《文子纘義》Vol. 7

In the seventh volume of Wenzi Zuanyi, the chapter "Subtle Illumination" discusses the profound characteristics of the Dao (the Way). Laozi states: The Dao can manifest as softness or strength, as yin or yang, as obscure and subtle or bright and evident. It encompasses all of heaven and earth and responds to infinite transformations. Those with shallow understanding perceive only its surface, while those with deep insight grasp its essence; superficial knowledge remains external, whereas refined realization penetrates to the core.

Here, a profound question is posed: Those who truly understand the Dao feel as though they do not truly know it, while those who believe they understand it have not truly grasped it. This is because the Dao cannot be perceived through ordinary senses—what is heard with the ears is not the true Dao, what is seen with the eyes is not the true Dao, and what is described with words is even less so. Just as everyone knows what goodness is, this very "knowing" renders goodness impure. Thus, the truly wise do not indulge in empty talk, while those who love to lecture often lack genuine wisdom.

Du Daojian, in his commentary, explains that "subtle illumination" refers to this mysterious nature of the Dao. True realization does not rely on eyes and ears but comes from the mind's communion with the heavenly Dao. Only then can one encompass all things and respond to endless transformations. This state cannot be forced through intellect; only by maintaining the humility of "knowing that one does not know," refraining from unnecessary speech and deliberate action, can one approach the true essence of the Dao.

Wenzi asked Laozi: Can one use refined words to express the Dao? Laozi replied: The key lies in understanding the nature of words. Those who truly understand words do not cling to them. Just as fishermen get their clothes wet and hunters must run swiftly—not because they enjoy it, but because they must—so too the highest truths transcend words, and the most fundamental actions transcend form. Superficial people endlessly debate trivialities. Words have their purpose, and actions have their root. Precisely because the great Dao is ineffable, ordinary people fail to understand us.

In his commentary on this dialogue, Du Daojian notes: The Dao itself cannot be spoken; what can be spoken is already a concrete thing. When Wenzi asked whether refined words could express the Dao, Laozi responded that the key was to grasp the essence of words, thereby reaching the state where "speaking is not speaking, and not speaking is speaking." Those who cling to the surface of words, like fishermen and hunters, argue over minor details—how could they engage in deep conversation with those who transcend words and form?

Wenzi then asked whether governing a state also had its principles. Laozi answered with the metaphor of pulling a cart: The one in front calls out "xiéxǔ" (a work chant), and those behind respond—this is the song of coordinated effort. Though....

This passage primarily discusses the art of governance and the essence of the Dao.

Regarding statecraft, the text observes: Though the music of Zheng and Wei may be pleasing to the ear, it pales in significance compared to the Dao of governance. The key to ruling a nation lies in ritual propriety rather than ornate rhetoric. Overly intricate laws breed thieves instead of preventing them. Those who govern should emulate heaven and earth—just as heaven speaks not yet the seasons revolve, and earth remains silent yet all things flourish. Laozi employs the metaphor of chariot-pulling to illustrate governance: the coordinated movement between front and rear resembles how sages follow natural patterns. True statecraft resides in the fundamentals of ritual, not superficial embellishments.

Concerning the nature of the Dao, the text states: The Dao has no fixed form, yet serves as the standard for all things. Like mountains yielding timber—the wood cannot match the mountain's vastness, the mountain cannot equal the nourishing clouds and rain, the clouds cannot compare to yin-yang harmony, and yin-yang itself stems from the Dao's primordial source. Formless and imageless, the Dao gives birth to heaven, earth, and the myriad creatures. Sages who observe these transformative patterns comprehend the Dao's profound mystery.

