《道德真經取善集》Vol. 3

This passage explains the three imperceptible characteristics of the Dao (the Way) as described in Chapter 14 of the Daode Jing: it cannot be seen, heard, or touched.

First, it discusses "yi" (meaning formless and smooth). The eyes are meant to observe things, yet the Dao itself has no concrete form—like the primordial chaos before even Qi (vital energy) had taken shape—transcending what vision can discern. Though invisible, the Dao manifests colors like dark yellow (xuanhuang), so it cannot be said to lack color entirely. The term "yi" is used to describe this unseen nature.

Next is "xi" (meaning rare and scarcely heard). The ears are meant to perceive sound, yet the Dao's sound is exceedingly sparse, as Zhuangzi states: "The greatest music is barely audible." Though inaudible, the Dao gives rise to musical notes like gong and shang, so it cannot be said to lack sound entirely. The term "xi" describes this elusive quality.

Third is "wei" (meaning subtle and shapeless). The Dao is so fine that it has no tangible form, as the Daode Jing says: "The greatest form has no shape." Though intangible, the Dao manifests all opposing attributes—Yin-Yang, hardness and softness, length and shortness, square and round—producing all forms within formlessness. Thus, "wei" describes this ungraspable nature.

Finally, it points out that these three characteristics (yi, xi, wei) cannot be fully captured in words—they are ultimately a unified whole. Like the state of primordial chaos before Qi, form, and substance had separated, though already merged into one, we still must reluctantly use language to describe it. To truly understand the Dao, one must quietly contemplate it, not rely on verbal instruction.

This passage elucidates the profound characteristics of the Dao (the cosmic origin and ultimate truth):

The Dao cannot be directly apprehended through the senses. It blends three modes of existence (sight, hearing, and touch) yet remains fundamentally unified. Just as objects have their Yin-Yang aspects (brightness and darkness), the Dao transcends material forms, abiding in a state of undifferentiated unity. As Zhuangzi said, those who lose the Dao can only perceive superficial brilliance and the dust beneath their feet.

The Dao resembles an unnameable rope—seemingly empty yet capable of creating all things. It has no concrete form, yet manifests all forms; it is no particular phenomenon, yet gives rise to all phenomena. To say it exists is to acknowledge its formless presence; to say it doesn't exist is to ignore how all things emerge from it. This paradoxical state of "being yet non-being" is called "huhuang" (a nebulous, indistinct condition).

The Dao has neither beginning nor end—its origin cannot be seen nor its terminus found. Omnipresent, it transcends distinctions of before/after or past/present. To grasp this eternal Dao is to master present phenomena. What we call "ancient" isn't opposed to "modern," but signifies wisdom about the source of all things; "modern" isn't severed from "ancient," but recognizes the connection between the present and its origin. True understanding of creation's principles means grasping the Dao's fundamental laws.

The text particularly emphasizes the Dao's qualities: transcending sensory perception, generating being from non-being, being without beginning or end, and permeating all time. Practitioners must move beyond surface perceptions to experience this ultimate truth—both empty and substantial, ancient yet ever-present—in daily life.

This scripture explores the origin and characteristics of the Dao (the Way). It first points out that the Dao has no concrete beginning ("endless origin"), neither coming from nor going to any particular place. This quality of being without start or end constitutes the fundamental principle of the Dao (Daoji). Wang Yuanze explains that by tracing back to when all things were yet unborn, one realizes nothing has a concrete source—this is comprehending the essence of the Dao. What Zhuangzi called the "endless origin" refers precisely to this eternal, unchanging principle of the Dao.

Li Tian elaborates that the mysterious nature of the Dao manifests in all things, yet it cannot be grasped by sight or hearing, nor discerned through observation of light and darkness. It defies concrete description, shows no signs of beginning or end, and its workings are unfathomable—yet it governs the existence of all things.

The text then discusses ancient adepts skilled in cultivating the Dao ("those good at being scholars"). They were subtle, profound, and far-reaching, beyond ordinary comprehension. Wang Anshi explains that "scholar" refers to one who has begun Dao cultivation but has not yet fully united with the Dao; ultimately reaching sagehood means complete fusion with the Dao. This state is what's described as "subtle, mysterious, penetrating, and unfathomably deep."

Lingxianzi adds that the Dao penetrates everywhere, and those skilled in its cultivation comprehend all principles. The previous chapter discussed grasping the ancient Dao to master the present, while this chapter explains tracing the ancient Dao through the present. Where the former treated the Dao as a whole, this chapter describes the state of cultivators embodying the Dao. "Subtle" contrasts with the obvious, "profound" with the perilous, "mysterious" indicates unfathomable depth, and "penetrating" signifies boundless transformation. Ancient cultivators internalized and concealed the Dao deeply, making it difficult to fathom.

