《文始真經註》Vol. 3

Master Guan Yinzi (a prominent Daoist figure) states that when a sage who has truly attained the Dao governs the world, they do not impose personal standards to distinguish between wisdom and foolishness. Having reached the state of "selflessness" (wuji), the sage allows the wise to naturally manifest their wisdom and the foolish to reveal their folly—these judgments are never forced by the sage. Thus, the sage appoints the worthy based on collective recognition and removes the incompetent according to public consensus.

Similarly, the sage refrains from subjectively determining right and wrong. Events themselves bear no inherent labels of good or evil; only when they produce tangible effects do people judge them by their outcomes. What the multitude deems good, the sage acknowledges and rewards; what they consider bad, the sage concurs with and punishes. This is how affairs are handled in accordance with the collective sense of morality.

The sage perceives the fundamental unity between past and present. What we call "antiquity" refers to the timeless principles of the Dao, while "the present" denotes concrete phenomena before our eyes. Those who have realized the Dao understand that principle and phenomena are intrinsically one. Hence, their teaching methods adapt flexibly: for those of superior capacity (shanggen zhiren), they may begin with abstract principles; for ordinary people, they might start with tangible examples. Though the approach differs, both ultimately lead to the same truth.

(Note: "Selflessness" here denotes a state transcending personal biases; "those of superior capacity" refers to practitioners with high spiritual aptitude; "the non-duality of principle and phenomena" (li shi bu er) is a key Daoist philosophical concept asserting the essential unity of abstract truth and concrete manifestation.)

Understanding that inner cultivation and outer transformation are fundamentally interconnected, the sage in teaching sometimes prioritizes internal refinement and at other times emphasizes external conduct. The truly awakened sage fully comprehends the profound mysteries of the Dao (the Way), attaining a state where both form and spirit transcend ordinary limits, achieving complete unity of body and mind. With compassionate heart, the sage universally delivers all beings. For those of superior spiritual capacity, the sage first guides them to illuminate the mind and realize their true nature (recognizing the original mind and awakening to inherent nature), as such individuals can directly awaken to the purity of their fundamental essence—this constitutes the "inner-first" approach to teaching. For those of middling or lesser capacity, concerned they might struggle with direct realization, the sage first imparts concrete methods for self-cultivation and life-nourishment, allowing gradual understanding—this is the "outer-first" approach to teaching.

The sage perceives the ultimate truth of the cosmos with a mind as vast as empty space; no multitude of worldly phenomena can disturb this realm of attainment. In governing the world, the sage emulates the humility of rivers and seas that willingly occupy low positions, embracing all turbidity. Thus all nations willingly submit, and the people support without weariness—all because the sage upholds the virtue (De) of humility.

Through moral transformation, the sage instructs humanity, and all states submit with heartfelt sincerity, the people gladly becoming his subjects. Though myriad lands willingly submit, the sage never grows complacent, maintaining a mind as pure and empty as the void.

Under the sage's governance, the people dwell in peace and prosperity, free from oppressive labor or unenforceable decrees. Society enjoys great peace and abundance, and the populace becomes easily transformed—thus governance encounters no obstructions. Heaven and earth harmonize through Yin-Yang interactions, and the myriad beings grow spontaneously without anything being hindered. The sage takes the Dao as the standard, practicing Wuwei (non-action) naturally, while responding to changes through virtuous power to manifest its function.

This passage elucidates the principles of applying "quan" (the art of flexible adaptation). All things under heaven cannot be constrained by rigid rules—proper governance requires flexible adaptation.

When governing the world with this balanced Dao (the Way), one can establish appropriate rituals. The so-called "application of quan" means grasping the proper measure, neither excessive nor deficient. When flexible adaptation is properly employed without losing popular support, rituals can properly regulate relationships between rulers and subjects, superiors and inferiors, fathers and sons.

When governing the world with this harmonious Dao, one can create music. The value of music lies in achieving harmony without indulgence. Educating people with this De (Virtue/Power) can bring about universal peace, flourishing rituals and music, and wholesome customs.

When governing the world with this impartial Dao, one can manage resources fairly. Educating people through moral teachings and appointing impartial officials enables proper management of the world's material resources.

When governing the world with this comprehensive Dao, one can defend against external threats. When moral education spreads throughout the world, those who disrespect their superiors will naturally cease improper behavior. "Defense" here means prohibition.

When governing the world with this principle of following circumstances, one can establish laws. Based on what benefits or harms the people, corresponding laws are created to promote benefits and eliminate harms.

