《通玄真經(一)》Vol. 3

The "Nine Guardings" chapter in the Tongxuan Zhenjing (so named for containing nine essential cultivation principles, with "nine" in the Yijing symbolizing the ultimate number of transformation) expounds on the importance of holding fast to the Dao. Those who steadfastly cultivate the Way may transcend the Three Pure Realms (the highest celestial abode in Daoism), while those who deviate from it will descend into the Ninefold Netherworld (the deepest hell). This serves as a reminder that practitioners must constantly abide by the true path without wavering.

Laozi said: Before heaven and earth took form, the cosmos existed in a state of primordial chaos (undifferentiated primordial Qi). Later, the clear and light Qi ascended to become heaven, while the turbid and heavy Qi descended to form earth. The four seasons thus emerged (spring for birth, summer for growth, autumn for harvest, winter for storage), and the two energies of Yin and Yang interacted (establishing their respective qualities of hardness and softness). The purest Jing (essence) gave rise to humans, while the turbid Qi formed insects (sharing the same origin but differing in nature due to the purity or impurity of Qi). Through the interplay of hardness and softness, the myriad beings were born (their transformations endless).

Human Shen (spirit) originates from heaven, while the physical body is rooted in earth (those connected to heaven draw closer to higher realms, while those bound to earth sink to lower ones). When the Shen returns to the celestial gate and the body dissolves back into the earth, the true "self" ceases to exist (merging into the cosmic origin).

Thus, the sage emulates heaven and earth: unbound by worldly attachments, unswayed by external temptations, regarding heaven and earth as parents, taking Yin-Yang as the guiding principle, and the four seasons as the natural order (dwelling in effortless freedom, transcending through Wuwei). Heaven remains clear and bright through stillness; earth stays firm and stable through tranquility—those who defy the natural order perish, while those who align with it thrive (the Dao itself holds no preferences; fortune and misfortune arise from human actions).

Tranquility is the root of Shen, while emptiness is the dwelling place of the Dao (the Dao resides in silence, and the divine manifests in the void).

Human Shen is bestowed by heaven, while the body is nourished by earth (clear Qi forms the spirit, turbid Qi constitutes the body). The Dao transforms into primordial Qi (heaven), which divides into Yin and Yang (earth); their harmonious union gives rise to humans (the third element), who in turn generate the myriad beings (in endless variation). All things contain both Yin and Yang energies, harmonized through the Chonghe Qi (the mediating energy that balances Yin and Yang).

Laozi teaches that humans are born by receiving the transformative Qi (vital energy) of heaven and earth (gaining life between heaven and earth, dwelling above the myriad creatures). In the first month of gestation, the fetus forms a gelatinous substance (beginning to coalesce); in the second month, blood vessels emerge (the embryo takes initial shape); in the third month, the embryo forms (laying the foundation for internal organs); by the fourth month, the fetus takes shape; in the fifth month, sinews and vessels develop; in the sixth month, bones solidify; by the seventh month, all body parts mature (the seven orifices open); in the eighth month, fetal movement begins (the Shenling, or divine spirit, descends); in the ninth month, restlessness arises (internal organs complete their distribution, and Jing-Qi stabilizes); and by the tenth month, birth occurs (all organs fully formed).

At birth, the body’s structure is complete, with the five organs each fulfilling their roles: the liver governs the eyes, the kidneys govern the ears, the spleen governs the tongue, the lungs govern the nose, and the gallbladder governs the mouth (here, only four of the five organs are mentioned, differing from modern understanding—the reason remains unclear). The exterior of the body is Yang, while the interior is Yin. The round head mirrors the vault of heaven, and the square feet symbolize the earth (the human body encompasses the patterns of heaven and earth and must not be taken lightly).

Nature has its four seasons, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the nine luminaries (sun, moon, and seven planets), and a 360-day cycle; the human body, in turn, has four limbs, five organs, nine orifices, and 360 joints. The winds, rains, cold, and heat of nature correspond to human emotions—joy, anger, acceptance, and rejection. The gallbladder corresponds to clouds, the lungs to Qi, the spleen to wind, the kidneys to rain, and the liver to thunder. The human body mirrors the structure of heaven and earth, with the heart as its sovereign (the heart is the ruler of the body, governing the five organs, six viscera, limbs, and orifices, connecting with heaven above and earth below, harmonizing with all things—this is the realm of Shen, or spirit). Ordinary people use their bodies and minds daily without understanding this principle; few truly grasp it.