On governance and moral transformation, the text emphasizes: Sages implementing education must examine both beginnings and endings. When people excessively pursue book learning, virtue declines; overcalculation erodes benevolence; reliance on contracts weakens trust; dependence on cleverness forfeits simplicity. Like zithers that cannot sound themselves yet produce music through strings, or axles that cannot turn alone yet move wheels through connection—true governance understands that silent forces constitute the root, and motionless centers hold the key. Higher and lower realms each follow their proper Dao; forced alteration brings chaos. Cultivating virtue requires moderation—excessive pursuit of minor goodness damages the great Dao, extreme argumentation harms governance, and harshness injures De (Virtue). The finest governance is generous and harmonious; the truest loyalty returns to unadorned simplicity.

This passage from Wenzi Zuanyi expounds the wisdom of governance and personal conduct. Laozi states that when rulers excessively rely on legal contracts and mechanical methods to govern, it signifies a departure from the natural Dao (the Way), leading to the decline of genuine benevolence and integrity. A sovereign governs through ministers just as a zither produces sound through its strings or a wheel travels far with its spokes—only by grasping the essentials can one properly rule the world.

Establishing collective punishment laws breeds resentment among the people, while policies that diminish noble ranks cause meritorious officials to rebel. Those who only understand bureaucratic documents fail to grasp the root of order and chaos, and those skilled in military formations remain ignorant of the subtleties of courtly decision-making. The sage foresees fortune and calamity even within the palace gates and contemplates potential dangers before they arise. Foolish individuals, however, are often beguiled by petty gains while neglecting great harms. Thus, one must weigh advantages and disadvantages—the greatest benevolence lies in cherishing the people, and the highest wisdom lies in recognizing talent and assigning appropriate roles. When the ruler loves the people, there will be no unjust imprisonment; when the ruler understands ministers, there will be no misgovernment.

Governance should not involve excessive meddling, nor should laws be frequently altered. Constant policy shifts stir public discontent and alienate loyal officials—these are calamities invited by the ruler himself. The sage perceives omens in imperceptible signs, thus possessing the ability to foresee the future.

A flooding river does not overflow for more than three days; a raging storm does not last a full day. Those who lack accumulated virtue (De) yet remain unworried will soon face disaster. Maintaining vigilance ensures prosperity, while blind optimism leads to ruin. Hence, the truly wise can overcome the strong with the weak and transform misfortune into blessing. The Dao may seem empty, yet its application never runs dry.

A state’s tyranny is like a flooding river or a violent storm—it cannot endure. Only those who remain alert and adaptable can reverse crises. Serenity and harmony are human nature, while ritual propriety and rules are guidelines for conduct. Understanding human nature allows one to cultivate the self without violating the Dao of Heaven; comprehending principles ensures appropriate actions. A single command can harmonize the masses, and grasping the fundamentals enables one to respond to myriad changes—this is the art of governance. Knowing when to act and how to proceed, understanding what to rely on and when to stop—this is true wisdom.

This passage explains how the human mind influences fortune and misfortune. When people attain noble reputation and praise, it stems from the power of inner cultivation; whereas attracting slander and blame results from internal failings. Words spoken are like water poured out—actions ripple from near to far. Worldly affairs are often difficult to accomplish yet easily ruined, just as reputations are hard to establish but simple to destroy. People frequently dismiss minor misfortunes and overlook subtle matters, only to eventually brew great calamities.

Fortune and misfortune actually share the same origin, just as benefits and harms often accompany each other. Without exceptionally refined discernment, distinguishing them is profoundly difficult. Thus, wise contemplation is the key to navigating fortune and misfortune, while movement and stillness in action form the pivot determining advantage and harm—both must be carefully observed.

Heavenly principle and human desire coexist within the same heart; the distinction between noble persons and petty individuals lies in personal choice. The same situation yields different outcomes—grasping fundamental principles to respond to infinite changes is called "technique" (shu), while recognizing momentum and knowing when to stop is called "Dao" (the Way). Words emerge from the mouth, actions arise from the heart; fortune and misfortune, benefit and harm follow like shadows and echoes. Without supreme wisdom, who could clearly discern them? How could one not examine their words and deeds, or carefully attend to their inner state?