When governing the world with this observational Dao, one can create tools. By observing people's daily needs, useful implements are made for their convenience.

Sages do not rule the world according to personal will, but govern by following the natural principles of heaven and earth. Sages have no selfish desires—they educate people through Dao and De, enabling everyone to live peacefully without feeling the pressure of governance.

While the world attributes peace and prosperity to sages, the sages themselves credit the people. This exemplifies how sages claim no merit for themselves.

This scripture primarily discusses the sage's state of governing the world and the characteristics of the heavenly Dao (the Way).

First, it describes how ancient sage-kings like Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang ruled without claiming credit for themselves, instead attributing achievements to the people. They governed with humility, making the people feel that peace and prosperity arose naturally, even to the point of forgetting that a sage was ruling at all. This reflects the sage's selfless, egoless state of transforming the world through Dao and De (Virtue/Power).

Next, it uses metaphors of heaven and the sun: Heaven covers all things, nurturing growth in spring and allowing decay in autumn, yet it shows no partiality or aversion. Similarly, sunlight shines equally upon the beautiful and the ugly, without favoritism. This illustrates the universal and impartial nature of the heavenly Dao, which the sage emulates in governance.

Finally, it explains that the "Dao" practiced by sages is aligned with the Mandate of Heaven—not something deliberately created by the sages themselves. The Dao is ineffable and spontaneous; the sage merely comprehends its principles deeply. The sage's De (Virtue) also harmonizes with the right timing—they perform good deeds without seeking reward, completely forgetting their own benevolence. All this embodies the sage's state of oneness with the heavenly Dao.

This passage describes the realm of sages. True sages do not deliberately pursue fame for their De (Virtue), because authentic virtue flows forth naturally. Their actions are not meant to showcase themselves, but to benefit all beings by following the natural order.

Sages hold no fixed concepts of "Dao," "De," or "action," as they transcend such labels. Their minds are empty and luminous, unattached to any form, returning to the most fundamental state—this is what is called the realm of "no-self."

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) said: Sages understand that the "self" is illusory, and thus they treat all things with benevolence. Benevolence here means compassion and benefiting others. Realizing the empty nature of the "self," sages practice virtue impartially.

Sages know that in action, one should not cling to the notion of "self," and thus they employ "righteousness" to weigh what is appropriate. Righteousness here refers to what is fitting and proper. Understanding that the mind is inherently empty, they use "ritual" to guide conduct. Ritual here means ceremonial norms.

Sages recognize that knowledge and wisdom do not belong to the "self," and thus they employ "wisdom" to discern truth from falsehood. Wisdom here is the ability to distinguish the genuine from the illusory. They understand that speech is also illusory, and thus they uphold "sincerity" to remain truthful. Sincerity here means consistency in word and deed.

This chapter primarily illustrates how, upon attaining the state of "no-self," sages naturally manifest the five virtues of benevolence, righteousness, ritual, wisdom, and sincerity. These virtues are not forced but arise spontaneously from the awakened mind.

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure traditionally regarded as Laozi's disciple) said: The Dao methods of sages may manifest sometimes as benevolence, sometimes as righteousness, sometimes as ritual propriety, wisdom, or sincerity. Here "using" (以) means application — sages take the Great Dao as their foundation while expressing it through the five constant virtues (De) of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness.

When sages extend compassionate care to all beings, it appears as "using benevolence as benevolence." When they discern right and wrong to establish proper order, though manifesting as righteousness, its root remains compassion — this is "using righteousness as benevolence." Similarly, following ritual norms, discerning truth from falsehood, and maintaining consistency between words and deeds all originate from this compassionate heart. Thus we say propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness can also express benevolent virtue (Ren-De).

These five virtues inherently contain one another: Practicing benevolence naturally includes righteousness, propriety, wisdom and faithfulness; practicing righteousness likewise encompasses propriety, wisdom, faithfulness and benevolence. Each virtue interpenetrates the others, hence the saying "benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom and faithfulness each contain all five."

Sages have merged completely with the Dao, unbound by any conceptual limitations. They penetrate the true emptiness (referring to the noumenal realm beyond phenomena), transcending all dualistic appearances, and cannot be defined by worldly names or forms. Ordinary people fundamentally cannot describe sages accurately through any designation, because sages cling to no conceptual labels. This chapter clarifies how sages appear functionless yet accomplish everything, leaving no traceable marks.