The eyes and ears are like the sun and moon; the flow of blood and Qi resembles wind and rain. If the sun and moon deviate from their course, eclipses occur, and light is lost; if wind and rain fall out of season, disasters arise (nature requires the sun and moon to shine steadily and wind and rain to be balanced—disruptions bring calamity; similarly, the body needs clear hearing, sharp vision, and harmonious Qi and blood—imbalance leads to illness). When the movements of the Five Phases—Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth—go astray, the corresponding regions suffer (just as illness spreads through the body when the five organs are invaded by pathogenic Qi).

The workings of heaven and earth are vast and profound, yet they still require the regulation of the four seasons and the harmonization of the Five Phases to nurture their divine spirit. How can human eyes and ears labor endlessly without rest? How can the spirit be depleted without exhaustion? (If even heaven and earth, so immense, must follow natural laws, how much more must humans, who use their eyes and ears and expend their spirit?)

How can those whose eyes chase after external things and whose minds are troubled with worries possibly preserve their original innate nature? Therefore, those who have attained the Dao (the Way) focus on inner cultivation while not neglecting outer manifestations (guarding the spirit within and preserving the physical form without). A person's Qi (vital energy) and blood are the radiance of life, while the five viscera are the essence of life. When Qi and blood remain concentrated within the body without leaking outward, the chest and abdomen become full, and desires naturally diminish (the inner state can be seen from the exterior; observing the root reveals the branches. When inner desires decrease, outer complexion becomes pure; when inner Jing (essence) and Qi harmonize, outer skin becomes supple).

With fewer desires, the ears and eyes become clear, and both hearing and vision grow keen and penetrating—this is what is called "clarity" (hearing nothing that cannot be perceived, seeing nothing that cannot be illuminated—all this comes from reducing emotional desires). If the Qi of the five viscera returns to the heart without scattering, it can dispel harmful influences ("overcoming" here means dispelling), and one's actions will not deviate. When the Shen (spirit) is vigorous, primordial Qi will not dissipate, allowing hearing to perceive all sounds, vision to illuminate all things, and endeavors to achieve all successes (as long as the mind remains upright, the five viscera remain unassailed by harmful influences; when chaotic Qi disperses, the spirit gains penetrating insight—no hidden subtleties escape its light, no task remains unaccomplished).

Thus, calamities find no entry, and harmful influences cannot invade (when conduct remains correct, misfortune naturally dissolves; when inner Qi does not become disordered, external evils cannot intrude). Those who covet too much end up gaining little, and those whose vision is too broad actually know very little (great achievements come from small accumulations; profound understanding arises from observing minute details). The body's orifices are the windows of the spirit, and Qi and blood are the messengers of the five viscera (opening the windows of the spirit allows one to perceive profound mysteries; when Qi and blood flow smoothly, the five viscera harmonize without obstruction).

If ears and eyes indulge in sensual pleasures, the five viscera become agitated, Qi and blood surge uncontrollably, and the spirit leaks outward without restraint. Even if fortune and misfortune loom as large as mountains, they remain imperceptible (bewitched by sensory pleasures, the spirit is depleted—attending to one thing while neglecting another, like calm water that reflects a single hair yet blinds the deluded to disasters as vast as mountains). Therefore, those who have attained the Dao may have desires but understand moderation (though they too have preferences and desires, they emphasize measured restraint, never pursuing what lies beyond their natural allotment).

When a person maintains keen hearing and clear vision, with a mind that remains open yet unswayed by external temptations, emotions steady, inner tranquility preserved, and desires subdued, the five viscera (heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys) remain peaceful, and the spirit (Shen) is guarded within rather than dissipated outward. In this state, the physical form avoids excessive depletion. Such a person gains insight into the patterns of historical rise and fall, the transformations of worldly affairs, and the interplay of fortune and misfortune.

The sages understood that excessive desires obscure the mind, so they focused on nurturing their vital energy (Qi) to pacify restless thoughts and steadfastly preserved their spirit to prevent its dispersion. This clarity allows the essence of both internal and external phenomena to be perceived, and the signs of fortune and misfortune naturally become evident. Those who chase after external things excessively, in truth, grasp fewer fundamental truths. By exhausting their spirit in pursuit of worldly distractions, they abandon the root and grasp only the superficial.

