《文始真經註》Vol. 9

Do not underestimate trivial matters, just as a small crack in a ship's hull, if left unrepaired, will eventually sink the entire vessel. Nor should one dismiss tiny venomous creatures—though small as scorpions or seven-inch snakes, they can still harm the human body. Most importantly, never look down upon petty individuals with unvirtuous conduct; historical forces like Huang Chao, the Red Eyebrows, and the Yellow Turbans may have seemed insignificant at first, yet they ultimately shook the foundations of the Han and Tang dynasties.

Cultivators of the Dao should take note: even the smallest virtuous acts must be diligently accumulated, and the most minor faults corrected promptly. In handling practical affairs, one must attend to the finest details with care—only then can genuine De (Virtue/Power) be nurtured. The highest De (Supreme Virtue) appears as if no conscious effort has been made to cultivate it; this state embodies the true manifestation of the Dao.

The same principle applies to nature: show compassion to all plants and insects without causing harm, like timely rain nourishing all things indiscriminately, or the ocean accepting every river without distinguishing between purity and turbidity. Accumulating merit in this way ultimately leads to sagehood. In human relations, maintain equal regard for all—extend benevolent De to everyone, without differentiating between noble and petty. When you can skillfully navigate interactions with petty individuals, the principles for engaging with sages will naturally become clear.

(Note: "Supreme Virtue" refers to the highest ethical state in Daoism; "Huang Chao, Red Eyebrows, Yellow Turbans" were leaders of historical peasant uprisings; "seven-inch snake" denotes a highly venomous small serpent. Through everyday examples, author Niu Daochun illustrates how Dao cultivators must focus on accumulating virtue through attention to detail.)

Ordinary people must first relinquish attachments before their hearts can resonate with those who have attained the Dao (the Way). The movements of heaven and earth follow no fixed pattern, and human hearts cannot forcibly determine outcomes. Only by releasing the entanglements of external things and transcending interpersonal conflicts can one truly find their original heart—then whatever they do will naturally be perfectly appropriate.

Human destiny is fundamentally ordained by heaven, yet the choice between good and evil, awakening or delusion, determines whether one remains an ordinary person or becomes a sage or noble. How could heavenly mandate be immutable? Thus it is said: Heaven and earth are ever-changing, and the human heart is unfathomable. The same act—used with ill intent makes one petty, with good intent makes one noble, aligned with De (Virtue/Power) makes one wise, and in harmony with the Dao makes one a sage. How can the transformations of human affairs be generalized?

If one can shed all external attachments, transcend worldly appearances, conceal profound mysteries within while appearing to practice Wuwei (non-action), and maintain a pure original heart, they will attain the state of "self-forgetfulness"—where life and death, gain and loss, all become effortless, neither seeking nor rejecting, truly achieving unconstrained freedom.

Cultivation requires understanding adaptability: when complexity is needed, one cannot simplistically pursue ease; when discipline is required, one must not indulge; when diligence is called for, one must not slacken. Just as establishing a Daoist altar requires opening diverse expedient methods, all cultivation practices must be upheld—one cannot abandon fundamentals for mere simplicity. If one indulges when discipline is needed or grows lazy when diligence is required, they will fail. This chapter emphasizes vigilance against small faults, neglecting no detail in practice—only thus can one attain the character of sages and worthies.

(Latter half of Chapter 1) Guan Yinzi (disciple of Laozi) said: Those whose wisdom reaches the ultimate understand that cleverness alone cannot perfectly encompass all things, so they choose to appear foolish despite great wisdom; those whose debate reaches the ultimate know words ultimately cannot fully express truth, so they choose silence; those whose courage reaches the ultimate recognize that strength alone cannot overcome all, so they understand yielding.

True great wisdom penetrates the principles of heaven, yet the wise know cleverness ultimately cannot universally save all beings. Knowing this, it is better to sheath one’s edge and blend with simplicity to align with the Dao. Similarly, the most eloquent understand language’s limits, the bravest know strength’s boundaries—these are all manifestations of returning to original purity.

The ultimate form of debate is realizing that no amount of eloquence can truly make the world understand the essence of things—it's better to maintain silence to nurture one's spiritual energy (Qi). The pinnacle of courage is knowing that no amount of strength can conquer all things under heaven—it's better to cultivate virtue (De) through humility and gentleness. This chapter primarily reveals the pitfalls of excessive reliance on cleverness, rhetoric, and brute force.

Guan Yinzi (a Daoist figure) said: In the universe, nothing truly belongs to "me," yet all things interconnect and inevitably resonate with me. This "self" isn't the true self, yet we must maintain this physical vessel. The interaction of Yin-Yang energies gives rise to all phenomena, yet the source of Qi is fundamentally empty. Precisely because of this essential emptiness, one can maintain inner stillness while responding to external phenomena. Though we engage with external things, the mind remains unattached; though we care for the body, we understand it isn't our true self.

The relationship between absolute emptiness (zhenkong) and wondrous existence (miaoyou) resembles echoes in an empty valley—sounds arise and vanish unpredictably while the valley remains eternally silent. Those awakened to absolute emptiness regard their bodies like rented dwellings—though requiring food and clothing for maintenance, they constantly recognize that transcendent empty nature beyond form. Don't assume one must first transcend external things before transcending the self, nor that one must first release the body before releasing the mind—the Dao is an undivided whole; cultivation cannot be mechanically divided into steps. Since we understand both body and phenomena are temporary illusions of aggregation, we should release them simultaneously without distinguishing sequence.