Chapter Five points out: Do not attempt to comprehend sages through their external actions, for the Great Dao fundamentally leaves no tracks. The sage's conduct — whether conforming or opposing — remains unfathomable even to spirits and deities, as the way of true emptiness leaves no discernible traces. Neither should one try to understand sages through their words, for their wordless teaching conveys truths beyond language — the Dao itself transcends verbal expression. Nor measure sages by conventional ability, for they achieve all through wuwei (non-action), hence the saying "the Dao does nothing (wuwei), yet nothing remains undone."

Do not judge sages (those who have attained the Dao) by external appearances, for the way of sages is formless and without characteristics. The outward appearance of sages is no different from ordinary people—their true nature within is empty and quiescent, formless and invisible to the physical eye. This chapter explains that the Dao of sages transcends form, speech, and action; it cannot be judged by behavior, words, or physical appearance.

Master Guan Yinzi (i.e., the Perfected Man Wenshi, Yin Xi) said: Even the most extraordinary actions cannot escape the duality of superiority and inferiority. When someone cultivates virtuous conduct that surpasses the crowd, with the masses being "inferior" and the virtuous deeds being "superior," this very contrast still belongs to the realm of form. This passage elucidates the earlier teaching that "one should not judge sages by their actions."

Even the most refined speech cannot escape the duality of right and wrong. When someone articulates profound principles that stand apart from the ordinary, with common speech being deemed "wrong" and the marvelous discourse being called "right," this judgment still belongs to conceptual distinctions. This section explains the earlier statement that "one should not judge sages by their words."

Even the most miraculous abilities cannot escape the duality of skill and clumsiness. When someone performs extraordinary feats unlike others, with the incapable being called "clumsy" and the capable deemed "skillful," this differentiation still belongs to deliberate striving. This passage clarifies the earlier teaching that "one should not judge sages by their abilities."

Even the most striking appearance cannot escape the duality of beauty and ugliness. When someone's looks surpass the crowd, with the unattractive being called "ugly" and the attractive deemed "beautiful," this distinction still belongs to illusory form. This section explains the earlier statement that "one should not judge sages by their appearance."

Sages employ these external manifestations to teach the world, yet only when people penetrate through appearances to realize the inner emptiness can they truly recognize a sage. When sages descend into the world, they manifest through actions, speech, abilities, and appearance—but genuine practitioners should perceive that profound and mysterious true emptiness before any forms appear. This chapter reveals to Dao cultivators the need to realize ultimate truth within phenomena.

Master Guan Yinzi said: Sages observed bees to establish the ruler-minister system, took inspiration from spiders to invent nets and traps, imitated the clasping forelimbs of rodents to formulate rituals, and drew lessons from ant warfare to devise military strategy.

In ancient times, the sages observed the hierarchical order within bee colonies and thereby comprehended the principles of governance, subsequently establishing the system of ruler and ministers to administer society. Thus it is said that sages modeled the system of ruler and ministers after bees.

The sages of middle antiquity saw spiders weaving webs to catch prey and, inspired by this, invented fishing and hunting tools (nets and traps) to capture animals for sacrificial offerings. This is the story of how they emulated spiders to create fishing nets.

The sages further noticed mountain rats standing upright to bow and chirp at humans, from which they realized that ritual and music systems could regulate social hierarchy, distinguish between noble and humble relationships, and establish ethical norms. Later, observing two ant colonies fighting over food, they were inspired to create military systems to quell rebellions. Hence it is said they modeled rituals after bowing rats and established military systems after fighting ants.

Ordinary people learn from the virtuous about the Five Constant Virtues (benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and faithfulness) and various codes of conduct; the virtuous learn from sages about the great truth of Wuwei (non-action, or following nature); while sages derive wisdom from the natural patterns of all things, employing various methods to benefit the world. Therefore it is said that sages take all things as their teachers.

Sages thoroughly comprehend the true emptiness (the essence of the universe). When engaging with the world, their brilliance remains inwardly restrained without outward display, blending with worldly affairs yet remaining untainted. Outwardly they appear no different from ordinary people, but inwardly they maintain a selfless state as vast as the void. Precisely because sages communicate with all things, they can attain this selfless realm. This chapter elucidates the boundless wisdom of sages in benefiting all beings.

Guan Yinzi (a representative Daoist figure) said: Sages recognize that the Dao (cosmic principle) manifests in all things between heaven and earth. Observing the harmonious interactions between husband and wife, the beginnings and endings of all phenomena, the flourishing and withering of plants, and the reproduction of male and female—all these are manifestations of the great Dao. Sages understand that whether in great or small matters, from birds and beasts to flowers and trees, all contain the wondrous truth of the Dao, and thus they neither develop preferences nor aversions.