Thus, it is said that the spirit must not be excessively dissipated: dazzling colors disturb vision and dim the eyes, chaotic noises disrupt hearing and deafen the ears, and strong flavors impair taste and sicken the mouth ("shuang" refers to the imbalance of taste). Excessive pursuit of external things agitates the heart-mind, leading to uncontrolled behavior. Indulging in desires scatters one’s vital energy (Qi), while extreme likes and dislikes deplete the essence (Jing). If not restrained in time, one’s will and vital energy will gradually diminish (leakage of essence leads to the decline of both body and spirit).

The reason people fail to live out their natural lifespan is precisely their excessive pursuit of pleasure (insatiable greed for fleeting gratification is, in truth, self-alienation). Only those who do not excessively chase after pleasure can attain longevity (those who do not deliberately seek immortality naturally avoid perilous situations).

The workings of heaven and earth are interconnected, and all things ultimately share the same origin. Those who comprehend this "One" (Dao) can understand all things; those who fail to grasp it become lost in the myriad illusions of phenomena.

This scripture expounds the fundamental principle of the Dao (the Way) and the cultivated state of sages. Though the myriad things appear vastly different, they all originate from the same root of "One" (Dao). Understanding this truth allows one to perceive the essence of all things; failing to comprehend it leads to confusion in worldly affairs.

The author states that within heaven and earth, they too are merely one among the myriad things—all existences are equal. Since all are simply "things," why distinguish between them? This speaks of the state of unity between self and things, transcending distinctions. By detaching from life and death, nobility and baseness, and not clinging to desires, one attains true joy. Excessive pursuit of extremes leads to the loss of joy; moderation is the highest principle. This is a crucial teaching for governing the state and cultivating the self.

Regarding "guarding emptiness" (one of the nine cultivation methods), it says: The sage can adapt to circumstances and remain content in their proper role, fulfilling their duties in the present moment. What ordinary people find unsettling, the sage accepts with ease; what ordinary people find joyless, the sage delights in. Emotions such as joy, anger, sorrow, and pleasure are disturbances to De (Virtue/Power), while attachments to love and hatred burden the heart. The sage who embodies the Dao does not fall into such traps.

The life of a sage flows like the natural movement of heaven and earth; their death is like the transformation of all things. In stillness, they merge with Yin energy; in action, they resonate with Yang energy. The heart is the ruler of the body, and Shen (spirit) is the treasure of the heart. Overexertion of the body leads to collapse; excessive depletion of Shen results in exhaustion. Thus, the sage is cautious and never dares to overindulge.

Only by responding to the substantial with emptiness can one penetrate the essence of things; only by observing the myriad phenomena through stillness can one perceive the truth. When the heart-mind does not cling to external things and remains in a state of emptiness and tranquility, it merges with the Dao. This is the essential method of cultivation.

All things arise from emptiness, thus the cosmos embraces everything. Maintaining a state of inner serenity, joy, and tranquil stillness allows one to pass through life in peace (this refers to transcending life and death through embracing emptiness). Treat all things without deliberate avoidance or forced attachment (for what is truly noble needs no forced intimacy, and what is truly humble needs no deliberate distance).

Uphold the cultivation of Dao (the Way) and De (Virtue), harmonizing body and mind in accordance with celestial principles. Merge with the great Dao and abide in its Virtue. Neither actively pursue blessings nor deliberately evade misfortune—neither life nor death can disturb such a mind, for this is the highest spiritual state (only those fully aligned with Dao and De, who see through life and death, can reach this realm untouched by fortune or calamity). Upon attaining this state, all endeavors succeed, and all aspirations are fulfilled (for one has become attuned to the patterns of heaven and earth, united with the divine Virtue).

On the practice of "guarding emptiness": Laozi said, to regard worldly power with indifference frees the spirit from burdens; to see through the nature of all things leaves the mind unconfused (if one does not claim the myriad things as possessions, how can the spirit be encumbered? If unswayed by superficial appearances, how can the mind be perplexed?). Viewing life and death as equal makes the will fearless; embracing the principle of transformation keeps the intellect unshaken (understanding that life and death are mere labels dispels fear; knowing change itself is illusory prevents panic).

Those who attain the Dao take the eternal Way as their pillar (the "unbending pillar" refers to the Dao) and boundless Virtue as their path (the "gateless road" refers to De). They draw from an inexhaustible wellspring of wisdom (signifying limitless spiritual power) and emulate the unchanging teacher (returning to the source). Wherever they go, they proceed smoothly; whatever they face, they penetrate clearly. Whether in favorable or adverse circumstances, their resolve remains steadfast; whether encountering fortune or disaster, their inner peace stays undisturbed (neither life nor death can threaten them—how much less could mere gain or loss?).