This scripture passage primarily discusses the wisdom of transcending attachments and surpassing dualistic oppositions in spiritual cultivation.

It first points out that one should not assume external matters must be released before letting go of the self. Our physical bodies are temporarily assembled from the four great elements (earth, water, fire, wind), while our thoughts are illusory accumulations of the five aggregates (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, consciousness). Not only is there no fundamental distinction between the body and all phenomena, even this deluded mind is no different from the myriad things. Since we recognize both body-mind and the world as illusory and insubstantial, we should release them simultaneously—we cannot claim to forget the body first before abandoning the deluded mind. The Dao (the Way) is originally an undifferentiated whole, without distinctions between inner and outer, self and other—how could awakening be achieved through sequential steps?

The text then employs two metaphors to illustrate the harm of attachment: someone staring at the tip of a rabbit's hair cannot see the vastness of heaven and earth, while one intently listening to a mosquito's buzz cannot hear the roar of thunder. The reverse is equally true—focusing on the grand makes the subtle invisible, concentrating on the near renders the distant unseen, and attending to loud noises drowns out faint sounds. This reveals how ordinary people remain trapped within the cognitive limitations of dualistic thinking.

This passage illuminates how spiritual practice must dismantle binary distinctions like "object-self" and "form-mind," avoiding deception by superficial appearances. Master Guanyinzi (the Perfected Lord Wenshi) uses everyday phenomena as metaphors to demonstrate how clinging to any extreme obstructs holistic perception. True awakening transcends opposing concepts like large-small and near-far, directly realizing the truth of universal oneness.

Note: The "four great elements" refer to the fundamental components of the material world (earth, water, fire, wind), while the "five aggregates" denote the five factors constituting mental activity (form, sensation, perception, mental formations, consciousness)—both terms borrowed from Buddhist terminology. Here they are used to analyze the illusory nature of body-mind and the phenomenal world.

This scripture passage primarily discusses how practitioners of the Dao can transcend sensory limitations to attain the true state of "seeing and hearing."

The first paragraph points out that if one focuses only on superficial sounds (sensual tones), one cannot perceive the profound and majestic sounds (cosmic resonance). The sage, by not clinging to specific sights and sounds, can truly perceive all things universally. The scripture explains that what we see are forms and colors, and what we hear are sounds. Though the vastness of heaven and earth differs from the minuteness of a hair's tip, both are essentially manifestations of form; though the buzz of a mosquito differs from the roar of thunder, both are fundamentally vibrations of sound. The sage's ability to see and hear all things without obstruction stems from not fixating on specific sights and sounds, thereby attaining the clarity and acuity of "true emptiness" (the essential realm beyond phenomena). This chapter primarily addresses the human tendency to become engrossed in sensory appearances.

The second paragraph elaborates through Master Guan Yinzi's words: The eyes perceive infinite variations of color—some prefer gold, others jade—but these are all biases stemming from attachment to particular hues. The ears hear countless distinct sounds—some favor bells, others drums—yet these too reflect fixations on specific tones. Only the sage neither craves, resists, nor lingers upon these sights and sounds. Having realized the Dao, the sage penetrates the realm of true emptiness, neither clinging to sensory experiences nor needing to deliberately eliminate them—for in true emptiness, sights and sounds inherently lack substantial distinction.

The "true emptiness" mentioned here is a key Daoist concept referring to the noumenal realm beyond relative phenomena. The scripture emphasizes that Dao practitioners must transcend sensory discrimination and attachment—not by suppressing the senses, but by recognizing the unified essence underlying all appearances.

Master Guan Yinzi (a prominent Daoist figure) states: The sage neither blindly pursues external things, nor deliberately rejects them, nor becomes attached to any fixed position. Here, "position" refers to stubbornly clinging to one place. This chapter primarily addresses the human tendency to indulge in love and hatred while becoming fixated on sensory pleasures.

Chapter Five

Those skilled at grasping the present moment can embody the wisdom of the ancients; those adept at handling details can establish the fundamental. Here, "present" refers to immediate human affairs, while "ancient" signifies the primordial principle before the division of heaven and earth; "details" denote daily behavioral norms, and "fundamental" points to the ultimate Dao (the Way). If one can skillfully apply immediate affairs and daily conduct, they will adapt flexibly, unconsciously harmonizing with the undivided state of heaven and earth while standing independently upon the fundamental Dao. Hence it is said: "Skill in grasping the present enables one to walk the ancient path; mastery of details allows one to establish the root." Here, "walking" implies non-attachment. This chapter primarily remedies the fault of obsessing over distinctions between fundamental and secondary matters while failing to understand the relationship between essence and function.

Chapter Six

Master Guan Yinzi illustrates with metaphors: Those more cunning than thieves can catch thieves; those more courageous than tigers can capture tigers. If the human mind is more alert than a thief, it can subdue thieves; if one's strength is mightier than tigers or leopards, they can seize these beasts.

Only by overcoming oneself can one truly accomplish oneself; only by transcending external things can one genuinely benefit all beings; only by forgetting the "Dao" can one truly possess it. "Overcoming" means conquering, and "oneself" refers to selfish desires. Only by conquering selfish desires can one achieve the highest virtue; only by overcoming attachment to material things can one universally benefit sentient beings and accomplish immeasurable good deeds; only by relinquishing conceptual grasping of the "Dao" can one naturally merge with the true Dao—both wondrously existent and perfectly empty. This chapter primarily addresses the inability to let go of conceptual attachments to the "Dao."