Precisely because it defies description, we can only approximate with analogies: just as heaven's height and earth's thickness cannot be instantly measured, we resort to saying "heaven is round, earth is square" to suggest their forms. The text proceeds with concrete metaphors to describe the cultivator's state—cautious like crossing a winter river ("hesitant as if crossing a winter stream"), alert like fearing surrounding neighbors ("wary as if fearing neighbors on all sides"). Like the butcher Ding concentrating fully with minimal movement when carving an ox—this is the caution depicted by "hesitant as if crossing a winter stream."

The text primarily discusses the cautious attitude and inner cultivation that Daoist practitioners should maintain in their conduct.

When beginning an action, one should be as decisive and precise as the butcher Ding carving an ox; when completing a task, one should carefully clean and store the blade as if putting it away. Constant vigilance should be maintained, being as cautious as if fearing neighbors might peek in. Here, "preparation" (Yu) refers to preventive measures beforehand, while "wariness" (You) indicates post-event vigilance—like someone crossing a river on foot in winter: knowing the danger yet compelled to proceed, thus moving with trembling caution.

Those who have truly attained the Dao (the Way) maintain a profound inner stillness, as if guarding the homeland of their true nature—restrained without indulgence, eliminating false thoughts to preserve sincerity. Their minds remain undisturbed by external matters, hence described as "seeming to fear neighbors peeking in."

Practitioners should carry themselves with the dignity of guests. Wang Yuanze explains this as not taking worldly affairs as one's personal responsibility, thus maintaining a composed demeanor. Like Master Dongguo Shunzi whose upright bearing dispelled others' distracting thoughts, making Tian Zifang admire him; or like Li Hanguang who remained as reverent in a dark room as when facing his sovereign, earning Sima Chengzhen's high praise.

The mental state should be as transparent as ice melting into water. Frozen water and melted ice share the same essence—those who cling to attachments are like frozen water, while the enlightened are like melting ice. When a practitioner experiences sudden awakening, all afflictions dissolve instantly like spring ice.

One's nature should remain as simple and substantial as unworked timber. Human nature is originally complete and substantial, like uncarved wood. It should also be as open and receptive as an empty valley—our fundamental nature is inherently boundless, capable of containing all things like a valley while responding appropriately.

This passage describes the empty and tranquil nature of the Dao (the cosmic origin). The scripture states that the highest form of De (Virtue) resembles a vast, empty valley—chaotic and profound like turbid flowing water.

Wang Bi (a Wei-Jin era Neo-Daoist philosopher) explains: Those who truly attain the Dao internally store their Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) without outward display, appearing no different from ordinary people—like a droplet of water blending into waves and dust. Hence, it is called "appearing turbid."

Yang Zhu (representative of the Yangist school) elaborates further: Merging with all things results in a state of chaos, while separation leads to dissipation. Those who embody the Dao harmonize with the mundane world without losing themselves, much like Zhuangzi’s description of "flowing with the transformations of all things." This stands in stark contrast to those who deliberately seek novelty or distance themselves from worldly affairs.

A truly cultivated person acts with caution: as careful as crossing a winter river, as wary as guarding against neighbors, always leaving room in their actions; humble and unobtrusive like a guest, flexible like melting ice without rigidity. They preserve their simple, innate nature, remaining open and receptive like an empty valley, while outwardly blending seamlessly with the world. Such a state is unfathomable—it can only be described with difficulty.

Who can be like turbid water that naturally clarifies when left undisturbed? Wang Yuanze (a Song dynasty scholar) remarks: Cultivating the mind is like clarifying murky water—stirring only makes it cloudier, while stillness allows it to clear gradually. Those who embody the Dao remain unperturbed by external things precisely because they understand the value of waiting in stillness for clarity.

Cao Daochong (a Song dynasty Daoist) adds: How can one drift with the current without ever turning back? One should settle and wait for gradual clarity. Who can maintain stillness yet act at the right moment? Emperor Huizong of Song explains in his Imperial Commentary: Those who embody the Dao find stillness within movement—seemingly unrestrained yet always returning to their origin. They remain stable yet responsive to change, seemingly empty yet fulfilling all needs. Thus, stillness brings clarity, while action brings vitality. The Book of Changes speaks of "unhurried ease," meaning a state of natural composure.

Those who truly awaken to the Dao neither forcibly pursue stillness nor artificially stimulate vitality—they simply follow the natural order, free from coercion or haste. Because their inner state remains undisturbed by external things, they can settle into clarity; because their thoughts are not bound by external concerns, they can maintain stability. If entangled by external matters, one becomes stagnant—how then can one engage with the world without harm?

