《道德真經四子古道集解》Vol. 2

This scripture uses the properties of water to illustrate principles of governance and self-cultivation. Water always flows downward to fill what is lacking (the Tongxuan Jing states that water naturally balances fullness and emptiness, allowing all under heaven to draw from it), mirroring how good governance should skillfully address imbalances.

Water neither complains when it increases nor when it decreases (Tongxuan Jing notes that water’s ebb and flow never exceed moderation), teaching us to act within our capacity. Water can penetrate metal and stone (Tongxuan Jing says its force pierces the hardest substances, surpassing all things in the world), reminding us to act with precise timing (Tongxuan Jing adds that water nourishes all things without distinction of priority). Precisely because water does not contend with the myriad things (Tongxuan Jing explains that water achieves the highest virtue of heaven and earth through its softness and moistening nature), it incurs no resentment (Tongxuan Jing states that water follows the Dao, accomplishing all things effortlessly; vast and boundless, it nurtures all yet seeks no reward).

Chapter Nine discusses the principle that "a full vessel will overflow" (this passage in the Tongxuan Jing warns that rulers of decadent eras, given to extravagance and indulgence, inevitably face ruin. The Nanhua Jing notes that ancient sages remained vigilant, knowing wealth and pride could disturb the mind). Carrying a brimming bowl of water (Nanhua Jing observes that excess inevitably spills) is less wise than knowing when to stop (Tongxuan Jing: Subtle Illumination chapter advises that forcing perfection is inferior to restraint). Over-sharpening a blade (Nanhua Jing cautions that extreme sharpness invites breakage) makes it hard to preserve (Tongxuan Jing states that conspicuous锋芒 cannot endure, while the Chongxu Jing adds that obsession with gain is inferior to timely moderation).

A house filled with gold and jade (Tongxuan Jing remarks that ancient sage-kings, though wealthy, never indulged—thus their reigns endured, while later decadents perished) cannot be safeguarded (Tongxuan Jing teaches that remaining humble in high position, full yet undiminished, is the way to preserve riches and honor. Late-era rulers failed this, losing all under heaven). Pride in wealth and status (Tongxuan Jing notes that those born noble grow arrogant, those born rich grow wasteful) marks the downfall of decadent rulers.

Those who are wealthy and noble yet arrogant and extravagant will ultimately bring about their own downfall. These calamities are self-inflicted. The Tongxuan Jing states: "Those who dwell in wealth and nobility yet fail to examine themselves with wisdom, still hoping to avoid mistakes and misfortunes, are exceedingly rare."

When one's achievements are complete and fame is at its peak (the Tongxuan Jing points out: "When Heaven and Earth reach their zenith, they reverse; after fullness comes decline—this is evident in the movement of the sun and moon. The sun begins to decline once it reaches its zenith at noon, and the moon wanes after it becomes full—how much more so for humans?"), it is time to withdraw, for this aligns with the natural order. The Tongxuan Jing emphasizes: "When rulers grow arrogant, they become indulgent; indulgence leads to extravagance, and those who are extravagant never escape destruction—this has been true since ancient times." Thus, withdrawing after success is the inevitable principle of the Dao's movement.

Chapter 10, "Carrying the Hun and Po" (this section resonates with the Zhuangzi's "Heavenly Dao" chapter, discussing the six qualities of emptiness, stillness, softness, gentleness, simplicity, and purity—all manifestations of the Dao. The state of cosmic balance and perfected virtue was the goal of ancient sage-kings in cultivating their minds. They governed the world through emptiness and non-action [Wuwei], appearing to do nothing yet accomplishing everything. The divine beings, perfected beings, ultimate beings, and sages of antiquity all embodied these six qualities, remaining untainted by the mundane and attaining the supreme virtue of union with the Dao of Heaven and Earth. Thus, they were called divine beings and sages. They safeguarded the world through the Dao of non-action, ensuring lasting peace and stability).