Chapter Seven

Master Guan Yinzi observes: Overly rigid armor is paradoxically more easily destroyed—what is hard is prone to break; overly sharp swords are conversely more readily blunted—what is pointed tends to wear down. "Armor" refers to protective gear that, though tough, can be pierced by stronger crossbows; swords, though sharp, become dull when striking hard objects.

When an arrow pierces through an object, it becomes damaged—this demonstrates that anything excessively rigid will inevitably meet something that breaks it. Thus, when objects are too hard, they are easily destroyed; excessive strength leads to brittleness. When a blade is overly sharp, there will inevitably be a whetstone tough enough to dull its edge. From this we see that anything excessively sharp will inevitably encounter something that blunts it. Hence, an overly sharp blade is prone to damage, and extreme sharpness makes it vulnerable to being worn down. These are metaphorical truths.

The majestic phoenix is revered as divine precisely because it is rarely seen, which is why sages take concealment as their foundation. When musk deer flee, they leave behind their scent (musk), and hunters, finding no musk to collect, cease pursuit. Therefore, sages uphold frugality as their principle. These two analogies illustrate that the noble phoenix appears miraculous only because people seldom witness it—if it appeared frequently, it would lose its mystique. Hence the saying, "The majestic phoenix is divine because it is rarely seen." From this we understand that sages obscure their brilliance, treating profound and mysterious principles as the root of all creation and human ethics. When pursued relentlessly, musk deer bite off and discard their musk glands; hunters, seeing no musk, abandon the chase. Thus the saying, "The fleeing deer is not hunted when it sheds its scent." Here we learn that sages withdraw their divine wisdom, maintaining an empty mind, responding to external things only when absolutely necessary—adapting to circumstances while preserving inner stillness, like the guiding cord of a fishing net that governs the whole.

This chapter primarily critiques two flaws: first, the inability to restrain a rigid and sharp temperament, and second, the failure to conceal sagely wisdom and divine abilities.

Chapter Eight explains: A vessel has two openings. When filled with water and inverted, if one opening is blocked, the water cannot flow out—this is because without air entering, drainage becomes impossible. Though a well may be deep, water rises when drawn because the bucket's descent allows the water to ascend. Here, "full" means completely filled. If a vessel has openings at both ends, first seal the lower one to fill it with water, then quickly block the upper opening before unsealing the lower one—the water surprisingly will not pour out. Why is this so?

This passage uses everyday phenomena to illustrate cultivation principles. Just as water pours out when a bottle has two openings but won't flow when one opening is blocked, this shows that Qi cannot descend without first ascending. Similarly, drawing water from a thousand-foot deep well requires a rope and bucket - without the rope, the water cannot rise, demonstrating that ascent cannot occur without descent. These are metaphors for the mutually generative movement of Yin-Yang in cultivation practice.

True sages who have attained the Dao (referring to accomplished practitioners) never put on airs before others. When sages don't look down on people first, others naturally won't look down on them either. The phrase "not first" here means sages don't exalt themselves or behave arrogantly, thus others dare not disrespect them. This chapter mainly discusses the fault of practitioners failing to maintain humility.

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) said: When people make mistakes and receive punishment, through prolonged self-reflection they'll contemplate carefully before repeating the error. Deluded people in the world who commit unwholesome deeds may suffer misfortune due to their lack of virtue, but through sustained introspection, they'll weigh the consequences of good and evil before acting again, proceeding with caution.

Truly awakened individuals (referring to those who realize the Dao) don't rely solely on their own intelligence, but incorporate the wisdom of all people. This naturally dissolves self-attachment and embraces the whole world. Practicing this principle throughout life prevents faults. Those who realize the Dao don't flaunt their wisdom but conceal it in daily application, accommodating others' convenience to benefit all beings - this is the true state of selflessness.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "selflessness" (无我) and "harmonizing with customs" (随俗). The core teaching illustrates that the true Dao resembles the moon in heaven—though reflected differently in countless rivers, all reflections share the same luminous source. Practitioners should emulate this, maintaining inner clarity (真空) while remaining unbound by external phenomena.

The text observes that customs vary across eras and regions, even differing between households and individuals in preferences and moral inclinations. Thus, adepts must avoid rigid adherence to fixed patterns when navigating a changing world, instead flowing like water that adapts to any container (随方就圆). Specifically, one should: assess circumstances before acting (先机后事), dissolve anger and restrain desires (捐忿塞慾), interact with simplicity and forbearance (简物恕人), and respond flexibly according to situational needs.

The truly accomplished adept (大达之士) achieves this balance: inwardly abiding in serene emptiness while outwardly harmonizing with worldly currents (和光同尘); free from emotional attachments (无心) yet responsive to changing conditions. Like a mirror reflecting objects—naturally displaying what appears (事感而后应), then returning to pristine stillness (应变而常寂)—this state appears to follow worldly tides while perpetually abiding in attunement with the Dao.

This passage elucidates the Daoist practitioner's approach to worldly conduct and friendship.

