《文子纘義》Vol. 4

The Wenzi Zuanyi passage expounds on the fundamental characteristics of the Dao (the Way) and the state of those who embody it.

The Dao, as the supreme cosmic principle, is unfathomably profound. It is straighter than a carpenter's line, more perfectly round than a compass, and more precisely square than a ruler. It envelops heaven and earth without distinction between inner and outer, covers all things yet encounters no obstruction. Thus, those who truly embody the Dao are not swayed by fleeting emotions—they sit in stillness free of distracting thoughts, remain lucid without idle fancies, perceive things as they naturally arise, and respond to situations with perfect appropriateness.

The text refers to "symbolic words" (fuyan, prophetic utterances that embody sincerity) as expressions of genuine truth. In the world, there exist various signs of mandate—talismanic seals, golden and jade tokens—all of which convey sincerity through specific forms and elicit resonance. The Dao itself knows no hierarchy of noble or base; it penetrates all distances without obstruction. Though formless and nameless, it contains the true nature and principles of reality. Sages follow the Dao, unswayed by personal emotions, responding naturally to circumstances. This wordless wisdom is the most authentic form of symbolic truth.

Those who chase empty fame inevitably stir up trouble. Once they act for personal gain, they deviate from impartial justice, defy natural principles, and cling stubbornly to their own views. They perform good deeds for reputation and act virtuously to be deemed worthy—such governance violates heavenly principles and their actions defy timeliness. Governing against cosmic order invites censure; acting out of season yields no results. Forcing achievements may bring temporary success, but it cannot outweigh the harm done. Failure, meanwhile, invites utter ruin.

Fame is ultimately an instrument of harm, and sages remain wary of it. Those obsessed with reputation invariably oppose the Dao, abandoning righteousness for selfish gain, courting fame while breeding calamity for the masses. Their governance contradicts natural law; their accomplishments cannot mask their faults. When their schemes collapse, they meet disgrace and downfall.

The truly enlightened are never enslaved by reputation, nor do they hoard stratagems like a storehouse. They do not force burdens upon themselves or presume to master cunning. Hidden in formlessness, their actions never slacken. They do not chase blessings nor become the source of misfortune. All begins from the formless; every act arises from necessity. To seek fortune, one must first avoid harm; to pursue gain, one must first distance oneself from danger. Excessive craving for peace only disrupts it, inviting peril. Deliberate striving for order only breeds chaos.

This passage uses analogies from natural phenomena and human affairs to reveal the Daoist wisdom of "being soft and non-contentious."

Jade may appear precious but is easily shattered, while ordinary stones endure. Just as straight-growing trees are felled, sweet springs dry up quickly, and animals with beautiful pelts are often skinned for their fur, while beasts with magnificent antlers become targets for hunters. These phenomena demonstrate that excessive display of one's strengths invites misfortune. The calamities of common people often stem from boastful speech.

The retribution of good and evil follows like a shadow—virtue brings blessings while wickedness invites disaster. Forcing tranquility only disrupts it, and imposing order creates chaos instead. Just as the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) mutually generate and restrain each other, Heaven and Earth embrace all things like a carriage canopy and its base. Those who truly understand the Dao (the Way) align with natural patterns.

Mountains yielding gold and jade become quarried; trees harboring insects get hollowed out; those who stir trouble ultimately harm themselves. Expert swimmers often drown, skilled riders frequently fall—people often meet misfortune through their very strengths. True attainment lies in seizing the moment rather than contending; governing a state depends on following the Great Dao rather than relying on sagely wisdom. Just as earth remains secure by staying low, and water gains momentum by flowing downward.

The sage (one who has attained the Dao) avoids stubborn views and thus makes no mistakes, refrains from forced action and thus never fails. All things in Heaven and Earth maintain balance through mutual dependence—moderate taking brings stability while excessive plundering brings harm. Just as food can nourish or sicken, the people can support or overthrow their ruler. Laws established for governance inevitably reverse when pushed to extremes.