Laozi said people understand the crux of order and chaos, yet fail to comprehend the fundamental method for preserving life. Therefore, sages study worldly affairs to establish strategies and adapt plans according to circumstances. Sages skillfully employ transformations between yin-yang, hardness-softness, and strength-weakness, adjusting actions with the times and achieving merit based on conditions. Observing an affair's development allows foreseeing its outcome; examining one phenomenon grants insight into its mutations. Acting upon omens and responding in accordance with patterns, they thus navigate life without ever encountering true adversity.

Worldly matters fall into four categories: what can be said but not done; what can be done but not said; what's easy to attempt but hard to accomplish; and what's difficult to achieve yet easily ruined. Actions involving decisive choices can be done but not spoken; hypocritical deceptions can be said but not enacted. Concrete affairs are easy to undertake yet hard to complete, while establishing reputation is difficult to achieve but simple to destroy. These four situations receive special attention from sages and represent the discerning vision of the wise.

Eras alternate between order and chaos, but governance quality depends on human effort. Those who understand the keys to order yet lack methods for preserving life err in humanity, not the times. Sages adjust actions with the era's momentum, observe patterns of change, and practice these principles lifelong without distress. How could those holding governance authority ever permit themselves negligence?

Laozi teaches that those who cultivate the Dao must pay attention to subtle details and act with precise timing. Just as an archer remains vigilant through a hundred shots to prevent misfortune from arising, calculating blessings often proves futile, while contemplating potential disasters helps avoid them. When frost strikes on the same day, the prepared remain unharmed—a fool with precautions achieves the same result as a wise person. Accumulating virtuous thoughts builds fortune, while harboring resentment invites calamity. People know how to remedy disasters but fail to understand how to prevent them altogether. In truth, preventing misfortune is far easier than repairing its aftermath. Yet today, people neglect proactive prevention, busying themselves only with post-disaster solutions—rendering even divine assistance ineffective.

The origins of misfortune are ever-changing. Sages withdraw into seclusion to evade harm, quietly awaiting the right moment (shiji). The ignorant, unaware of the principles of fortune and misfortune, act recklessly and fall into punishment—even exhaustive precautions cannot fully protect them. Thus, the wise first avoid calamity before seeking gain, first distance themselves from disgrace before pursuing fame. Sages act before events take shape, never obsessing over what is already decided. Hence, misfortune cannot touch them, nor can slander or praise taint them.

Supplementary explanation: Cultivating the Dao requires attention to detail and seizing the right moment—this is the beginning of caution. A fool with preparation achieves the same as a sage. If one cannot eliminate misfortune before it arises, seeking help afterward leaves even immortals powerless. Therefore, the wise prioritize avoiding harm and disgrace, placing fame and profit afterward without force. Thus, misfortune cannot reach them, and criticism or praise cannot stain them.

Laozi speaks of the way of conduct: The mind must be meticulous, ambition vast, wisdom rounded, behavior upright, talent comprehensive, and action refined. A meticulous mind remains alert before misfortune strikes, exercising caution and restraining desires. Vast ambition embraces the world, unifying diverse customs like a hub gathering all directions. Rounded wisdom flows endlessly like a spring, spreading in all directions without exhaustion. Upright behavior stands firm—pure and untainted, unchanged by poverty or indulgence in success. Comprehensive talent balances civil and martial skills, movement and stillness, with appropriate actions. Refined action grasps the essential to govern the multitude, simplifying complexity and mastering motion through stillness (yi jian yu fan, yi jing zhi dong).

This scripture primarily discusses the path of self-cultivation and governance, emphasizing several key points regarding personal refinement and political wisdom:

First, it outlines six essentials for personal cultivation: one's aspirations should be lofty yet thoughts meticulous (where "meticulous thoughts" refers to thorough consideration); wisdom should be flexible yet conduct upright ("upright conduct" means adhering to principles); abilities should be diverse yet affairs handled with simplicity ("simplicity" indicates focus on essentials). The sages would act upon even the smallest virtuous deed and correct even the most minor fault. They required no assistance from spirit-mediums (ancient shamans who communicated with spirits), for their utmost sincerity alone could commune with deities and spirits.