Sages reject nothing, neither deliberately esteeming noble persons nor disparaging petty ones, maintaining always an impartial mind. They realize all things are manifestations of the Dao—neither rejecting external phenomena nor clinging to any particular form of existence.

The essence of Dao transcends all discrimination—it neither favors noble men nor despises petty individuals. The phrase "showing no partial love" means Dao does not treat people differently based on their social status.

Those who consider themselves virtuous remain perpetually entangled in distinctions: labeling this as good and that as bad, deciding what to discard today and what to bestow tomorrow, judging this as long and that as short, this as straight and that as square. Such people are actually led by the nose by external phenomena. The term "phenomena" here refers to the functional aspects of concrete things—these so-called virtuous individuals lose sight of Dao's fundamental nature while obsessing over practical utility, wavering between acceptance and rejection.

They spend their days busily instructing others: discard this, accept that; cultivate this behavior, diminish that one; demand upright and proper conduct. This ceaseless discrimination and judgment of right and wrong ultimately enslaves them to external phenomena.

True sages (those who have realized Dao) operate entirely differently. They establish rituals and norms to ensure proper relationships between ruler and subject, father and son, husband and wife, elder and younger brothers—preventing chaotic and impure behavior. Yet they do this to educate others, not for personal gain. This reveals Dao's universality: sages benefit all beings without self-attachment.

Chapter Nine explains: sages and ordinary people appear identical in external matters like food, clothing, shelter, poverty, wealth, and social status. Though fully awakened to profound Dao, sages conceal themselves within worldly ordinariness—eating the same food, wearing the same clothes, riding the same boats and carts as everyone, never deliberately displaying specialness. This is the state of "harmonizing radiance and blending with dust"—the sage's brilliance merges with worldly affairs without dazzling, dwelling in mundane dust yet remaining untainted. They consume common food, wear ordinary garments, inhabit simple dwellings, completely conforming to worldly norms.

(The Commentary on the Wenzhen Scripture is a Song Dynasty Daoist work by Chen Xianwei, annotating the Wenzhen Jing attributed to Master Guan Yin, who tradition holds was Laozi's disciple Yin Xi.)

The scripture states: Sages and ordinary people appear to live identical lives—both ride in carriages and boats, officials share similar status, commoners experience comparable humility, the poor face equivalent poverty, and the wealthy enjoy matching prosperity. The traces sages leave in the mundane world show no difference from ordinary people in external aspects like food, clothing, dwellings, vehicles, social standing, or material wealth.

Ordinary people often consider themselves similar to sages, while sages frequently manifest no distinction from common folk. Yet people persistently gaze upward at sages, imagining them as paragons of lofty virtue and vast spiritual realms. But is this understanding accurate? In truth, the sage's state transcends such limited perceptions. Though outwardly indistinguishable, sages employ profound Daoist methods to impartially benefit all beings without seeking reward. When a sage fully returns to the primordial source, not even the transformations of yin-yang can fathom their realm, nor can spirits and deities discern their mysteries—how much less can ordinary mortals comprehend them? This chapter precisely illustrates how the sage's realm remains subtly beyond measurement.

Chapter Ten employs two metaphors: When fish attempt to leave their school and leap ashore, they perish from dryness; when tigers separate from their pack and enter the city, they face capture. The fish symbolize ordinary people, while water represents the vast Dao. Those who violate Daoist principles with ulterior motives are like fish leaving water—doomed to perish through celestial retribution and human calamity, meeting untimely ends. The tiger represents noble individuals, while mountains symbolize elevated virtue. When gentlemen forsake their virtuous essence for empty fame, coveting wealth and status without understanding timely withdrawal, they become like mountain tigers captured in cities or ensnared in peril through slander.

The reason sages appear no different from others lies in their freedom from external attachments—having inwardly transcended worldly constraints, their outward manifestation naturally harmonizes with ordinary existence. This state of "blending radiance with the dust of the world" constitutes the supreme attainment of Daoist cultivation.

The commentary on the Wenzhen Jing (Scripture of Perfect Realization) primarily discusses the relationship between sages and the Dao, along with the ineffable nature of the Dao.

Chapter Eleven explains that sages do not deliberately distinguish themselves through extraordinary behavior—their outward appearance resembles ordinary people, yet their actions invariably align with the principles of Dao and De (Virtue/Power). Their spiritual state has attained "true emptiness" (a state of transcendent void beyond all constraints), remaining unbound by external phenomena, freely wandering beyond worldly concerns, and moving through the primordial source of all things. Thus, while sages may seem indistinguishable from ordinary people, external phenomena cannot confine them. The term "te" (特) here signifies uniqueness. This chapter clarifies how sages maintain transcendental detachment while dwelling in the mundane world.

