《道德真經藏室纂微篇》Vol. 3

The ancient masters who truly understood the cultivation of Dao (the Way) attained a state so subtle, profound, and far-reaching that ordinary people could scarcely comprehend it. These individuals used the natural Dao to cultivate their bodies and minds, and to govern states. Their De (Virtue/Power) operated in ways too mysterious to fathom, their wisdom illuminated the deepest mysteries, and their Shen (spirit) communed with the Great Dao. Thus, their inner cultivation was so profound—how could ordinary people fully grasp it? As Laozi said, "The Great Dao always appears insignificant." Liezi lived in the state of Zheng, yet no one recognized his true attainment—this was the nature of genuine Daoist practitioners in antiquity.

Because the state of these cultivators is difficult to describe, we must reluctantly resort to metaphors to approximate their condition:

They moved with the caution of someone crossing a river on thin ice in winter. Dao cultivators follow nature, neither deliberately seeking blessings nor courting disaster, yet they act with extraordinary care. Like someone facing the unfathomable depths of a river in the dead of winter, their hearts are filled with hesitation and vigilance, fearing a misstep into the abyss.

They interacted with others as though wary of being observed by neighbors. Cultivators maintained a state of stillness and Wuwei (non-action), carefully considering every advance or retreat, as cautiously as ordinary people fear breaking taboos and being discovered by those nearby.

They carried themselves with the solemnity of a guest. Practitioners held themselves with dignified bearing, their minds focused, like a guest who dares not act carelessly before a host. Just as Dongguo Shunzi's upright demeanor could transform others, inspiring Tian Zifang to become his disciple, or as Li Sheguang remained as reverent in solitude as if standing before a ruler—earning the admiration of Sima Zicheng.

Their inner clarity was like spring ice on the verge of melting. Though outwardly composed, Dao cultivators were inwardly free and unconstrained, all attachments dissolving as naturally as ice in spring.

They were as simple and unadorned as uncarved wood. Practitioners preserved their innate purity, remaining in their original, authentic state—their words and actions naturally serene and uncontrived.

This scripture elucidates the spiritual states and cultivation methods of Daoist practitioners. Those who have attained the Dao (Daoshi) maintain a heart of pristine simplicity, unadorned and natural, with a mind as expansive as an empty valley that embraces all things—both good and evil—while remaining as tranquil as an echo in a hollow gorge. Outwardly, they appear turbid and indistinct, like muddy waters that make no distinction between beauty and ugliness, yet inwardly they preserve perfect clarity.

The text presents two essential cultivation techniques: first, how to gradually restore clarity through stillness amid turbidity, and second, how to gradually awaken vitality through sustained practice while abiding in tranquility. True adepts who have realized the Dao may seem no different from ordinary people in appearance, yet within they have united with the Dao, attaining a state of purity and authenticity through gradual refinement. Practitioners must avoid stagnation, continually transcending their current state to pursue higher levels of realization.

The key to maintaining this path lies in not pursuing perfection. Precisely because they do not seek completion, they preserve their original simplicity. Even when achieving success, they remain free from complacency and persist in diligent progress. This embodies the profound wisdom of sages.

Finally, the text speaks of "reaching the extremity of emptiness and guarding profound stillness" (zhi xuji, shou jingdu), meaning that by relinquishing desires, one may attain the empty and tranquil heart-mind of the Dao. This is a vital method of cultivation—through ultimate emptiness and stillness, one contemplates and realizes the Great Dao.

This scripture primarily elucidates the principle of returning to natural authenticity through the cultivation of emptiness, stillness, and non-action (Wuwei).

Laozi states that by reaching the profound and mysterious ultimate state and maintaining perfect stillness, one can refine virtue (De) and teachings into pure simplicity. Liezi believed there is no better state than emptiness and stillness, for only through them can one find true belonging. The Western Ascension Scripture (Xisheng Jing) points out that if one maintains a state of emptiness and non-action without deliberately pursuing the Dao, the Dao will naturally return to them. Yan Junping (a Han Dynasty Daoist scholar) explains: Because the essence of Dao and De is emptiness, they can bear heaven and earth; because of stillness, they can harmonize Yin-Yang; because of cyclical movement, they govern the motion of the sun and moon; and because of perpetual renewal, they give birth to all things.