Next, it contrasts wisdom and folly: foolish people, inherently lacking wisdom, greedily pursue excess and end up thwarted at every turn. Governing people through righteous teachings leads easily to success, while using corrupt teachings inevitably brings failure. Yet contemporary fools abandon the easily successful righteous path, stubbornly choosing the doomed path of corruption.

The text cites Laozi's perspective: the omens of fortune and misfortune are often subtle and hard to discern. A sage ruler administers rewards and punishments not from personal motives but for the state's benefit. Those aligned with the Dao's righteousness are called noble persons, while those who deviate from it are petty individuals. Ancient sages, once understanding a principle, would not lightly discard it, whereas people today abandon principles without contemplating them. Finally, two historical anecdotes illustrate the importance of recognizing subtle signs: when King Zhou of Shang used ivory chopsticks for meals, the virtuous minister Jizi wept, foreseeing the omen of ruin through extravagance; when Lu State employed figurines in burials, Confucius sighed, predicting this would lead to the evil custom of human sacrifice.

(Note: "Ivory chopsticks" symbolize extravagance; "figurines" refer to pottery dolls—Confucius believed their use in burials would encourage the practice of live human sacrifice.)

This passage expounds the wisdom of governance and personal conduct.

By observing the beginnings of things, one can foresee their outcomes. The signs of fortune and misfortune often manifest at the inception of events, which enlightened rulers should discern clearly. Rewards and punishments are vital instruments of sovereign power—they must serve the state's interests rather than personal gain. The distinction between noble persons and petty individuals lies in prioritizing righteousness over profit. The highest form of governance achieves order without exertion; the middling approach labors yet avoids exhaustion; the worst method grows increasingly burdensome the more one governs. Just as Jizi foresaw the fall of the Shang dynasty upon seeing ivory chopsticks, and Confucius lamented a state's decline upon witnessing funerary figurines, some nations reveal their doomed fate long before their actual demise.

Laozi said: Benevolence is what people cherish, and righteousness is what they honor. Yet some who were revered met with personal ruin and national collapse because their actions were untimely. Those who understand virtue alone without grasping adaptive strategies cannot attain true mastery. The Five Emperors era revered Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue), the Three Sovereigns period practiced benevolence and righteousness, while the Five Hegemons relied on military force. Applying imperial governance methods during the hegemonic age would be profoundly anachronistic. Thus, standards of good and evil shift—praise or blame depends on prevailing customs, and the appropriateness of actions hinges on their historical context. One must comprehend both heavenly principles and human affairs to navigate the world successfully. Understanding cosmic patterns without grasping human relationships leaves one unable to interact with people; knowing worldly matters without apprehending the Dao prevents enlightenment. Those stubbornly clinging to personal views will be battered by reality; those enslaved by external things become trapped in the cyclical transformations of Yin-Yang.

The truly enlightened appear conventional externally while remaining immutable internally. Outward conformity helps understand human affairs, while inner constancy preserves one's essential nature. With steadfast principles at heart and flexible adaptability in conduct, such persons adjust to changing circumstances without ever becoming trapped. The Dao's preciousness lies in its dragon-like capacity for transformation. Fixation on any single mode of action—no matter how skillfully executed—constricts minor details while obstructing comprehension of the greater Way. The supreme Dao is empty, still, and Wuwei (non-acting)—it neither deliberately interferes with external matters nor acts for private gain. Thus when affairs align with the Dao, this occurs not through the Dao's deliberate action but through its spontaneous functioning.

Those who truly attain the Dao can transform like dragons and tigers—this constitutes the sage's realm. They adapt to environmental changes while eternally preserving their original pure nature within.