Chapter Twelve explores the nature of the Dao. Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) states that the Dao itself is without deliberate action (wuwei), yet sages employ it to respond to worldly affairs. These responses are merely specific applications, not the Dao itself. Sages take the Dao as their foundation, acting with natural spontaneity; they use De as their function, adapting to circumstances. Ordinary observers mistake the sage's methods for the Dao's essence, when in truth these are only its manifestations, not its substance.

The Dao has no fixed position—sages use concrete phenomena to illustrate it, yet these phenomena are not the Dao itself. The Dao is fundamentally formless and imageless, transcending spatial orientation. Though sages employ profound words to teach humanity, these words are merely pedagogical tools, not the Dao. Thus, ultimately, sages cannot directly display the Dao to others, for it is an ineffable void without form, only to be inwardly realized. Like the natural resonance of bells and drums when struck, the sage's words emerge spontaneously as pure, clear responses to circumstance. This chapter demonstrates that the Dao must be apprehended through inner awakening—not even sages can transmit it directly.

This scripture illustrates the characteristics of the sage's words and actions through metaphors. The sage's teachings manifest in two ways: one is to enlighten people through principles, like the clear, far-reaching sound of a bell; the other is to guide people through concrete examples, like the deep, substantial beat of a drum. The sage's speech flows forth with such natural spontaneity.

The sage's actions resemble the movement of carts and boats. A cart does not move by itself—it requires external force to set it in motion. This metaphor illustrates how the sage does not actively interfere in worldly affairs but acts only when necessary, doing so without any trace of selfish intent. Just as a cart leaves tracks behind it, the sage leaves behind the influence of their teachings in the world, sometimes comforting people, sometimes assisting the realm—these achievements endure forever. A boat gliding over water leaves no trace, symbolizing the supreme virtue (Shang De) of the sage, whose actions leave no mark, remaining imperceptible even to the wise and the foolish, unfathomable even to spirits and ghosts.

The true Dao cannot be named—it is only reluctantly called "Dao." If even this name were discarded, the Dao itself would cease to exist. Precisely because the Dao cannot be named, it silences all speech in the world; precisely because the Dao cannot be known, it renders all wisdom in the world ineffective. This chapter clarifies that the sage's words and actions arise from non-intentionality (Wuwei), while the Dao itself transcends conceptual understanding.

Later, an example of mutual restraint among creatures is used as a metaphor: the centipede (Jieju) burrows into a snake's nostrils to devour its brain; the snake eats the toad (Wa), and the toad in turn eats the centipede, forming a cycle of mutual opposition. This metaphor illustrates how the sage's discourse operates: first pointing out the flaws in "being" and "non-being," then exposing the flaws in "neither being nor non-being," and finally dismantling even the flaws inherent in the very concept of "neither being nor non-being."

This passage employs vivid metaphors to reveal the common cognitive pitfalls encountered in Daoist cultivation. Just as centipedes eat snakes, snakes eat frogs, and frogs in turn consume centipedes in an endless cycle of mutual devouring, practitioners often become entangled in dualistic concepts.

The text first points out how people tend to fixate on the opposition between "being" (you) and "non-being" (wu), mistaking these extremes for ultimate truth. Upon recognizing this error, one might then cling to the seemingly superior Middle Way of "neither being nor non-being." Yet the scripture emphasizes that even this apparently profound insight, when stubbornly adhered to, becomes another obstacle on the path.

Using the metaphor of a saw cutting back and forth, the text illustrates how these theories create deeper grooves the more one debates them. The sage who truly comprehends the Dao doesn't linger on any formulation of words, just as one forgets the fishing net after catching the fish, or abandons the snare after trapping the rabbit—once grasping the true meaning, one must let go of the language that conveyed it.

The final dragon metaphor shows how the Dao, like this mythical creature, manifests in endless transformations—appearing alternately as a mosquito, snake, turtle, fish, or clam—while remaining fundamentally the same dragon's essential power. This teaches us not to be deceived by appearances, but to perceive the inner truth through all external forms.

The core teaching is this: Dao cultivation cannot fixate on any rigid concept or theory, including seemingly profound Middle Way doctrines. True realization requires transcending all verbal formulations and conceptual frameworks to directly experience that singular yet infinitely transformative essence.

This scripture employs aquatic creatures like flood dragons to illustrate the different stages of Daoist cultivation.