"Maintaining the unity of spirit and form" (the Tongxuan Jing states: "The divine beings of antiquity embodied the Dao's quality of emptiness and stillness. Emptiness is the abode of the Dao—it means the heart carries nothing external. When desires no longer occupy the mind, one reaches the ultimate state of emptiness and stillness. Cunning schemes also find no place in the heart; understanding the root of the Dao brings clarity to all things." The Zhuangzi says: "Divine beings can elevate their spirit beyond the constraints of form—this is what it means to be a true divine being"). Can one remain forever undivided? (The Zhuangzi states: "The ancients maintained upright hearts, excelled at preserving the Dao, and held fast to purity—they walked with nature. Modern people display outward courtesy but harbor chaotic minds—they walk with the mundane.").

"Gathering vital essence [Jing] to achieve softness" (the Tongxuan Jing states: "The sages of antiquity practiced the Dao's quality of softness. What appears soft is actually the Dao's strength; what seems weak is precisely the Dao's powerful function").

This passage synthesizes essential teachings from the Dao De Jing, Zhuangzi (Southern Florescence Scripture), and Wenzi (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), focusing on principles for governing states and cultivating self.

Accumulating softness can transform into strength; gathering weakness can become power. Success without accumulation is impossible. As the Zhuangzi states, the sage’s method of governance involves appointing officials according to their capacities, selecting talents to fully utilize their abilities, and acting only after thoroughly understanding the situation. With what seems like a casual wave of the hand, the people of all directions willingly submit—this is the sage’s ideal of rulership.

Should one emulate the purity and desirelessness of an infant? The Zhuangzi observes that the ancients adapted outwardly while preserving inner constancy, whereas people today are inwardly unsettled yet outwardly rigid. To clear distractions and contemplate the original mind (xuanlan, "mystic vision"), the Wenzi explains that the perfected ones (zhiren, "utmost persons") of antiquity maintained serene equanimity, free from preferences, reflecting all things like a mirror without retaining traces. Thus, they could master external phenomena without harm.

In governing a state, one should follow the ancients. The Wenzi emphasizes that the Daoist adepts (daoren, "persons of the Dao") of antiquity upheld the principle of wuwei (non-action). This does not mean passive inaction but preserving the tranquil nature, never allowing selfish desires to harm public justice or perverse thoughts to corrupt true De (Virtue). With minds empty and still, returning to simplicity, untainted by external things—this is genuine wuwei.

The Wenzi further describes how the perfected ones (zhenren, "true persons") of antiquity merged with the Dao in perfect purity (chuncui). In stillness, they resembled the closing of yin energy; in movement, the opening of yang energy—wholly attuned to natural patterns. Such a state requires prolonged embodiment of the Dao, unlike modern people who abandon the root to chase superficial knowledge.

This scripture primarily discusses the characteristics of Daoist perfected beings (zhenren, those who have attained the Dao) and virtuous persons (deren, those with complete virtue), as well as the cultivation methods to reach such states.

A perfected being can reach a state free from excessive indulgence, thereby attaining true joy. This joy is not ordinary happiness but the highest form of "ultimate bliss" (zhile). The Zhuangzi (also known as the Nanhua Jing) describes the perfected beings of ancient times as those who slept without dreams, awoke without worries, possessed a spirit (shen) so pure it never grew weary, and maintained a heart-mind so empty and serene that it perfectly aligned with the natural Dao. To remain pure and unadulterated is the fundamental method of refining the spirit. Here, "purity" refers to a spirit undisturbed by external influences, while "simplicity" means a spirit that is whole and undamaged. Only those who achieve this state of pure simplicity can be called perfected beings.

Next, the text discusses the manifestations of virtuous persons. The Wenzi (or Tongxuan Jing) states that when one compares the realm of perfected beings with the behavior of ordinary people, the latter's shallowness becomes painfully apparent. Virtuous persons comprehend the world with clarity yet do not deliberately pursue knowledge. Laozi once advised Confucius: "Straighten your body, focus your gaze, and natural harmony will arrive. Restrain your cleverness, correct your attitude, and the spirit will come to dwell within you. Virtue (De) and the Dao will manifest in you spontaneously."

