《道德真經藏室纂微篇》Vol. 4

This scripture expounds the wisdom of Daoist philosophy for navigating life and self-cultivation through a series of dialectical relationships.

To bend is actually to preserve oneself; what appears as compromise leads to true integrity. Just as low-lying areas naturally fill with water, worn-out things gain renewal. Seeking simplicity brings abundance, while greed for more leads to confusion.

The truly wise sages, though profoundly learned and far-seeing, always maintain humility and restraint. They stand straight as a bowstring yet willingly yield without display—this constitutes real uprightness. Those of supreme De (Virtue) don't contend with external things; encountering obstacles, they temporarily withdraw until others recognize their errors and correct themselves.

Just as mountains and valleys alternate in height, those who remain humble gain universal respect. Having talent without flaunting it, appearing weak yet earning collective esteem—this is how one's Dao practice advances daily. Simplicity is fundamental, as the Yijing (Book of Changes) states: grasping the principle of simplicity reveals the great Dao of heaven and earth. The Xisheng Jing (Scripture of Western Ascension) similarly notes that holding to the root enables understanding all things. Conversely, excessive pursuit of breadth leads to losing one's core, just as too many branching paths lose sheep, and overly eclectic learning departs from the true path.

Therefore, sages uphold the fundamental principle of "One" as the model for all under heaven. This "One" manifests the Dao, called Taiji (Supreme Ultimate)—the undifferentiated primordial Qi representing the state of Wuwei (non-action). By steadfastly maintaining this pure unity and returning to the ancient ways of non-action, sages become paragons for the world. As the scripture states: Heaven remains clear by holding to "One"; Earth stays tranquil by holding to "One." Zhuangzi likewise observes that heaven and earth's clarity and peace stem from non-action.

The six approaches mentioned earlier still bear traces of deliberate effort, whereas abiding in the "One" through Wuwei embraces all things effortlessly. Not displaying oneself leads to true manifestation; not asserting one's views brings discernment; not boasting achieves real merit; not growing arrogant ensures lasting fulfillment.

This passage describes the four Wuwei (non-action) qualities of the sage (one with supreme moral cultivation): not displaying abilities, not asserting personal views, not boasting about oneself, and not being arrogant.

First, the sage does not deliberately showcase talents. As Heshanggong (a renowned Daoist scholar of the Han dynasty) explained, though the sage possesses profound understanding, they never flaunt it. Instead, they observe the world through the eyes of all people, thus achieving true discernment. This practice of "seeing through the world's eyes" inherently embodies the profound principle of avoiding self-promotion.

Next, the sage does not assert personal views. Maintaining a tranquil and receptive mind, the sage never assumes personal infallibility while dismissing others. When the distinction between "self" and "other" dissolves, the world naturally recognizes their correctness, and their De (Virtue) becomes manifest.

Furthermore, the sage does not boast. With serene detachment and few desires, the sage never praises their own virtues, yet the world celebrates their accomplishments. Finally, the sage is not arrogant. Content with solitude and never considering themselves superior, the sage is naturally regarded by all as embodying the Dao, thus achieving enduring existence.

Precisely because the sage does not contend with others, no one in the world can contend with them. The Honglie Jie cites an example: Lord Xiang of Zhao (a ruler during the Warring States period) prepared to attack Zhongmu after his father's death, but withdrew upon seeing the city walls collapse on their own. Believing a noble person should not exploit others' misfortune, he ultimately won Zhongmu's voluntary surrender through their admiration for his righteousness—a concrete instance of "prevailing without contention."

The ancient saying "yielding to achieve wholeness" is no empty phrase. The sage maintains a state of pure Wuwei (non-action), utterly free from competitive impulses. The Daode Jing states that those with profound De are like infants—unharmed by venomous insects, untroubled by fierce beasts, and untouched by birds of prey. If even animals respond thus, how much more so should humans? This wisdom of "yielding to attain completeness" traces back to antiquity; it is no mere fable. Practicing it truly leads to perfect Virtue—the profound meaning repeatedly emphasized in the scripture.

The text then addresses how "speaking little accords with nature's way." Violent winds never last a morning, torrential rains never persist a full day—excess cannot endure. This explains why "sparing speech" and "naturalness" are discussed together.