The Wenzi Zuanyi passage expounds wisdom for human conduct, revealing natural laws and philosophical truths through several perspectives:

Regarding the way of interacting with the world, what truly matters isn't contention but understanding how to seize the right moment. The essence of governance lies in following the Dao (natural law) rather than relying on sages. Those who comprehend this principle won't fall into the trap of mutual scheming. Laozi said that one saying could take a lifetime to fathom, two sayings could become universal standards, three sayings could make feudal lords dominant, and four sayings could win the world's allegiance. Maintaining sincerity and trustworthiness prevents hardship, while upholding De (Virtue) makes one a model for all. Recommending the virtuous subdues feudal lords, while reducing malice and caring for others earns universal support.

Concerning life and death, humans face three unnatural deaths: reckless eating and bodily abuse lead to fatal illness; insatiable greed invites punishment; and the weak bullying the strong brings violent ends. Though death is inevitable, unnatural deaths are particularly lamentable. Indulging desires, coveting profits, or abusing power all lead to different forms of demise.

On karmic retribution, one receives according to what one gives, and enmity invites proportional misfortune. Expecting abundant returns from meager investment or avoiding calamity while accumulating resentment is impossible. Observing a person's past actions predicts their future fate. Just as planting melons yields melons and beans yield beans, so too do kindness and enmity bear corresponding fruits.

Regarding self-cultivation, investigating life's origins, harmonizing one's nature, clarifying preferences, and moderating desires lead to understanding governance. Knowing life's patterns prevents confusion by fortune or misfortune; balanced nature avoids emotional extremes; clarified preferences eliminate useless cravings; and moderated desires maintain proper measure. These four require no external search—introspection suffices. Like the moon reflected in water, whose waxing and waning appear truthfully, so too do a heart's purity or corruption bring corresponding blessings or calamities.

Finally, it emphasizes: don't act in ways inviting censure, nor resent others' criticism; cultivate praiseworthy virtue without demanding recognition. While one can't prevent misfortune, one can ensure not courting it; while blessings aren't guaranteed, one can remain open to receiving them.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom for navigating life and self-cultivation, with its core principle being alignment with nature and contentment within proper boundaries.

It begins by observing that calamities don't arise from personal faults, so one needn't despair in hardship; blessings don't come through forced seeking, so one shouldn't become arrogant in prosperity. The truly wise dwell in tranquil simplicity, handling affairs with Wuwei (non-action). Praise and blame are external judgments, while virtue cultivation remains one's own affair—thus the wise remain unswayed by acclaim nor discouraged by slander.

Laozi teaches that the Dao's principle is maintaining what one already possesses without forcibly pursuing the unattained. Forced seeking leads to loss, while contentment brings rightful gains. Imposed order breeds chaos, and rushed fame invites setbacks. The greatest fortune is absence of disaster; the supreme gain is freedom from loss. Developments that appear beneficial may conceal harm, while seeming losses may bring true advantage.

The great Dao cannot be pursued for profit, yet it brings mental serenity and avoids calamity. Those embodying Dao typically encounter no great misfortunes nor deliberately chase great blessings; they neither forcibly seek merit nor incur blame. One should emulate heaven's way—simple and unadorned, following nature's course: making no calculated plans, hoarding no reserves, neither welcoming arrivals nor clinging to departures. Like standing at a crossroads' center, one walks with the multitude yet never loses direction. Neither deliberately doing good nor intentionally committing evil, one follows natural rhythms—forcing no initiatives, making no arbitrary decisions, forming no preconceived plans, missing no timely opportunities, moving in sync with celestial patterns. Thus within exists no extraordinary fortune, without arises no unexpected disaster, and neither fortune nor calamity emerges without cause.

The Commentary (纘义) adds: insatiable greed marks ordinary people's failing, while desireless equanimity reveals the perfected person's state. Governing the world requires no fixed methods—maintaining proper boundaries may bring attainment, while forced seeking leads to loss. Those truly aligned with Dao experience no abnormal fortunes or misfortunes internally or externally; walking heaven's path, how could external things harm them?