Without emptiness, Dao and De cannot exist; without stillness, heaven and earth cannot endure; without returning, Yin and Yang cannot connect; without retreating, the sun and moon lose their light; without renewal, all things cannot grow. Therefore, one must return from "having" to "nothingness," from "substance" to "emptiness," keeping the mind free from attachment and the will free from deliberate display. Seemingly withdrawn yet truly non-acting, seemingly erratic yet free from worry—preserving innate purity, abandoning cleverness, not prioritizing cunning, and embracing emptiness as the norm—one can thus reach the ultimate state of spiritual clarity (Shenming) and fully align with the laws of nature.

In daily conduct, one should reflect inward; in contemplation, return to the origin of spirit (Shen). Place the self in a state of no-mind and the body in a space of no-form. Without clinging to life, the mind remains unburdened; without defying nature, the spirit remains undisturbed. Though external affairs shift, the spirit remains constant; though internal energy (Qi) flows, outward expressions remain subtle. Observe and listen repeatedly, resonating with the divine, connecting above with the celestial realm and below with the mundane world. The spirit is guarded yet unhindered; the life force (Qi) remains unexhausted, with all movements—advancing, retreating, bending, extending—conforming to the Middle Way.

All things grow and operate, yet I observe their return to the source. Humans are born with a nature of stillness—the teaching of "reaching the extreme of emptiness and holding fast to stillness" guides people to return through cultivation to the mysterious root. This applies not only to humans: though all things move and transform, none do not arise from silence, emerge from formlessness, are nurtured by harmonious Qi, and respond to change. Observing their return reveals that all ultimately revert to the profound and obscure, merging back into the traceless origin—only then can their true forms be preserved.

The Book of Changes (Yijing) states, "Returning reveals the heart of heaven and earth"—this "heart" refers to the state of absolute stillness and emptiness. Yan Junping said: Heaven and earth endure because of cyclical return; humans remain clear-minded because of rest; birds soar high because they return to their nests; beasts run far because they pause to recover; dragons and serpents manifest their wonders because they hibernate; plants and trees regrow because they return to their roots. When all things return to their origins, the spirits (Shenming) settle into their proper places, merging with the Dao of emptiness.

This passage elucidates the principle of all things returning to their origin. All living beings, whether plants or animals, ultimately return to the most fundamental state of stillness and emptiness. The roots of plants grow quietly buried in the earth, while the frivolous flowers and leaves waving above will eventually wither and fall—such is the way of all things, and humans should understand this truth even more profoundly.

Stillness is the foundation of movement, and emptiness is the source of all existence. When movement reaches its extreme, it inevitably returns to stillness; when development reaches its limit, it must return to emptiness. The sages use these natural phenomena as metaphors to advise people to relinquish greed and return to their innate nature of stillness and emptiness. Only then can one rediscover life's original state—the invisible, inaudible, yet truly existent "Dao" (the Way).

Those who truly comprehend this principle maintain a mindset of stillness and emptiness in all activities—walking, standing, sitting, or lying down—and remain composed in the face of change. Such individuals have already merged with the eternal Dao, attaining the state of returning to the origin. They become impervious to water and fire, able to pass through metal and stone, even altering mountains and cities, because their spirit has become one with the great Dao.

The next level includes those whose appearance never ages, maintaining eternal youth. They can live for millennia in the human world, eventually becoming superior immortals (xian). Below them are those whose speech and actions are measured, understanding the patterns of Yin-Yang transformation. They maintain a low profile in society yet radiate inner brightness, unburdened by worldly attachments.

If one cannot reach even these states, they should at least understand this: only those who know the eternal laws are truly wise, while those who act recklessly without understanding these principles will inevitably meet misfortune. The key to cultivating the Dao lies in returning to one's innate nature of stillness and emptiness—this is the most fundamental principle.

Those who understand the constant Dao (the Way) may be called enlightened. Some texts write this as "daily enlightenment," meaning growing increasingly wise and penetrating over time—referring to the gradual process of realization. Those who have already comprehended the constant Dao should adhere to the principles mentioned earlier.