Those who uphold righteousness may be moved by benevolence but cannot be coerced by force (those who value righteousness respond to moral virtue, not intimidation). They may be guided by justice but cannot be lured by profit (those who prize righteousness inherently disregard material gain). A noble person would die for righteousness but never live basely for wealth (preferring death with honor to ignoble survival). Those steadfast in righteousness fear no mortal threat (having transcended life and death through righteous sacrifice)—how much more so those perfected beings who have realized the state of Wuwei (non-action)?

This passage discusses the attitude and way of life for Daoist cultivators. Those who are not burdened by external things view all phenomena in the world as illusory shadows (the "shadow pillar" refers to the concept of emptiness). Since all things fundamentally lack substantiality, what is there to cling to? Even those who uphold righteousness fear no threat of violence—how much less would those who have attained the Dao be frightened by death?

By observing how realized practitioners conduct themselves in the world, deeply contemplating the profound meaning of Dao and De (Virtue), and then comparing this with the behavior of ordinary people, one understands what is truly worth pursuing (here "羞" implies progressive striving). Comparing ancient and modern times, only those who maintain Dao and De while comprehending the truth can continuously refine their practice. The attitude of not claiming ownership over all things under heaven is like beating the drum during study sessions (建鼓 refers to the ancient ritual of drumming to gather students)—the sage-kings of antiquity didn't treat the world as private property, thus naturally aligning with the great Dao. Forcing action while desiring silence would be like beating a drum yet expecting no sound—how could this be possible?

Regarding the principle of "maintaining equanimity": Laozi said that power, status, and material benefits are what worldly people crave, yet these pale in comparison to self-cultivation. Therefore, sages eat only to satisfy hunger and nourish Qi, wear clothes merely to cover the body and ward off cold, stopping at sufficiency without greed. They purify their hearts and minimize desires—their eyes don't seek distractions, ears don't listen to clamor, mouths don't speak gossip, and minds harbor no idle thoughts. Rejecting cleverness and cunning, they return to original simplicity, resting their Shen (spirit), eliminating artificial wisdom, transcending preferences—this is the state of "Great Pervasion." To cleanse defilements and cast off burdens, the best method is maintaining the purity of one's fundamental heart-mind ("未始出其宗" means returning to the quiescent state of original source). Those who understand the Dao of nurturing life won't be tempted by profit; those versed in internal and external ways won't be deluded by power. Craving gain harms life; worldly admiration hinders cultivation—these are not the ways of Dao-realized beings. The greatest achievement lies in reaching the "boundless" state; the most precious treasure is preserving the "innermost" original heart. Understanding this principle, what endeavor could fail? The great Dao permeates everywhere and embraces all things—this is true "supreme nobility."

Regarding the principle of "maintaining simplicity": Laozi said that ancient Dao cultivators harmonized their innate nature, cultivated their heart-mind, and nourished their being with balanced Qi.

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of cultivating body and mind. The essence is as follows:

Those who truly appreciate the joy of cultivating the Dao forget the troubles of poverty and low status (because inner peace naturally makes worldly hierarchies irrelevant). Genuine cultivation means having no excessive desires in the heart, yet thereby gaining everything; harboring no clinging to pleasures, yet finding ease everywhere (with fewer desires, contentment comes easily; without forcing happiness, things naturally go smoothly).

What harms one's true nature doesn't defile De (Virtue), and what threatens life doesn't disrupt harmony (for instance, fame and wealth damage virtue while addictions harm life—thus they should be avoided). By not indulging oneself but observing proper measures, one becomes a model for the world (only those who exercise self-restraint can set examples). Eat according to appetite, tailor clothes to fit, dwell in adequate space, and act in accordance with nature. Such a person could possess the whole world without claiming ownership, face all things without coveting gain—how could distinctions of wealth or status make them lose their true nature? Those who achieve this have truly comprehended the Dao (only those enlightened and content can transcend material desires and remain unharmed by external things).

Regarding quietistic cultivation: Humans receive life-giving Qi from heaven and earth; ears and eyes perceive sounds and colors; nose and mouth distinguish scents; skin senses temperature—these sensory needs are universal (regardless of status). Yet some perish because of them while others survive; some become noble while others turn base. The difference lies in controlling desires (similar preferences yield different outcomes—indulgence lets external things dominate you). Innate nature varies in wisdom and foolishness; emotions differ in depth—thus destinies diverge.