Regarding worldly conduct, those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) do not excessively cling to external things—they take only what is necessary for life and never claim what violates the principles of Dao. Their minds are empty and tranquil, preserving their innate authenticity while embracing all things, much like the ocean, which remains low and accepts both clear and turbid waters. Such individuals treat others with magnanimity, responding to situations as a mirror reflects objects—without omitting beauty or ugliness—and handling affairs like a scale weighing objects, never losing balance in judgment. Though they appear to practice wuwei (non-action), in truth, they accomplish all things. They respond to change with a "divinity beyond divinity" (a wondrous function surpassing ordinary logic), so that even the transformations of yin-yang cannot fathom them. Rooted in the inconceivable Dao, they adapt without fixed patterns.

Concerning friendship, there are three types of relationships:

1. Dao-bonded friendship (道交): Practitioners of the Dao form profound, unbreakable bonds through shared realization of its profound mysteries, akin to the unconditional affection between father and child—transcending distinctions of right and wrong, wisdom and folly. Such friendships endure without fading.

2. De-bonded friendship (德交): Virtuous gentlemen become close friends across ages due to mutual moral resonance. However, because they still recognize distinctions of right and wrong, wisdom and folly, their relationships may wax and wane.

3. Affair-bonded friendship (事交): Formed through collaboration in public or private matters, these ties remain shallow—once the task ends, the connection dissolves.

The text emphasizes that Daoist practitioners should aspire to the highest form of friendship—Dao-bonded—which transcends worldly judgments and achieves spiritual communion. It also critiques those who rigidly apply fixed methods to changing circumstances, unable to adapt with fluidity.

The passage primarily addresses five common misconceptions in Daoist cultivation and how to properly approach spiritual states.

It begins by quoting Zhuangzi on the nature of friendship: noble individuals maintain relationships as clear and enduring as water, while petty ones bond as sweet yet fleeting as wine. This illustrates the distinction between superficial appearances and true substance.

The text then identifies five erroneous views in cultivation:

First, mistaking dullness and coarseness for the simplicity of the Dao (the Way), when one should instead seek the joy of wise and agile insight.

Second, mistaking ignorance and confusion for the Dao’s hidden profundity, when one should pursue the delight of lucid and penetrating awakening.

Third, mistaking arrogance and recklessness for the Dao’s lofty state, when one should cultivate the pleasure of humility and harmonious interaction.

Fourth, mistaking aimless vagueness for the Dao’s vast inclusiveness, when one should grasp the joy of essential and skillful practice.

Fifth, mistaking brooding melancholy for the Dao’s stillness, when one should maintain the serene bliss of carefree joy.

Finally, the passage notes that ancient sages sometimes deliberately adopted eccentric behavior to blend into the world, but later practitioners often misinterpret these outward displays—taking clumsiness, ignorance, arrogance, laxity, and gloom as the true essence of cultivation. These are cognitive distortions that must be corrected, much like treating an illness with medicine. The text serves as a reminder to properly understand the deeper meaning behind the words and actions of the ancients, avoiding the pitfalls of superficial imitation.

Chapter Thirteen discusses several erroneous mental attitudes that Dao practitioners should avoid:

First, one must not constantly criticize others while proclaiming oneself correct. If a cultivator always views people with a judgmental eye, considering oneself superior, this is the fault of "condemning the world while affirming oneself."

Second, one must not belittle others while holding oneself in high esteem. Practitioners should not look down upon ordinary people simply because they follow the Dao, considering them lowly while seeing themselves as noble.

Third, one must not arrogantly assume only oneself understands the great Dao (the Way). A common mistake among cultivators is underestimating others' enlightenment while believing they alone grasp the truth.

Fourth, one must not slander others' virtue (De) to elevate oneself. Deliberately pointing out others' lack of virtue to showcase one's own is incorrect.

Fifth, one must not disparage others' talents to highlight oneself. Thinking others crude and foolish while boasting of one's own erudition is another unacceptable mindset. This chapter primarily points out that practitioners must overcome the attachment to "distinguishing self from others."

Chapter Fourteen explains the principle that great wisdom appears foolish:

What truly confounds the world's wise is not cleverer strategies, but seemingly dull wisdom. Because the wondrous essence of the true void (referring to the Dao's nature) is profoundly mysterious, it cannot be fully comprehended through intellect alone. Those enlightened to the Dao often conceal their brilliance, appearing like fools so even the clever cannot fathom them.

What leaves the world's eloquent speechless is not more persuasive rhetoric, but silence. The great Dao (the Way) fundamentally cannot be fully expressed in words. Those truly enlightened know it's difficult to transmit through language, thus choosing to remain taciturn.

What subdues the world's brave is not greater courage, but knowing how to show weakness. Those enlightened to the Dao understand the principles of clarity through non-action (Wuwei), humility and plianess, refusing to contend with external things. Precisely because they do not contend, no one in the world can contend with them - this is the true path of invincibility.

This scripture primarily discusses the sage's wisdom in conforming to natural laws and the inherent nature of things.

It states that true courage does not lie in brute force or aggression, but in understanding the value of yielding and embracing softness. This chapter teaches people to overcome the tendencies of contentiousness, boastful displays of cleverness, and reliance on martial prowess.

Master Guan Yinzi (a key Daoist figure) points out: Heaven does not compel lotus flowers to bloom in winter or chrysanthemums to blossom in spring—thus, the sage does not defy the natural seasons. Just as lotuses naturally flourish in summer and chrysanthemums in autumn, these are the rhythms of nature, and the sage does not forcibly alter the progression of the seasons.