Those who preserve this way of the Dao do not seek fullness. Ma Juji (a Song dynasty scholar) states: The Dao takes emptiness as its essence—fullness leads to exposure, and exposure reveals shallowness. Only by not pursuing fullness—as Lü Jifu (a Song dynasty Daoist) points out—does one avoid fixation on the concept of emptiness itself. Hence, the text emphasizes "not being full" rather than "emptiness," lest people cling to the notion of voidness.

Those who pursue the state of emptiness will lose true emptiness if they cling to the concept of "emptiness" itself. Therefore, only by maintaining an unfilled state without seeking fullness can one avoid decline and remain eternally complete.

Wang Yuanze (a Daoist master of the Song Dynasty) explains: Those who attain the Dao never seek perfection, hence those who achieve the Dao never become obsolete. The Great Dao can endure through all ages without decline precisely because it is neither old nor new, neither successful nor failed. Decline stems from seeking novelty, and failure arises from pursuing success. Even when Dao cultivators attain the Dao, they always maintain humility as if lacking something—only then can they remain invincible forever.

This chapter discusses the profound state of Dao cultivators realizing the Great Dao, ultimately culminating in the "non-seeking of fullness" as the state of emptiness. Emptiness is like a hollow space containing nothing—how can worldly people truly comprehend it? Ancient upholders of this Dao, like Yu the Great who never considered himself perfect, Confucius who never claimed sagehood, Laozi who particularly revered emptiness, and Yan Hui (Confucius' disciple) who appeared fulfilled yet remained genuinely open—all embodied this. The Great Dao coalesces precisely within such emptiness.

Chapter 16 of the Daode Jing discusses "reaching the ultimate emptiness":

"Attain the ultimate emptiness, maintain steadfast tranquility." Emperor Huizong of Song comments: Nothing is more precious than emptiness, nothing more beautiful than stillness. Emptiness and stillness are the roots of all things—emptiness can contain all substance, stillness can respond to all changes. "Ultimate" represents the pinnacle where all factors converge, "steadfast" signifies the depth where actions reach. Achieving ultimate emptiness and profound stillness means that even amidst myriad phenomena, the mind remains clear; facing countless changes, the spirit stays peaceful—this is "heavenly joy" (natural happiness), incomprehensible to those who haven't embodied the Dao.

Zhong Hui (a metaphysician of the Three Kingdoms period) explains: "Attain" means to reach. Eliminating distractions to achieve ultimate emptiness, maintaining constant inner silence is profound stillness. Attaining emptiness is like a valley that can hold all things without accumulating a speck of dust—this is ultimate; maintaining stillness is like calm water that reflects all things without the slightest disturbance—this is profound.

When all things flourish and grow, I observe their cyclical patterns with a mind of ultimate emptiness and stillness. Yan Zun (a Han Dynasty Daoist scholar) says: Heaven and earth endure through cyclical return; humans maintain clarity through sleep and rest; dragons and snakes preserve vitality through hibernation; plants regain verdancy by returning to their roots. When all things return to their origin, the spirit-consciousness (shenming) can return to its place, connecting with emptiness; the ethereal and corporeal souls (hunpo) become tranquil, each finding its proper abode; the mind becomes calm, qi and blood flow smoothly, and the pulse becomes balanced. Even these temporary returns to stillness can rejuvenate the spirit—how much more so the eternal return to the Great Dao? Here, "I" refers to the true self observing all things from the state of emptiness and stillness.

This scripture primarily explores the principle of all things returning to their origin. The "Creator of beings" (命物) does not change along with created things, thus enabling observation of the cyclical patterns of existence. Though the myriad phenomena appear complex and diverse, ultimately they all return to their source.

Sima Guang (温公) held that all things emerge from emptiness and ultimately return to emptiness. Wang Yuanze (son of Wang Anshi) stated that all things arise from their fundamental nature and eventually return to it—while plants and animals differ in form, their underlying principle remains identical.

This return to the origin is called "stillness" (静). Su Zhe (苏辙) observed that without returning to one's fundamental nature, even stopping all action and eliminating distracting thoughts in pursuit of stillness cannot achieve true stillness. Only by returning to the origin does genuine stillness manifest. Humans are innately endowed with this tranquil nature—returning to it constitutes true stillness.

This "stillness" is also termed "returning to celestial mandate" (复命). Lu Dian explained that mentioning "root" implies the existence of an "origin," while mentioning "mandate" reveals the presence of "nature." To return to the root is called stillness, where "return" signifies reverting to the fundamental; to call stillness "returning to mandate" means "returning to the root" is returning to one's nature. As Zhuangzi's phrase "self-originating and self-rooted" indicates, this exists eternally even before heaven and earth were formed. "Self-rooted" corresponds to "returning to the root is called stillness," while "self-originating" equates to "stillness is called returning to mandate."