The jiao (a water creature resembling but not yet transformed into a true dragon) dwells in water yet cannot freely change forms like a true dragon—it can neither become a dragon nor transform into a snake, turtle, fish, or clam. Here the jiao symbolizes virtuous scholars—though they live within the Dao, they haven't fully comprehended its ultimate truth.

Aquatic beings represent a hierarchy: the dragon embodies the sage who has realized the Dao; the jiao represents virtuous scholars; snakes and turtles signify noble persons; while fish and clams symbolize ordinary people. Though all inhabit the same waters (metaphorically sharing life within the Dao) and receive water's nourishment from birth to death, only the true dragon masters water's transformative power. Similarly, though all people live sustained by the Dao's daily provisions, only sages fully awaken to its profound truth.

The text then explains cultivation states: genuine practitioners dwell constantly in the Dao's true constancy ("zhenchang"), unattached to empty appearances ("wuju"). Their minds become clear as mirrors, their actions flow like water, responding to all things as echoes in an empty valley—reacting yet perpetually serene. Sages reaching the highest state possess minds like cooled ashes ("hanhui") and withered trees—seemingly lifeless ("manghu ruo wang") yet inwardly lucid as a clear, cold pool ("jihu ruo qing").

Through these layered metaphors, the passage reveals: the Dao is equally complete in all beings—differences lie only in their degree of realization. Just as aquatic creatures all depend on water yet only dragons command it, all beings live within the Dao yet only sages fully awaken to it.

The purity of water lies in its stillness and clarity, hence it is called "serenity" (ji). "Serenity" refers to maintaining a state of tranquility.

Those of sharp spiritual faculties (ligen zhiren) resonate with the sages' intentions. Through subtle gestures, the sages silently guide them, and such individuals instantly grasp the truth, transcending the mundane to enter the sacred realm. This is the meaning of "unity" (tong). The sages of antiquity pioneered the path, while later sages continued the transmission—hence "unity." Conversely, those of dull faculties (dungen zhiren) fail to comprehend the Dao, clinging instead to the sages' teachings and words, believing they have attained something. This very notion distances them further from the Dao, which is why it is said, "Those who presume they have gained are actually losing."

Sages never act with forceful intent but always adapt to others. They respond only after sensing the world's movements, acting out of necessity rather than desire. For those of average or ordinary faculties, the sages establish teachings and words as provisional means. They do not preemptively set doctrines but instead diagnose the obstructions and attachments of sentient beings, prescribing remedies to liberate them. This chapter elucidates how the sages' actions and stillness are both effortless (wuwei), arising in response to circumstances.

Master Guan Yinzi said: Vast and boundless, wandering in the state of the Primordial Beginning (taichu)! The Dao is naturally whole and limitless—this is the essence of the sage. "The Great Simplicity" (taiyi) refers to the state before qi manifests; "the Primordial Beginning" (taichu) marks the emergence of primordial qi. When the innate qi stirs, the Dao begins its operation. The sage is both the essence and its function, freely roaming in formless emptiness.

A sage who has attained the Dao does not oppose the times: when the moment calls for assisting in governance, the world treasures them like gold; when it is time to pacify the world, people revere them like jade; when humility and beneficence are needed, they willingly endure being regarded as dirt. The sage adapts to circumstances—soaring beyond worldly concerns like a phoenix or blending into the dust without revealing their brilliance. "Following" (zhu) means harmonizing with the flow.

(The Interpretation of Chapter 17 of the Wenzhen Jing)

A sage who has attained the Dao manifests two modes of existence: At times resembling a recluse in the mountains, drinking from pure springs and sleeping beneath clouds and moonlight, withdrawing his radiance in self-contained joy; at other times like a solitary fisherman in a straw raincoat, steering his boat through misty rain with unfettered freedom, beyond the constraints of emperors and lords. This is what is meant by "sometimes a mountain being, sometimes an abyss being"—capable of both the mountain's steadfast stillness and the abyss's boundless fluidity.

The sage's seemingly contradictory behaviors embody profound wisdom: At times solemnly establishing laws and standards (duanhu), at other times flexibly governing the world (quanhu); sometimes appearing wildly unrestrained as if mad (kuanghu), sometimes feigning foolishness in sagely disguise (yuhu). These manifestations all stem from his harmonious adaptation to changing circumstances, appearing and disappearing unpredictably like the Dao itself. As previously mentioned, the sage can regard gold as dung yet treasure ordinary soil; move freely like a bird yet conform like a beast—ultimately reaching the transcendent state where "nothing is absolutely permissible nor impermissible."