Laozi is revered as the "Dragon-like Sage" because he truly comprehended the essence of the Dao (the Way). The Dao is formless and empty, neither clinging to external objects nor fixating on internal self-awareness. When the Dao is universally practiced, the world naturally becomes enlightened.

Heaven and earth sustain all things, the sun and moon illuminate the world, the dual energies of Yin-Yang harmonize the climate, rain and dew nourish the land, and Dao-De (Virtue/Power) support all beings—all these originate from the same harmonious source. Thus, those who can uphold the vast sky will surely stand firm on the earth; those whose hearts are as clear as a mirror can perceive truth, and those who establish great peace must dwell in a realm of radiant integrity. Those who reach profound depths can shine as brightly as the sun and moon. The formless Dao gives birth to all tangible things, so the perfected person (one who has attained the highest state of cultivation) anchors their spirit in the Lingtai (the abode of the mind) and returns to the primordial state of all things. Observing in what seems like emptiness, listening in silence—it is precisely in this emptiness that one awakens alone, and in this stillness that one contemplates alone. True application manifests as non-deliberate action; only by not clinging to use can one truly employ it. True knowing manifests as non-seeking; only by not fixating on knowledge can one truly understand.

Harmony is the fundamental principle that pervades the world. The heavens cover, and the earth supports—both follow the same law of harmony. The ruler, with the round heavens above and the square earth below, dwells in the Mingtang (the ancient hall of governance) to establish peace. How could such harmony be lost? The perfected person returns to the primordial state of all things and must gain unique insight within emptiness. Thus, it is said: only by attaining the state of "non-use" can one truly apply, and only by reaching the state of "non-knowing" can one truly know—this is supreme harmony.

The Dao is the law all things follow; De (Virtue/Power) is the foundation for life's growth; humaneness is the expression of accumulated kindness; righteousness is the inner measure that aligns with the needs of others. When the Dao recedes, De arises; when De declines, humaneness and righteousness emerge. In ancient times, the Dao was practiced without speaking of De; in the middle ages, De was upheld without deliberate pursuit; in recent times, people tremble lest they lose humaneness and righteousness. Thus, a noble person cannot stand without righteousness, and losing righteousness means losing the root of existence. A petty person cannot survive without profit, and losing profit means losing the means to live. The noble person fears losing Dao and righteousness; the petty person fears losing benefits. Their concerns reveal the distinction between fortune and misfortune.

The differentiation of Dao, De, humaneness, and righteousness leads to the distinctions between the Sage-Kings, Emperors, Kings, and Hegemons (four levels of governance), a result of changing times. The Dao guides, De nurtures, humaneness bestows kindness, and righteousness regulates. Though the governance of Yao, Shun, Yu, and Tang differed, the principle of each fulfilling their proper roles remained the same. Those who practiced the great Dao without speaking of De belonged to the realm of the Sage-Kings; those who upheld De without deliberate pursuit were Emperors; those who feared losing humaneness and righteousness were Kings. When righteousness loses its legitimacy, cunning and deceit arise.

In the Wenzi Zuanyi, Laozi expounds several profound principles:

Regarding the dynamics of advantage and harm, he reveals how worldly matters often contradict surface appearances. Just as attempting to cure a patient by giving inappropriate medicine—feeding hot-natured foods to those with dampness disorders or cold remedies to feverish patients with thirst—what common people consider "nourishing care" becomes precisely what skilled physicians recognize as disease-causing. Those things that delight the eyes and gratify the heart are often pursued by fools but avoided by the wise. The sage (one who has attained the Dao) first navigates contradictions to ultimately achieve harmony, whereas ordinary people chase superficial harmony only to fall into contradiction. Thus, the gateway between calamity and fortune, the transformation between advantage and harm, requires clear discernment.