Returning to the root doesn't reach the ultimate state—only returning to mandate achieves complete fulfillment. Wang Yuanze explained that when beings are born, they enter the realm of form; having form subjects them to constant transformation through natural laws. Only by returning to mandate can one attain eternal quiescence, remaining unchanged by external phenomena. What receives life from Dao is called "mandate," and returning to mandate means reverting to the source of life—by uniting with Dao, one transcends temporal existence to abide in eternity.

Understanding eternal law is called "illumination" (明). Wang Anshi (舒王) considered this "constancy" (常) as the unchanging truth since creation began—recognizing this constitutes illumination. Nothing except Dao is truly eternal. Though Dao is genuinely constant, those lacking self-awareness easily become obscured by external phenomena. Acting recklessly without understanding eternal law invites misfortune. The sage, comprehending Dao's eternal principles, aligns conduct with celestial order and thus abides in perpetual auspiciousness.

Those who fail to comprehend the eternal principles of the Dao are forever led astray by external things, creating troubles wherever they go, unable to even preserve their own lives, thus inevitably encountering misfortune. Sun Deng (a recluse of the Wei-Jin period) explains: Inability to return to one's origin and maintain emptiness and stillness violates the natural laws of lifespan—this is the root of calamity.

Ordinary people, unaware of the eternal truth of the Dao, mistake illusions for reality. Indulging in pleasures and unrestrained desires, they squander their vitality—this is the peril born of reckless action.

Those who truly understand the eternal Dao possess magnanimous hearts. Su Shi (courtesy name Ziyou) observes: When deluded by illusions, one constantly finds fault with others and makes enemies everywhere. But realizing all is illusion, even enemies become worthy of compassion—what then remains beyond acceptance?

Only through acceptance can one achieve impartiality. Heshang Gong (a Han dynasty commentator) notes: Embracing all without exception leads to impartial selflessness, undisturbed by any wicked thoughts. This embodies the ideal described in the Book of Rites: "When the Great Dao prevails, the world belongs to all; people care not only for their own kin."

Impartiality makes one a true king. Wang Anshi (styled the Duke of Shu) argues: Eliminating selfishness constitutes impartiality (gong), while perfecting institutions constitutes kingship (wang). Impartiality is inner virtue; kingship is outer achievement—their union forms the Way of the sage within and king without. Cheng Xuanying (a Tang dynasty Daoist) adds: "Wang" signifies the hearts of multitudes turning toward one.

The true kingly state connects with heavenly principles. Wang Pang (courtesy name Yuanze) elucidates: Kingship represents the ultimate in human governance, and this ultimate human governance connects with the Dao of Heaven—which itself manifests the Great Dao. Emperor Huizong of Song's commentary states: One who penetrates the triad of Heaven-Earth-Humanity and dwells at their core is a king; what supremely covers all things is Heaven; what Heaven and Earth and all things follow is the Dao.

The Dao endures eternally. Lu Yu (a Yuan dynasty Daoist) expounds: "Enduring" means equaling the Supreme Void—without beginning or end, the mind reaching ultimate stillness, neither born nor perishing, an indivisible primordial unity. Aligning with this truth merits being called "enduring."

One thus attains lifelong freedom from peril. A modern commentary observes: What Heaven models itself upon is the Dao, hence the Dao's eternal endurance. Reaching this state ensures lifelong safety.

This chapter's essence lies in returning to the origin and recovering heavenly mandate. Beginning with emptiness and ending with the Dao's eternity, it shows cultivation must take stillness as its root—all other pursuits divorced from this are futile.

This passage uses metaphors to illustrate principles of governance: it's as futile as trying to cross a river while abandoning one's boat—fundamentally impossible.

In the most ideal era of high antiquity (Taishang, the Supreme Purity), the people merely knew of their ruler's existence without feeling the pressure of governance. Wang Yuanze explains this refers to the Wuwei (non-action) governance of the Three Sovereigns (legendary ancient rulers like Fuxi and Nüwa), where people lived naturally, unaware even of the ruler's benevolence. Ma Juqing notes this resembles the ancient clans described by Zhuangzi—people lived leisurely, indifferent even to being called oxen or horses. "Taishang" refers to those nameless ancient rulers whose governance was supreme and unsurpassed by later ages.

In slightly inferior times, the people began to feel affection and praise for their rulers. Ma Juqing points out this was the era of Emperors Yao and Shun, where rulers won affection through benevolence (like Yao's virtue drawing people like the sun) and earned praise through fairness (as seen in folk songs celebrating Shun). Yet affection itself implies distance, and praise carries implicit criticism—showing governance had already lost its original purity.

In worse times, the people feared and then scorned their rulers. This was the era of the Three Kings (Xia, Shang, Zhou), where penal laws instilled fear. By the age of the Five Hegemons (Spring and Autumn period), cunning and deceit prevailed—people mocked their rulers, and punishments lost their deterrent effect. Wang Yuanze adds that when rulers lost their De (virtue/power), the people openly disdained them.

