《文子纘義》

In the "Wenzi Zuanyi·Daoyuan Chapter," Laozi describes the essence of the Dao (the Way) as follows: There exists a state of undifferentiated chaos that predates the formation of heaven and earth. It has no fixed form—profound, obscure, silent, and soundless. I reluctantly name it "Dao."

This Dao is so lofty it has no summit, so deep it cannot be measured. It envelops heaven and earth, nurturing formless things. Like a spring, it flows endlessly yet never overflows; like turbid water left undisturbed, it naturally clarifies itself. Its function is inexhaustible, ceaseless day and night. It seems too small to fill a handful, yet it expands boundlessly; seemingly dark, it emits light; seemingly soft, it can be unyielding. It contains Yin (the passive force) and exhales Yang (the active force), manifesting the radiance of the sun, moon, and stars.

Mountains stand tall because of it; abysses form because of it. Beasts run, birds soar, the qilin (mythical creature) roams, and the phoenix takes flight—all because of it. Stars move in their courses because of it. It attains "being" through "non-being," gains nobility through humility, and takes the lead by yielding. The Three Sovereigns of antiquity (Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor) grasped the root of the Dao, standing at the center of heaven and earth, their spirits in harmony with creation, thus pacifying the four directions.

Thus, heaven and earth revolve like an unceasing wheel; rivers flow without rest. From beginning to end, all things depend on the Dao. The shifting of winds and clouds, the descent of thunder and rain—all are the Dao's inexhaustible workings. Though polished and adorned, all things ultimately return to simplicity. Seeming to do nothing, it accomplishes all; silent, it penetrates all virtue (De). Serene and joyful without pride, it achieves harmony.

It harmonizes Yin and Yang, regulates the four seasons, aligns the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), nourishes plants, and permeates metal and stone. Because of it, beasts grow strong with glossy fur, birds' eggs do not rot, and animal fetuses do not perish. Fathers need not grieve lost sons, elder brothers need not mourn younger brothers, children are not orphaned, and women are not widowed. Rainbows do not appear as omens, and thieves no longer run rampant—all this is the result of embodying the Dao and its Virtue (De).

The Dao of heaven is constant: it gives birth to all things but does not possess them; it creates all but does not rule them. All things rely on it to grow yet feel no gratitude; they depend on it to perish yet bear no resentment. Its accumulation does not enrich it; its giving does not impoverish it. Vague and formless, its function is inexhaustible. Profound and mysterious, it adapts to all things, unimpeded and utterly real. It extends with hardness and softness, rises and falls with Yin and Yang.

A true man of virtue lives in the world with a tranquil heart, free from worry. He takes the sky as his roof, the earth as his chariot, and moves in accordance with nature’s flow. The changing seasons are his steeds; the alternation of day and night, his reins. Thus, he walks with the Dao, roaming freely between heaven and earth.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist concept of "governing through Wuwei (non-action)." By treating the four seasons as carriage horses and steering them with Yin-Yang (the two polar forces of opposition and unity), one can travel where there are no roads, wander without rest, and pass through where there are no gates. Using heaven as a canopy covers all things, using earth as the carriage bears all existence, harnessing the four seasons as horses drives all phenomena, and guiding with Yin-Yang achieves perfect completeness.

Thus, swift movement brings no jolting, long journeys cause no fatigue. Without moving limbs or straining eyes and ears, one can perceive all under heaven. This is grasping the essence of the Dao and observing the boundless realm. Therefore, governing the world cannot be forced—it must follow natural patterns. The transformations of all things cannot be stopped—one must hold their pivot to return to the source. Sages cultivate their inner foundations, not pursuing external embellishments. They temper their Shen (spirit), relinquish personal biases, appearing indifferent yet accomplishing all, seemingly not governing yet perfectly administering.

"Wuwei" means not acting presumptuously ahead of time; "non-governance" means not altering natural laws; "perfect administration" means following each thing's inherent nature. Laozi says: Those who use the Dao to govern people respond when things arise and adapt when changes occur. All transformations can be met; all affairs can be harmonized. The Dao manifests through five qualities: emptiness (void and unattached), simplicity (peaceful and easy), tranquility (clear and still), softness (pliant and non-contentious), and purity (unmixed and plain). Emptiness is the Dao's dwelling; simplicity its essence; tranquility its mirror; softness its function.

