《通玄真經(一)》Vol. 11

Laozi teaches that those who seek learning and cultivate the Dao must understand the distinction between heavenly principles and human affairs, comprehend the fundamental causes of order and chaos in the world, maintain inner clarity and mental serenity to cultivate body and mind, perceive the beginning and end of all phenomena, and ultimately return to emptiness (referring to the original state of the Dao). Only then can they be considered truly enlightened. Only those who preserve spiritual clarity and return to tranquil emptiness can recognize the boundary between heaven and humanity and investigate the patterns of all transformations.

The foundation of governing the world lies in benevolence and righteousness, while laws and regulations are merely supplementary means. Just as life depends on its root rather than its branches, both fundamentals and particulars form an inseparable unity that must be equally attended. Those who value the root while also considering the particulars are called noble persons; those who focus solely on particulars while neglecting the root are petty persons. Human life takes spirit (Shen) as its root and physical form as its branches. Ancient sages cultivated spiritual essence (Jing) to harmonize their nature, while latter-day people indulge desires to satisfy bodily cravings. Only when spirit remains pure and the body balanced, when root and branches support each other, can one preserve body and mind without damaging innate nature.

Laws were originally established to support benevolence and righteousness. To emphasize laws while abandoning benevolence and righteousness is like valuing hats and shoes while forgetting head and feet. Governing a state must first take benevolence and righteousness as foundation, then use laws for regulation. Benevolence and righteousness resemble a grand towering structure—if one attempts height without thickening the foundation, it will inevitably collapse. Just as a building's beams cannot bear weight without sufficient thickness, nothing surpasses virtue (De) as the pillar of governance. The relationship between ruler and people resembles city walls requiring foundations and trees needing roots. Deep roots yield luxuriant foliage; thick foundations ensure stable walls. These foundations represent the Dao and its virtue (De)—never has a broad, deep foundation been destroyed, nor lofty virtue failed to win popular support.

Therefore, actions not rooted in the Dao and virtue cannot serve as principles for governance; words not aligned with the Way of ancient sage-kings cannot be called proper teachings. Opportunistic techniques pursuing temporary results do not represent the universal Way; bizarre and deceitful methods are certainly not the Great Dao for governing states.

(Note: "Emptiness" here refers to the primordial state of the Dao, the ultimate realm pursued in Daoist cultivation. "Ancient sage-kings" represent ideal political models in Daoist thought.)

This passage employs allegory to elucidate the principles of governance. Laozi suggests that ruling the people resembles the ancient charioteer Zaofu (the legendary horse trainer of King Mu of Zhou) handling a team of four steeds—one must skillfully coordinate the reins and bits, maintaining inner mastery of proper methods while outwardly adapting to the horses' nature, thus ensuring steady progress over long distances.

Political power is likened to the ruler's chariot, with ministers serving as the draught horses. The sovereign must neither abandon the chariot's stability nor lose control of the team. Just as even Zaofu couldn't manage uncoordinated horses, so too can no sage govern effectively when ruler and ministers are at odds.

By mastering proper methods of governance, those of average ability can comprehend affairs; by clarifying roles and responsibilities, corruption can be eradicated. When confronting situations, one must observe transformations and respond accordingly. Order nearby, and distant regions will naturally stabilize. Without forced indoctrination yet following natural patterns, all measures will prove faultless. As Zaofu's expertise with chariots precluded worries over unruly steeds, the sage's governance prevents suffering among the people.

Laozi further teaches that Dao cultivators must block perverse paths to prevent calamity. Value not personal correctness, but the avoidance of error. Eliminate the roots of greed, and people won't ceaselessly crave; remove opportunities for contention, and strife will cease. Thus selfish desires dissipate while public virtue prevails. Those with excess should restrain, while the deficient receive supplementation—thereby unifying all under heaven.

When officials neglect duties to heed slander, disregard merit to form factions, bizarre skills and decadent arts flourish. Bureaucrats grow indolent while folk customs decay, with meritorious ministers battling in court. Therefore, those embodying Dao (the Way) guide others, while those lacking it become controlled. Shun, though a commoner, was upheld by all under heaven because he embodied Dao; Tyrant Zhou, though Son of Heaven, faced universal rebellion for having lost it.