Finally, the text emphasizes the importance of trust: the highest governance needs no oaths (just as things bond without glue), whereas the sworn covenants of the Shang and Zhou dynasties only bred suspicion. When sincerity is lacking, doubt and deceit flourish—the best eras required no forced trust, while the worst were rife with deception.

(Note: Terms like "Taishi" and "Youyu Clan" are Zhuangzi's references to ancient tribes; "Dengxu" and "Kangqu" are legendary sites associated with Yao and Shun.)

The Tang Emperor Xuanzong (Emperor Ming of Tang) explains that when the people both fear and disdain their ruler, it is because the ruler lacks genuine integrity, causing distrust when decrees are issued. Nevertheless, the ruler still values the authority of their words.

Ma Juqi adds that words themselves are not worthy of excessive reverence, yet the ruler must still cherish the authority of speech. This is because the ancient sage-kings (Taishang) transformed the people without relying on words, while later emperors had to govern through legal codes (Dianmo) and solemn proclamations (Shigao).

When achievements are made and affairs are completed, the people will feel these things happened naturally. The emperor notes that for sages, establishing merit is merely incidental; what truly matters is ensuring the people enjoy good food, comfortable clothing, secure dwellings, and peaceful livelihoods. Once these basic needs are met, the ruler's accomplishments naturally follow, yet the people remain unaware of the ruler's role, believing everything unfolded of its own accord. This is the highest form of governance.

Emperor Xuanzong further elaborates: Achievements are made without claiming credit, affairs are completed while appearing effortless (Wuwei), and the people attribute everything to natural processes, sensing no intervention from above. This chapter illustrates how the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors employed different methods of teaching, and how the customs of the common people changed accordingly. When virtue (De) deteriorates to the point where even punishments cannot prevent deceit and disrespect, it is because those in power lack integrity, leading the people to lose trust.

In the chapter "When the Great Dao (the Way) is Abandoned": Only when the natural and effortless Great Dao (referring to the ancient governance of non-action) is discarded do people emphasize benevolence and righteousness. The emperor explains: After the loss of Dao comes De (Virtue), after the loss of De comes humaneness (Ren), and after the loss of Ren comes righteousness (Yi). Ren is meant to guide others, while Yi is meant to restrain oneself—both are far removed from the true Dao. Han Yu misunderstood the sages' original intent regarding Dao and De, mistakenly treating Ren and Yi as fixed concepts and Dao and De as empty labels. Laozi criticized the narrow-mindedness of Ren and Yi, while Zhuangzi called them the delusions of the common people.

The so-called Great Dao refers to the ancient governance of effortless action (Wuwei). Before the notions of Ren and Yi became prominent, it was like the stars disappearing under the bright noon sun. Here, "abandoned" means hidden. After the era of the Three Sovereigns, human hearts were no longer pure, the Great Dao faded from view, and as Ren and Yi rose, the Dao declined. Just as fish, having lost the freedom of rivers and lakes, come to value the kindness of sharing moisture, so too do people, having lost the realm of the Dao, exalt the virtues of Ren and Yi. The Three Sovereigns upheld the Great Dao, while the Five Emperors emphasized Ren and Yi. Zhuangzi said the Great Dao is often obscured by minor achievements.

When wisdom arises, great hypocrisy follows. Emperor Xuanzong explains that wisdom is employed to establish laws, but as soon as laws appear, cunning emerges—thus giving rise to severe hypocrisy.

Wisdom is rooted in intelligence, and intelligence functions through wisdom, yet wisdom itself has its gradations of magnitude.

Zhuangzi taught that only by relinquishing petty cleverness can great wisdom manifest. Confucius remarked that those who delight in trivial cunning (referring to those who nitpick or specialize in reading subtle expressions) possess what is called "small wisdom." When such small wisdom prevails, the common people breed deceit and hypocrisy. True wisdom should encompass the broader picture, maintaining a state of ease and naturalness—neither adding nor subtracting artificially, allowing simplicity to flow of its own accord. In such a state, how could grave hypocrisy arise?

When family relations are disharmonious, filial piety and parental love are emphasized all the more. As Zhong Hui observed: "If an entire household is harmonious, there is no need to advocate reverence; it is only when the six relations are at odds that filial piety and kindness stand out." The stubbornness of Shun’s father, Gusou, highlighted Shun’s great filial devotion, while the strictness of Zeng Shen’s father, Zeng Xi, accentuated Zeng Shen’s exemplary care.