Shen (spirit) is the source of wisdom—when the spirit is clear, wisdom shines brightly (illuminating all things distinctly); wisdom is the treasury of the heart—when wisdom is impartial, the mind remains peaceful (acting without selfish motives). People don't use muddy water as a mirror but choose clear, still surfaces (murky water can't reflect; an unsettled spirit can't find stability). Thus only with a clear spirit and tranquil thoughts can one perceive the essence of things (clarity and calm alone reveal truth). Therefore, to skillfully use "having," one must understand the role of "not having" (being and nonbeing depend on each other; form and spirit nourish one another).

A clean mirror won't be clouded by dust; a clear spirit won't be deluded by desires. This is like maintaining mental purity to remain undisturbed by external things.

The truly enlightened never allow their bodies to be defiled by impurities, and those with purified hearts never let their Shen (spirit) lose its way. When the mind is focused, the Shen becomes abundant and full (for the heart and Shen communicate—where intention goes, the Shen follows). Conversely, when one returns to emptiness, restlessness dissipates, and agitation settles. This is the spiritual realm of sages (where the heart knows no distinction between agitation and stillness, and the divine freely roams the void). Thus, those who govern the world must comprehend the true nature of life to be worthy of the task.

Laozi said that what we call sages are simply those who follow their innate nature. They eat according to their capacity and dress according to their stature, knowing restraint—thus, no greedy or impure thoughts arise (only by eliminating desire can one align with nature; only by moderating food and clothing can one preserve their innate virtue). Therefore, those who possess the world never claim it as their own; those who attain fame never seek it through outrageous behavior (those who gain lofty renown never become arrogant, so the world gladly supports them without weariness; those who earn praise in their villages never do so through ostentation, so the people uphold them without burden). Those who truly understand the nature of life naturally attract benevolence and righteousness (unless one discerns the patterns of worldly fortune and grasps the essence of human nature and emotions, the world will not submit, nor will the people follow).

As for those whose Shen remains unobscured, whose hearts remain unburdened—those who are transparent, serene, and practice Wuwei (non-action)—neither power nor profit can tempt them, neither music nor beauty can seduce them, neither eloquent speakers can persuade them, nor the clever sway them, nor the fierce intimidate them. Such is the state of a true Daoist master (those with clear Shen cannot be clouded by external things or confused by worldly affairs. Even if power overwhelms kings and nobles, wealth piles up like mountains, fame echoes through the heavens, beauty topples kingdoms, eloquence flows unbroken like chains, wisdom surges like unceasing streams, and strength lifts tripods beyond mortal measure—even ordinary people cannot alter their resolve, let alone a true master of the Dao).

That which creates life is not confined by life; that which transforms all things is not assimilated by them (only those unattached to creation can create life; only those unattached to transformation can transform all things. Precisely because they are unattached to creation and transformation, they become the root of life and transformation). Those who fail to grasp this truth, even if they can command heaven and earth, discern the sun and moon, debate like interlocking rings, or craft words as beautiful as jade, will contribute nothing to governing the world (without understanding the true principle of life or following its subtle mysteries, even if one’s vigor engulfs the cosmos and eloquence pours forth like rivers, what appears divine is in fact decayed—what use is it for ruling the world?). Thus, the sage never loses the root (disdaining power and fame, while treasuring Dao and De).

Laozi teaches that maintaining inner tranquility and detachment is the foundation of nourishing life. Only with peaceful joy and an open, receptive mind can one preserve Virtue (De) (without this serene and joyful state of mind, how could one fully comprehend the Dao?). When external matters do not disturb the heart, human nature maintains its proper state; when the inner self remains undisturbed, Virtue stands firm. To navigate the world through the art of life-nourishment and uphold Virtue until old age—this is what it truly means to embody the Dao (external things cannot interfere, inner harmony grows naturally, and life returns to its authentic state).