As for those who fail to grasp the constant Dao, they instead regard miraculous transformations as demonic, view immortality as absurd, consider extreme tranquility as empty nothingness, and see returning to the root and cultivating one's nature and life as self-destruction. They forcibly seek to understand what they do not know and stubbornly memorize what they do not recognize. Their minds are restless with falsehood and delusion, and all their actions invite misfortune. As the Yijing (Book of Changes) states: Those who cannot maintain constant De (Virtue/Power) will ultimately suffer disgrace. Thus, reckless action inevitably brings disaster.

Those who truly understand the constant Dao can embrace all things, skillfully aiding everything without abandoning anything. This all-encompassing heart treats plants and animals without bias, achieving a state of perfect impartiality and selflessness. Those who are perfectly impartial and selfless extend their De (Virtue/Power) broadly across the world, and there are no people who do not submit to them. The term "king" (wang) means "to return to" or "to follow"—since the people submit, Heaven naturally protects them. Such individuals are in complete harmony with the natural order, never opposing the myriad things, and may be called "true persons" (zhenren). They can traverse the realms of being and non-being, communicate with the great Dao, and remain eternally united with it without end. Neither water nor fire can harm them; neither metal nor stone can destroy them. No worldly calamity can disturb them—how could there be any danger?

(To achieve emptiness and tranquility, return to the root, and restore one's nature and life is to understand the constant Dao. Those who understand the constant Dao attain a state identical to the "Supreme Venerable" (Taishang), hence the following discussion of the "Supreme Venerable.")

The "Supreme Venerable" refers to the nameless rulers of ancient times—those who embodied "supreme De (Virtue/Power) without claiming De." Their De was so exalted that they were called "Supreme Venerable." Though they occupied the throne, they did not exalt themselves in nobility, allowing all things to develop naturally and find their rightful place. Thus, their teaching was Wuwei (non-action), their governance left no trace, they acted in accordance with the times, and they achieved merit by relying on conditions. The people felt their rule in daily life without being aware of it, knowing only that a ruler existed. As Zhuangzi said: In the age of perfect De and Dao, they did not exalt the worthy or employ the talented. Those above were like the tips of tree branches, and the people were like deer roaming the wilds. They acted rightly without considering it righteousness, loved one another without considering it benevolence, left no traces in their actions, and left no records of their deeds. Such was the age of the "Supreme Venerable."

By the time De declined, humaneness and righteousness began to appear. The people of the world drew close and submitted through the experience of humaneness, and they praised and revered through the practice of righteousness. Zhuangzi said: When...

When sages deliberately display benevolence and forcibly implement righteousness, the people of the world begin to harbor doubts. Once doubts arise, affection and praise follow. Just as Shun, due to his virtuous character, was beloved by the people—so much so that wherever he moved three times, new settlements formed—Yao, hearing of his worthiness, promoted and entrusted him with great responsibilities, eventually abdicating the throne in his favor. This is the result of affection and praise.

A step below affection and praise are fear and contempt. When benevolence and righteousness are lost, laws are established; once laws are in place, prohibitions become severe; with severe prohibitions, the people grow fearful. Yet no matter how strict the prohibitions, if those in power manipulate authority, the people will imitate them and become deceitful. When the people turn deceitful, they will deeply scorn their superiors. As the Huainanzi explains: The highest form of governance is transforming others through virtuous De (Virtue/Power), which represents the pinnacle of rule. Next is ensuring people dare not do wrong, which belongs to the level of affection and praise. Below that is rewarding the worthy and punishing the violent, which falls under the level of fear and contempt.

When rulers lack sincerity, the people do not trust them. Genuine love in the heart is called "sincerity," and keeping one's word is called "trust." When sincerity and trust are complete, the world is at peace; when they are lacking, the world is endangered. Today, manipulation and deceit are rampant, and fraudulent behavior is widespread precisely because rulers lack sincerity toward the people, so the people respond with distrust. The way superiors teach inferiors should be as natural and accurate as a clear mirror reflecting an image. Wang Bi said: When the body loses its original nature, it falls ill; when assisting the myriad things loses their true essence, problems arise. Naturally, insufficient sincerity invites distrust—this is an inevitable principle.

There is also the importance of verbal instruction. From the level of affection and praise downward, the pure and simple governance of Wuwei (non-action) from ancient times has already been lost, and the pristine simplicity of antiquity cannot be restored. Though emphasizing verbal instruction and adhering to old norms to educate the people is far from the Dao, it is still better than neglecting instruction and lacking sincerity, which leads to rebellion and disorder.

