune.

(Note: "Zhiren" refers to those who have reached the highest state of moral cultivation; "Yan Junping" was a renowned Western Han Daoist scholar originally named Zhuang Zun, styled Junping)

This passage discusses the dangers of excessive pursuit of wealth, status, and fame. Laozi employs vivid metaphors to illustrate this principle:

Sharp objects are prone to breakage—human greed resembles a razor's edge, constantly craving more riches and honor, unaware that such delusional desires invite disaster. Like gazing at distant mountains, wealth and fame may appear splendid but prove as fleeting as lightning, impossible to maintain permanently.

The text cites the example of Duke Bai Sheng: though he seized power in Chu, his refusal to open granaries for the people led to his overthrow by Lord Ye within nineteen days. This demonstrates how forcibly claiming what isn't rightfully yours represents extreme avarice—benefiting neither others nor oneself, an act of supreme folly. Like an owl smothering its young with excessive affection or miserliness that ultimately backfires, such behavior invites self-destruction.

A house overflowing with gold and treasures may glitter splendidly, yet becomes prime target for robbers. Even elephants are hunted for their precious tusks, and birds bite off their own tails to survive—shouldn't humans comprehend this truth?

Wealth and status breed arrogance, essentially summoning misfortune. Riches provoke envy, power fosters hubris—both plant seeds of calamity. Fame pollutes the spirit (Shen), money harms the body; what appears as gain actually damages oneself. Many make wrong choices precisely because they cannot distinguish true profit from loss.

(Note: "Junping" refers to Yan Junping, a Han Dynasty Daoist scholar; "Duke Bai Sheng" was a Chu aristocrat during the Spring and Autumn period; "Lord Ye" refers to Ye Gongzi Gao, a Chu minister; "Honglie Jie" denotes the "Responses of the Dao" chapter from the Huainanzi.)

This passage expounds profound Daoist wisdom on self-cultivation and worldly conduct.

It first observes that pursuing material wealth depletes one's Shen (spirit), while chasing fame harms the physical body. Misfortunes typically originate from within rather than from others, just as blessings are cultivated through personal practice rather than bestowed by heaven. Lu Xisheng, a Tang dynasty Daoist master, cautioned: When filling a large vessel to the brim, it's wiser to stop early than worry about overflow; when reaching the pinnacle of status, timely withdrawal proves better than anxious clinging. Overeager pursuit of power leads to unstable gains, while hoarding treasures creates impermanent possessions. Arrogance in high position invites disaster, and pride in great wealth compounds errors. When faults arise from self-generated conceit, how can one blame heaven or others?

The text then summarizes this cosmic principle with the phrase "withdraw when merit is complete and fame achieved." Those who fail to retreat at their zenith inevitably meet the fate of "the bow stored when birds are gone, the hound cooked when hares are caught"—this being the Dao's inevitable movement. Only those who comprehend the Dao's rhythms of waxing-waning and understand the interplay of advancement-withdrawal truly embody wisdom.

The second section explains the cultivation method of "carrying the hun-po while embracing unity." In Daoist cosmology, yang consciousness is called hun (ethereal soul, inclined toward life), while yin substance is termed po (corporeal soul, tending toward dissolution). "Carrying" refers to the unstable wandering of these soul aspects. Practitioners must maintain the body's yin-yang Qi in harmonious unity, preserving the primordial "Great Harmony's pure Qi" undispersed—like a mirror eternally holding its radiance. The method involves focused awareness without distraction, attaining childlike naturalness.

Finally, the text outlines the practice of "concentrating Qi to achieve softness": single-mindedly maintaining the wondrous harmonizing Qi within until reaching an infant's pliant state. This cultivation requires gradual progression, whose deeper meaning will be further explained.

(Note: "Great Harmony's pure Qi" refers to Daoism's primordial life-force, while "wondrous harmonizing Qi" denotes the balanced yin-yang vital energy.)

This passage elucidates several core principles of Daoist cultivation and state governance.