The Book of Changes states: "The virtuous speak little, while the restless talk excessively." This emphasizes the value of sparse words and cautions against erratic speech and behavior. Speaking sparingly aligns with the natural Dao (the Way). Those who truly attain the Dao respond only when questioned and speak only when necessary, ensuring their actions and words are timely and appropriate, thus harmonizing with nature.

Just as gentle winds and timely rains benefit all things, sudden storms bring calamity. Fierce gales and torrential downpours rage ceaselessly from dawn to dusk. When the Qi (vital energy) of mountains and marshes clash violently, storms arise; when Yin and Yang energies collide intensely, heavy rains form—all due to the imbalance of Yin-Yang and the obstruction of harmonious Qi, making such conditions unsustainable. The same applies to humans: harsh words and erratic emotions of joy and anger—how can one maintain the purity and serenity of their innate nature under such circumstances?

Who creates these violent storms? The answer lies with Heaven and Earth. In terms of vastness, nothing surpasses Heaven and Earth; in terms of the breadth of Qi, nothing exceeds Yin and Yang. Even the fierce storms born from the clash of Yin-Yang and the turbulence of Heaven and Earth cannot last a full day—how much less can humans, tiny as a single hair on a horse’s body, dare to indulge their desires, give free rein to their emotions, or act violently without restraint, hastening their own demise? Is this not profoundly lamentable?

Thus, those who follow the Dao: those who walk the Dao become one with it, those who cultivate De (Virtue/Power) become one with it, and those who lose their way become one with loss. "Following" means aligning with. The so-called Dao is the principle of emptiness, spontaneity, tranquility, and simplicity. Human actions should conform to the great Dao—speaking little, preserving Qi, and eternally maintaining natural harmony. How could they resemble violent storms that cannot endure?

Those who align with the Dao: in movement, they ride the waves of Yang; in stillness, they merge with Yin. Gathering, they take form; dispersing, they dissolve into Qi. Moving between presence and absence, they dwell with the profound mystery of the Dao. Those who cultivate De: inwardly, they preserve their nature without exhausting their Shen (spirit); outwardly, they benefit all things, nurturing even grass and trees. Achieving merit without claiming it, they unite with noble virtue. Those who lose their way: they delight in desires and take pride in constraints; exhausted yet unrepentant, they willingly march toward destruction, joining those who have forsaken their true nature.

Those who unite with the Dao are embraced by it; those who unite with De are embraced by it; those who unite with loss are consumed by it. (The reason for loss lies in) insufficient sincerity, which leads to distrust.

This passage elucidates the principle that all things resonate with their kind. Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the fundamental law of the universe) are not only followed willingly by common people, but are also recognized by rulers who understand the great Way. Virtuous individuals are not only revered by the masses, but are also acknowledged by sages possessing the highest De (Virtue/Power). Similarly, those lost in the path of dissipation attract not only wandering spirits, but also others who have similarly lost their way. This illustrates how like attracts like.

Therefore, those devoted to the Dao naturally comprehend it, while those who honor De naturally attain it. But those who disdain the Dao and neglect De will find no response from the Way, nor manifestation of Virtue—how could they possibly gain the world's trust? As the saying goes, "Those lacking sincerity will naturally not be trusted."

Those who stand on tiptoe to appear taller actually stand unsteadily; those who take giant strides to move faster cannot travel far. Standing on tiptoe represents straining to see beyond one's station, while taking giant strides signifies the eagerness to surpass others. The greedy and impatient resemble those stretching their necks to grasp undeserved wealth and status—even if temporarily obtained, how could such gains endure? As for those of mediocre ability who seek to outshine everyone, they will find themselves obstructed by all, much like one who tries to walk quickly while carrying burdens between their legs—they end up unable to move at all.

Those who consider themselves infallible actually perceive less clearly; those stubbornly clinging to their views fail to manifest truth; those who boast of themselves achieve no real merit; and the arrogant cannot endure.