Laozi teaches that governing a nation follows constant principles, yet the fundamental purpose lies in benefiting the people. Policies and teachings require proper methodology for laws to be effectively implemented. If measures benefit the populace, there's no need to rigidly adhere to ancient ways; if objectives can be achieved, old customs need not be followed blindly. Thus, the sage's laws adapt with the times, and rituals evolve with changing customs. Clothing and tools should prioritize practicality, while legal systems must suit local conditions. Therefore, reforming ancient institutions shouldn't be criticized, nor is clinging to outdated traditions particularly praiseworthy. (The essence of governance lies in adapting to circumstances, not in constant changes)

Memorizing the classics of ancient kings pales in comparison to grasping the essence of their teachings; understanding surface meanings falls short of comprehending their deeper intent. True comprehension reveals that words cannot fully convey meaning. (Hence the saying: "The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; names that can be defined are not constant names." Taking words as the Dao makes them cease to be the Dao; mistaking stone for jade doesn't transform its nature.) Therefore, the sage's adherence to the Dao remains as constant as the metal in bells and chimes (like fixed musical tones that cannot be altered), while practical affairs resemble qin and se zither playing—requiring tuning adjustments when the melody changes. Laws, rituals, and music are instruments of governance, not governance itself. Thus, one shouldn't discuss the supreme Dao with those of limited understanding, for they remain bound by worldly concepts and doctrinal constraints. (Just as ordinary mounts cannot ascend Kunlun's summit, profound Daoist discourse exceeds shallow comprehension)

Laozi states: How could there be eternally fixed rules under heaven? As long as one aligns with human affairs, follows cosmic patterns, and understands spiritual principles, proper governance naturally follows. (When actions suit circumstances and resonate with popular sentiment, harmonious rule and divine connection emerge—what need is there for rigid formulas?) In ancient times, during the era of the Three Sovereigns, people followed naturally without laws; the Five Emperors established laws yet avoided punishments; the Xia dynasty rulers kept their promises...

This scripture examines the nature of legal systems by contrasting governance methods between antiquity and later ages. In ancient times (referring to the eras of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors like Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor), people naturally complied without strict decrees; yet by the decadent age (post-Xia, Shang, and Zhou dynasties), even with severe punishments, the people became deceitful. This demonstrates that governance through Wuwei (non-action) flows naturally, while forced governance creates endless difficulties.

When social virtue declines, people endure humiliation, become insatiably greedy, and lose their sense of shame. Laws established during such times must adapt their severity according to prevailing customs; tools and instruments should likewise evolve with the times. Those bound by rigid laws cannot exercise flexible judgment, and those constrained by ritual forms cannot respond to changing circumstances. Only those with exceptional insight and wisdom can truly grasp the Dao and act accordingly.

Those who understand the root of law reform with the times, while those ignorant of statecraft bring chaos even when following old systems. Some scholars today rigidly cling to classical texts to govern, like forcing a square peg into a round hole—how could this possibly fit? Resolving crises and ordering chaotic times requires wisdom; empty talk about ancient principles proves futile. Thus sages never adopt outdated laws, and enlightened rulers never heed untested advice.

Wenzi (a Daoist figure) inquired about the foundation of law. Laozi replied: Laws originate from righteousness, and righteousness stems from the people's needs. Aligning with public sentiment is the key to governance. Laws descend neither from heaven nor arise from earth—they emerge from human society and require self-reflection for proper application. Those who grasp the essence won't be misled by appearances; those who hold the key won't be confused by doubts. Don't demand of others what you can't achieve yourself; don't enforce upon subordinates what you yourself cannot fulfill. When rulers establish laws, they must first abstain from what they forbid the people; what they require subordinates to follow, superiors must never violate.

This scripture primarily expounds on the principles of rule by law and governance through Wuwei (non-action). It begins by stating that laws serve as the plumb line for the world and the ruler's measuring standard. When the ruler leads by example in self-restraint, the people will naturally observe prohibitions. Laws are established not for punishment, but to transform what is unlawful into lawful conduct.

Once laws are instituted, those who comply should be rewarded, while violators must be punished. Neither should rewards be arbitrarily increased for the noble, nor punishments deliberately intensified for the lowly. Whoever transgresses the law—no matter how virtuous—must face consequences; those whose conduct is proper—even if mediocre in ability—should not be condemned. Only thus can public justice prevail and selfish desires be restrained.

In ancient times, officials were established to prevent the people from acting recklessly; rulers were instituted to keep officials from arbitrary decisions. Legal measures and Daoist arts served to restrain rulers from autocratic rule. When no one acts willfully, the great Dao manifests, and governance becomes proper. Therefore, returning to simplicity and governing through Wuwei does not mean inaction, but rather that all actions must originate from one's authentic nature.