It is in times of national chaos that loyal ministers become prominent. Wang Anshi noted: "The Dao conceals itself in formlessness, and it is only when the Dao is obscured that distinctions and labels arise. The benevolent show partiality, the righteous make divisions, and it is precisely these distinctions that lead to the decline of the Dao. The wise pursue knowledge, the discerning delight in scrutiny, and it is these deliberate acts of knowing and observing that give rise to profound hypocrisy. Filial piety becomes limited to one’s own parents, and parental love restricted to one’s own children—this is the root of familial discord." So-called loyal ministers are loyal only to their own rulers; to others, they may well be traitors.

In eras of political darkness and social upheaval, loyal ministers emerge to uphold their sovereigns. Guan Longfeng gained renown for his loyal remonstrance under the tyrant Jie of Xia, and Bi Gan earned acclaim for his forthright admonitions during the reign of the despot Zhou of Shang. This demonstrates that when the Dao is hidden, reputations become prominent; when holistic harmony is lacking, partial virtues are accentuated.

Chapter 19 speaks of the principle to "cut off sageliness and discard wisdom": if artificial sageliness and cunning wisdom are abandoned, the people will benefit a hundredfold. Zhong Hui explained: "Eliminate those 'sages' who impose regulations, discard those 'wise' who scheme and calculate, and the people will return to their innate simplicity, naturally reaping abundant benefits." The so-called sages who establish laws and the wise who devise policies originally intended to prohibit deceit and violence, yet they failed to realize that the very promulgation of these laws breeds cunning, and the enforcement of these edicts incites fraud, stripping the people of their natural disposition and plunging them into contention. If these artificial decrees were cast aside, the people would instead return to their genuine selves.

Zhuangzi teaches that only by breaking blind worship of sages and showing tolerance toward thieves can true peace prevail in the world. When superficial displays of benevolence and righteousness are discarded, people naturally return to their genuine filial piety and kindness.

Wang Yuanze explains that in an era of perfect virtue (De), fathers and sons naturally loved each other. Later, when people artificially promoted benevolence and righteousness, it led to a mismatch between reputation and reality, confusion between gain and loss, and ultimately disturbed human nature. Just as excessive foliage harms the roots of a tree, this is the natural order. Filial piety and kindness are the true roots of benevolence and righteousness. Someone might ask: Confucius and Mencius promoted the ways of Yao and Shun, emphasizing benevolence and righteousness—so why do you say Laozi represents the true Dao? It is like summer, which helps all things flourish—this is its merit, while autumn, which brings things to rest—this is its virtue. One makes the branches flourish but strays from the root, while the other lets the leaves wither but returns to the root. The great Dao (Dao) operates like the cycle of seasons, and sages adapt to the times. Those who truly understand the Dao know that Confucius and Laozi’s teachings are complementary.

Abandon cunning and profit-seeking, and thieves will naturally disappear. Wang Yuanze says that if cunning and profit prevail, people will become consumed by desire, neglect their true work, and eventually turn to theft. These three things (benevolence and righteousness, cunning, and profit) all arise from chasing superficialities at the expense of the root. Cunning means skillful deception; profit means greed for wealth—seeing gain and forgetting righteousness. If cunning is eradicated, people will know shame; if profit is forsaken, people will understand righteousness, and thieves will vanish. If cunning and profit are not uprooted but merely suppressed through laws and prohibitions, theft will only increase. Zhuangzi says: "Break the fingers of skilled craftsmen, and the world will regain its true abilities." He also says: "Destroy precious jade and pearls, and petty theft will cease."

These three (benevolence and righteousness, cunning, and profit) are insufficient as methods of moral instruction, so people must return to the following four fundamental principles:

Preserve your innate nature (Xing) and hold fast to simplicity. Wang Anshi notes that instead of saying "cling to simplicity," we say "manifest simplicity"; instead of "return to plainness," we say "embrace plainness"; instead of "be selfless," we say "reduce selfishness"; instead of "be desireless," we say "diminish desires." This is because one must first manifest simplicity to truly hold it, embrace plainness to return to it, reduce selfishness to reach selflessness, and diminish desires to ultimately attain desirelessness.

To manifest simplicity is to reveal the purity of one’s nature, untainted by external things; to embrace plainness is to preserve the integrity of one’s nature, unharmed by external influences. Reduce selfishness and restrain desires.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "reducing selfishness and minimizing desires" (少私寡欲) along with its essential cultivation principles. Emperor Huizong of Song (in his Imperial Commentary) observes that excessive pursuit of personal gain disturbs one's original mind, while the best method for cultivating heart-mind nature lies in diminishing selfish desires. Reducing desires enables one to clearly discern inner and outer truth from falsehood, ultimately restoring complete De (Virtue) and returning to one's inherent nature.