Chapter 22's "Yield and remain whole" describes how sages (those who have attained the Dao) govern through Wuwei (non-action), accomplishing all without self-promotion. This chapter, however, reveals how ordinary people do precisely the opposite: flaunting their abilities clouds their judgment—how could they perceive reality's essence? Clinging to personal opinions while dismissing others—how could they comprehend truth? Paying lip service to benevolence and righteousness without practice, decorating themselves with empty titles—how could they truly govern well? Oppressing the weak by flaunting one's strength—how could they long follow the Dao?

To the great Dao, such behaviors are like leftover food and useless tumors—things even ordinary people detest. How much more would those who have attained the Dao reject them? Superfluous limbs disgust people, and excessive actions similarly invite revulsion.

This passage describes the essential characteristics of the Dao (the Way). It first points to an undifferentiated primordial existence (huncheng, "chaotic formation") that existed before the creation of heaven and earth—this is the fundamental nature of the Dao. Invisible, inaudible, and intangible, it nevertheless exists truly and eternally. All things originate from it, yet it remains ultimately unknowable. The Dao exists prior to the Taiji (Supreme Ultimate, the cosmic origin), transcending spatial dimensions and temporal measurements as an eternal presence.

The text then depicts the state of the Dao: silent and soundless, vast and formless (jixi liaoxi), existing independently without change, circulating endlessly without exhaustion. It permeates the entire cosmos, capable of dispersing as the universal Qi (vital energy) that fills heaven and earth, while also condensing into minute particles—the mother that nurtures all things (tianxia mu, "mother of all under heaven"). Though we cannot properly name it, we reluctantly call it "Dao," and because of its boundless vastness, we also term it "Great" (da).

This "Greatness" manifests three characteristics: first, its ceaseless movement (shi, "passing away"); second, its expansion to infinite distances (yuan, "far-reaching"); and third, its ultimate return to the source (fan, "reversal"). Thus the Dao circulates endlessly in perpetual motion, both generating all things and drawing them back to their origin.

This passage elucidates the infinite nature of the Dao (the Way) and the interrelationships among the "Four Greats" (Dao, Heaven, Earth, and the Sovereign). The Dao is eternal and boundless—it moves forward without return, profound beyond comprehension, yet manifests within the smallest space. It cycles endlessly, governing the alternation of life and death and the transformation of Yin-Yang.

Within Heaven and Earth exist four great entities: The Dao, as the origin of Heaven and Earth, is limitless yet governs all things; Heaven moves ceaselessly above, covering all beings; Earth remains tranquil below, supporting all existence; and the Sovereign (the ideal ruler) guides the people through Wuwei (non-action) and serenity. Though the Sovereign cannot be equated with the Dao, Heaven, or Earth, they are still counted among the Four Greats due to their role in ordering human relations. All four exist within the boundaries of the cosmos.

The Sovereign should emulate the ways of Heaven and Earth: Maintaining humility and stillness mirrors Earth's nature; employing vigorous strength follows Heaven's example; adhering to Wuwei principles aligns with the Dao's essence; ultimately allowing all things to return to their natural state. As Zhuangzi said, Heaven is most divine, Earth most abundant, and the Sovereign most magnificent. The Sovereign's De (Virtue) must correspond to Heaven and Earth, demanding careful conduct.

The text emphasizes that if the Sovereign can model themselves after Heaven and Earth's cyclical patterns and follow the Dao's principle of Wuwei, the world will naturally achieve harmony. This emulation is not mechanical imitation but a progressive refinement: first mirroring Earth's supportive nature, then Heaven's dynamic movement, ultimately embodying the Dao's essence to reach a state of complete spontaneity.

The supreme principle between heaven and earth should emulate the profound intent of sages in educating beings, not remaining merely in empty theorizing (what is here called the "Way of Undifferentiated Completion" may provisionally be termed the "Four Greats," with the sovereign occupying one of them).

(The sovereign uses gravity to restrain frivolity, thus) gravity is the root of frivolity, and stillness is the master of agitation. Just as the delicate flowers and leaves of plants grow on fragile branches, easily felled by wind and frost, while their sturdy roots remain deeply buried in the earth, unharmed by external forces and thus enduring—this metaphor illustrates that both self-cultivation and governance should take gravity as their foundation. Observe further how coiled and still dragons and serpents can transform and ascend, while fierce and agitated tigers and leopards easily fall to hunters. The same principle applies: those who cultivate themselves with inner stillness harmonize their bodily spirits in contentment, naturally avoiding the troubles of surging desires; rulers who govern with serene non-action allow their people to live in peace, free from the threat of ambitious ministers disrupting court affairs.