On the value of humaneness and righteousness (renyi), Laozi states that even if one establishes meritorious achievements but violates these principles, they will still be met with suspicion; conversely, one who makes mistakes but upholds them can maintain trust. Humaneness and righteousness constitute the fundamental standard for conduct, the noblest qualities under heaven. Even with perfect strategy that resolves crises and preserves the state, if these principles are abandoned, the achievement will ultimately fail. Rather than uttering a hundred empty words of flattery, it's better to truly embody the way of humaneness and righteousness. Here, "humaneness and righteousness" does not refer to Confucian ethical norms, but to the natural virtue (De) that aligns with the Dao (cosmic principle).

Using water flow as metaphor for ruler-minister relations: only by flowing downward can water gather into vast rivers and seas; only by humbly attending to ministers can a ruler become truly perceptive. When the ruler doesn't compete with ministers for credit, the way of governance flows naturally. Like the roots and branches of a tree—there has never existed a case where weak roots sustained flourishing foliage. True statecraft lies in letting gentlemen (virtuous persons) and petty men (common folk) each find their proper place: gentlemen responsible for moral transformation, petty men for productive labor, thus enabling society's functions to operate harmoniously.

In governing a state, when a ruler governs with benevolent virtue (De), the people live in peace and contentment; but under tyrannical rule, the people yearn for its downfall. The truly wise ruler is always humble and non-contentious (Wuwei), thus ministers naturally remain loyal. Just as deep roots allow a tree to flourish, a stable foundation ensures a nation's enduring peace.

Laozi said a loving father's care for his children arises from innate nature, not for reward - similarly, the enlightened ruler nurtures the people purely from genuine heart. Calculated generosity seeking repayment backfires instead. Only by aligning with the people's true interests can one win their hearts. Observing beginnings reveals endings.

Parent-child bonds stem from natural law, as does a ruler's care for subjects. The moment transactional expectations arise, this sacred connection corrupts. Governing according to people's welfare naturally garners support; implementing benevolent policies wins hearts spontaneously. Done thus, would unfilial children or disloyal ministers exist?

Human relationships thrive through Dao-inspired righteousness, while communities grow strong through unity. The broader virtuous governance spreads, the farther its authority extends; the shallower Dao's implementation, the narrower force's control. When rulers cherish all under heaven, people bond through shared righteousness, fostering loyalty and filial piety. Factionalism breeds opportunists - this determines national survival, demanding utmost discernment.

Wealth gained unrighteously yet withheld inevitably brings calamity. Being neither helpful to others nor beneficial to oneself resembles the owl's fatal doting (Note: Legend says owl chicks eventually devour their parent). Better to know contentment than insatiable greed; excessive sharpness cannot endure. Virtue (De) and Dao intermingle as yin-yang (Yin-Yang) interdepend - such is the way of all things. Blessings approach with auspicious signs, disasters with ominous portents. Seeing good omens without virtuous action prevents blessings; encountering bad signs while cultivating goodness averts calamity. Gain and loss share origins, fortune and misfortune neighbor each other - only sages discern clearly. Thus misfortune conceals blessings while prosperity hides disasters - who comprehends such mysteries?

Fortune and misfortune generate and follow each other like shadows. Doubled wealth eventually dissipates doubly; accumulating goodness without wise application resembles raising owl chicks - ultimately self-destructive. The pivot between benefit and harm often turns on a single thought.

This passage expounds principles of governing a nation and cultivating personal virtue. It begins by stating that the profound truths between heaven and earth can only be fully comprehended by sages. When individuals are about to fall ill, they often first crave rich flavors; when states approach ruin, they often first reject loyal ministers. Thus when disease reaches the marrow, even skilled physicians cannot cure it; when a nation nears collapse, even honest counsel cannot save it.

Only after cultivating oneself can one govern the people; only by managing one's household well can one assume official duties. Therefore it is said: Self-cultivation purifies one's De (Virtue), household management makes De abundant, and state governance makes De flourish. The people's livelihood depends on food and clothing—only actions meeting their basic needs constitute true achievement, otherwise efforts are wasted. When endeavors fail due to poor timing, adjust methods; when they fail despite favorable conditions, change approaches. Opportunities always return—this is the pattern of the Dao (the Way).