The conclusion observes that good deeds invite encouragement while wrongdoing attracts censure. Encouragement brings honor; censure begets distress—demonstrating the natural correlation between conduct and consequence.

The Dao cannot be attained through forced pursuit of fame, but through retreat and self-cultivation. Thus, the sage neither seeks empty reputation through external actions nor employs cleverness to gain praise. Governing the world requires following natural laws without deliberate interference—those who force outcomes often fail, and those who cling to gains ultimately lose.

Human abilities have limits, yet the Great Dao flows unimpeded. To possess wisdom yet refrain from forceful action is equivalent to having no wisdom; to have talent yet avoid presumptuous deeds aligns with the virtue of having no talent. The truly wise appear without wisdom, the truly capable seem without ability. When one fully comprehends the Dao, worldly skills become insignificant. Those who chase vanity drift from the Dao—when the Dao manifests, vanity naturally fades. But when the Dao recedes and vanity flourishes, peril and ruin draw near.

Performing good deeds without seeking reward invites blessings naturally; committing evil may not immediately summon misfortune, but calamity inevitably follows. Those who crave eternal fame are often forgotten by history. Hence, those obsessed with reputation inwardly deviate from the Dao, while true cultivators naturally shun vanity—this marks the fundamental distinction between heavenly principle and human desire.

Laozi said: Entrusting honest men to distribute wealth is inferior to establishing clear rules for fair allocation. Why? Because human fairness can never match natural impartiality. Relying on incorruptible guards for treasures pales against simply locking the storehouse. Even the most upright harbor desires—better to eliminate temptation entirely. People resent having faults pointed out, yet seeing their own flaws in a mirror prompts self-reflection. Transcending the self allows one to avoid being ensnared by external things.

In distributing goods, forced fairness yields less justice than natural lot-drawing; in safeguarding valuables, depending on integrity proves weaker than physical barriers. Criticizing others' faults breeds resentment, while examining one's shortcomings cultivates virtue. Only those detached and free of selfishness remain unburdened by externals—when one harbors no calculating mind, others find nothing to condemn.

Laozi said: Serving others solely with material gifts fails when resources deplete; bonding through humble words frays when speech exhausts; even sworn covenants are often the first broken. Thus, the noble person adorns not with superficial benevolence but cultivates inner virtue. Governing one's domain well, fully developing its resources, teaching the people to fortify their walls, and uniting hearts to defend the land—such a state deters fame-seekers from attacking innocent realms and profit-hunters from assaulting impregnable territories. This is the fundamental way to preserve oneself and the true wisdom of attaining benefit.

The Wenzi Zuanyi passage expounds on the principles of self-cultivation and restraining desires.

Laozi teaches that when words are exhausted, one should return to the original mind. When rulers and commoners alike devote themselves to cultivating De (Virtue/Power) with shared purpose, they can protect the nation and preserve the people—this constitutes the complete art of governance.

Even sages cannot completely conquer their innate nature, while ordinary people struggle to restrain desires. Noble persons act guided by upright Qi (vital energy), whereas petty individuals are driven by corrupt Qi. Upright Qi means internally aligning with one's true nature and externally conforming to righteousness, acting in accordance with heavenly principles without being bound by external things. Corrupt Qi manifests as indulgence in fine flavors, sensual pleasures, and unrestrained emotions without considering consequences. These opposing energies conflict—desires harm our fundamental nature, making coexistence impossible. Thus sages reduce desires to harmonize with their nature: eyes crave beauty, ears seek music, noses desire fragrance, mouths relish delicacies—all sensory pleasures involve gains/losses and addictive cravings. In truth, our senses don't know what they truly want; they're governed by the heart. Only when each sense faculty finds its proper place can we understand that desires can never be fully conquered.