When great achievements are completed and undertakings fulfilled, the people say it happened naturally. A ruler who embodies the Dao governs with folded hands and Wuwei, so accomplishments are achieved without possession; serene and detached, affairs are completed without conscious effort. The people remain simple and natural, free from forced action, feeling everything occurs spontaneously. At this stage, how could there be any thought of affection and praise, fear and contempt? As old commentaries explain: "When sincerity is insufficient, distrust arises" refers to the level of fear and contempt; "the importance of verbal instruction" refers to the level of affection and praise; and "when achievements are fulfilled, the people say it happened naturally" refers to the highest state of Wuwei governance.

This passage explains how human-made moral concepts like benevolence and righteousness only emerge when the fundamental natural Dao is abandoned. When the Dao (referring to the ancient state of natural governance through wuwei [non-action]) becomes obscured and ceases to operate, human hearts lose their original purity, giving rise to notions like humaneness and propriety. As Zhuangzi illustrates: When fish swim freely in rivers and lakes, they naturally coexist without needing to care for each other; only when the spring dries up do they resort to moistening each other with saliva. This metaphor shows how artificial promotion of morality becomes necessary only after the loss of natural harmony.

When people lose their innate simplicity, all manner of cunning and scheming arises. Zhuangzi uses the example of taming horses: originally, horses freely grazed and drank, rubbing against each other when happy and kicking when angry. But after being harnessed by Bole (an ancient horse trainer), they began developing tricks to escape their restraints. In ancient times, people lived with natural simplicity, but when sages later established rituals, music, and moral codes to regulate behavior, it instead taught people deceit and sophistry. This is the meaning behind the saying, "When wisdom appears, great hypocrisy follows."

As for the harmony among the six familial relations (father-son, elder-younger brothers, husband-wife), there is no need to emphasize filial piety and parental kindness when they naturally exist. Similarly, in times of national peace, no special loyalty needs to be demonstrated. The Book of Rites states that in an age when the Dao flourished, people did not merely care for their own kin—they treated nephews like their own sons and served uncles like their fathers. The six relations naturally harmonized, making displays of filial devotion unnecessary.

This passage expounds the Daoist concept of "rejecting sageliness and abandoning wisdom." The core message conveys:

Treat your own family members with the same impartiality as you would treat all people's relatives. When superiors and inferiors live in harmony, family members will naturally forget their special bonds. If elders lose impartial guidance while juniors maintain notions of superiority and inferiority, this violates the natural Dao (the Way), leading to familial discord. It's precisely in such situations that people deliberately display forced acts of filial piety and care.

The sage regards all things equally, viewing the four seas as one family. Like the immortal beings of Mount Gushe described in the Zhuangzi, they transcend worldly concerns and forget the empire's affairs. If rulers govern through Wuwei (non-action), the people will naturally transform—why would there be need for loyal ministers like Bi Gan and Long Feng to die remonstrating? Though Shun's father Gusou was obstinate, Shun became the model of great filial piety; though Zeng Shen lived in poverty, he devoted himself to serving his parents. Such forced displays of loyalty and filial piety arise from necessity, not genuine joy.

The text then explains "rejecting sageliness and abandoning wisdom": The so-called "sage" refers to those who establish ritual systems and leave traces of achievement—we must discard these to return to simplicity. As Heshang Gong noted, the pictographic writing of the Five Emperors' era and Cangjie's creation of characters pale in comparison to the simplicity of the Three Sovereigns' knot-record keeping. The so-called "wisdom" refers to scheming and political maneuvering—we must abandon these to return to Wuwei. Governing through cleverness ultimately harms the state. Without flaunting achievements or employing stratagems, cunning will not arise, and people can farm with childlike single-mindedness, reaping benefits a hundredfold.

Regarding "rejecting benevolence and abandoning righteousness": Benevolence means universal love, righteousness means proper conduct, yet promoting these virtues fosters favoritism and praise, which in turn stimulates competitive minds and damages human nature. Once nature is damaged, genuine filial piety and kindness become difficult to sustain. Therefore, we must discard these artificial moral constructs, allowing people to recover their natural dispositions so that filial devotion and kindness may flow spontaneously.