Zhuangzi adds that virtuous persons do not consciously ponder while at rest, nor do they deliberately scheme when in motion. They are unattached to distinctions between right and wrong, beauty and ugliness. They are as innocent as an infant who has lost its mother, as bewildered as a traveler who has lost their way. Their wealth never runs out, yet they do not know its source; their food and drink are always sufficient, yet they do not know where it comes from. Such is the appearance of a virtuous person.

This passage emphasizes the importance of eliminating distracting thoughts and maintaining purity to achieve a natural state of unity with the Dao. Metaphors such as "a body like withered wood, a mind like dead ashes" illustrate the cultivation state of complete detachment from attachments.

In ancient times, people possessed pure hearts and acted naturally, maintaining their simple and unadorned essence. Because rulers governed with impartial selflessness, free from manipulative schemes, the common people were easily guided back to their genuine and unpretentious nature, with no one practicing deceit or fraud. Later generations, however, attempted to govern the world with cleverness and cunning, exhausting their minds yet failing to grasp the essence; they sought to manage the people with calculation and strategy, toiling fruitlessly despite their efforts.

(The Tongxuan Jing states) These six principles of preservation (referring to the qualities of Wuwei [non-action] and simplicity mentioned above) were the fundamental laws by which the ancient kings harmonized with the Dao of Heaven and governed the world through Wuwei. A ruler who could follow the Great Dao and nurture all things through non-action possessed what is called "Xuan De" (profound Virtue/Power).

(The Nanhua Jing states) To give birth to and nourish all things without claiming possession, to act without boasting of achievement, to guide the growth of all things without seeking to control—this is what is called "Xuan De."

(The Tongxuan Jing states) The sages of the great antiquity held Xuan De within their hearts, transforming the people as effortlessly as divine spirits. Without issuing commands, they could shift customs and practices, relying entirely on the transformative power of their inner Virtue. Such wordless teaching and unspoken principle—how profound and magnificent! If later generations could comprehend this truth, they would grasp the most fundamental principle of Wuwei between Heaven and Earth.

(Note: This chapter corresponds to the discussion in the Nanhua Jing's "Horse Hooves" chapter on the ancient art of governing the world effectively.)

The ancient way of governing the world differed greatly from modern methods. In those times, the people lived in natural simplicity—weaving their own clothes, cultivating their own food, all maintaining the same unadorned nature, united without forming selfish factions. This state was called "tianfang" (heavenly spontaneity). The people were guileless, free from cunning artifice.

Later, potters began boasting, "I excel at crafting vessels—my circles match the compass, my squares align with the carpenter's square." Carpenters likewise bragged, "I master woodwork—my curves follow the hook ruler, my straight lines obey the ink marker." But did the inherent nature of clay and timber truly require such rigid standards? Yet the world praised these craftsmen for their clever techniques, breeding a culture of artificial cleverness and deceit. Subsequent rulers who governed the world similarly taught people to pursue such mechanical skill in wood and clay crafts—a grave error indeed.

In antiquity, unbroken jade remained whole—who needed ceremonial gui and zhang tablets? Untouched timber stayed intact—what use were ritual wine vessels? Later artisans deliberately carved and polished, destroying natural simplicity. The Dongling Jing states: In the golden age of high antiquity, people's carriages, horses, and clothing were all plain and unadorned, so none compared themselves to others. Desires were faint, yet they found joy in labor. This was the root of good governance. But in later ages of decline, carriages, horses, and garments grew increasingly ornate, with people vying to imitate each other, abandoning honesty and simplicity, even feeling ashamed of plainness while glorifying extravagance. This trend was called "superficial splendor"—the very stepping stone to national chaos. Thus, when the Five Emperors (legendary sage rulers) began crafting elaborate chariots, palaces, and various implements, they initiated this shame of simplicity and glorification of luxury.