First, it explains that humans are naturally endowed with the "harmonious and wondrous Qi (qi)" of nature—a pure energy that descends to form the body, originally untainted. If one can maintain this state of purity and harmony, free from worldly knowledge and perceptions, they can preserve the innocent and gentle nature of an infant, unharmed by external influences. This teaches the method of nurturing Qi (qi).

Next, it interprets the meaning of "cleansing the profound mirror of the mind": one must wash away the dust of the heart, eliminate desires and distracting thoughts, and maintain inner and outer purity, so that the mind becomes like a clear mirror reflecting all things without blemish. This teaches the method of cultivating the heart. The first three points discuss self-cultivation, while the latter three address state governance.

Regarding governance, it emphasizes that rulers should care for the people as they would an infant. Governance must not be harsh, and taxes or labor demands should not harm the people's inherent nature. By simplifying administration and allowing the people to live in peace and prosperity, this embodies the method of "governing through non-action (wuwei)."

Finally, it explains the concept of the "Celestial Gate (Tianmen)": the Celestial Gate is the portal of natural creation, through which all life and transformation arise. When the Celestial Gate opens, all things flourish; when it closes, all things decline. The truly enlightened (those who attain the Dao) comprehend this natural principle, their Qi (qi) encompassing the universe itself.

This passage primarily discusses the Daoist cultivation method of "feminine stillness" (soft compliance and empty tranquility) and its application in governance, as well as the realm of "profound virtue" (Xuande).

Regarding the application of "feminine stillness," the text states that whether in self-cultivation or governing a state, one should maintain this soft and tranquil state. The ancients believed the "Celestial Gate" (referring to the portal of the North Star's Purple Tenuity Palace) opens and closes with seasonal changes, symbolizing the transformations of cosmic Yin-Yang. Only sages can comprehend celestial destiny, preserving feminine stillness unaffected by external fluctuations, thereby attaining enduring auspiciousness. From a cultivation perspective, the "Celestial Gate" may also represent human orifices like the mouth and nose, where breathing follows measured rhythms. Maintaining softness and empty tranquility allows breath to become deep, prolonged, and continuous, naturally bringing spiritual serenity and ease.

Concerning the wise state of "understanding all yet appearing unknowing," true great wisdom paradoxically resembles ignorance. Though practitioners internally possess luminous clarity, externally they should appear as if devoid of perceptions; rulers whose virtue shines like sun and moon should make common people feel no deliberate effort behind it. To attain wisdom that penetrates all under heaven, one must first restrain sensory faculties and maintain an attitude of empty stillness without grasping—this constitutes the root of great wisdom.

Finally, the text explains the essence of "profound virtue"—like the Dao that generates all things without possessing them, accomplishes all without claiming merit, and guides all without dominating. Sages embody this in both self-cultivation and governance: never obstructing the origin of things nor restricting natural dispositions, allowing all to develop according to their inherent patterns. All beings grow naturally without forced interference; multitudes act autonomously without the sage claiming credit. This state—transcending fame and achievement while merging with the Dao—represents the most mysterious virtue. As Wang Bi noted, true profound virtue is forgetting the self and merging completely with the great Dao.

This passage elucidates the Daoist philosophy of mutual dependence between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu) from the Daodejing. It begins by noting that truly virtuous (De) individuals act with natural spontaneity, dwelling in obscurity without self-awareness—a state akin to "embracing the One" (baoyi) and abiding in the Dao. Like the innocent purity of an infant, all things naturally gravitate toward them, just as spokes converge toward a wheel's hub.

The wheel serves as a prime example: thirty spokes unite at a single hub (gu), yet it is precisely the hub's emptiness that enables the wheel to turn and the cart to move. Similarly, the empty space within a carriage's compartment is what makes it useful for transporting people. This mirrors the moon's celestial cycle of thirty days, corresponding to the thirty spokes sharing one central axis.