(Interpretation of Qin Music and Heart-Method)

A true master of the qin manifests his inner state through the music: When grief fills his heart, the notes become mournful and plaintive; when longing arises, the melody lingers slow and drawn-out; when resentment stirs, the tones twist with suppressed tension; when admiration flows, the music lingers tenderly. This emotional transmission doesn't depend on the strings, plectrum, or paulownia wood itself, but emerges naturally from the unity of heart and hand. When one's spirit (shen) communes with the Great Dao, all expressions align with heavenly principle—just as grief, longing, resentment, and love are fundamentally the vibrations of the heart made audible through trembling strings. Every movement of a Dao-cultivated sage spontaneously harmonizes with the Dao's operation.

This passage explores the relationship between playing the zither and comprehending the Dao. When a master musician plays, their inner emotions flow naturally through the music—this isn't the work of the strings or the instrument itself, but the perfect union of human heart and musical skill. Those who have truly attained the Dao are even more so: their every movement, word, and action naturally align with the great Way. Ordinary people may notice the superficial similarities between sages and themselves in outward behavior, but fail to perceive the sage's inner state of harmony with the Dao.

The latter section points out that excessive concern for gain and loss can create distance even between family members; overemphasis on distinguishing the wise from the foolish leads to losing friends; rigid attachment to right and wrong hinders accomplishing tasks; and extreme discrimination between beauty and ugliness prevents harmony with all things. This happens because when the human mind becomes occupied with such dualistic thinking, it loses its natural and authentic state.

The difference between sages and ordinary people lies in this: though sages may outwardly speak, act, and think like anyone else, their inner being remains in a state of luminous awareness. Ordinary people, however, become ensnared by these superficial appearances. Just as with zither playing, the key lies in the heart's attunement to the Dao, not in external forms.

When ordinary people become overly fixated on distinguishing between the wise and foolish (moral superiority), they inevitably distance themselves from those they deem inferior, growing old without finding like-minded companions. The more deliberately one discriminates between virtue and folly, the harder it becomes to engage with others authentically. When the mind is wholly consumed by judging right and wrong—associating only with the "right" while rejecting the "wrong"—one becomes shackled by such distinctions, hesitant to act in both major and minor matters, ultimately achieving nothing.

Similarly, excessive preoccupation with beauty and ugliness creates problems. If one only seeks out what is beautiful while despising the unattractive, such preferences cloud the original mind. Just as a marriage fixated on appearances struggles to foster genuine harmony, this "objectification" primarily refers to human relationships.

Thus, the sage (one who embodies the Dao) adopts an undifferentiated approach. "Undifferentiated" means maintaining the original mind without making distinctions. The sage does not engage in discriminating thoughts and is naturally free from the constraints of concepts like gain and loss, wisdom and folly, right and wrong, or beauty and ugliness. This chapter illustrates the sage’s transcendent wisdom, which surpasses all dualities.

Some foolish people in the world misuse the example of sages feigning ignorance to justify their own behavior. They fail to understand that sages adapt flexibly to circumstances—appearing simple and dull when withdrawal is needed, radiant and brilliant when action is called for, practicing Wuwei (non-action) to conceal their wisdom when appropriate, and skillfully guiding others when the time is right. This chapter demonstrates that the sage’s ways are beyond ordinary comprehension.

Those who study the Dao by emulating sages become virtuous (xianren), while those who learn the Dao through the path of the virtuous can themselves become sages. This reveals that the pursuit of the Dao depends on the alignment of one’s method and the object of study.

To learn the virtues of sages through sage wisdom means cultivating to the utmost yet only reaching the level of worthy individuals. Thus, those who study sages through sage standards ultimately remain worthies. But those who approach the Dao of sages with a worthy's mindset, when cultivated to perfection, can become true sages. This explains why adopting a worthy's standard to learn from sages leads to sagehood.

Those who emulate sages through sage standards often imitate external forms while forgetting the essence of Dao; those who learn from sages with a worthy's mentality can transcend forms and unite with Dao. The virtues manifested by sages have concrete expressions—if one merely copies these outward displays, they become attached to forms while losing sight of Dao's fundamental nature. Dao itself is formless and imageless. When worthies contemplate the sage's Dao with sincere hearts, enlightenment allows them to realize Dao's true emptiness, thereby transcending forms to unite with it. This chapter illustrates: descending from the root to phenomena and clinging to forms makes one a worthy; returning from phenomena to the root and surpassing forms makes one a sage.