For such people, their blood vessels never clog, their five organs never stagnate, neither fortune nor misfortune can shake them, and neither praise nor blame can taint them (body and mind flow freely, emotions and Qi are harmonized, they've long been indifferent to fortune and misfortune—how could mere opinions defile them?). Yet without an era of enlightened governance, who could attain such a state? Even with talent born at the wrong time, one struggles to preserve oneself—how much harder in an age lacking the Dao's guidance (when ruler and minister understand each other like clouds responding to dragons, when enlightened lords employ extraordinary talent—such encounters come but once in millennia. Today's capable statesmen meet chaotic times; the wise should retreat into seclusion rather than force their way. Thus Wen Zhong met execution while Fan Li sailed away—the gap between wisdom and folly stretches a thousand miles).

Those who focus intently on examining the finest hair miss the sound of thunder; those intoxicated by metallic chimes and stone chimes fail to see Mount Tai's majesty. Therefore excessive attention to trivial matters makes one forget fundamental truths (focusing vision diminishes hearing—this doesn't mean thunder makes one deaf; fixating on music blinds one to mountains—this doesn't mean Mount Tai makes one blind. The mind cannot split its focus, will cannot divide its aims—how many forget the great Dao for petty gains, losing their essence in pursuit of externals?).

Now myriad things surge toward us like a spring, constantly draining our vitality, plundering our essence (Jing). Even if we wish to refuse, how could we? (Sensual pleasures, exquisite flavors, the chime of gold and jade—these delude the heart-mind and obscure the spirit (Shen), like small streams gradually forming an abyss. Unless one has attained the Dao, how could one spread wings to soar beyond, roaming the ocean of wisdom?) Consider a basin of clear water: left undisturbed all day, it reflects even eyebrows clearly, but stir it once and it clouds instantly, losing all definition—so too is the human spirit, so difficult to keep pure.

(Note: "Wen Zhong" and "Fan Li" refer to historical figures—Wen Zhong, a minister of Yue executed by King Goujian, and Fan Li who retired after achieving merit. "Clouds responding to dragons" symbolizes the rare harmony between ruler and minister, as clouds follow dragons and winds follow tigers.)

This scripture expounds two core principles: upholding the law and preserving softness.

Regarding "upholding the law," the text employs a vivid metaphor: the human mind is like water in a basin, easily muddied by worldly influences. Those who truly grasp this truth adhere to the path of cultivation that ordinary people find difficult to follow. Just as water struggles to remain clear within a vessel, human nature is similarly prone to obscuration.

Laozi divides the art of governance into three levels: the highest sages emulate the Dao of Heaven (advocating Wuwei, or non-action), the next level reveres the virtuous (relying on moral education), and the lowest depends on ministers (a path leading to decline). Excessive reverence for virtue causes people to disguise their true nature to conform, becoming a source of confusion. Those who truly follow the Dao govern the world with emptiness and stillness—maintaining emptiness allows them to encompass all things, while preserving stillness enables them to master the whole. Only by understanding the way of emptiness and stillness can one ensure a proper beginning and end. Thus, the sage rules through tranquility, believing that reckless action leads to chaos. The scripture emphasizes: do not disturb the myriad things, and they will naturally become clear; do not startle them, and they will naturally find order—this is the Dao of Heaven.

Concerning "preserving softness," it points out that kings and lords treat the world as their personal property, becoming arrogant and complacent when they possess all things. The strong wage war, while the weak bully those beneath them—such attitudes are like violent storms that cannot endure. Therefore, the sage harmonizes with the Dao, adhering to Wuwei without depleting their vital energy (Qi). Recognizing that force cannot last, they temper it with virtue (De), eliminating preferences and aversions to maintain harmony. One must learn to sheath their sharpness, abide in softness, and withdraw after achieving merit without claiming credit—this is the way of emulating the Dao of Heaven.

(Note: "Wuwei" refers to acting naturally without forcing; "Chongqi" denotes the harmonized life energy of Yin and Yang; "Zhiyi" means holding fast to the fundamental principle of the Dao.)

This passage expounds the essential Daoist principles of governing a state and cultivating one's character. The reason rivers and seas become kings of all streams lies precisely in their lowly position—they don't actively seek fame or achievement, yet naturally attain regal status. Truly enlightened rulers follow the same principle: they don't claim credit arrogantly, yet people naturally follow; they don't force dominance, yet all things naturally comply.

To become the foundation of the world (the "feminine" symbolizes receptivity), one must maintain a mysterious, unfathomable state ("undying spirit" refers to a transcendent spiritual realm beyond life and death). Only those who understand self-respect can achieve nobility. Even when possessing the dignity of ruling ten thousand chariots, one must take benefiting all things as their responsibility. The greater the power, the more one must avoid recklessness—to disdain all things is to disdain oneself, ultimately leading to the world's abandonment.