Thirty spokes converge upon a single hub (Tongxuan Jing states: In the ancient art of governance, craftsmen did not pursue excessive cleverness; their carts were plain and uncarved, with thirty spokes jointly supporting one hub). It is precisely because of the empty space at the hub's center that the cart becomes useful (Tongxuan Jing adds: Later craftsmen chased after bizarre techniques and wanton ingenuity, decorating carriages to extremes—years might pass without completion, adding no practical benefit, only wasteful expense).

Kneading clay to form vessels (Tongxuan Jing notes: The ancient way of governance required craftsmen to avoid excessive cleverness; their utensils were plain and unembellished) is effective precisely because of the hollow space within—this emptiness grants the vessel its purpose (Tongxuan Jing continues: Later artisans pursued strange skills and wanton craft, insisting on intricate carvings and openwork for every utensil).

This scripture primarily discusses the differences between ancient and modern lifestyles, as well as the dangers of excessive pursuit of material pleasures.

During the era of the ancient Youchao clan, people lived in tree nests and caves, eating acorns by day and resting in trees by night. Later, humans began crafting doors and windows to build houses, utilizing the "emptiness" (wu) within structures to achieve practical functionality. However, later rulers abused their power, exhausting the people's resources to construct extravagant palaces and gardens, engaging in massive construction projects—all ominous signs. The regions of Qi and Lu produced many master craftsmen skilled in architectural techniques.

While physical objects can provide practical benefits (li), excessive pursuit of them leads to the loss of the great Dao (the Way). The true Dao is formless and nameless, like uncarved wood (pu)—seemingly useless yet of great utility.

Chapter 12 quotes the Nanhua Jing (Classic of Southern Florescence) to illustrate: genuine happiness in ancient times lay in governing through wuwei (non-action). But later generations came to revere wealth, status, and longevity, pursuing comfortable lives, fine food and clothing, and sensual pleasures while despising poverty, low status, and short lifespans. Failing to attain these desires leads to anxiety, which harms both body and mind. There are five ways to lose one's original nature: dazzling colors blind the eyes, chaotic music dulls hearing, strong odors irritate the nose, rich flavors corrupt the palate, and concerns over gain and loss disturb the spirit (shen). These external indulgences—feathered ornaments, bell-and-drum music, and sumptuous feasts—all become great harms to life. This serves as a warning to rulers against indulging in sensual pleasures, lest they lose the empire.

(Note: The Tongxuan Jing, Nanhua Jing, Dongling Jing, and Chongxu Jing are all important Daoist classics. Youchao was the legendary sage who taught people to build nests for shelter. "Pu" refers to unworked wood, symbolizing the natural, authentic state.)

This passage from the Collected Explanations of the Four Ancient Masters on the True Scripture of Dao and De discusses the harms of excessive sensory indulgence. Prolonged exposure to the five dazzling colors will impair one's vision (The Tongxuan Jing's "Nine Preservations" chapter states that the first disturbance comes from colors confusing the eyes and dimming sight; the Nanhua Jing adds that fixating daily on embroidered silks' gaudy hues deludes the mind, making people neglect proper affairs—this is chaos).

Immersing in all manner of exquisite music will deafen the ears (The Tongxuan Jing identifies the second disturbance as tones disrupting hearing and dulling aural sensitivity; the Nanhua Jing similarly warns that obsession with bells, drums, and stringed instruments' melodies likewise confuses the mind and distracts from proper duties).

Overindulgence in fine flavors will numb the palate (The Tongxuan Jing describes the third disturbance as tastes corrupting the mouth and causing ulcers; the Nanhua Jing notes how assorted odors assail the nose while mixed flavors ruin taste—daily revelry in fine wines and delicacies makes people lose their fundamental nature).