In Chapter 22, Master Guan Yinzi states: "Worthies pursue metaphysical principles but neglect concrete practice; ordinary people cling to specific affairs without understanding fundamental truths, while sages penetrate both realms, applying them flexibly according to circumstances." Worthies comprehend the philosophical principle that "what is above form is called Dao," yet easily become trapped in theoretical obstacles; ordinary people indulge in "what is within form is called vessels," becoming confined by phenomena. Sages thoroughly realize the true emptiness of reality, neither constrained by theory nor practice. They adapt skillfully—sometimes using principles to enlighten, other times employing examples to guide—responding appropriately to situations and timing.

Sages, worthies, and ordinary people are not fundamentally separate. Their relationship resembles water and ice: water condenses into ice when cold; ice melts back into water when warm. Before melting, ice's essential nature remains water. Similarly, when sages become confused, they turn into ordinary people; when ordinary people awaken, they can become sages—their fundamental nature remains that of sages even before enlightenment.

The sage and the ordinary person are fundamentally the same in essence, differing only in their level of awakening. It's like the relationship between ice and water—those who understand know that ice is essentially water, while the confused perceive them as separate. The same principle applies to the Dao of sages: it exists within ordinary life and doesn't require deliberate withdrawal from the mundane world to seek. Sadly, many never grasp this truth, which is truly lamentable.

All things under heaven follow natural patterns: the yang aspect is active and initiating, while the yin aspect is yielding and responsive. Just as between husband and wife, the husband speaks first and the wife follows in harmony; among beasts, the male leads in running while the female follows; among birds, the male calls from the windward side while the female responds from the leeward. These are all manifestations of the natural interplay of yin and yang.

After observing these natural patterns, the sages established human relationships and moral principles (such as the hierarchical order between ruler and subject, father and son, husband and wife). Later generations of virtuous people followed these norms, gaining order but losing their innate freedom. This shows that the wisdom of sages transcends conventional rules while setting an example for posterity.

The Dao methods of sages are as fierce and endlessly transformative as a tiger, yet when handling specific matters, they proceed as cautiously and deliberately as a tortoise. Their thoughts are as intricate and all-encompassing as tangled silk, yet their actions are as orderly as the layout of a chessboard. This chapter illustrates that while the Dao of sages may seem profound and unfathomable, its practical application is grounded in steady, step-by-step execution.

This scripture elucidates the supreme state and characteristics of the sage's Dao. It first describes four distinctive qualities of the sage's Dao: standing alone beyond all dualities (transcending all opposites), being perfectly complete (flawless and whole), profoundly unfathomable (deep and immeasurable), and mysteriously sublime (utterly profound). These attributes demonstrate that the sage's Dao is absolutely transcendent, beyond comparison with anything else.

The text then employs metaphors to illustrate this: just as clouds freely expand and contract within the vast emptiness, and birds soar effortlessly through the open sky, the sage's Dao operates with unimpeded freedom and infinite adaptability. Emptiness (referring to the formless, essential reality) provides the space for clouds and birds to move freely; similarly, the sage's Dao functions within this state of absolute liberty.

A key emphasis is placed on the nature of the Dao: while it gives birth to and nurtures all things (creating everything), it remains unbound by them; though perfectly united with all phenomena, it simultaneously transcends them. This quality of "non-dependence" (being unconditioned) establishes the Dao as the most noble existence. Just as clouds and birds rely on emptiness for their freedom, emptiness itself requires no reliance on anything.

Finally, the text reveals that the sage's Dao, as shown in this analogy, simultaneously penetrates absolute truth (comprehending ultimate reality) and manifests wondrous existence (displaying infinite marvels). It responds to circumstances without attachment, as naturally unimpeded as clouds gathering and dispersing or birds taking flight and alighting. This state transcends all relative concepts, embodying absolute freedom.

The Dao methods of sages (referring to the most profound cultivation states) reach the pinnacle of mystery, leaving no trace to follow. This chapter speaks of how the Dao methods of sages are infinitely transformative—simultaneously concealed and manifest, completely beyond human reckoning.

(This is Chapter 27 of Volume 3 in the Commentary on the Wenzhen Scripture)

What we call the "Dao of Sages" refers to that state of cultivation which attains the supreme realm, just as Laozi said: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao"—the true Dao cannot be fully captured in words. It manifests within all things yet transcends every concrete form, changing unpredictably. Like water that may become ice or transform into vapor, yet its essential nature remains unchanged. Practitioners must understand that the true Dao resides not in fixed forms, but in the perpetual interplay of transformation and unity.