Laozi said: "Those skilled in rewarding spend little yet inspire multitudes; those adept at punishment impose lightly yet deter wrongdoing; masters of giving expend minimally yet cultivate virtue; experts in receiving gain abundantly yet incur no resentment." Thus, the sage encourages goodness by following what people love, and prohibits evil according to what they hate. Rewarding one person inspires emulation throughout the realm; punishing one makes all under heaven tremble. Hence, the finest rewards require no extravagance, the best punishments need no excess. That the sage maintains simplicity yet governs extensively illustrates this principle.

Regarding ministerial conduct, Laozi held that officials should clearly distinguish right from wrong, take the lead in exemplary action, strictly fulfill duties, and understand their proper roles—only then can they achieve merit. When ruler and minister follow distinct yet complementary Dao, the state is well-governed; when their roles become confused, chaos ensues.

This scripture primarily discusses principles of governance and personnel management, emphasizing the importance of grasping key elements and distinguishing priorities.

The branches and trunk of a tree must have clear hierarchy—branches should not be thicker than the trunk, and twigs should not be stronger than the main stem. This illustrates the need for proper balance between what is light and heavy, small and large. Just as a ten-span-wide beam can support a thousand-jun-heavy roof due to its well-structured design, or a five-inch-long bolt can control the opening and closing of a gate by being placed correctly, governance follows the same principle: policies aligned with natural order bring benefit, while those that defy it invite peril.

Regarding personnel selection: When a ruler evaluates ministers, they must not fixate on minor virtues while overlooking overall contributions. Those with great De (Virtue) need not be scrutinized for trivial flaws; those with lofty reputations need not be faulted for minor shortcomings. All people have imperfections, but as long as their fundamental direction is correct, some small faults are tolerable. Excessive nitpicking over details is like judging talent based on marketplace gossip—it only leads to missing true worthies. Those with true vision often overlook minor matters, and those with magnanimity naturally earn widespread renown.

Finally, it stresses the need for caution in governance: Bestowing favors must not be biased, and imposing punishments must not be prejudiced. Tyranny does not necessarily require harming everyone—hurting even one person may lose the people’s trust. Benevolence does not require benefiting all—helping even one person may win the allegiance of the realm. Thus, every policy and action must be carefully considered.

Since ancient times, there has never been a perfect person. Thus, the noble person does not demand absolute perfection from others (for human talent and strength have their limits). One can be upright without harming others, incorruptible without being harsh, forthright without being unrestrained, and broadly learned without disparaging others. Those who possess both virtue and martial abilities do not harshly criticize others but instead cultivate their own De (Virtue) through personal effort. In this way, they remain free from flaws. (Those who cultivate themselves do not demand perfection from others; in conducting themselves and interacting with the world, they naturally achieve success.)

Just as the jade of the Xia dynasty may have flaws and the luminous pearl may bear blemishes, the world still treasures them—their minor imperfections do not negate their precious value. If one focuses solely on others' shortcomings while overlooking their strengths, finding worthy talents in the world becomes an impossible task. (If even the jade of the Xia and luminous pearls are imperfect, how can noble individuals be flawless? By disregarding minor faults and valuing their greater merits, no talent will be overlooked.)

Ordinary people often fixate on superficial traits—low status, humble origins, or difficult circumstances—while failing to recognize true capability. (While common folk despise lowliness and disgrace, the noble person judges others by their greater virtues.) Therefore, to assess someone properly: observe whom they recommend when in high position (whether they promote the worthy); observe how they give when wealthy (whether they aid others); observe what they accept when impoverished (whether they take only what is proper); observe how they conduct themselves when in lowly station (whether they uphold righteousness). Their courage can be seen in how they face adversity; their integrity, in how they behave during joy (whether they indulge); their benevolence, in how they handle wealth (whether they covet); their moral fortitude, in how they confront fear (whether they would sacrifice for righteousness). Only then can a person be truly understood. (Those who embody these qualities are the world's true talents. By these standards, the worthy and foolish, loyal and treacherous, become clear.)

Laozi said: Temporary yielding prepares for greater expansion; small bends lead to greater straightness—this is wisdom the noble person understands. Like the hundred rivers flowing (all returning to the sea in time), their temporary twists do not alter their essential nature.