Tangerines thrive in the warm southern regions; if forcibly transplanted to the mountainous areas of Songshan or the Luo River, they turn bitter and become trifoliate oranges. Foxes and raccoon dogs are suited to the northern highlands; if brought to the damp southern regions, they perish. These outcomes are determined by geographical conditions. Therefore, the sage also refrains from forcibly changing local customs, whether among the Central Plains people or borderland tribes—all traditions are respected.

The sage understands: Hands excel at grasping, feet at walking—one cannot swap their functions. Fish are born to swim, birds to fly, horses to run—these are their innate natures. Thus, the sage does not violate the inherent characteristics of things but instead acts in harmony with these natural principles. This embodies the core Daoist idea of "the Dao follows what is natural" (Dao fa ziran)—honoring the intrinsic nature of things and avoiding the imposition of artificial changes upon natural laws.

The Commentary on the Wenzhen Scripture elucidates the wisdom of how Daoist practitioners should align with nature and cultivate themselves while engaging with the world.

Chapter Sixteen states that a true sage embodies four principles: never opposing the timing of heaven, never defying worldly conventions, never neglecting one's own strengths, and never disregarding the merits of others. Such a person adapts fluidly to all changes—acting when it is time to act, stopping when it is time to stop, concealing when obscurity is needed, and revealing when clarity is called for. The key lies in not being bound by rigid rules but instead flowing with the transformations of creation (zaohua). Only then can one respond to infinite changes and attain the profound state of the Dao (Dao). This chapter primarily critiques the flaw of inflexibility in those who fail to adapt.

Chapter Seventeen teaches that cultivators must understand restraint. Speaking less avoids arousing suspicion; displaying less prevents criticism; showing less intelligence keeps others from exploiting one; and flaunting less ability prevents being manipulated. A Daoist practitioner who speaks cautiously makes fewer mistakes, who does not chase fame and wealth avoids envy, who conceals wisdom escapes unnecessary toil, and whose great skill appears clumsy cannot be used by others. This chapter highlights the pitfalls of excessive self-display in words, actions, intelligence, and talent.

The supplementary cultivation principles state: abide in sincerity (cheng), act with simplicity (jian), treat others with tolerance (shu), and respond with stillness (mo). In this way, the path of cultivation will never be exhausted. "Sincerity" means being genuine and free from delusion; "simplicity" means avoiding complexity; "action" means non-attachment; and "tolerance" means embracing generosity. Those who truly awaken to the Dao (Dao) maintain an empty and luminous mind, navigating all circumstances with effortless ease and simplicity.

When interacting with people or managing subordinates, one should adopt an attitude of tolerance and acceptance. Instead of constantly focusing on others' faults, cultivate your own virtue (De) — this is the way of treating others with forgiveness. When someone seeks guidance, there's no need for excessive instruction; subtle hints through demeanor and posture suffice, as those with innate wisdom will naturally awaken to understanding. Because the true Dao is boundless and inexhaustible, responding with silence better embodies its infinite nature. This chapter primarily points out common faults among leaders: lack of sincerity, excessive complexity, absence of forbearance, and speaking too much.

(Chapter 18)

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) said: In undertaking tasks, plan comprehensively; in making judgments, base them on principle. Effort lies in human action, but success or failure depends on heavenly will. For practical matters, draw from contemporary experience; for understanding principles, learn from ancient wisdom. The methods for handling affairs may align with common practice, but the comprehension of the Dao, the composure in responding to change, and the inner purity and transcendence are what set one apart. This chapter highlights a common failing among leaders: inability to synthesize and internalize principles holistically.

(Chapter 19)

Master Guan Yin said: Gold and jade are hard to relinquish; earth and stone are easily discarded. When practitioners of the Dao encounter profound teachings and mysterious actions, they must remember not to cling to them. These principles may seem graspable, yet they cannot be clung to — forcing attachment is like an incurable illness of the heart and belly. Here, gold and jade symbolize the words and deeds of sages, while earth and stone represent those of ordinary people. Though precious, gold and jade are still dust in the eyes of Dao cultivators; the Dao itself is nameless and formless, and even the words and deeds of sages are beyond reach. Those who study the Dao find it hard to forget the sages' teachings, just as ordinary people struggle to part with gold and jade, while easily discarding mundane words and deeds like earth and stone. If practitioners encounter the subtle teachings of sages, they must remember not to cling to them obstinately.

These two chapters of the Commentary on the Wenzhen Scripture discuss common pitfalls in spiritual cultivation.

Chapter Twelve points out that while one may emulate the noble conduct of sages to cultivate De (Virtue/Power), one must not become attached to imitating their external manifestations. Obsessing over superficial forms is like a skin disease—relatively easy to treat—but if the attachment runs deep, like a grave internal illness (metaphor for profound fixation), even the legendary physician Bian Que could not cure it. Those who become engrossed in mimicking the outward behavior of sages fall into this trap; such attachment is like an incurable disease. This chapter primarily critiques the error of overemphasizing external conduct in spiritual practice.