This passage advocates abandoning clever artifice and the pursuit of profit, as doing so naturally eliminates thievery. The term "artifice" (qiao) refers to intricate mechanical devices, locks, and tools; "profit" (li) denotes precious gems, jade objects, measuring instruments, seals, and talismans (fulu). While such implements may serve protective functions in limited contexts, their widespread use ultimately invites greater calamity. Just as discarding fine jade, destroying jewels, burning talismans, and breaking seals can return people to their original simplicity, so too will thieves naturally vanish when such temptations are removed.

These three principles—rejecting sagely wisdom (shengzhi), benevolence and righteousness (renyi), and clever profit-seeking—cannot be fully conveyed through words alone, hence the need for further explanation. Though these principles aim to restore the pristine simplicity of antiquity, mere textual instruction proves insufficient for complete understanding. Thus deeper exposition is required to dissolve people's doubts like melting ice.

Maintain innate purity and diminish selfish desires. "Manifesting simplicity" (jiansu) means preserving inner purity without false pretenses, thereby naturally transcending the constraints of sagely wisdom. "Embracing the uncarved block" (baopu) means returning to original simplicity, eschewing empty reputation and ostentation, thus abandoning the external forms of benevolence and righteousness. "Reducing selfishness" (shaosi) means abiding by one's true nature with selfless integrity, free from superficial cravings, thereby severing the roots of cunning artifice. "Diminishing desires" (guayu) means moderating emotions through tranquility, naturally eliminating the chase for profit.

The methods of sagely wisdom may solve immediate problems but harm long-term well-being; the practices of benevolence and righteousness can address emergencies yet violate fundamental truth; clever tools of profit may assist in minor matters but breed major disasters. Therefore, though sages understand these principles, they do not flaunt them—possessing wisdom yet refraining from its misuse. They take maintaining purity, simplicity, and reduced desires as their foundation. Governing in this way enriches the people with longevity, returning to ancient ways; self-cultivation achieves the state where self and objects are both forgotten.

The true Dao (Way) is profound and ineffable—how could mere study master it? The Dao can be transmitted but not directly bestowed, apprehended but never fully grasped. Like the wheelwright Bian's craftsmanship—not from unwillingness to teach, but from finding no one who truly comprehends—how much more so with the Dao of sages?

Modern scholars merely grasp superficial dregs of learning. The "transcendent learning" mentioned here does not advocate complete abandonment of study, but rather emphasizes preserving one's natural disposition without overstepping inherent boundaries. Just as artificially lengthening a wild duck's naturally short legs would cause it pain, or shortening a crane's long legs would bring it sorrow. The exceptional eyesight of Li Zhu (legendary sharp-eyed figure) and the musical genius of Shi Kuang (renowned ancient musician) were innate gifts - later scholars who force themselves to imitate such talents only achieve clumsy results. Can the natural endowments of individuals ever be altered through envy or boastful imitation? By relinquishing competitive comparisons, one naturally transcends the troubles of joy and sorrow.

When worldly learning is pursued with utilitarian motives, even the most extreme efforts like "hanging one's hair from a beam" or "pricking one's thigh with an awl" to stay awake, or "using fireflies as reading lamps" in snowbound nights, merely chase empty fame and fleeting profit. This creates anxiety over gain and loss, trapping practitioners in the predicament of fluctuating between honor and disgrace. In truth, how much difference exists between a respectful response and a casual reply? What substantial distinction separates good from evil? While conventional etiquette values respect over casualness, from the fundamental perspective of Dao, both are merely reactive sounds. Those obsessed with such superficial distinctions resemble people insisting on transforming "A" (casual assent) into "Wei" (formal assent), when both share identical essence. Transcending worldly discrimination liberates one from entanglement in such nominal differences.

So-called good and evil are merely human labels attached to fortune and misfortune: following Dao is deemed good, while opposing Dao is considered ominous. Yet the profound Dao remains profoundly serene - how could it concern itself with such artificial classifications? Performing good deeds need not seek fame, for excessive renown invites disaster; committing evil inevitably approaches punishment, yet excessive punishment harms life itself. Neither good nor evil represents Dao's essence - both are external manifestations without fundamental difference. Those who truly comprehend the realm of "transcendent learning" remain unaware of their sagely wisdom, let alone distinctions like good and evil.