Harmony is the Dao's constant state; pliancy its strength; yielding its power; purity its root. An empty mind bears no burdens; a serene heart carries no attachments. Freedom from craving is the ultimate emptiness; freedom from preference the ultimate harmony; unwavering focus the ultimate stillness; unadulterated simplicity the ultimate purity; beyond sorrow and joy the ultimate De (Virtue). The Dao-attained ruler discards cunning wisdom, eliminates ornate artifice, follows the great Dao without cleverness, sharing one heart with the people. Restraining personal conduct, reducing desires, abandoning temptations, eliminating extravagance, and relinquishing anxious thoughts—such restraint brings clarity; such desirelessness brings attainment. Governing externals through inner equilibrium, nothing is neglected. Inner attainment manifests as outer order. When the mind is settled, the five viscera (heart, liver, spleen, lungs, kidneys) are calm; when thoughts are stilled, sinews and bones grow strong.

In the Wenzi Zuanyi, Laozi expounds on the spiritual attainments of Daoist practitioners and their wisdom in engaging with the world:

Those who truly comprehend the Dao (the Way) do not strive for acute senses, for the Dao is ever-present. Those who seek outwardly must ultimately return to their original nature. Sages do not obsess over governing others but focus on cultivating themselves; they value not power or status but inner awakening. When one truly finds oneself, the world naturally aligns with them.

The highest state attained by Daoist cultivators is reaching absolute emptiness and maintaining perfect stillness. Though all things operate in constant transformation, they ultimately return to their source. The Dao gives birth to all things without form—vast beyond measure yet subtle beyond comprehension. Authentic persons (zhenren, those who have realized the Dao) perceive it with serene equanimity, undisturbed by external phenomena, merging seamlessly with heaven and earth.

Authentic persons understand that self-cultivation surpasses governing the world, never allowing desires to disrupt their spirit. They follow nature’s flow, harmonizing yin-yang through breath regulation, coexisting peacefully with all beings. Though their bodies may feel heat or cold, their spirit remains unshaken by joy or anger. Thus, they dream not in sleep and wake without worries.

When Confucius sought Laozi’s counsel, Laozi advised him: "Straighten your posture, focus your gaze, and natural harmony will arrive. Restrain your cleverness, regulate your conduct, and the spirit (shen) will take residence. Be innocent as a newborn calf, desireless as withered wood or cold ashes—lucid within yet outwardly simple."

Finally, Laozi emphasizes that handling affairs requires adaptability, and transformation stems from grasping the right moment. Those who truly understand timing recognize that nothing in this world remains constant.

The Dao that can be spoken of is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name. Words arise from speech, and speech emerges from wisdom, yet the wise often fail to comprehend the true "constant Dao." The name that can be named is not the hidden truth preserved in the scriptures. Rather than amassing vast knowledge and falling into confusion, it is better to hold fast to the inner middle way. Only by severing worldly learning can one be free from worry; only by discarding sagely cunning can the people benefit a hundredfold.

By nature, humans are originally pure and tranquil—this is their innate disposition. When stirred by external things, desires arise—this is the response of their nature. When external things approach, the mind moves in reaction; when the mind interacts with them, preferences and aversions take form. Once these preferences and aversions solidify into concrete shapes, the mind chases outward and cannot return to its original truth, and thus the natural principle perishes. Therefore, the sage does not alter his nature through artificial means; outwardly, he follows the transformations of the myriad things, yet inwardly he does not lose his fundamental truth.

Those who penetrate the great Dao return to purity and stillness, while those who exhaustively investigate external things ultimately arrive at Wuwei (non-action). They nurture wisdom through serenity and align their Shen (spirit) through detachment, following the Dao of nature without deliberate striving. Those who comply with their innate nature roam with the Dao, while those who conform to worldly customs mingle with people. Hence, the sage does not allow mundane affairs to disturb his nature, nor does he let desires confuse his true feelings. Without deliberate scheming, everything falls into place; without excessive words, he inspires trust; without forced thought, things naturally come to fruition; without forceful action, achievements are made. Thus, when he occupies a high position, the people do not feel burdened; when he stands at the forefront, no one envies or harms him. The world submits to him, and the treacherous fear him—precisely because he does not contend with the myriad things, no one can contend with him.

Laozi said: If a person indulges in desires, he loses his nature, and his conduct becomes difficult to rectify. Governing a state with such a mindset inevitably leads to chaos; cultivating the self with it results in impurity. Therefore, those who do not understand the great Dao cannot return to their nature, and those who do not comprehend the principles of all things cannot maintain stillness. Human nature is originally pure and unstained, but prolonged immersion in external things alters it. Once altered, one forgets the root—just as water, naturally clear, becomes muddied by sand and stones. Only the sage can transcend external things and return to his original truth.

Thus, the sage does not use his mind to drive external things, nor does he allow desires to disrupt harmony. Faced with joy, he does not excessively rejoice; encountering sorrow, he does not overly grieve. Therefore, he occupies high positions without danger and remains steady without toppling. Upon hearing good words and sound advice, even fools know to praise them; upon discussing sagely virtue and lofty conduct, even the unworthy admire them. Yet while many praise, few practice; while many admire, few follow—because people are ensnared by external things and bound by worldly customs. Thus it is said: Through my Wuwei (non-action), the people transform naturally; through my non-interference, they prosper naturally; through my stillness, they rectify themselves naturally; through my desirelessness, they return to simplicity naturally.