Chapter Twenty-One states that when people fail to recognize what truly matters (i.e., cultivating Dao and De), they instead pursue miscellaneous tasks, peripheral techniques, and strange arts, ultimately leading themselves into hardship and calamity. The "urgent task" refers to cultivating Dao and De, "many tasks" denote various cultivation methods, "other tasks" are trivial side skills, and "strange tasks" are bizarre occult practices. Practitioners who do not understand that Dao and De are the root but chase after these secondary things, though their pursuits may differ, share the same fundamental deviation from the essence of De. Losing the root of De leads to falling into the cycle of rebirth, suffering endless kalpas without liberation—this is the greatest disaster.

In truth, the Dao is omnipresent; one should not abandon what is near to seek what is far. "This" refers to the fundamental cultivation of Dao and De within body and mind, while "that" denotes those miscellaneous skills and techniques. Practitioners fail to realize that the Dao manifests within their own body and mind—that body and mind are themselves expressions of Dao, just as a bubble is fundamentally water. Once one awakens to the truth that body and mind are the Dao, there is no reason to forsake the root in pursuit of peripheral techniques. This chapter mainly criticizes the error of neglecting the cultivation of Dao and De as the foundation.

Guan Yinzi (a Daoist figure) said: In worldly conventions, people often abandon what is intimate and essential to pursue what is distant and trivial, forsake the root to chase the branches, discard wisdom to embrace folly, and neglect nearby goodness to seek distant evils. Such actions may bring fleeting pleasure in the short term, but over time, they inevitably lead to calamity.

Here, "intimate" refers to one's innate nature and life, while "distant" signifies wealth and sensual pleasures; the "root" is the great Dao (the Way) and its truths, whereas the "branches" are various moral norms and behavioral rules; "wisdom" denotes virtuous insight, and "folly" represents delusion and ignorance; "nearby" points to compassion and goodwill, while "distant" encompasses all kinds of wicked deeds. Sadly, many who study the Dao in this world become confused and inverted, abandoning the fundamental aspects of their nature and life, as well as virtue and kindness, only to indulge in wealth, sensual pleasures, convoluted methods, and foolish misdeeds. Though such indulgence may offer momentary illusory joy, prolonged immersion without awakening traps one in the bitter sea of the cycle of birth and death, endlessly revolving among the forms of womb-born, egg-born, moisture-born, and transformation-born beings, with no hope of liberation—there is no greater misfortune than this.

In the past, when people spoke of the great Dao, some described it as stable and still, others as unfathomably profound, some as clear and transparent, others as empty and unified, and still others as obscure and inscrutable. Yet when practitioners encounter these descriptions, they must not shrink back in fear, thinking the Dao too difficult to comprehend.

"Stable" refers to stillness, "still" to tranquility, and "profound" to depth. The ancients, when discussing the Dao, said it was as immovable as Mount Tai, or as unfathomable as the abyss, or as lucid and deep as clear water, or as vast and boundless as the void, or as hidden and mysterious beyond comprehension. If practitioners encounter these five descriptions—stable and still, unfathomably profound, clear and transparent, empty and unified, obscure and inscrutable—they must not let fear arise, believing the Dao too difficult to cultivate, and thus slacken their efforts.

In truth, the most fundamental principle of the world—the great Dao—cannot ultimately be fully expressed in words. Only by realizing that the Dao transcends both language and conceptual thought, surpassing even the most refined phrases and profound meanings, can one truly align with the truth I seek to illuminate. The five descriptions discussed earlier—stable and still, unfathomably profound, clear and transparent, empty and unified, obscure and inscrutable—ultimately belong to the realm of names, concepts, and illusory consciousness. The Dao is originally nameless and formless, impossible to exhaust through words or intellectual understanding.

The ultimate realm of truth ultimately cannot be fully expressed through words or thought. As the ancients said, the most fundamental principle of existence transcends the boundaries of language and concepts. Those who truly comprehend this principle attained profound realization even before the ancients' subtle words and profound thoughts took form. They directly perceived the inherently existing Dao (the Way), which is originally pure and complete, requiring neither deliberate cultivation nor external seeking. Such realization alone truly accords with the essential meaning described in the scriptures.

The word "above" in "above subtle words and wondrous meanings" refers to an earlier, more fundamental state, while "indeed" confirms this truth. This chapter primarily points out how people remain trapped by their attachment to sensory perception (roots and dust), the root ailment yet to be cured.

Master Guan Yinzi (a representative Daoist figure) said: The essential words of sages are as precious as gold and jade, while their ordinary speech resembles medicinal herbs like platycodon root and plantain. Used appropriately, common herbs can save lives; used inappropriately, even precious gold and jade may prove fatal.

The essential works of sages like the Dao De Jing and Yin Fu Jing are as valuable as gold and jade. Platycodon treats rheumatism, while plantain cures dysentery. The ordinary words of sages resemble later generations' poetry and recorded sayings—some attain realization through these common words, just as ordinary herbs can cure illness and restore health.

Merely reciting the Dao De Jing and Yin Fu Jing mechanically without awakening is like taking precious gold and jade that fail to cure rheumatism or dysentery, potentially leading to death instead. This chapter primarily distinguishes between the refined and crude aspects of classical teachings, pointing out the pitfalls of mechanical attachment.

Master Guan Yinzi said: When people discuss matters, one says it's beneficial, another harmful, a third possibly both, and a fourth simultaneously beneficial and harmful—it must fit one of these categories. But those who truly understand the Dao do not debate this way.

"Certain" is a placeholder term. When worldly people discuss principles, their views differ as each clings to their own interpretation.