Thus, those of Virtue (De) never act rashly in daily affairs, just as an army never marches without its supply wagons (the "supply wagons" here refer to both covered carriages and heavy transport vehicles). This "gravity" emphasizes prudent action. True sages and noble persons never speak or act lightly—every action is as thoroughly prepared as a well-stocked supply wagon, every word deeply considered. If even daily speech and conduct require such gravity, how could they dare deviate for even a moment from the supreme Dao? Some interpret "gravity" as also encompassing "stillness," highlighting both qualities. Just as travelers never stray far from their laden supply wagons—their lifeline—discarding them carelessly would leave them stranded midway. Similarly, if noble persons abandon the gravity and stillness of the Dao for frivolity and agitation, how could the resulting calamity be anything but great?

Even amidst splendid scenes (the "splendid scenes" refer to magnificent sights, "ease" to comfort), they remain transcendent. True sages maintain constant serenity, never pursuing fleeting pleasures, content with non-action (Wuwei), aloof from worldly dust, casting aside pride and extravagance—this is the essential meaning of upholding gravity and stillness. Another version reads "splendid mansions and humble cottages," meaning they do not covet luxurious dwellings but dwell content in simple huts while their spirit roams freely.

Alas! How can the ruler of ten thousand chariots (a metaphor for a great sovereign) govern the realm with a frivolous attitude? Frivolity loses the root; agitation forfeits mastery. The exclamation "Alas!" laments: that a great sovereign acts rashly is to abandon the root; frivolous action inevitably leads to loss of control.

This passage elucidates the principles of governing a state and cultivating one's person. It first emphasizes that those in high positions must maintain stability and tranquility, refraining from indulging their desires. If ministers lack steadiness, they will lose their foundation and neglect their duties; if rulers fail to follow the Dao of Wuwei (non-action) and purity, their restlessness and disturbance of the people will cost them their throne and disrupt the harmony of heaven and earth. The ancients said that when a ruler acts rashly and harasses the people, the populace will scatter—who then would wish to serve as his minister? When ministers manipulate power and covet rank, they will ultimately face exile or execution, becoming incapable of truly assisting their sovereign.

The latter part discusses six profound ways of conduct exemplified by the phrase "the adept traveler leaves no tracks." Those skilled in action follow nature's course, as described in the Yin Fu Jing (Scripture of the Hidden Talisman): observing the Dao of heaven and complying with spontaneity—indeed, this requires neither deliberate scrutiny nor attachment, for intuitive understanding allows one to leave no trace without even stepping outdoors. Those skilled in speech resemble Zhuangzi's "goblet words" (spontaneous utterances) that remain measured yet ever-renewing, never crossing the bounds of propriety. Those skilled in strategy uphold the principle of "the One" (the Dao) through Wuwei, enabling all things to find their proper place without disrupting their innate nature. Those skilled in closing maintain inner purity and Wuwei—even with sensual temptations before them, they remain unmoved, achieving a steadfastness more secure than any physical bolt. Those skilled in forging alliances use the Dao to sustain relationships, creating bonds stronger than rope ties. All these represent sublime states attained through aligning with nature and governing through Wuwei.

This passage describes the way of being for those who have attained the Dao (zhiren, or perfected persons). They act with simplicity and naturalness, free from deliberate effort, skillfully using the principles of the Dao to restrain greedy and indulgent tendencies. They effortlessly transcend the bonds of desire, reaching a state of purity and tranquility without needing laborious explanations.

Thus, sages are always adept at helping others, so no one is abandoned; they are always skilled at utilizing all things, so nothing is wasted. This is called "ximing" (the subtle application of wisdom). "Xi" refers to the secret application—sages are those who can practice the five virtues. Their body and mind are united with nature, their spirit attains supreme harmony, and thus they regard all things with impartiality, like straw dogs. They act without claiming credit. They assign positions according to people's abilities, allowing human nature to develop fully and bodies to remain whole, ensuring everyone has a purpose, so no one is useless. They also follow the innate nature of plants and animals, allowing them to become tools of all kinds—square, round, curved, or straight—without violating natural principles. Even tiles, bricks, and weeds have their uses, so nothing is discarded. "Changshan" (constant goodness) refers to the wisdom of mastering the eternal Dao and understanding the fundamental nature of all things.