Simplicity and tranquility represent the highest state of De (Virtue), while gentleness manifests the application of Dao (the Way). Emptiness and serenity form the origin of all things. When these three merge and operate together, they return to a formless and imageless state—this is what we call "the One" (the source of Dao). "The One" has no subjective consciousness, yet naturally aligns with all things under heaven. It bestows grace without seeking reward, functions tirelessly without visible effort—look for it and it cannot be seen, listen for it and it cannot be heard.

Though formless, it gives rise to all tangible things; though silent, it generates the five tones (Gong, Shang, Jue, Zhi, Yu); though flavorless, it forms the five tastes (sour, sweet, bitter, spicy, salty); though colorless, it produces the five hues (blue, red, yellow, white, black). Thus, the tangible is born from the intangible, and the substantial arises from emptiness. Though there are only five basic tones, they combine into infinite melodies; though only five fundamental tastes, they blend into countless flavors; though merely five primary colors, they mix into myriad shades.

Just as establishing the Gong (tonic) note structures the musical scale, or sweetness defines the system of tastes, or white reveals the spectrum of colors—so too, when "the One" (Dao) is established, all things naturally come into being. Therefore, the principle of "the One" extends across the four seas, its grace pervading heaven and earth. In its wholeness, it resembles uncarved wood in its simplicity; dispersed, it flows turbid like murky water. Yet as turbid water settles, it clears; as an empty vessel fills, it becomes abundant. It is vast like the ocean, drifting like floating clouds—seemingly absent yet truly present.

Laozi said: The guiding thread of all things is observed through a single pivot, the root of all affairs emerges from one gateway. Thus, the sage always follows this fundamental principle, never altering its essential nature. Like a carpenter aligning with the inked line—even the crooked can be made straight. Joy and anger are deviations from Dao; sorrow and grief are departures from De; preferences and aversions are faults of the heart-mind; cravings and desires are burdens to life. Great rage harms Yin Qi, excessive joy disturbs Yang Qi—disordered Qi leads to speechlessness, extreme fright induces madness, and prolonged sorrow and anxiety accumulate into illness.

One who overcomes these five emotional disturbances may commune with the divine. "Divine illumination" refers to attaining inner harmony. Those who reach this state enjoy tranquil organs, balanced thoughts, keen senses, strong sinews, clarity without confusion, strength without exhaustion—neither excessive nor deficient. Nothing under heaven is softer than water, yet the Dao it embodies is boundless, unfathomable, ever-flowing, nourishing all things. It becomes the dew of heaven and the sweet springs of earth—all beings thrive because of it, all affairs succeed through it.

This passage describes the supreme state of "ultimate De (Virtue/Power)" in Daoist philosophy. Like water, it appears soft and yielding yet nourishes all things without seeking reward, embracing all creatures without partiality or selfish preference. It sustains even the tiniest insects (qi rao) without demanding anything in return, enriches the world without being depleted, and benefits the people without exhaustion.

This state transcends ordinary measurement: striking it leaves no wound, piercing it causes no injury, cutting it brings no breakage, burning it produces no scorch marks. Soft and flowing yet never dissipating, it can penetrate metal and stone with power sufficient to influence all under heaven. Forever abundant yet forever insufficient, it allows the world to draw upon it freely. It treats all things equally without hierarchy, neither selfish nor selfless, completely merging with heaven and earth.

Water's supreme softness is precisely what enables its ultimate De—its yielding lubricity penetrates the hardest substances, its formlessness enters even seamless spaces. The formless and shapeless constitute the origin (Taizu) of all things; the soundless and silent form the root (Dazong) of all categories. Those who attain the Dao (zhenren) possess minds that penetrate all, roaming with the Creator while maintaining profound De within, transforming with divine fluidity.

The true Dao (the Dao that is not Dao) is boundless and vast, transforming customs without issuing commands, operating solely through intention. All things have their source—those who attain the Dao guard this root; all affairs have their gateway—those who attain the Dao grasp this pivot. Thus they exhaust the infinite, illuminate all things without confusion, and respond effortlessly to everything.

Laozi says practitioners of the Dao appear weak-willed yet accomplish powerfully, their minds empty yet responding appropriately. Soft as resting feathers, they act when timing is right, serene in Wuwei (non-action). Nobility takes humility as its foundation; height depends on what lies below. Containing the large within the small, controlling the external through the internal—what appears yielding proves unyielding, conquering all enemies and overcoming all obstacles.