Here lies the distinction between the "Dao-mind" (heaven-endowed original nature) and "human-mind" (worldly desires). When heavenly principles overcome desires, one becomes noble; when desires overwhelm principles, one becomes petty. When corrupt and upright energies contend, even noble persons refrain from involvement—how much more so for sages?

Regarding self-cultivation, Laozi advises regulating daily rhythms, moderating food/drink, balancing emotions, and harmonizing movement/stillness—this maintains inner fullness, leaving no opening for corrupt Qi. Excessive pursuit of externals injures our inner core; emotional indulgence damages Shen (spirit); preoccupation with appearances obscures authenticity. Like birds obsessed with displaying plumage exhaust themselves, or trees with overgrown foliage harm their roots—nothing in this world offers perfect dual fulfillment.

The true Dao lies in nurturing Shen, while worldly methods focus on cultivating form. Those inwardly fulfilled naturally disregard externals. Avoiding sensory distractions and bland diets cultivate the body; eliminating distractions and preserving Jing (essence) cultivate the spirit. Complete self-cultivation requires both internal and external refinement—how could superficial methods suffice? Just as heaven's radiance doesn't worry about human darkness, nor earth's abundance about human poverty.

The truly realized Daoist stands as immovable as a mountain, and practitioners take this state as their ultimate goal. By rectifying themselves, they naturally fulfill all things' needs without consciously bestowing favors, and those who receive help feel no debt. Thus they achieve lasting stability—for just as Heaven and Earth show no partiality, they deprive nothing; by not consciously displaying De (Virtue), they incur no resentment.

Those prone to anger inevitably accumulate enmity, while enthusiastic givers often excel at taking. Only by following the natural patterns of Heaven and Earth can one grasp the essence of things. Where honor appears, slander follows closely; where good deeds manifest, malice arises in turn. Benefits often herald calamity, and blessings may become omens of misfortune. Without conscious pursuit of gain, one avoids harm; without coveting fortune, one evades disaster. Preserving life as the fundamental principle, wealth and glory become but temporary lodgings.

The sage's wisdom illuminates the four seas like a mirror, yet common people feel no glare; their resources fill the world, yet none feel deprived. They follow Heaven and Earth's natural laws, allowing all things to grow freely. Impartially giving, they need not openly demand; sparing with rewards, they require no harsh punishments. Regarding wealth and honor as passing clouds, they preserve their original nature.

Laozi said the sage wears no eccentric garments nor displays peculiar behavior. Their clothing remains simple and unadorned, their conduct upright yet unassuming. In prosperity they avoid extravagance, in hardship they show no fear, in prominence they refrain from ostentation, in seclusion they maintain dignity. Though seemingly different, they appear unremarkable; though dwelling among common people, their state transcends description—this is the supreme "Great Pervasion" (Datong).

The Dao means rectifying oneself while awaiting the proper moment. When the moment comes, one should not forcibly detain it; when it passes, one cannot chase to retain it. Thus sages neither aggressively advance nor passively retreat, moving with circumstances like shadows following form. When the moment precedes them, they follow; when it lags behind, they wait—maintaining perfect equilibrium. Heaven's Dao shows no favoritism, blessing only those with De. Blessings arrive not through forced seeking, hence no boasting of merit; misfortunes arise not from personal causation, hence no regrets. Keeping inner serenity, unburdened by virtue, they remain unshaken by barking dogs, steadfast in their original heart. Those truly understanding the Dao know no confusion; those comprehending Heaven's mandate harbor no worries.

When ancient emperors passed away, their bodies were buried in wilderness yet sacrifices were held in the Mingtang (hall of enlightenment). This reflects their character—neither seeking novelty in life nor special treatment in death.

The spirit is more precious than the physical form. When the spirit governs the body, one thrives; when the body suppresses the spirit, one encounters difficulties. Even when employing intelligence and skill, one must ultimately return to the root of the spirit—this is true wisdom.