Ma Juji explains that "manifesting plainness" (见素, revealing one's pure original nature) embodies the wisdom of sages. When the mind remains undisturbed by distracting thoughts, one can perceive the Dao (comprehend the Great Way), and upon attaining Wuwei (non-action), one ceases deliberate pursuit of sagely wisdom. "Holding to simplicity" (抱朴) embodies humaneness and righteousness—preserving one's natural substance enables maintenance of inherent nature, and transcending specific functions eliminates attachment to humaneness and righteousness. Selfishness and desires form the root of cunning and benefit; reducing these weakens the mind's tendency toward clever profit-seeking. The "Qieqie" chapter of Zhuangzi similarly reveals the harms brought by sagely wisdom, humaneness-righteousness, and clever profit.

Li Tian further elaborates that this chapter teaches eliminating problems at their source. Without deliberate artifice, one manifests plainness; without embellishing humaneness-righteousness, one maintains simplicity; without employing clever profit-seeking, one severs selfish desires. This naturally leads to harmony with the Heavenly Dao, allowing one to unconsciously align with the Dao in daily life.

Regarding the "abandon learning and have no worries" (绝学无忧) passage, Emperor Huizong explains: Learning originally serves to investigate truth, yet the pursuit inevitably generates anxiety. Upon genuine enlightenment of the Dao, one transcends learning, achieving Wuwei through progressive reduction of desires and finding joy in accordance with inherent nature. Sima Guang (Duke Wen) adds that learning fundamentally seeks the Dao—if one neglects the root for the branches, better not learn at all. True "learning abandonment" means realizing the Great Dao, maintaining happiness through all circumstances while viewing life and death as natural as day and night. However, note that "abandoning learning" doesn't mean rejecting study entirely, but preventing excessive immersion in scholarship that might obscure one's original nature.

This scripture primarily discusses the relationship between "transcendent learning" (rising above worldly knowledge) and Daoist cultivation. It begins by quoting Zixia: "The noble person comprehends the Dao through study, but those who truly attain the Dao forget their attachments—this is the true meaning of 'transcendent learning.'" Those who completely refrain from study may appear empty, but this cannot be considered genuine "transcendent learning."

The author criticizes Yang Ziyun (a Han Dynasty scholar) for misunderstanding the sages' original intent, arguing that while the unlearned may seem carefree, they remain akin to beasts. In truth, when the sages spoke of "transcendent learning," they meant rising above worldly distinctions. Just as the responses "wei" and "a" are fundamentally both sounds, and good and evil both arise from human nature, the wise perceive their underlying unity, while ordinary people cling to superficial differences.

The scripture points out: Learning can bring wisdom, while its absence leads to ignorance, yet excessive attachment to the distinction between wisdom and folly also deviates from the Dao. People should revere the Dao of Heaven and, like noble individuals, cultivate themselves with vigilance and self-reflection. Emperor Xuanzong's commentary notes that while ordinary people fear disrespect and wrongdoing, Daoist practitioners fear worldly knowledge and deliberate action—both of which must be transcended.

Worldly people busy themselves acquiring various kinds of knowledge, only to have their original minds disturbed by external things—a pitfall to be wary of. Without transcending worldly learning, one cannot comprehend the Dao, and the heart-mind will remain perpetually unsettled.

Finally, an analogy illustrates the point: The masses bustle about chasing pleasure, like attendees at grand sacrificial feasts or springtime outings to high towers. But the sage transcends the changes of time and space, perceiving the true nature of all things' rise and fall, unswayed by superficial beauty or ugliness. Though spring's burgeoning growth appears lovely, it secretly contains the seeds of dispersion—precisely what the Daoist cultivator must awaken to.

This scripture primarily expounds the principle that Dao cultivators should maintain inner purity, undisturbed by external matters. When the human mind moves after reaching extreme stillness, one easily abandons the fundamental for the trivial. High platforms (metaphor for worldly pursuits) are places for observing external phenomena—without understanding the root principle, one becomes emotionally agitated by external objects and falls into this state.

All things rely on yang qi (active energy) for warmth and yin qi (receptive energy) for consolidation. Yang governs movement while yin governs stillness. The term "xixi" describes the restless human mind chasing pleasure. "Great sacrifice" refers to the most sumptuous ceremonial ox; "spring terrace" symbolizes elevated viewing platforms for spring scenery, illustrating how people become artificial through scholarly pursuits and lose their authentic nature while chasing external realms.

The Great Dao itself is flavorless and unadorned, severing what worldly people cherish. Excessive pursuit of learning leads to losing the Dao, deviating from the stillness of one's original nature and becoming obsessed with external seeking. Such people have restless aspirations—gaining philosophical insights delights them like tasting delicacies, while broad knowledge pleases them like viewing beautiful scenery. These pleasure-seekers drift ever further from the Dao.