The Honglie Jie provides an example: During the Warring States period, Gongsun Long of Zhao once told his disciples, "I do not associate with those who have no talent." A man in coarse clothing came seeking an audience, saying, "I can shout loudly." Gongsun Long asked his disciples if any of them could shout, and when none could, he took the man as a disciple. Later, when crossing a river, the boat was on the far shore, but the man's shout brought it over. This illustrates that sages in their conduct do not reject those with unique skills—hence the saying, "no one is abandoned."

Good people are teachers for the not-good, and the not-good are resources for the good. The "good" here refers to those who embody the Dao, just as the establishment of the Son of Heaven and the Three Dukes (highest ancient offices) was meant to educate the not-good. Even the not-good can be transformed and utilized by the good. The Daode Jing states, "I treat the good with goodness, and I also treat the not-good with goodness." This means using virtue to influence the not-good, making them a usable resource.

The Honglie Jie also recounts a story: The Chu general Zifa enjoyed recruiting people with special skills. A thief sought an audience, saying, "I hear you seek talented men. I am skilled at stealing—I wish to serve." Zifa, disregarding his own disheveled appearance, hurried to meet him. Later, when Qi attacked Chu, the thief stole the pillow, hairpin, and topknot of the Qi general over three successive nights, terrifying the enemy army into retreat. This shows that even the not-good have their uses.

This passage recounts an anecdote about Zi Fa, a Chu general skilled in utilizing talents. When Qi attacked Chu, Zi Fa led troops to resist but suffered repeated defeats. At this time, a petty thief volunteered his services, claiming to have minor skills. Without questioning, Zi Fa employed him. The thief infiltrated the Qi camp at night, first stealing the general’s tent curtains, then the hairpins the next night. The Qi army was so astonished they believed Chu had divine assistance and retreated in panic overnight.

Laozi uses this to illustrate that seemingly trivial skills, when wisely employed, can serve great purposes. A truly wise ruler values people not by their status but by their actual abilities. This embodies the wisdom of "not prizing the teacher, not treasuring the resources" (不贵其师，不爱其资)—not blindly revering someone due to their title as a teacher, nor being overly possessive of valuable resources.

The text further elaborates on the principles of Daoist cultivation: Though sages seek the liberated state of mind, they still require guidance from teachers (师) and cultivation resources (资). However, one must avoid excessive attachment to form—just as Bole cannot turn an inferior horse into a thousand-mile steed, nor can a master carpenter make beams from inferior wood. True adepts ultimately reach the state of "forgetting the teacher and the resources" (忘师忘资), much like Liezi, who, after mastering the art of wind-riding under Lao Shang and befriending Bo Gao, no longer remembered who his teachers or friends were.

Finally, the passage reveals the mystery of "knowing the masculine, yet abiding by the feminine" (知其雄，守其雌): understanding the principles of strength yet resting in gentleness. Like a stream content to remain low, one preserves the natural De (Virtue) of an infant’s purity. This is the higher state attained through grasping the interplay of strength and softness via "teacher" and "resources."

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "maintaining softness and abiding below," using contrasts like male/female, black/white, and honor/disgrace to illustrate how "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong."

Recognizing one's noble status yet constantly striving to dominate actually invites misfortune. The truly wise maintain a humble and yielding posture, willingly occupying the lowest position like a sunken valley. In doing so, all under heaven will naturally gravitate toward them like water flowing downward. By preserving this open and receptive mindset, one safeguards constant De (Virtue), eliminates rigid and impulsive desires, and returns to the pure, natural state of an infant. The infant state refers to that primal condition of undifferentiated wholeness, free from dualistic judgments.