The Dao (the fundamental law of the universe) is the principle all under heaven follows. The sage (one who has attained the Dao) merely rectifies themselves, aligns with heavenly decree, and moves freely between coming and going. They neither deliberately pursue nor deliberately avoid, standing at the center of heaven and earth while harmonizing all directions. They do not boast of merit nor regret actions, their mind serene and united with the Dao. Those who understand the principles of fate, even when employing wisdom, return to the root of the spirit.

The ancients who preserved themselves found joy in virtue and thus forgot their lowly status—so fame could not sway their resolve. They delighted in cultivating the Dao and thus forgot poverty—so profit could not disturb their hearts. Humble yet joyful, tranquil yet detached. To calculate the length of one’s lifespan or fret over the chaos of the world is as futile as weeping to refill the Yellow River when fearing its drying up. Thus, those who do not worry about the world’s turmoil but focus on self-cultivation are the ones with whom one may discuss the Dao.

The Dao is noble, and De (Virtue/Power) is exalted. One must nurture joy within the heart and preserve it within oneself. Not swayed by poverty or low status, when self-cultivation is perfected, the world holds no cause for concern. Why then fret over worldly affairs for the sake of a fleeting life?

There are three ways a person invites resentment: a rank too high invites envy, an office too great arouses the ruler’s displeasure, and wealth too abundant draws resentment. The higher the rank, the more humility is needed; the greater the office, the more caution is required; the more abundant the wealth, the more generosity must be shown. By mastering these three, one avoids resentment. Wealth and honor must take poverty and lowliness as their root; high status must take the lower ranks as its foundation.

A high rank coupled with arrogance invites envy; a great office paired with arrogance incurs the ruler’s displeasure; abundant wealth without generosity breeds resentment. This is the principle of high and low counteracting each other. Only through humility and generosity—never forgetting poverty while wealthy, never neglecting the lower while elevated—can resentment be avoided.

Words are for communicating with others; listening is for understanding them. The blind and deaf cannot engage with others. But is it only the body that can be deaf and mute? The mind, too, can be blocked. Those who do not understand the way of communication belong to the deaf and mute of the heart.

The Dao is the root from which all forms arise; as the closest kin, it is most intimate. Those who consume the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and absorb Qi (vital energy) attain longevity—as a ruler, it is most benevolent. The multitude of wise ones learn from it—as a teacher, it is most enlightened. People often chase the useless at the expense of the truly valuable, thus their wisdom remains shallow, and time always seems insufficient.

When people seek the Dao (the Way) and study amidst days of chess-playing and amusement, the insights they gain will naturally be shallow; to neither listen nor inquire is like being deaf and mute, unable to communicate with ordinary people.

A person acquires form and is born—this is the grace of parents; they sustain life by consuming the Five Grains—this is the kindness of rulers; they attain understanding through learning—this is the merit of teachers. Upon reaching adulthood, the body becomes a precious vessel, and speech is the expression of the heart. To make oneself understood, one must use words; to understand others, one must also rely on words. Truly, words are wondrous! If one can avoid discarding public principles for private speech, or letting useless words obstruct beneficial discourse, they may deeply comprehend the great Dao without feeling isolated, becoming a noble person.

Laozi said: Human nature inclines toward submitting to De (Virtue/Power) rather than force. The essence of De lies in giving, not taking. Thus, the sage who wishes to be honored must first honor others; who wishes to be esteemed must first be humble; who wishes to surpass others must first surpass themselves; who wishes to humble others must first humble themselves. Therefore, distinctions of nobility and baseness are all governed by the Dao. The ancient sage-kings spoke with humility and acted with deference, yet the people of the world gladly supported them without weariness—this is the manifestation of De being abundant and Qi (vital energy) flowing smoothly. To understand that giving is truly receiving, and yielding is truly advancing, is to come close to the great Dao.

In rituals, what is valued is acting first; in speech, what is valued is speaking last—this is human nature. Thus, one may persuade others with De, but never with force. The sage moves forward and retreats with measure, prioritizes with order, and thus the people of the world naturally support them.