Some claim that "transforming worldly learning into true learning, casualness into respectfulness, or evil into good is as easy as turning over one's hand" - this still operates within conventional education's framework. Such argumentation differs little from obsessing over "Wei" versus "A" distinctions. Ancient texts wrote "the beautiful and the ugly," echoing the earlier chapter's statement: "When all under heaven recognize beauty as beauty, ugliness is thereby conceived." What the masses fear, I cannot help but fear - this blind conformity creates boundless, directionless trends.

(Supplementary note: "Transcendent learning" refers to natural realization beyond formal study; "Li Zhu" and "Shi Kuang" exemplify innate differences; "Wei" and "A" illustrate superficial distinctions through response particles; the conclusion emphasizes that good/evil and beauty/ugliness are relative concepts, highlighting the importance of returning to natural disposition.)

The perfected person maintains a mind clear as still water, having grasped the profound mysteries of truth. Transcending worldly knowledge yet free from anxiety, though internally making no distinctions between good and evil, their external conduct invariably adheres to ritual propriety. Regarding precepts of virtue and vice, they maintain constant reverence—this is the true realm of one who profoundly understands the Great Dao (Dao).

Ordinary people manifest the exact opposite: they admire virtuous deeds yet fail to practice them, fear wickedness yet cannot distance themselves. Immersed in worldly learning without emancipation, they gradually lose their innate nature, forever trapped in restless agitation (the term "yang" here signifies "cessation" or "interruption").

The masses bustle about chasing pleasures as if attending grand banquets or ascending springtime terraces for sightseeing. "Xixi" describes scenes of boisterous revelry, while "spring terrace" metaphorically represents splendid scenery. Yet these are mere appearances—people grow artificial through scholarly pursuits, become deluded by external phenomena, and drown in torrents of desire. Their greedy indulgence resembles starving men at feasts who cannot be satiated; their pursuit of fame resembles sightseers intoxicated by spring scenery who forget their homeward path.

Only the Dao-realized maintain the pure state of an infant ("pa" denotes quiescent non-action), their minds free from stirring desires ("weizhao"), like babies who have not yet learned to smile. Seemingly drifting with the current ("chengcheng" describes effortless movement), they actually transcend worldly concerns. The perfected person's heart resembles still water—though dwelling in the mundane world, they observe the transformations of all things with detached clarity, appearing muddled and simple like infants incapable of discrimination. They conform to worldly customs without seeking novelty, adrift like an untethered boat.

All people consider fame and wealth as abundance, while I alone regard them as floating clouds. This seemingly foolish, chaotic state of mind ("dundun" describes undifferentiated wholeness) actually demonstrates penetrating insight into worldly affairs. Ordinary people, driven by desires, greedily grasp at riches in the arena of fame, believing themselves inwardly fulfilled. The Dao-realized view achievements as transient clouds and worldly affairs as chaff, thus maintaining transcendental freedom. This state of undifferentiated unity with all things appears foolish in ordinary eyes (alternate versions use "chunchun" to describe a state of simple purity free from desire).

This passage illustrates the distinction between those who have attained the Dao (zhiren, perfected persons) and ordinary people. Those who have attained the Dao may appear dull-witted, but this is because they have transcended worldly discrimination, maintaining a naturally peaceful state of mind. Ordinary people, by contrast, constantly flaunt their cleverness and talent, shining conspicuously.

Worldly people are calculating and exacting in all matters, while those who have attained the Dao are magnanimous and inclusive, seeming almost muddle-headed. They emulate the way of heaven (Dao), following the natural order, allowing people to preserve their innate simplicity. As Zhuangzi said, the most profound truth appears indistinct and chaotic, yet all things naturally return to it. The realm of those who have attained the Dao is as unfathomable as the ocean, while their response to change is as natural and unrestrained as flowing water.

Ordinary people pursue fame and purposeful action, whereas those who have attained the Dao remain as plain as withered wood or dead ashes. This is not an affectation of eccentricity, but because they take the Dao as their foundation. "Nourishing the mother" can be understood as sustaining the source of life—that is, following the great Dao. What makes those who have attained the Dao truly different is precisely their grasp of this fundamental principle.

Ordinary people pursue desires yet harm their bodies, while perfected persons (zhiren) honor desirelessness to nourish their spirit (Shen). This differs from common practice. It is also said: The root lies in primordial Qi (Yuanqi). Ordinary people crave fine flavors, while perfected persons value harmonizing their vital energy (Qi), hence their distinction from the masses.