Knowing the value of brightness yet dwelling content in obscurity—this qualifies one to be a model for the world. As such a model, constant De remains unerring, ultimately returning to Wuji (the limitless source of Dao). The Dao-realized person's mind is as empty and still as a hollow valley—lucid within yet outwardly silent, with inner radiance that never dazzles. This state becomes the world's standard because people perceive his unchanging De, which ultimately merges with Dao.

Understanding the worth of honor yet abiding in humble disgrace—like a valley embracing all things. As such an all-embracing valley, De becomes abundant, returning to Dao's original simplicity. Even when emulated by others, the Dao-realized person remains humble, actively demonstrating weakness so all under heaven sincerely submit. This valley-like capacity fills De without seeking fame, returning to Dao's most primordial state. What we call "simplicity" (Pu) means concealing abilities without revealing sharp edges.

When primal simplicity disperses, it manifests as various concrete functions. The sage employs these functions to become a leader governing the multitude. Thus the highest form of governance doesn't sever natural simplicity. Returning to Dao's simple state merges one with profound truth. In statecraft, this simplicity disperses to form concrete institutions. As Heshanggong explains: The simplicity of all things disperses to become utensils; Dao disperses to become divine spirits, flowing as sun and moon, differentiating into the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water). The human heart-mind disperses into thoughts—with each thought-movement, actions manifest and affairs arise. The sage appoints people to suitable offices according to their talents, thereby skillfully governing all things while following nature without harming innate qualities. Lu Xisheng remarks: Alas, only after Dao declined did we need to promote benevolence and righteousness; only after primal simplicity dispersed did we require institutions. The sage excels in employing these institutions, thus becoming the people's leader. Precisely because great Dao isn't confined to specific forms can it accomplish everything.

This passage elucidates the principles of governing the world. Laozi suggests that truly enlightened statecraft resembles crafting objects without deliberate cutting—it follows the natural course of Wuwei (non-action). Those who attempt to forcibly control the myriad things of the world without understanding the patterns of the Dao will inevitably invite peril.

The "divine vessel" mentioned in the text refers to the world itself, the most precious treasure entrusted by heaven, earth, and the spirits. Zhuangzi once said that the most skillful ruler "preserves the world in its natural state" rather than "governing it through force." Excessive intervention alters the innate nature of the people and disrupts their natural De (Virtue).

The author illustrates this principle with several metaphors: A clumsy carpenter hacking at wood only worsens the result despite great effort; carving seven openings into the primordial Chaos (Hundun) leads to its death; whipping horses to exhaustion ultimately depletes their strength. These are all examples of forceful action leading to failure.

Finally, the text lists eight pairs of opposing phenomena: where some advance actively, others follow passively; where some bring warmth like spring, others bring cold like winter; where some are strong, others are weak; where some succeed, others fail. This demonstrates the ever-changing nature of external phenomena, which cannot be forced into uniformity. Sincere action brings natural harmony, while artificial contrivance only breeds chaos.

This passage discusses the harm caused by human interference that violates the natural Dao. Just as spring and summer nourish all things while autumn and winter bring withering and dormancy—a cycle governed by natural law—so too does the rise and fall of human affairs follow this rhythm. Some people support what appears strong and suppress what seems weak; others inadvertently strengthen by supporting or weaken by suppressing—all imbalances caused by forced intervention. There are even cases where deliberate protection brings crisis, while intentional disruption leads to stability—chaos born of excessive action.

Thus, the sages (those who embody the Dao) advocate eliminating extremes, extravagance, and excess. The terms "excessive" (甚), "extravagant" (奢), and "overreaching" (泰) all denote actions that exceed natural bounds. A truly enlightened ruler understands that fortune and misfortune are intertwined, and thus relinquishes forced effort, returning to a state of desireless simplicity: discarding artificial extremes to align with nature; abandoning lavish indulgence to restore purity; restraining excessive passions to regain tranquility. Though "excess, extravagance, and overreaching" manifest in three forms, their root lies in violating the Dao's principle of Wuwei (non-action). Precisely because extravagance and excess provoke artificial striving, Laozi (Lao氏) offers this profound warning.

(The bracketed commentary notes: stubborn self-will leads to failure; forcibly manipulating strength and weakness is inferior to following the Dao. The subsequent text will address how to assist rulers through the Dao.)