The text elucidates the principle that a noble person should uphold benevolence (ren) and righteousness (yi) as fundamental virtues in life. Just as the ocean does not alter its nature based on the flow of streams and valleys, a noble person does not compromise their integrity due to worldly opinions. Truly good words are valued for their practicability, and truly virtuous actions are esteemed for their alignment with benevolence and righteousness.

The faults of a noble person are like solar or lunar eclipses—though temporarily obscured, their inherent radiance remains undiminished (their mistakes are visible to all, yet their corrections earn universal respect). Thus, the wise do not act recklessly, and the courageous do not kill indiscriminately. They choose the right path and adhere to ritual propriety (li). Only then can their endeavors succeed and their achievements endure; even in death, their reputations will be remembered by future generations.

(Do what ought to be done, and execute only those who deserve it—this is how one attains merit and lasting renown.) Even with talent and capability, one must root themselves in benevolence and righteousness to stand firm. Wisdom and ability must be employed in harmony, as sages always measure actions against these virtues. Those who meet this standard are noble; those who do not are petty. A noble person’s name remains untarnished even after death, while a petty person’s misdeeds persist even in prosperity.

To hold the reins of power in one hand while slitting one’s own throat with the other—such folly even the ignorant would avoid, for life is more precious than dominion. (A ruler who boasts sovereignty at dawn may lie dead in the streets by dusk—such is the fate of fools, not the conduct of the noble.) Those who face death for their ruler or parents do so with resolve, valuing righteousness above life itself. Thus, though the greatest worldly gains may outweigh life, they pale before benevolence and righteousness. This is the principle of upholding virtue.

Laozi said: "Perfect virtue (De) is like the sun and moon—even the barbarians of distant lands cannot alter its essence." (Where there is righteousness, even the wilderness is traversable; without it, what can be achieved in the heartlands?) The standards of choice and rejection are the same; praise or blame depends on worldly views. When intention and action align, hardship or success rests on circumstance. Deeds that meet the needs of the era thrive; conduct that suits the times earns fame. Therefore, those who seek achievement must understand discernment.

This passage primarily discusses the ancient sage-kings' principles of military action and governance. It first clarifies that true military campaigns were never waged to seize land or treasures, but rather to pacify chaotic times and eliminate harm for the people. When greedy and tyrannical rulers brought unrest to the populace, sages had no choice but to intervene—just as the Yellow Emperor subdued the Red Emperor (Yandi) and Zhuanxu executed Gonggong, these actions were taken to resolve disasters of fire and water, not for power or personal gain.

The text then criticizes the behavior of despotic rulers: Killing innocent people to sustain unrighteous rulers constitutes the gravest crime, while plundering the world's wealth to satisfy personal desires represents the deepest calamity. The very institution of rulership was meant to suppress violence, yet when rulers themselves harm the people, it becomes as dangerous as giving wings to a tiger. Just as one must remove otters to preserve fish or drive away wolves to protect livestock, governing the people requires similar principles—sometimes necessitating the measured use of force.

Laozi presents the proper method of governance: The court should avoid harsh decrees, officials must refrain from excessive administration, scholars ought to abandon hypocritical conduct, and craftsmen should not create overly elaborate objects (representing the ideal political state). Turbulent times manifest the opposite—people deceive and expose one another. Here the emphasis lies in governing through alignment with nature's flow, minimizing artificial interference while preserving fundamental simplicity.

(Note: The mentioned Red Emperor, Gonggong and others are legendary emperors or deities from high antiquity. The accounts of the Yellow Emperor subduing the Red Emperor and Zhuanxu executing Gonggong reflect ancient Chinese interpretations of natural disasters and dynastic transitions through mythological frameworks.)

This passage primarily criticizes the superficial and hypocritical tendencies in society, identifying them as signs of a declining era. The text notes how people take extravagant carriages and horses as standards of propriety, competing in displays of hollow appearances; craftsmen spend years creating ornate but impractical objects; merchants vie to hoard rare goods; and scholars indulge in convoluted, useless debates. Such behaviors contribute nothing to proper governance—instead, they foster chaos.

The governance principles of Shennong (the legendary Divine Farmer of antiquity) teach us: If able-bodied men do not till the land, people will starve; if women do not weave, people will suffer from cold. Thus, the ruler personally plows the fields, and the queen personally tends to weaving, setting an example for the people. They do not value rare treasures that are difficult to obtain, nor do they prize useless objects. If farmers do not labor diligently, they cannot survive; if weavers are not diligent, there will be no clothes to wear. Each person must take responsibility for their actions—when people live in abundance, deceitful schemes naturally vanish. When the world is at peace, the wise and the brave find no occasion to act.