Unrestrained hunting drives the spirit to frenzy (The Tongxuan Jing explains the fourth disturbance as grasping and rejecting gains and losses agitating the heart-mind, making one's nature restless. Foolish rulers delay agricultural seasons and exhaust the people's strength for hunting, even committing atrocities like raiding nests, burning forests, or draining ponds to catch fish—causing phoenixes to cease flying and qilin to disappear. The Chongxu Jing recounts a story: Handan citizens presented turtledoves to Lord Jianzi on New Year's Day, receiving lavish rewards. When a retainer asked why, Jianzi said it was for accumulating merit through life-release. The retainer pointed out: "When people know you'll free captured birds, they compete to catch more—killing far more than you save. True kindness would forbid hunting altogether. This 'merit' of capture-then-release ultimately does more harm than good").

Rare treasures corrupt virtue (The Tongxuan Jing observes how people in decadent ages prize hard-to-obtain objects, making all contend for pearls and jade. Foolish rulers tunnel mountains for gold and excavate lands seeking treasures—thereby destroying Dao and De).

This passage synthesizes wisdom from multiple Daoist classics, primarily discussing how to cultivate body and mind through restraining desires. It observes that most people in the world today are immersed in sensory pleasures (referring to visual, auditory, olfactory, and other sensual indulgences) and contentious disputes—who among them truly understands the correct path (Dao)?

The foundation of spiritual practice lies in distancing oneself from sensory temptations. Virtuous individuals (De) follow upright Qi (the pure energy aligned with the Dao of heaven), while petty people chase corrupt Qi (desire-driven energy that violates nature). Upright Qi manifests as: internally conforming to one's innate nature, externally harmonizing with moral principles, acting according to heavenly order without being constrained by external objects. Corrupt Qi, however, manifests as: indulging in delicacies, abandoning oneself to sensual pleasures, and recklessly yielding to desires without considering consequences.

Human senses constantly crave gratification—eyes long for beautiful sights, ears delight in music, noses relish fragrances, mouths savor delicious flavors. These intertwined desires trap people in obsessions with gain and loss. In truth, the cravings of eyes, ears, mouth, and nose are all governed by the mind. Only when each sense organ remains in its proper place can one realize: desires can never be fully satisfied.

Excessive pursuit of sensory pleasures brings harm: addiction to the five colors, five flavors, five tones, and five fragrances causes the seven apertures (referring to eyes, ears, nose, mouth, etc.) to compete against each other, ultimately damaging one's fundamental nature. When daily led astray by corrupt desires, depleting one's innate vital energy (heavenly harmony), one cannot even regulate their own body—how then could they govern the world?

Therefore, one must relinquish excessive sensory indulgence and choose the purity of innate nature. When this is achieved, natural disasters and human calamities will not befall them. Those who attain inner cultivation naturally forget external temptations; misfortunes vanish while blessings arrive spontaneously.

The latter section cites stories from the Nanhua Jing (i.e., Zhuangzi) about Xu You and Zizhou Zhifu to illustrate: ancient sages regarded fame, profit, and glory lightly, recognizing these as disturbances to the mind. Maintaining inner tranquility and emptiness (the Wuwei state pursued by Daoism), they could even relinquish the entire world to others. When Emperor Yao offered the empire to Xu You, Xu You declined; when offered to Zizhou Zhifu, he replied: "I could accept the throne, but I'm currently treating my melancholy illness and have no time to govern the world." If even the most precious empire wasn't worth exchanging for one's life, how much less other things? Only those who don't treat the world as important are truly fit to be entrusted with it. The story of Emperor Shun abdicating the throne conveys the same principle.

Shan Juan (an ancient recluse) said: I dwell between heaven and earth, wearing furs in winter and coarse cloth in summer. In spring I plow the fields, exercising my body through labor; in autumn I harvest, resting in contentment. I work when the sun rises and rest when it sets, wandering freely between heaven and earth with a satisfied heart. Why should I bother governing the world? It grieves me that people do not understand me, so I refuse official positions and retreat into deep mountains, where none know my whereabouts. Moreover, the rulers of the Warring States era compete for fame and profit, forgetting their own safety to the point of ruining their states, yet they take pride in this. Those who truly understand abdication entrust the world to the worthy, valuing life and self-cultivation, and thus endure long.