The text cites Yan Junping (a Han dynasty Daoist scholar) who observed that ancient sages governed by following nature's course, avoiding artificial cleverness. People drank from gourds and ate with their hands, with all things existing in equality. Later rulers governed through deliberate action (youwei), imposing heavy taxes and labor that exhausted the populace. Thus, wise men invented carts pulled by oxen and horses to alleviate burdens. Yet subsequent generations grew increasingly extravagant, adorning carts with lavish ornaments that drained public resources. It was precisely this artificial excess corrupting natural virtue that moved Laozi to cite three examples—carts, vessels, and dwellings—to demonstrate how "being" and "non-being" mutually sustain each other.

The same principle applies to pottery: artisans knead clay (shanzhi) to form vessels, yet the utility lies in their hollow interior. Yan Junping noted that as virtue declined, internal and external troubles arose, bringing physical ailments. The wise thus created pottery for cooking, distinguishing raw from prepared flavors, but these later degenerated into luxurious utensils for hunting feasts.

These examples collectively reveal that an object's practical value often resides in its emptiness ("non-being"), while its physical form ("being") merely provides structure. Excessive pursuit of ornamental beauty leads to the loss of essential truth—this profound insight underpins Laozi's emphasis on wuwei (non-action).

This scripture elucidates the dialectical relationship of mutual dependence between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu) through concrete life examples.

Ancient rulers, in their insatiable greed for personal desires, indulged in extravagance and harmed living creatures—ripping open pregnant women's bellies and killing infants for amusement. They carved jade and pearls into exquisite vessels, transforming originally simple natural materials into various artifacts. Just as doors and windows are carved to build houses, what truly serves the purpose is the empty space within (wu), not the physical doors and walls (you).

Yan Junping (a Han dynasty Daoist scholar) explained: When human hearts turn wicked, all things generate resentment, and venomous creatures begin to harm people. At this point, caves can no longer ensure safety, so the wise built houses with doors and windows for observation and sturdy bolts to keep out beasts. Gradually, this evolved into magnificent towers and palaces, with city walls for defense—yet this only exhausted soldiers and caused countless casualties. While ancient times considered this governance, later generations saw it as chaos. This is the harm caused by overemphasizing "being" while neglecting the role of "non-being."

The utility of "being" arises precisely because "non-being" functions. For instance, the practical value of vessels (you) lies in their hollow space (wu). The usefulness of houses (you) depends on their interior emptiness (wu). "Non-being" connects with the Dao—though formless, it requires "being" to manifest its function; "being" forms concrete objects but must rely on "non-being" to be effective. Like the spokes of a wheel, the void within a vessel, or people dwelling in houses—all demonstrate how "non-being" gives value to "being," and how "being" activates the function of "non-being."

Applying this principle to self-cultivation: While spirit (shen, you) is vital for sustaining life, it must be nurtured through a state of emptiness and stillness (wu). These two complement each other—neither can be lacking.

This scripture conveys two main teachings: the dialectical relationship between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu), and a critique of excessive pursuit of sensory pleasures.

First, it explains the relationship between being and non-being: What truly functions is "non-being" (referring to a state of serene emptiness), while what concretely benefits all things is "being" (referring to the marvelous functioning of the spirit). The spirit's marvelous function manifests in sustaining life, while serene emptiness enables communion with the divine and attunement to the Dao. Just as the usefulness of a wheel or vessel lies in its hollow center (non-being) that allows it to carry objects (being).

Next, it criticizes five forms of excessive pursuit:

1. The five colors (blue, red, yellow, white, black) originally symbolized the Five Phases and distinguished hierarchical ranks. But later generations' pursuit of dazzling hues damages eyesight, blinding people to the higher perception of "color beyond colors."

2. The five tones (gong, shang, jue, zhi, yu) originally facilitated communication with heaven and earth's Qi. But later generations' indulgence in decadent music blocks the ability to hear the "sound beyond sounds."

3. The five flavors (sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty) originally harmonized the Five Phases. But later generations' craving for exotic delicacies dulls the palate's sensitivity to the "flavor beyond flavors." Here "dulled" (shuang) refers to impaired taste perception.

The text then criticizes excessive hunting: Seasonal hunting rituals (spring searches, summer pest control, autumn battues, winter grand hunts) were proper activities for rulers. But violating seasonal timing and excessive chasing of game not only damages ecosystems but also drives people to mental derangement.