Laozi also said: When one with shallow De enjoys excessive favor, it invites criticism; when one with meager talent occupies a high position, it invites danger; when one without great merit enjoys lavish rewards, it invites calamity. There are times when gain appears as loss, and loss appears as gain. The world knows the benefits of profit but not the roots of disaster. Only the sage understands that disaster may transform into benefit, and benefit into disaster. Trees with too much fruit will surely have damaged roots; families with too much wealth will surely have descendants in peril. Great profit instead becomes great harm—this is the law of heaven’s Dao.

One should never find De too vast, yet must never overstep one’s bounds. Shallow waters cannot bear large boats; trees with shallow roots will eventually topple. If a person has shallow De, insufficient talent, harbors unkindness yet occupies high status, they will rarely avoid failure. Only by understanding the mutual transformation of profit and harm, neither loving excessively nor hoarding wealth, balancing righteousness and benefit—what is there to worry about?

Laozi said that petty people act solely for immediate gain, while noble individuals pursue what aligns with the Dao's righteousness. Those who truly practice virtue do not seek fame, yet fame naturally follows them; fame itself is not tied to profit, yet profit also comes of its own accord. Though the goals may appear similar, the ultimate outcomes differ vastly. Thus actions that seem beneficial may bring harm in their wake. Those whose words are inconsistent and actions lack principle are petty people. Those who can discern specific matters and master particular skills are of middling capacity. But those who comprehensively grasp all principles, possess diverse talents and skillfully apply them—these are sages.

Though human bodies share the same structure, innate Qi endowments differ, giving rise to distinctions between wisdom and foolishness. Petty people covet immediate gain because their abilities outweigh their virtue (De); noble individuals uphold righteousness because their virtue surpasses their abilities. Those who can adapt their position according to circumstances are of middling capacity. Those with extraordinary innate gifts and outstanding talents—these are perhaps the sages.

Laozi said life is but a temporary lodging for the physical form, while death marks the return to the original source. Therefore in times of peace, one guards oneself through righteousness; in chaotic times, one defends righteousness through oneself. The moment of death is the completion of one's lifetime actions. Thus the noble person carefully stewards life—this is all. Life is bestowed by heaven, while destiny depends on timing. To possess talent yet be born at the wrong time—this is heaven's will. Pursuits require method, but their fulfillment depends on fate. The noble can practice goodness but cannot guarantee blessings; though unwilling to commit evil, they may not avoid misfortune. Therefore when encountering favorable circumstances, the noble advances and achieves success through righteousness—how fortunate! When times are unfavorable, they withdraw and comport themselves with courteous yielding—what misfortune is there? Even in poverty and low status they feel no regret, for they have obtained what is truly precious.

Human life originates from heaven, the physical form is a temporary vessel, and death is the homecoming. Whether encountering favorable or adverse fortune—all stems from destiny. To have ability yet lack timely opportunity—this is heaven's decree. Thus when the noble practice goodness, blessings do not necessarily follow; avoiding evil does not guarantee escape from calamity. When the timing is right, they deploy their talents; when untimely, they drift like tumbleweed in the wind—the true value lies in maintaining their integrity.

Laozi said the human heart contains both harmonious and rebellious Qi. When the heart-nature is balanced, Qi flows smoothly; when heart-mind is disordered, Qi moves rebelliously. The equilibrium or chaos of heart-nature depends on whether one has attained the Dao (mastered natural law). Attaining the Dao brings heart-nature into balance; losing it brings disorder. Balanced heart-nature generates mutual deference; disordered heart-mind produces conflict. Deference gives birth to virtue (De); conflict breeds calamity.

This passage primarily discusses the movement patterns of Qi (vital energy) and their connection to principles of human conduct.

A virtuous person experiences smooth Qi flow within their body, whereas malicious thoughts cause Qi to move adversely. When Qi flows harmoniously, one naturally exercises self-restraint to help others; when it moves counteractively, one harms others for personal gain. This movement of Qi can be regulated through the Dao (the Way).