Laozi states that the path to achieving hegemony lies in employing strategy and tactics, upholding righteousness in action—not merely for survival, but to save nations on the brink of collapse. If one hears of a ruler oppressing the people, they should raise an army to punish them, but the troops must observe discipline: they must not cut down trees, desecrate graves, destroy crops, burn granaries, plunder the populace, or seize livestock. At the same time, they must issue proclamations exposing the ruler’s crimes against the Dao of Heaven.

This passage primarily discusses the distinction between righteous armies and unrighteous forces, as well as the fundamental principles of governance.

When a land profanes the spirits, delivers unjust judgments, and indiscriminately kills the innocent, it will incur divine punishment and the hatred of the people. Righteous armies arrive to abolish unrighteous practices and transfer power to those with virtue (De). Those who dare defy the Dao of Heaven and bring calamity upon the people shall perish with their entire clans. Those who align with the righteous forces will receive corresponding rewards: families who submit will have their households honored, villages that yield will have their communities enfeoffed, and counties that surrender will have their magistrates ennobled. When righteous armies conquer enemy states, they harm no civilians—they only depose tyrants, reform corrupt governance, honor the worthy, care for widows and orphans, release wrongfully imprisoned individuals, and reward the meritorious. The people will open their gates and prepare provisions, fearing only that the righteous armies might not come. When such forces approach the borders, enemies often surrender without battle.

Conversely, where unrighteous forces march, corpses litter the fields and blood flows in rivers. Those who fight for territory cannot achieve true kingship; those who battle for personal gain cannot establish lasting merit. Those who act for the public good gain universal support, while the self-serving are abandoned by all. Those who win the people's hearts, though initially weak, will grow strong; those who lose them, though initially powerful, will perish. Just as Xiang Yu, though awe-inspiring across the realm, was ultimately defeated by Liu Bang—because defying Heaven's principles ensures downfall, regardless of temporary might.

Laozi said: The highest form of righteousness governs the state, secures borders, promotes benevolence and righteousness, widely bestows kindness, establishes just laws, and eradicates evil. Thus, rulers and ministers draw close, the people live in harmony, and all unite as one. When governance is enlightened in the court, victory is assured a thousand miles away; when commands are issued, the world responds—this is the supreme way of governance. The next level is a vast, resource-rich state with wise rulers, excellent generals, abundant wealth, strong armies, strict discipline, and clear commands—where enemies flee at the mere sight of such forces. The third level involves skillfully utilizing terrain advantages and mastering strategic passes.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles of statecraft and military strategy, with the power of "righteousness" (义 yi) at its core. A nation's true strength lies in its people's willingness to sacrifice for their country, and this willingness stems from the ruler's embodiment of Daoist virtue (德 De). The most enlightened governance does not rely on military force but rather on moral transformation through virtuous influence.

In modern terms, statecraft operates on three levels: the highest form achieves victory through moral cultivation (修德而胜), the intermediate through legal governance (守法而胜), and the lowest through military conquest (用兵而胜). A military's strength fundamentally depends on its political foundation—when policies align with the people's will, gaining their support, the army naturally grows powerful; conversely, oppressive policies weaken both popular support and military might.

Specifically, four essential qualities must be cultivated: righteousness that inspires universal admiration, achievements capable of addressing national crises, the wisdom to select truly worthy officials, and strategic judgment to prioritize effectively. This constitutes the essence of the "Supreme Righteousness" (上义 shangyi) approach.

The text employs familial metaphors: when a ruler treats subjects as children, they serve him as devoted sons; when treated as siblings, they pledge undying loyalty. Just as children would never abandon a father in danger, ministers won't desert a righteous ruler in crisis. A truly virtuous sovereign cultivates internal governance to accumulate moral power (德 De), externally guards against corruption while demonstrating authority, and remains attuned to the people's hardships. In such a state, soldiers regard sacrifice as naturally as returning home—because benevolence and righteousness have taken root in their hearts.

(Contextual note: This reflects the Daoist concept of "supreme righteousness" (上义), distinct from Confucian "benevolence-righteousness" (仁义). It emphasizes the natural resonance between rulers and subjects, asserting that true power emerges from moral influence rather than coercive force.)