Finally, it observes that coveting rare treasures like gold and jade leads to aberrant behavior. These warnings all caution against being deluded by external sensory pleasures, urging return to the fundamental state of serene authenticity.

This passage expounds how excessive pursuit of sensory pleasures and material wealth brings calamity, while true sages should focus on inner cultivation rather than external desires.

Chasing after dazzling colors damages one's vision, indulging in beautiful music dulls one's hearing, craving exquisite flavors ruins one's palate, obsessing over hunting drives one's mind wild, treasuring jade and jewels exhausts one in constant pursuit, and chasing wealth and silks unsettles one's spirit. These are all weapons that harm people: the Five Colors are awls that blind the eyes, the Five Tones are plugs that deafen the ears, the Five Flavors are blades that cut the tongue, hunting is a commander that drives men mad, and rare goods from distant lands are the root of chaos in the world. These things transform unpredictably, are hard to grasp yet easily lost, serving as sources of disaster and breeding grounds for danger. To pursue them is to harm oneself; to indulge in them is to destroy oneself. This principle warns rulers and commoners alike.

Therefore, sages focus on enriching their inner being rather than chasing external sensory pleasures. Those who follow the Dao care not for sensual distractions but cultivate the vast, upright Qi within. The "belly" symbolizes inner cultivation - when one is inwardly fulfilled, external temptations cannot confuse them, allowing preservation of one's true nature and spiritual vitality. The "eyes" represent external desires - indulgence in sensual pleasures leads to chasing material things and dissipation of spirit. Hence sages advocate "rejecting that and choosing this" - abandoning external pursuits to seek inner fulfillment. (Indulgence in sensual pleasures invites disaster, while avoiding rare treasures brings honor - thus the discussion naturally transitions to the issue of favor and disgrace.)

"Favor and disgrace seem alarming" refers to ordinary people's excessive concern over gain and loss. "Favor" means good fortune like wealth and rewards, while "disgrace" means misfortune like poverty and punishment. Those who have attained the Dao regard their body as a temporary dwelling and life-and-death as superfluous matters. They neither take pride in prominence nor feel shame in hardship, understanding that official positions and wealth are external to one's true being - why would they be alarmed by gain or loss? When the text says "favor and disgrace seem alarming," it refers to ordinary people. Those of moderate wisdom remain vigilant in times of ease, remembering potential danger, and when favored, remain alert to possible disgrace. Common people chase trivialities and thus fear disgrace, while those of moderate wisdom focus on fundamentals and thus remain wary even of favor - hence "favor and disgrace seem alarming."

"Valuing great calamity as one's body" means people regard major misfortunes as importantly as their physical form. "Valuing" means esteeming, while "great calamity" refers to external things like official positions and wealth.

This passage from the Daode Zhenjing Zangshi Zuanwei discusses how attachment to both the self and external objects leads to suffering.

Those who truly understand the Dao (the Way) realize that even one's body is not truly one's own, let alone external fame, profit, or material possessions. Most people today believe high-ranking positions and abundant wealth can improve their lives, valuing these as highly as life itself. Yet they fail to recognize that both the body and material goods are actually sources of misfortune, unworthy of such attachment.

The concepts of "favor and disgrace" (chongru) have been interpreted differently across editions. The Tang Xuanzong commentary suggests "favor is actually debasement," meaning that receiving wealth and honors often leads to arrogance, which in turn invites disaster—thus being favored marks the beginning of disgrace. The Heshang Gong version states "favor is elevation, disgrace is debasement," treating gain as good and loss as bad. Regardless of interpretation, both agree that ordinary people are plagued by anxiety over gains and losses—fearing loss when they gain, and suffering when they lose. This is the state of being "startled by favor and disgrace" (chongru ruojing). The story of Lord Xiang of Zhao, who remained troubled after victory in battle, illustrates this. Confucius praised such vigilance in success as true wisdom.