On "being startled by favor and disgrace (excessive concern for external judgment)":

The Chongxu Jing states: Fame is merely external, while the body is fundamental. People chase empty reputation—when they gain fame, they receive honor and glory; when they lose it, they suffer humiliation and disgrace. Honor brings comfort and joy, aligning with one's nature, while disgrace brings sorrow and pain, contradicting it.

On "valuing great calamity as one's own body":

The Chongxu Jing says: Clinging to fame burdens the body. When one is preoccupied with avoiding danger and ruin, how can they distinguish between joy and sorrow?

Why it is said "being startled by favor and disgrace":

The Nanhua Jing explains: Once people distinguish between honor and disgrace, they see the problem clearly—how can they not be cautious? Favor signifies nobility, as the wealthy and renowned are revered; disgrace signifies lowliness, as the poor and obscure are despised. Both gaining and losing favor or disgrace startle, for benefits herald blessings but also accompany disaster; losing them also startles, as blessings may turn to calamity—the two are inseparably linked. This is the meaning of "being startled by favor and disgrace."

Why it is said "valuing great calamity as one's own body":

The Tongxuan Jing states: People today consider the greatest calamity to be the shifts of profit and loss, fortune and misfortune—these must be examined clearly. The reason we face great calamity is that the heart, when filled with desire, forgets impending disaster; because we possess a body, the Tongxuan Jing says fools are deluded by small gains and forget great misfortunes.

This passage expounds the Daoist philosophy of "valuing the body." The Tongxuan Jing (also known as the Wenzi) states: "Without pursuing fame, one has no worries; without coveting profit, one avoids calamity. If one doesn't even cling to one's own body, what remains to cause anxiety?"

The ancients considered life itself to be fundamental, while wealth and status were merely external attachments. Those who truly understand the value of life will not harm their bodies for fame even when wealthy, nor burden their physical form for profit when impoverished. Modern people who inherit noble titles from ancestors yet disregard life itself—are they not deluded by fame and gain? Only those who cultivate themselves to govern the world are worthy of being entrusted with it; only those who cherish their own being to rule the world may have the world placed in their care.

The Nanhua Jing (Zhuangzi) provides two examples: When the chieftain Danfu faced invasion by the Di people, he refused to let his subjects sacrifice their lives for land, voluntarily moving to Mount Qi—and the people all followed him. Likewise, Prince Sou of Yue fled the throne three times, detesting the misfortunes brought by rulership. Both cases demonstrate that truly noble individuals value life more highly than possessing the world itself.

This passage primarily elucidates the process of cosmic formation and the essence of the Dao. Drawing upon Daoist classics such as the Chongxu Jing (Scripture of Simplicity and Vacuity) and Tongxuan Jing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), it describes the evolution from formlessness to form.

The text begins by explaining that a nation's decline stems from rulers violating the natural Dao. It then cites the "Heavenly Auspices" chapter of the Chongxu Jing to illustrate how ancient sages governed the manifest world by comprehending the Dao as expressed through the void of Yin-Yang. The phenomenal universe emerges from the formless Dao of Yin-Yang through four developmental stages: Taiyi (the inception of Shen/spirit), Taichu (the origin of primordial Qi), Taishi (the beginning of form), and Taisu (the genesis of substance). When Qi, form, and substance are present yet undifferentiated, this state is termed "Hundun" (primordial chaos).

The passage further elaborates three characteristics of the Dao: "Yi" (invisible), "Xi" (inaudible), and "Wei" (intangible). During the Taichu phase, though primordial Qi remains unseen, it generates the visible heavens and earth. In the Taiyi stage, though the workings of Shen cannot be heard, they produce celestial harmonies. The Taishi phase's essential Qi, though beyond tactile perception, gives form to cosmic structures. These all demonstrate how "being" arises from "non-being," revealing that all manifest phenomena originate from the unmanifest Dao.

This exposition unveils a core Daoist cosmological view: the Dao as formless, imageless origin creatively manifests all existence through the mechanism of "generation from nothingness." Practitioners must comprehend this formless Dao to grasp the fundamental patterns of the universe.