The Dao (the supreme truth of Daoism) often manifests through subtle things, taking simplicity as its foundation. Therefore, sages govern the world with the Dao: what appears soft and delicate actually contains grandeur; what seems frugal and restrained can achieve perfection. Just as governing a state shouldn't neglect small countries, cultivating one's character shouldn't abandon any virtuous act.

The characteristic of heavenly law (natural order) is to lower the high and raise the low, to reduce excess and supplement deficiency. Rivers and seas willingly occupy low positions, so all streams converge there; sages remain humble and serene, so the masses support them. Maintaining an open, receptive mind allows one to reach sublime heights; recognizing one's own shortcomings enables one to become virtuous.

The arrogant cannot stand firm, the extravagant cannot endure, and the tyrannical will surely perish. Violent storms don't last all day; small streams are quickly washed away—these are manifestations of aggressive energy. Therefore, sages choose the path of feminine softness (symbolizing gentleness), abstaining from extravagance and pride, avoiding forceful contention. Precisely by maintaining gentleness, they can establish strength; by avoiding arrogance, they can endure. When people remain neither proud nor impatient, maintaining gentleness, heroes and leaders naturally come to support them, making them true rulers.

In the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), Laozi points out that the law of the heavenly Dao (the Way) is that things reverse upon reaching their extremes, just as fullness invites loss—like the movement of the sun and moon. Thus, the sage diminishes desires daily, maintaining a state of emptiness like a valley, never daring to be self-satisfied. Through humility and yielding (symbolized by the feminine principle), they progress continuously, ensuring their virtue and merit never wane. This is the inevitable pattern of the Dao’s operation. (Heaven’s Dao despises excess and favors humility—hence, Yao and Shun followed this principle to become great rulers. Human affairs abhor cruelty and shun arrogance—hence, Jie and Zhou violated this principle and met their downfall.)

By nature, people desire elevation and despise lowliness, crave gain and detest loss, seek benefit and avoid harm, and prefer honor over disgrace. Ordinary people cling to these pursuits yet fail to achieve them; striving forcefully, they attain nothing. The sage, however, emulates the Dao, accomplishing without deliberate action (Wuwei, non-action) and gaining without forceful pursuit. (While ordinary people chase status in the current of worldly trends, the sage follows the Dao, never grasping for high position yet naturally attaining reverence.) Aligned with others in feeling but distinct in path, they endure. (Concealing brilliance, blending with the dust.)

The ancient Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors had a warning vessel called the "Admonishing Goblet." Empty, it stood upright; full, it toppled. (Such artifacts remain today as reminders: emptiness preserves, while fullness cannot last.) All things flourish, then decline; the sun at its zenith begins to set, the full moon wanes, and joy at its peak turns to sorrow. (The Dao has waxing and waning; human affairs rise and fall—what begins auspiciously may end in peril, what starts in mirth may conclude in grief.)

Thus, the wise maintain simplicity (excessive cleverness breeds harsh scrutiny), the knowledgeable restrain speech (unchecked words obstruct the true path), the courageous remain reverent (relying on strength invites recklessness), the prosperous and eminent practice moderation (lofty positions bring regret), and the virtuous stay humble. These five principles were how the ancient sage-kings preserved the world. Those who follow this path do not seek fullness—precisely because they avoid excess, they endure without constant renewal. (Holding to simplicity without chasing perfection, this practice not only safeguards the world but is essential for personal cultivation.)

Laozi says: The sage withdraws as Yin (the passive principle) gathers and emerges as Yang (the active principle) expands. (Hidden when concealment is needed, visible when revelation is fitting.)

This passage discusses the highest state pursued in Daoism—the state of ultimate joy (zhile). True happiness does not come from external pleasures like music or sensual beauty, but from an inner state of purity, wuwei (non-action), and the cessation of desires. Indulging in external pleasures, in fact, harms both body and mind.

The key lies in this: Joy does not depend on external things but on one's own cultivation. When a person attains a state of inner clarity, they transcend the fluctuations of emotions like joy and anger, seeing through the essential unity of all things. True practitioners (shi) and virtuous individuals (nu) possess unwavering integrity, unshaken by external circumstances. Such people naturally command respect without seeking power and embody abundance without craving wealth.