The Commentary on the Wenzhen Scripture explores the limitations of cognition and language through metaphorical discussions in these two chapters.

Chapter 25 employs the example of four individuals (A, B, C, D) debating advantages and disadvantages: Person A claims something benefits humanity, Person B argues it causes harm, Person C suggests it may bring either benefit or harm, while Person D asserts the outcome depends on execution—proper implementation yields benefit while improper brings harm. Among these four perspectives, one must align most closely with truth. The Dao itself cannot be described through language but must be inwardly realized, unlike worldly matters that can be measured by profit and loss. This chapter reveals how fixation on judgments of advantage and disadvantage constitutes a cognitive limitation.

Chapter 26 examines the relationship between language and truth: Concrete things have clear classifications, and arguments follow logical reasoning—yet the Dao permeates all while transcending speech. Those who truly understand speak with apparent simplicity while conveying profound meaning, with each utterance embodying the Dao. Without this realization, even holding the most sagely wisdom would feel like having a fishbone stuck in one's throat or sand in one's eyes—unable to achieve genuine comprehension. This section critiques those trapped in superficial understanding.

The latter half of Chapter 26 discusses the difficulty of cognition: Disbelieving fools is easy, yet doubting sages proves hard; rejecting individual saints may be simple, but challenging the collective wisdom of generations of saints becomes far harder. Here lies the implication that truth often surpasses individual understanding, requiring an open mind to receive higher wisdom.

What ordinary people find difficult is non-attachment and freedom from external entanglements. The words and deeds of foolish people are easily forgotten precisely because they lack attachment, while the words and deeds of the wise are hard to forget because they carry profound meaning. Thus, it's easier to disregard foolish people than to disregard the wise.

Not clinging to the words of the wise is relatively simple, but the words of sages are even harder to forget. Therefore, it's easier to disregard the wise than to disregard sages. Not being attached to one sage's words is possible, but facing the words of hundreds of sages makes transcendence especially difficult. Hence, disregarding one sage is easier than disregarding hundreds of sages.

Those who cannot transcend the words of hundreds of sages will outwardly fail to see others clearly, inwardly fail to recognize their true selves, upwardly fail to comprehend the Dao (the fundamental truth of the universe), and downwardly fail to penetrate worldly affairs.

When genuine practitioners refrain from attachment to the words of countless sages, they can forget conceptual distinctions, allowing their minds to naturally align with the Dao, transcending the dualities of ordinary and sacred, self and other, and phenomena and principle. This is the meaning behind the saying, "Not admiring the multitude of sages, not clinging to one's own spiritual nature." Those obsessed with sacred words ultimately become lost—outwardly confused about others, inwardly confused about themselves, upwardly confused about the Dao, and downwardly confused about worldly matters. This chapter primarily addresses the ailment of practitioners becoming trapped in the duality of ordinary and sacred.

Master Guan Yin (a Daoist figure) said: Sages use obscure language to help people understand the limitations of words; they use mysterious language to reveal the illusory nature of the visible world; they use profound language to guide people toward the ineffable realm. The words of sages are actually "wordless words," intended to lead people to comprehend what lies beyond language.

What lies beyond language does not belong to sound, so if practitioners are clouded by worldly knowledge, it is as if they are deaf and cannot hear it. What lies beyond language does not belong to form, being vast and indistinct, as if one were blind and could not see it. Nor does it belong to concepts—silent and deep, it is difficult to articulate, as if one were mute.

Only the deaf do not cling to sound, only the blind do not cling to form, and only the mute do not cling to words. This illustrates that true enlightenment requires transcending all constraints of sensory perception.

This passage discusses common cognitive obstacles in spiritual practice. Just as the deaf cannot hear sounds, the blind cannot see colors, and the mute cannot speak, practitioners who are bound by sensory perceptions and conceptual thinking will struggle to comprehend the true Dao (the Way).

Specifically, those who cannot "hear" are actually deaf to the essence of Dao, the truth of things, and their own intrinsic nature; those who cannot "see" are actually blind to the manifestations of Dao, the appearances of things, and their own forms; those who cannot "speak" are actually mute when it comes to expressing Dao's profound meaning, the names and characteristics of things, and their own self-expression. These limitations all stem from attachment to external sounds, forms, and names, preventing genuine realization of Dao.

Master Guan Yinzi (an important Daoist figure and disciple of Laozi) further points out: People only recognize that false gains contain real losses, but fail to see that true gains may also conceal genuine losses; they only understand that superficial correctness contains fundamental errors, but overlook that essential truths may also harbor real mistakes. Like gold dust—though precious—becomes an obstruction when it enters the eye. Practitioners often mistake illusions for reality and superficial phenomena for ultimate truth, unaware that even attachment to "truth" itself can become an obstacle to comprehending the great Dao.

This scripture primarily teaches practitioners to transcend attachments to sensory phenomena and conceptual distinctions between "gain" and "loss," "right" and "wrong," in order to truly realize the Dao.

Master Guan Yinzi (a Daoist figure) said that discussing the Great Dao (Dao) is like speaking of dreams. Those who recount dreams may describe seeing treasures of gold and jade, exquisite vessels, or rare birds and beasts—the speaker can articulate these visions yet cannot physically present them to listeners; the audience may hear the descriptions but cannot truly obtain these things. Only those skilled in listening refrain from clinging to superficial words or debating right and wrong.