This passage elucidates the profound nature of the Dao (the Way), the cosmic origin and supreme principle. The Dao cannot be fully described in words, as it transcends the realm of sensory perception. The Great Dao encompasses Yin-Yang yet remains silent and formless—it has no concrete shape, color, or sound. As the Zhuangzi (Nanhua Jing) states, the Dao cannot be questioned or answered; the human mind struggles to grasp it, and words fail to articulate it.

Before heaven and earth took form, all existed in an undifferentiated state of chaos—this is the realm known as "blended into oneness." The Dao is neither high nor low, neither bright nor dim; it transcends all dualistic concepts. Vast and boundless yet without form or appearance, it appears empty yet contains all phenomena. This state is called "indistinct and elusive" (huanghu)—though invisible, inaudible, and intangible, it undeniably exists.

The Dao has neither beginning nor end; its source cannot be traced, nor its conclusion seen. The ancients comprehended the patterns of heaven, earth, and all things by observing the transformations of Yin-Yang and the Dao of emptiness. From the primordial stages of Taiyi (the state without form or image), Taichu (the beginning of Qi), Taishi (the beginning of form), to Taisu (the beginning of substance), these phases of cosmic evolution embody the fundamental laws of the Dao, known as the "Dao's guiding principles" (Daoji).

The ancient sages who truly understood governance (referred to in the Tongxuan Jing as "those skilled in ruling the world") grasped the subtle and profound principles of the Dao, comprehending the patterns of heaven, earth, and all things. This realm is so deep and unfathomable that, precisely because it defies complete understanding, we can only approximate their manner through analogies.

They moved with the caution of crossing a winter river (the Tongxuan Jing explains: this demonstrates their reluctance to act rashly, embodying the way of yielding). They maintained vigilance as if wary of surrounding neighbors (the Tongxuan Jing explains: this shows their preservation of softness, never daring to boast). They carried themselves with the solemnity of being guests (the Tongxuan Jing explains: this reflects their respectful attitude—humbling themselves while honoring others).

In the era of the Three Sovereigns, there existed a warning vessel called the "Admonishing Goblet" (Youzhi). When empty, it stood upright; when full, it would topple. This symbolizes how things decline after reaching their zenith: the sun begins its descent at noon, the moon wanes after becoming full, and extreme joy gives way to sorrow. Therefore, the truly wise maintain an appearance of simplicity, the profoundly learned appear shallow, those whose virtue benefits all under heaven understand yielding, the courageous remain reverent, and the wealthy and noble practice frugality. These seven qualities represent the secret by which ancient rulers preserved the world through Wuwei (non-action).

(Note: The term "Wuwei" mentioned herein is a core Daoist concept referring to acting in accordance with nature's patterns without forcing outcomes. The "Tongxuan Jing" refers to the Wenzi, an important Daoist text. The "Admonishing Goblet" was an ancient warning device reminding people against complacency.)

This passage employs metaphors and allusions to expound the core Daoist principle of "maintaining softness and dwelling below." It begins with four natural analogies: like melting ice and snow that leave no trace (non-attachment to fixed views), like uncarved wood preserving its primal simplicity (non-pursuit of perfection), like an empty valley embracing all (freedom from self-satisfaction), and like turbid water blending with the mundane (non-insistence on artificial clarity).

It then presents two essential cultivation insights: turbid water gradually clarifies when left undisturbed (tranquility brings lucidity), and sustained stillness in movement gradually generates vitality (latent dynamism within quietude). Those who maintain this path of cultivation (referring to realized adepts) all understand the principle of "not seeking fullness." Here, the text cites the ancient allegory of the "leaning wine vessel" (youzhi): when empty it stands upright, but overturns when filled—a vivid illustration of how "fullness invites decline."