The text particularly emphasizes the relationship between form (xing, the body), qi (vital energy), and shen (spirit): The body is the dwelling of life, qi is its foundation, and shen is its master. When these three fall out of balance, they harm one another. Those who prioritize nurturing the shen naturally benefit the body, while those who excessively pursue bodily pleasures damage the spirit. Those who are insatiable, chasing fame and profit, ultimately lose themselves.

The essence of Daoist practice lies in maintaining harmony among form, shen, and qi, each in its proper place—honoring the Dao while holding worldly gains in low regard, unifying spirit and body. Only then can one reach the state of "mysterious unity" (xuantong), merging with all things as one.

This passage discusses the realm and cultivation methods of Dao practitioners.

A true Dao-realized person (zhenren) has achieved complete harmony between their innate nature and the Dao. Though possessing wisdom, they appear simple; while inwardly profound, they maintain outward humility. They focus solely on inner cultivation rather than external displays, with a mind pure and natural, returning to their original authentic state. Such individuals can preserve their primordial spirit (shen, the innate spiritual nature), freely roaming the fundamental source of heaven and earth, transcending worldly disturbances to live in carefree spontaneity.

The key to Dao cultivation lies in: not allowing cunning strategies to occupy the mind, maintaining pristine nature unaffected by external things. They can perceive the transformations of phenomena while holding fast to the root; when inwardly focused, they comprehend the principles of fortune and misfortune. At rest, they know not what to do; in motion, they know not where to go—yet they attain understanding without study, vision without looking, accomplishment without striving, and clarity without governance.

True wisdom arises from "non-knowing" (a state beyond conventional cognition), while deliberately pursued knowledge proves illusory. Dao-realized individuals act like light that naturally illuminates or shadows that naturally follow—responding to external stimuli through spontaneous resonance, acting only when compelled by necessity. In motion, they flow unobstructed like light; at rest, they adhere effortlessly like shadows.

The text emphasizes the importance of spiritual cultivation: excessive expenditure of shen in pursuit of high status leads to gradual decline, while obsession with external things without returning to the root blocks the gate to Dao-realization. Sages harmonize with the Dao by quietly nurturing their spirit, regulating qi (vital energy), and stabilizing their physical form—thus adapting to all transformations and responding appropriately to circumstances. Maintaining peaceful spirit, smooth qi flow, steadfast will, and tranquil form allows one to float and sink with the Dao, responding timely to all changes.

This passage describes the ultimate state attained by Daoist cultivators. Those who follow the Dao must move through the world like shadows, aligning perfectly with nature and taking the Dao as their fundamental principle. Though they may appear to rely on external things, their minds are actually vast, empty, and tranquil—they perceive all living beings as manifestations of the same creative force and recognize all differences as arising from a single source (though the myriad things differ, all emerge from the same emptiness).

Such practitioners preserve their Jing (essence) and Qi (vital energy) within without deliberate use, and though they possess divine power, they never employ it carelessly (maintaining purity within while appearing inactive without). They abide in the primal state of simplicity and stand firmly within the most subtle mysteries (embodying true nature and nurturing their Shen/spirit). When they sleep, they dream not (all distracting thoughts severed); wisdom arises spontaneously without forced contemplation (free from all other concerns). In motion, they have no fixed form (the workings of spirit are subtle); in stillness, they lack concrete substance—appearing to exist yet seeming to vanish, appearing alive yet resembling death.

Those who reach this state can traverse space freely and command spirits, for their spiritual cultivation has reached perfection and merged completely with the great Dao. They allow their Shen to flow unimpeded without losing their original Qi (original Qi being the essence of Jing), harmonizing ceaselessly day and night with all things (like spring sunlight bathing creation without gaps). This condition arises from perfect unity between mind and Dao (requiring no other methods—only this heart-Dao fusion).

Thus, though the physical body may perish, the Shen never changes. Using this unchanging essence to respond to infinite transformations, they operate without limit (only the unchanging can handle change). What transforms ultimately returns to formlessness, while the unchanging essence shares birth with heaven and earth. That which truly generates life is itself unborn—what it produces is life; that which truly causes transformation is itself unchanged—what it initiates is transformation (all things must be born and transform, ultimately returning to formlessness; heaven and earth neither generate nor transform yet generate and transform all things, thus participating in eternal birth and dissolution). This is the realm of the perfected person (Zhenren), the Dao in its purest form (speaking of the pure subtlety of Jing and Qi, wandering the realm of non-generation and non-transformation—thus called Zhenren).