Someone might ask: Laozi advocates "blending with the light and merging with the dust" (harmonizing with worldly affairs), so why emphasize difference here? In truth, this is not the original intent of perfected persons—it is spoken out of necessity. The actions of perfected persons are inherently unremarkable; it is only because worldly behavior contradicts them that teachings must be established to clarify these distinctions.

"The appearance of great Virtue (Da De) follows the Dao completely." "Kong" signifies vastness, while "rong" refers to outward manifestation. Perfected persons merge wholly with the Dao. The constant Dao has no name and can only be revealed through Virtue (De); the highest Virtue has no fixed form, taking shape entirely in accordance with the Dao. Those of great Virtue cannot be recognized by appearance—only through their alignment with the Dao can their state be faintly discerned.

"This thing called the Dao is elusive and indistinct, impossible to grasp." The Dao is profound and beyond words; eyes and ears cannot perceive it—how then can it be called a concrete thing? Here, "thing" is merely a forced designation to probe its mysterious principles. Greatly virtuous persons can align with the Dao, yet the Dao has no form—how does one align with it? Since it is formless and nameless, how should it be followed? Only by contemplating this elusive state can its presence be faintly sensed. "Elusive" suggests seeming existence yet actual absence; "indistinct" suggests seeming absence yet actual presence. What appears empty contains essence; what appears real lacks substance. This ambiguous state between being and non-being requires concrete examples to clarify the nature of the Dao.

"Within the elusive, there are signs; within the indistinct, there is substance." Here, "signs" refer to traces of primordial Qi (Yuanqi), while "substance" denotes the essence of spirit (Shen)—what Zhuangzi calls the "True Ruler," or what we term innate nature. The Dao exists in this indeterminate state: say it does not exist, yet from formlessness it suddenly manifests signs, becoming the omen of all things; say it exists, yet at the moment of manifestation, it abruptly dissolves back into emptiness. Yet within absolute emptiness...

Here we discuss the concept of the "divine substance." This so-called divine substance (referring to the mysterious workings of the Dao) transcends the transformations of Yin-Yang and marvelously governs all things. Its myriad transformations are inexhaustible—it operates heaven and earth, creates and transforms Yin-Yang, and through Qi (the fundamental element composing all things), it forms various material manifestations, thereby generating all phenomena in the world. Whether in self-cultivation or governing a nation, from the coarse to the subtle, none can depart from the workings of this divine substance.

The Dao (the cosmic origin and principle) is profound and obscure, yet within it lies pure Jing-Qi (the essential life force). This Jing-Qi is utterly authentic, containing trustworthy principles. "Yao" describes depth, while "ming" describes obscurity. The Dao is elusive and cannot be fixed in form; no thing can directly perceive it. Those who inquire about it do not understand its essence, and those who respond to it do not grasp its workings. Yet within it lies pure Jing-Qi, accumulating the natural laws. This Jing-Qi is not false, hence it is called "authentic"; its transformations accord with the times, hence it is called "trustworthy." Just as a bird's foot can transform into a cicada larva, human blood can become will-o'-the-wisps, a rotten melon can turn into fish, and a virtuous woman can transform into stone—though the varieties of plants and animals are countless, none fail to change through the resonance of Jing-Qi or deviate from the unchanging laws. Without supreme virtue, how could one comprehend this principle?

From ancient times to the present, the name of the Dao has never perished, for through it we observe the origin of all things. How do I know the truth of all things' origin? It is through this Dao. "Yue" means to observe and measure, while "fu" means the beginning. The Dao has continued from high antiquity to the present, clear and eternal, never perishing. Though its form cannot be seen, its name endures forever. This illustrates how sages who attain the Dao, being united with it, achieve longevity. Thus, they can observe and measure the origin of all things, knowing they all arise from the Dao. The Dao observes all things and thereby forms their substance. Again, how do I know that all things receive from the Dao and undergo the processes of life and death? The answer is: because the Dao, though elusive and obscure, is eternally present. Thus, it follows transformations to govern and, in serene Wuwei (non-action), observes the changes of all things—none fail to receive from the Dao. This is precisely the reason.

(Those with great De (Virtue/Power) follow the Dao, and by following the Dao, they bend to achieve wholeness. Hence, the following discusses the principle that "the bent becomes whole.")