The conclusion reveals the essential teaching: precisely by not pursuing perfection can one endure without forced renewal. This mirrors the natural way of heaven and earth—the sage attains "doing nothing yet leaving nothing undone" (wuwei as supreme natural harmony) through non-forced action. Maintaining mental stillness to its utmost leads to the supreme state of "serene detachment" (tranquil equanimity) and "empty stillness through non-action" (natural spontaneity). This constitutes both the operating principle of cosmic processes and the foundation of Dao-De cultivation.

This passage expounds the core principles of Daoist self-cultivation. When one maintains purity of heart, sorrows and troubles cannot enter, and perverse Qi cannot invade. With complete De (Virtue) and undiminished Shen (spirit), longevity naturally follows. The true path of cultivation lies in preserving purity without mixture, maintaining singular focus without distraction, embracing simplicity and Wuwei (non-action).

Peng Zu (the legendary longevity figure) comprehended this principle, living from Emperor Shun's era in high antiquity through the Spring and Autumn period's Five Hegemons for eight hundred years. Laozi (the Daoist supreme deity known as Taishang Laojun), having attained the Dao, lived over five hundred years, with none knowing his ultimate destination. Ancient sages could extend their lifespans for millennia through Shoujing (the practice of maintaining inner stillness).

By reaching the ultimate state of emptiness (a crucial aspect of Daoist cultivation) and steadfastly maintaining perfect stillness, one approaches the realm of the Dao. All things follow their cycles of growth and transformation—sprouting in spring, flourishing in summer, harvesting in autumn, and storing in winter. I observe their perpetual revolutions. Vegetation thrives luxuriantly ("Yunyun" describes this flourishing state) in spring, bears fruit in autumn, yet ultimately returns to its root.

Returning to the root means returning to stillness. Just as a tree must have roots to bear fruit, excessive fruiting conversely damages the roots. Maintaining stillness repairs damage, closing the eyes to nurture the Shen delays aging, and calming the heart-mind stills haste. Returning to stillness is returning to life's origin.

The Nanhua Jing (Classic of Nanhua, another name for the Zhuangzi) states: "Once a person has taken physical form, returning to the source is truly difficult—only those who have attained the Dao can accomplish this." The Tongxuan Jing records that ancient Zhenren (Perfected Persons) could harmonize Yin-Yang energies, with all beings admiring their De. In that era, the myriad things maintained natural harmony, preserving their original simplicity.

This passage draws upon multiple Daoist scriptures (including the Tongxuan Jing and Nanhua Jing) to expound the core Daoist concept of "knowing the constant" (zhichang)—understanding nature's fundamental patterns. The essential meaning unfolds as follows:

In the era of the Three Sovereigns—Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor—people lived in simple innocence with unadulterated virtue (De), spontaneously aligning with natural rhythms. By the time of the Five Emperors Yao and Shun, rulers could grasp the laws of heaven and earth, harmonizing the yin-yang alternations of the four seasons, ensuring the people's peaceful prosperity. However, during the Three Dynasties of Xia, Shang, and Zhou, human desires expanded uncontrollably. Elaborate rituals and music became veneers masking moral decay, as human ingenuity turned outward toward material pursuits. Matters worsened during the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods, when feudal conflicts left battlefields strewn with corpses and displaced multitudes.

Those who truly comprehend nature's constants (zhichang zhe) maintain minds as open and receptive as empty space, capable of embracing all things. Such all-encompassing acceptance leads to impartial fairness, and through this fairness, one becomes a true sovereign—a ruler aligned with the Dao. The sovereign models heaven's clarity, while heaven itself follows the Dao's principles. The Dao's essence is characterized by emptiness and stillness (xu zhe Dao zhi ti, jing zhe Dao zhi di—"emptiness is the Dao's substance, stillness its foundation"), hence its eternal endurance.

The passage concludes by identifying emptiness and stillness (xujing) as the root of nurturing life (yangming). Whether governing a state or cultivating the self, one must adhere to the principle of wuwei (non-action)—not passive inaction, but the refusal to forcibly oppose natural patterns. Grand wuwei brings order to the world; subtle wuwei preserves individual vitality.