Why do people experience great suffering? Because they cling too tightly to the body. Without this attachment to the physical form, what suffering could there be? Humans lack feathers to protect against cold and heat, so they must rely on external things to survive. Yet excessive fear of death and clinging to life ironically lead to greater danger. If one can regard the body lightly—not identifying it as the true self, merging the spirit (shen) with all things in nature, moving like withered wood in action, and sitting like dead ashes in stillness—then neither honor nor disgrace, gain nor loss, life nor death can disturb them. The state of "forgetting the self" (sang wo) described by Ziqi in the Zhuangzi·Qiwulun chapter refers precisely to this transcendence.

When Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple, styled Ziyuan) sought instruction from his teacher, the master said: "Now I have reached the state of self-forgetting—do you understand?" This "sitting in oblivion with illumination abandoned" (a Daoist cultivation method referring to achieving complete forgetfulness of both self and objects through meditation) describes a realm where even worldly troubles cannot disturb one, let alone those who have fully merged with nature. What we call "non-being" (wu) here means forgetting and transcending.

Some mistakenly interpret "having no body" (wushen) as physical annihilation or falling into nothingness, completely misunderstanding Laozi's original intent. The crucial point is this: If one can value the world as much as one values one's own body, then the world may be entrusted to them; if one can cherish the world as one cherishes one's own body, then the world may be given to them.

The discussion from "having no body" upward addresses how ordinary people easily become troubled by honor and disgrace, gain and loss. The content from "valuing and loving" downward speaks specifically to rulers—because they haven't yet achieved complete forgetfulness of the world, hence the notion of "entrustment." But this concept of entrustment doesn't truly align with the standard of rulers possessing supreme De (Virtue). The ideal ruler should maintain a serene mind, balanced Qi (vital energy), following natural laws without selfish motives—only thus can they restore the simple customs of ancient times.

Lu Xisheng (Tang Dynasty Daoist) explains: Those whose hearts are moved by gain and loss, who constantly distinguish between self and objects in their minds, will never find peace regarding honor and disgrace—auspicious and inauspicious, fortune and misfortune will endlessly entangle them. How could such people govern the world? Only those who can value the world as they value themselves and love the world as they love themselves truly prioritize the world rather than themselves. Such people remain unattached to gain and loss, unburdened by worries—they might be entrusted with important positions, but wouldn't yet be given full authority, let alone exclusive power. This reflects the spirit of the Dao's operation and the world belonging to all.

The Tang Xuanzong commentary edition states: "Therefore, one who values the world as one values oneself may be entrusted with the world; one who loves the world as one loves oneself may be given charge of the world." The imperial commentary notes: This chapter begins with vigilance toward honor and disgrace, concluding with "entrustment." Those alarmed by honor and disgrace haven't truly transcended them; those proclaiming "valuing and loving" haven't yet achieved complete forgetfulness of the world. Comparing disgrace to honor, disgrace falls short; contrasting value with love, value is inferior. Those troubled by honor and disgrace still calculate gain and loss; those professing to value and love haven't forgotten the world. Thus we first teach people to guard against honor as they would disgrace, ultimately hoping they'll forget both entirely. The notion of "entrustment" actually points toward complete forgetfulness—forgetting honor and disgrace brings no alarm, forgetting self removes the root of calamity, forgetting the world renders "entrustment" unnecessary.

This passage elucidates the concepts of "valuing the body" (guishen) and "cherishing the body" (aishen) from the Daode Jing, along with the imperceptible nature of the Dao.

Regarding "valuing the body" and "cherishing the body": Only those who truly value their physical form (referring to inner cultivation) can be entrusted with the world; only those who genuinely cherish their physical form can have the world entrusted to them. Such individuals remain unaltered and unharmed by external things, unaffected by favor or disgrace, gain or loss, and thus are capable of bearing the world's weighty responsibilities.

Concerning the characteristics of the Dao: The Dao cannot be seen, heard, or touched. What cannot be seen is called "yi" (formless and even); what cannot be heard is called "xi" (sparse and silent); what cannot be touched is called "wei" (subtle and shapeless). These three characteristics cannot be traced to their origins—they blend together to constitute the Dao. Because the Dao has no concrete form, the eyes cannot see it; because it has no specific sound, the ears cannot hear it; because it has no physical shape, the hands cannot grasp it.