Only Dao cultivators maintain detachment, their minds unmoved like infants who haven't yet learned to smile (symbolizing pure desirelessness). "Stillness" refers to this motionless state that allows experiencing flavorless flavor, returning to primordial nature no different from an infant. "Following effortlessly" describes harmonizing with spontaneity—the realized remain still as infants yet move with all transformations without attachment.

Ordinary people consider themselves wealthy (referring to accumulated external knowledge), yet original nature lacks nothing—this so-called wealth stems from additional seeking. Like enjoying sacrificial feasts or ascending spring terraces, such gains belong to external possessions. Only Dao cultivators appear deficient (actually demonstrating non-attachment). This isn't true deficiency but manifestation of non-craving.

The seemingly dull mind of Dao practitioners is actually pure and unadulterated. Abandoning worldly learning enables realizing the Great Dao; reducing sensory burdens illustrates the principle of "daily decrease in Dao cultivation."

Ma Juji explains that this passage discusses the meaning of "I alone seem forgotten." While the masses diligently study in pursuit of wisdom, I alone have abandoned learning and appear foolish. Yet the truly simple person, though seeming dull, is not actually ignorant. Zhuangzi said "purity" means not depleting one's spirit (Shen), and "simplicity" means refraining from cleverness—it is maintaining an unadulterated state. Learning should not weary wisdom, but abandoning study means relinquishing cleverness to appear simple. This is what is called "Great wisdom appears foolish."

Common people all seem sharp-witted, while I alone appear muddled; the masses scrutinize every detail, while I alone remain vague. The Commentary on Subtle Meanings (Zuanwei) explains that "scrutinizing" refers to harsh precision, while "muddling" denotes generous tolerance. Worldly people govern through scholarship, establishing strict systems with impatient legislation and self-important action, leaving people with no means to live. Thus those who attain the Dao (the Way) emulate heaven's principles, accord with all things, and govern with magnanimity so the people may preserve their true nature. Zhuangzi said the highest manifestation of the Dao is "muddled silence"—precisely this meaning.

What is called "clarity" is conspicuousness, while "unclarity" is obscurity; "scrutinizing" demands minute details, whereas "muddling" embraces broad tolerance. Worldly people pursue scholarly wisdom, examining trifles and speculating on secrets, believing themselves enlightened—yet this clarity is not true wisdom. Those who abandon learning embody the great Dao (the Way), relinquish cleverness, forget distinctions between self and objects, and thus appear obscure. This obscurity is not innate ignorance but deliberate practice. Applying sharp-wittedness to governance creates harshness—as the saying goes, "The overly shrewd have no friends." Applying muddled tolerance to governance fosters magnanimity—this is "constantly tolerant toward things, unexacting toward people."

Vague as dim silence, seemingly without end. The Imperial Commentary (Yuzhu) states: Serene as deep pools with tranquil mind—this is the Dao's (the Way's) wholeness; transforming dynamically without losing the root—this is the Dao's marvelous function.

The masses all have their purposes, while I alone remain stubborn and uncouth. The Imperial Commentary says: The cassia tree is felled for its edible bark, the lacquer tree wounded for its sap. People know the usefulness of the useful, but not the usefulness of the useless. That the masses all have purposes illustrates the "use of the useful"; that I alone remain stubborn and uncouth demonstrates the "use of the useless." Ancient texts state: A mind not conforming to virtue (De) is called "stubborn," while ancient capitals were deemed refined and hinterlands "uncouth." "Stubborn" means not flaunting cleverness; "uncouth" means not displaying polish. Those who attain the Dao (the Way) exist precisely in this "unfinished" state.

Ma Juji remarks: "Using" means "employing." The masses study to be employed by the world, hence they pursue utility.

This passage explores the dialectical relationship between "usefulness" and "uselessness." Ordinary people only recognize the value of seemingly useful worldly knowledge, unaware that abandoning such "useless" learning is where true usefulness lies. Those who appear dull and uncultivated actually preserve their innate simplicity, while those excessively shrewd and calculating lose touch with their fundamental nature.

What sets me apart is my reverence for drawing nourishment from the Source (the Mother). Ma Juqi explains this connects to the earlier discussion about the pure state of infants. An infant takes the mother (symbolizing the Dao) as its foundation—relying on the Source's nourishment before maturity, yet chasing after superficialities upon growing up. The Dao is the root, while worldly learning represents mere branches. Ordinary people pursue the branches, whereas I hold fast to the root—this is the essential difference.

Sages don't deliberately seek novelty, but in an era drowning in worldly knowledge, extraordinary methods become necessary to redeem prevailing customs. This chapter's core message advocates discarding conventional learning, as excessive information and knowledge only disturb the mind, becoming dust on the path to the Dao. Thus it concludes by emphasizing nourishment from the "Mother" (the Dao itself). Only by relinquishing worldly knowledge can one truly cultivate the Great Dao—this fundamental distinction separates Dao-realized individuals from ordinary people.