Those who attain true enlightenment are like waking from a dream, realizing that all they saw in the dream was delusion and inversion, mere illusions fabricated by consciousness. Yet those still unenlightened believe they comprehend all teachings and expound profound truths to others—in reality, they are merely speaking of dreams within a dream. Hence the saying, "Discussing the Dao is like speaking of dreams."

For example, speaking of dreams within a dream—dreaming of gold and jade treasures, towering mountains, or deep jade caverns—this symbolizes how the Dao, as described in the Lingbao scriptures (key Daoist texts), is mysteriously profound and boundless. Dreaming of countless jade vessels and golden utensils represents the Dao’s wondrous capacity to benefit all beings and accomplish myriad virtuous deeds. Dreaming of the Jade Crow and Moon Hare, or the Tortoise, Phoenix, Dragon, and Tiger, employs the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) to illustrate the subtle workings of Yin-Yang transformation.

The dreamer can only describe the dream’s visions but cannot produce the dreamt objects—just as sages cannot directly present the Dao to seekers. The listener hears the descriptions but cannot obtain the objects, symbolizing how Daoist disciples must rely on a master’s guidance to awaken their inner realization rather than seeking external acquisition. Only those with profound wisdom can grasp the Dao’s (Dao) and Virtue’s (De) mysteries—free from attachment to words or debates over the sages’ "speech beyond speech"—ultimately awakening to the truth beyond language.

This passage elucidates the essence of attaining the Dao through cultivation. Master Guan Yinzi (a pivotal Daoist figure) states: Those who cultivate the Dao must embody the Way (Dao) with perfect integration, uphold Virtue (De) with rectitude, treat others with equanimity, and handle affairs with discernment.

Those who truly comprehend the Dao need not deliberate cultivation to reach the sage's realm. Such realization does not arise through debate or forced effort, but emerges naturally through meticulous study of scriptures (Jing) and profound contemplation. Every individual inherently possesses this complete awakening—the key lies in sustaining it.

Concretely: Internally, one must maintain a mind of serene non-action (Wuwei), free and unbound by external distractions; externally, one should embody humility and gentleness, avoiding contention. Applying this awakened awareness to benefit all beings—performing good deeds without seeking reward—is the proper application of Virtue (De).

Practitioners must regard all people with equanimity, without distinctions of nobility or baseness, wealth or poverty, beauty or plainness, male or female, extending compassionate kindness universally. Taking enlightened sincerity as the foundation and sublime Virtue (De) as its dynamic function, one may then handle all matters with effortless mastery.

The passage concludes with the Daoist journey of Ge Hong (the renowned Eastern Jin dynasty alchemist). Though of ordinary aptitude initially, his devotion to longevity practices led him to seek out accomplished adepts. Eventually, he encountered the authentic master Zheng Yin (courtesy name Siyuan), gaining access to precious Daoist scriptures (Jing) and learning the arts of elixir ingestion and supreme Daoist methods. This illustrates that sincere seekers, regardless of humble origins, may encounter enlightened teachers and receive genuine transmission.

This passage is the preface written by Ge Hong (courtesy name Zhichuan), a renowned Daoist master of the Eastern Jin dynasty, for the Wenshi Zhenjing (Scripture of Perfect Beginning). It expresses his reverence and insights regarding this classic. The "Perfected Yin" mentioned refers to Yin Xi, the Guardian of the Pass, traditionally believed to have requested Laozi to compose the Daode Jing. The Wenshi Zhenjing is attributed to him.

Ge Hong poetically describes the experience of studying this scripture: like ingesting immortal elixirs, one breathes in the mysterious Qi (vital energy) of the Purple Clarity (the highest celestial realm in Daoism). He treasures this nine-chapter classic as a supreme treasure, reciting it repeatedly, safeguarding it, and paying homage to it. Through a series of metaphors, he explains core Daoist concepts: "cosmos" symbolizes the Dao (the Way) itself, "pillar" upholds heaven and earth, "pinnacle" represents the sage's supreme status, "tally" corresponds to human spirit and soul, "mirror" reflects the original mind, "spoon" signifies nourishment, "cauldron" embodies creation, "tokens" denote all things, and "medicine" implies holistic regulation.

He portrays the transcendent experience of reading: as if riding a flying leaf through the primordial chaos or floating on a vast ocean with a horizontal staff; at times dwelling in golden and jade celestial palaces, at others wielding seals that awe ghosts and deities; feeling both the lightness of phoenix-riding and the intensity of wrestling fierce beasts; now bathing in emerald waters of purity, now lost in crimson-clouded dreams. These sensations reveal the mystical realm of Daoist cultivation—the "chaotic primordial truth" (the fundamental principle of undifferentiated origin)—a state beyond the reach of ordinary practitioners or Confucian scholars.

Ge Hong emphasizes the scripture's nature: it can be revered but is hard to ascend, savored but difficult to grasp, referenced but challenging to contemplate, aligned with but ineffable. These may be the words of those who forget worldly matters and transcend mundanity, or the insights of those who sever conventional wisdom and equalize Yin-Yang. He concludes with wonder: Why is it so exalted? Why so vast? And yet why so simple?—indicating his personal attainment of the true transmission. The colophon notes the date as the first day of the fifth month in the second year of Xianhe (327 CE), inscribed by Ge Hong Zhichuan of Danyang (present-day Zhenjiang region in Jiangsu).