The laws of heaven and earth operate as naturally as an echo responding to sound. Accumulating virtuous deeds brings blessings, while accumulating wicked actions invites resentment. (Here it mentions how high-ranking positions may corrupt scholarship, and excessive concern for wife and children may compromise filial piety.) Calamities often arise during moments of carelessness, and illnesses frequently worsen when recovery seems imminent. Therefore, maintaining consistent caution in all matters is essential to avoid failure.

The Yinfu Jing states: The five negative emotions (Five Thieves) hidden within the heart can disrupt one's external Qi field. Harmonious Qi brings peace to the world, while adverse Qi leads to chaos. If Qi contradicts one's true nature, it harms the self; if it opposes the natural order, it endangers the state. Only by regulating Qi through the Dao can one master self-restraint and benefit others. In this way, one can hold high office without neglecting scholarship, care for family without compromising filial duty, and avoid the misfortunes caused by negligence and recurring illness.

Laozi said: Why not appoint upright individuals alongside the unprincipled? But if the upright are forced to submit to the unprincipled, they will refuse to cooperate. This is like two things submerged in mud—though both are soiled, their natures remain distinct.

The sage transcends life and death, while ordinary people remain confused about them. The sage understands the principles of life and death, whereas ordinary people fail to grasp their significance. The great Dao operates in heaven, all things grow upon the earth, and harmony resides in the human heart. If a ruler fails to maintain harmony, the Qi of heaven and earth will stagnate, Yin-Yang will fall out of balance, wind and rain will become untimely, and the people will suffer.

The role of harmony is paramount! Heaven, through harmony, manifests clarity in all phenomena; earth, through harmony, nurtures the growth of all things; humanity, through harmony, ensures smooth progress in all affairs. How can a ruler afford to lose this sense of harmony? Once lost, the Qi of heaven and earth can no longer intermingle.

Laozi said that commanding an army of ten thousand soldiers is not as valuable as hearing one apt saying; obtaining treasures like the Suihou Pearl (a legendary jewel) is not as meaningful as comprehending the fundamental principles of things; possessing rare gems like the He Shi Bi (the famous jade disk) is not as precious as understanding the proper methods of action. Though the world may be vast, states that delight in militarism will ultimately perish; though a nation may be stable, obsession with warfare leads to peril. Therefore, even if a small state with few people possesses excellent weapons, it should refrain from using them lightly.

The example of Great Yu withdrawing his troops for rest and reorganization after receiving wise counsel, thereby securing the allegiance of the Miao people, illustrates how one apt saying surpasses an army of a hundred thousand. Rather than pursuing treasures like the Suihou Pearl or He Shi Bi, it is better to master the fundamental methods of action. Thus, the sage values the Dao (the Way) without becoming attached to material treasures, esteems De (Virtue/Power) without chasing military achievements—how could they rely on force to plunge themselves into danger?

Laozi points out that those who can achieve hegemony must do so through virtuous triumph; those who can conquer enemies must possess true strength; those who become strong must be skilled in utilizing human potential; those skilled in employing others must be able to win hearts; and those who win hearts must have perfected self-cultivation. Those with perfected self-cultivation often appear gentle and yielding. While one may overcome those inferior to oneself, when encountering equals one reaches a stalemate; yet gentleness can overcome equals—this realm transcends ordinary understanding. Therefore, only the sage can transform numerous "non-victories" into great triumphs.

This passage further elaborates: Victory through De (Virtue/Power) enables hegemony because it wins popular support; defeating enemies requires strength, which stems from effective use of human resources. But without winning hearts, one cannot truly harness people's power. How are enemies conquered? How is hegemony achieved? The key lies in cultivating one's own De (Virtue/Power). Perfecting self-cultivation leads to gentleness overcoming strength, enabling victory over inferiors. When encountering moral equals, a stalemate ensues, yet gentleness can prevail—this realm defies conventional logic, indicating the opponent's superior virtue. Indeed, only the sage can transform multiple "non-victories" into ultimate triumph.