To be strong requires guarding with softness; to be powerful requires maintaining through weakness. Accumulating softness creates strength—observing this accumulation reveals fortune or ruin. Strength can only overcome what's weaker; meeting equals brings obstruction. Softness overcomes what's stronger, its power immeasurable. Thus armies too strong meet destruction, trees too rigid break easily, leather too tough cracks readily, teeth harder than tongues fall out first. Softness is life's foundation; hardness accompanies death. Leading often brings hardship, while following leads to fulfillment. Those who grasp the great Dao...

This scripture conveys two main teachings: first, the wisdom of seizing the opportune moment, and second, the art of governing through natural harmony.

The first half explains how all things mutually constrain each other, with timing being the crucial factor. Just as the sun and moon follow fixed celestial patterns, the right moment passes in an instant. Acting too early leads to excess, while acting too late means missing the opportunity. Thus, sages value timing more than precious jewels, acting according to circumstance and achieving merit through alignment with conditions. By maintaining the purity of their original nature and abiding in the softness of the Dao (the Way), they respond to changes with composure, often achieving victory through apparent yielding. What seems gentle and quiet can accomplish great deeds—even the hardest substances cannot withstand its power.

The latter section critiques governance through cunning and harsh punishments. Those who harbor scheming minds lose the purity of their spirit (Shen); those constantly plotting harm would dare tug a tiger's tail. True Dao attainees wander in carefree joy, while manipulators of power struggle in vain. Severe penalties are unfit for true rulers, just as frequent whipping cannot sustain long-term control. Excessive preferences and aversions inevitably invite disaster. The ancient sage-kings' laws weren't self-invented but followed natural patterns (Yin-Yang); their prohibitions weren't punitive but protective of fundamental harmony. Thus, alignment with nature accomplishes greatness, whereas forced action brings failure.

Governing through sensory cleverness exhausts the mind, just as personal intellect alone cannot properly rule a state. By following the patterns of heaven and earth (the natural Dao), the entire world becomes orderly. Obsession with others' opinions or sensory pleasures renders even elaborate rituals (Keyi) ineffective. Sincere hearts influence distant realms, while human will proves mightier than weapons. The greatest calamity is disrupted Yin-Yang balance (natural disharmony), making warfare trivial by comparison. True dangers lurk among the people—the more cleverness (artificial wisdom) they possess, the stranger phenomena emerge; the more complex laws grow, the more thieves multiply. Abandoning clever governance brings blessings, while employing it invites disaster. The formless Dao (the Way) surpasses all tangible things—what appears weak ultimately proves strongest.

Things that are visible and tangible (having form) may appear substantial, yet their essence is ultimately empty; while things invisible and intangible (formless) constitute the true foundation. Formed objects are like completed artifacts, whereas the formless Dao (the Way) remains the primordial source of all creation.

Concrete things become utensils and tools, while the fundamental Dao retains its pristine simplicity. Formed objects produce sound, yet the formless Dao is silent and still. All tangible things originate from the intangible Dao—thus we say formlessness is the origin of all phenomena.

Substantial things bear names, and these named things are often valued as complete; insubstantial things lack names and are frequently disregarded. Abundant things possess names and receive respect; deficient things remain nameless and face contempt. Male things have names and stand prominent; female things lack names and stay concealed. Surplus things carry names and are deemed noble; insufficient things go unnamed and occupy lower positions.

Achievements bring fame, while non-action (Wuwei) leaves no reputation. Named things emerge from the nameless, just as the nameless serves as mother to the named. Such is the Dao: being and non-being generate each other, difficulty and ease complete one another. Thus, the sage upholds the great Dao, maintaining a state of serene subtlety to cultivate Virtue (De). With Dao comes De; with De comes achievement; with achievement comes fame—yet ultimately, fame returns to Dao.

When merit and reputation endure, one remains free from calamity throughout life. Nobles possess fame, while the solitary and widowed lack it. Therefore, the sage calls himself "solitary and widowed," returning to the root. He accomplishes without claiming, treats fame as benefit, and embraces namelessness as function.

The people of antiquity embodied pure simplicity, undistinguished by east or west. Their expressions never concealed their hearts; their words never exceeded their actions. Their conduct was unadorned, their speech unembellished. Clothing served only for warmth, not ornament; weapons for utility, not sharpness. They walked steadily, their gazes calm and composed. They drank from wells they dug, ate from fields they tilled—neither forcing charity nor chasing merit. High and low did not contend; long and short were not compared. Customs were unified, people followed nature spontaneously; they acted within their means, keeping affairs simple. As for those who put on airs to confuse the world or adopted strange behaviors to mislead the masses—the sage disdains such conformity to vulgar trends.