The sage (zhiren, one who has attained the Dao) can perceive formless images through spirit (shen), hear soundless voices through breath (qi), and sense shapeless forms through the heart-mind. The terms "yi," "xi," and "wei" are merely forced descriptions of the Dao's manifestations—they should not be taken as the Dao's essence and pursued as such.

Annotations:

1. Zhiren: In Daoist terminology, refers to one who has reached the highest state of cultivation.

2. Ming: To name or designate.

3. Ai: Same as "obstruction," meaning hindrance.

4. "You" chapter: Refers to the chapter "Zai You" in the Zhuangzi.

5. Fusi: Refers to Wang Bi, styled Fusi, a metaphysician of the Three Kingdoms period.

This passage explores the primordial state and operational principles of the Dao (the Way). Yan Junping, a Daoist scholar of the Western Han dynasty, employs the metaphor of wild geese to illustrate: before a gosling hatches, if one were to break the eggshell to observe, though no formed goose would be visible, all its physical characteristics are already latent within. Extending this principle, even before the egg's existence, the creative forces of transformation were already at work.

Thus we understand that prior to the formation of Taiji (the Supreme Ultimate), when heaven and earth were still undifferentiated, though no concrete forms could be seen or heard, the embryonic patterns of all things already existed. Those who truly comprehend the Dao need not rely on ordinary sight or hearing to perceive it, nor deliberate seeking to obtain it, nor words to discern it. This formless and imageless state gave birth to heaven and earth (called "Yi"), this soundless and silent state generated musical harmonics (called "Xi"), and this traceless condition initiated the myriad things (called "Wei"). These were the pathways through which ancient practitioners realized the great Dao.

The Dao transcends all concrete phenomena: suspended beyond the nine heavens yet not manifesting brightness, hidden beneath the nine earths yet not appearing dark. It moves continuously like an unbroken thread (described as "endlessly winding"), yet cannot be defined by any specific name, ultimately returning to the state of "no-thing" (wu-wu). This "no-thing" does not signify absolute nothingness, but rather an existence without fixed form.

Though all things appear to grow and transform autonomously, they are ultimately governed by the Dao's operation. When traced to their ultimate source, they return to this profound and silent origin—this constitutes the mysterious mechanism through which the Dao generates and transforms all existence. Therefore the Dao is described as "the form of the formless, the image of the imageless"—a hazy, indistinct yet profoundly real ultimate reality. Practitioners who transcend sensory limitations to achieve the unified state where self and objects are forgotten touch upon this supreme truth.

This passage describes the profound nature of the Dao (the core concept in Daoism referring to the origin of the universe and its operating principles). Though formless and without shape, the Dao gives rise to all manifestations; seemingly empty, it brings forth all existence. This state of being neither purely existent nor purely non-existent is called "huanghu" (a state of numinous indeterminacy) — when you call it nothing, it truly exists; when you call it something, it remains intangible and invisible.

The Dao existed before heaven and earth, more ancient than the most distant antiquity, eternally pure yet without discernible beginning. Therefore, looking back we cannot see its origin, and looking forward we cannot perceive its end. This characteristic teaches us to expand our consciousness and emulate the essence of the Dao.

By mastering the ancient way of Wuwei (non-action, the natural state of non-forced action), one can navigate the complexities of the present world. The so-called "ancient Dao" refers to this formless, nameless source that gives rise to heaven, earth and all things. Laozi teaches that whether in self-cultivation or governing the world, we must uphold these primordial principles of natural Wuwei to address contemporary human restlessness, return to our simple original nature, and restore the pristine state of the Taichu (the most primordial and pure condition of the universe). Only when all beings abide in their proper place without losing their essential nature can we grasp the fundamental meaning of the Dao.

Perhaps only those virtuous sages (individuals of noble character who have realized the Dao) — the "good scholars" — can truly maintain this ancient way while dealing with present complexities.