Nations stand through their people, and people survive through grain—this is eternal truth. Only when the people have sufficient food and clothing can they thrive; otherwise all efforts are futile. Without established achievements, De cannot grow. Enlightened emperors enrich their people, hegemons merely expand territories, while failing states only fatten officials. Well-governed nations may appear less wealthy, whereas collapsing states always have empty granaries. Thus when rulers refrain from meddling, the people naturally prosper; when they practice Wuwei (non-action), the people naturally become cultivated.

Mobilizing an army of 100,000 consumes a thousand gold daily—such wars inevitably bring famine years. Therefore weapons are inauspicious objects unworthy of gentlemen's esteem. Forcibly reconciling deep hatreds always leaves lingering resentment—why pursue such unvirtuous acts? In ancient times, nearby people were drawn without empty words, and distant people came without commands. Aligning with the people's desires brings harmony, sharing their protection brings stability, and uniting with their hearts brings wisdom. Gaining the people's strength enriches the state; winning their hearts brings renown. Actions may provoke enemies; words may invite disaster. Never rush to speak first—simply follow and echo. Whispered words travel a thousand miles—speech is the source of calamity, the tongue a trigger mechanism. Words wrongly spoken cannot be retrieved even by four galloping horses.

Throughout history, what remains unchanged amid order and chaos are territorial boundaries, while what differs lies in ruler-minister relations. The prosperous Yao-Shun era contrasts sharply with the Warring States period's suffering masses—this stands as clear proof.

The ancient Daoist master Zhong Huangzi (a realized adept) once said: Heaven has five directions (east, west, south, north, center), earth contains the Five Phases (metal, wood, water, fire, earth), music manifests through five tones (gong, shang, jiao, zhi, yu), flavors arise from five tastes (sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty), colors display five hues (blue, red, yellow, white, black), and humanity likewise divides into five grades. Thus between heaven and earth emerge twenty-five types of people.

The five supreme categories are: Divine beings (those who comprehend celestial mysteries), Perfected beings (those united with the Dao), Daoist practitioners (those cultivated in the Way), Ultimate beings (those perfected in virtue), and Sages (those complete in moral excellence). The next five classes include: Virtuous persons (of noble character), Worthies (of outstanding talent and virtue), Wise persons (of extraordinary wisdom), Kind persons (of benevolent heart), and Eloquent persons (skilled in debate). The middle five comprise: Impartial persons (fair and selfless), Loyal persons (trustworthy and reliable), Honest persons (truthful and credible), Righteous persons (devoted to justice), and Courteous persons (observant of ritual propriety). The subsequent five categories are: Scholars (learned and enlightened), Artisans (master craftsmen), Foresters (guardians of mountains and marshes), Farmers (tillers of soil), and Merchants (traders of goods). The lowest five types include: Common folk (ordinary people), Servants (lowly bondsmen), Fools (ignorant and unenlightened), Villains (malicious in intent), and Petty persons (base in character).

The gap between the highest and lowest categories resembles the difference between humans and livestock. Petty persons who violate morality are like clothed oxen and horses. The distinction between Sages and Perfected beings lies in this: Sages must rely on eyes to see, ears to hear, mouths to speak, and feet to move through the world; whereas Perfected beings understand without looking, know without hearing, arrive without walking, and administer justice without speaking. Thus the methods Sages use to influence the world are unnecessary for Perfected beings; the means Worthies employ to rectify society are disregarded by Sages.

The so-called Dao (cosmic primordial principle) has no front or back, left or right—all things interpenetrate equally at this level, where absolute right and wrong cease to exist. Zhong Huangzi was likely an ancient Perfected being who attained the Dao. His classification of humanity into five grades and twenty-five types ranges from Divine beings at the summit to petty persons at the base. The Sage's attainment falls short of the Perfected being's, just as the Worthy's attainment falls short of the Sage's—all differences arising from varying depths of Dao-realization that determine their respective ranks.