《通玄真經(一)》Vol. 4

This passage elucidates the characteristics of the Dao (the Way) and the attitude of those who have truly comprehended it.

First, it describes the nature of the Dao: The Dao is supreme, without upper or lower limits. It is as impartial as a level, as upright as a plumb line, as harmonious as a compass, and as square as a carpenter’s square (using measuring tools as metaphors for the Dao’s fairness and impartiality). The Dao encompasses all of heaven and earth, without distinction between inner and outer, covering everything without obstruction.

Those who truly embody the Dao maintain emotional equilibrium, free from erratic moods of joy or anger. When sitting in stillness, their minds are unclouded; when sleeping, they dream not. They accurately name things as they encounter them and respond appropriately to events as they arise.

The passage then criticizes those who chase empty fame: Those who deliberately pursue reputation inevitably stir up trouble, and once trouble arises, they deviate from impartiality and become mired in selfishness. They defy the natural Dao to satisfy personal opinions, feign kindness to win praise, and pretend to virtue by flaunting eccentricity. Such governance violates heavenly principles, and such actions are ill-timed, ultimately inviting censure and yielding no real achievement. Forcing the pursuit of fame and merit, even if successful, cannot offset the faults incurred, and failure brings ruin upon oneself.

Finally, it offers principles for living: Do not become a slave to reputation, nor a storehouse of schemes. Do not forcibly shoulder responsibilities, nor flaunt cleverness. Conceal yourself in formlessness, yet act without slackening. Neither actively seek blessings nor become the source of misfortune (meaning to follow nature’s course, neither inviting fortune nor courting disaster).

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)," using natural phenomena to illustrate how excessive pursuit of external things invites misfortune.

The text begins by stating that true blessings start with eliminating calamities, and that seeking benefit must first involve avoiding harm. Those who appear to practice non-action yet maintain tranquility will find themselves in danger once they abandon this state; those who seem inactive yet govern effectively will create chaos when they lose this Dao of non-action. Here, "losing one's tranquility" refers to abandoning inner peace to pursue external calm, while "losing one's governance" means neglecting self-cultivation while attempting to rule others.

Natural examples follow: fine jade invites contention, beautiful animal hides are stripped away, splendid antlers lead to the creature's demise, sweet springs dry up first, and straight trees are felled earliest. Similarly, when people excessively chase fame or craft eloquent speech, they ultimately invite disaster. Just as jade in a mountain causes the mountain's erosion, the people's misfortunes often lie hidden within words.

Quoting Laozi, the text notes that those ignorant of the Dao transform blessings into calamities. The sage's way of governance lies in foreseeing survival and demise, gain and loss, thus remaining unmoved by honor or disgrace. Ordinary people often abuse power while enjoying blessings, turning fortune into misfortune when it runs out. Heaven and earth embrace all things like a carriage's canopy and base—those skilled in applying the Dao are never exhausted or harmed. The Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) generate and restrain each other, while the Dao of heaven encompasses all. Finally, it emphasizes that recognizing one's ignorance is virtuous, while pretending to know what one doesn't is a flaw.

The core teaching is to understand the wisdom of non-action: avoid excessive pursuit of external things, preserve inner tranquility, and uphold the principle of "knowing what you know and admitting what you don't."

Mountains nurture metal and stone, which in turn produce fine jade, yet ultimately they erode one another; trees nourish insects, yet these same insects gnaw at the trees; humans create disturbances, only to harm themselves in the end. (When fame flourishes, virtue declines; as affairs arise, calamity follows.) Those who delight in stirring up trouble invariably meet with setbacks; those who contend for profit inevitably find themselves in distress. (Just as wading through water inevitably wets one's feet, and dust inevitably soils the body.)

Skilled swimmers often drown, and expert riders frequently fall from their horses—both because their very expertise invites disaster. (Flashing one's talents leads to the loss of achievement; flaunting one's skill endangers life itself.) True attainment lies in aligning with the times rather than contending; governance's essence rests in following the Dao (the Way) rather than relying on sagely wisdom. (When the time is ripe, gains come naturally—why struggle for them? The Dao resides inherently in the human heart—why exalt sages?) Earth willingly stays low and does not contend with the heights, thus remaining secure and carefree; water flows downward and does not race with rapids, thus running ceaselessly. (What the Dao treasures and virtue (De) esteems is precisely this: sublime without contention, swift without haste.)

Thus, those who embody the Dao do not cling to fixed views, and so they do not err; they do not act recklessly, and so they do not fail. (The Dao has no form to grasp—forcing it only leads to loss; it is not an object to carve—deliberate effort ultimately destroys it.)

Laozi said: Master one true saying, and its benefit will never be exhausted; master two, and all under heaven will submit; master three, and you will stand above the feudal lords; master four, and you will be peerless in the world. Hold fast to sincerity, and its usefulness will be inexhaustible; practice virtue (De), and the world will rally to you; promote the worthy, and you will rise above the lords; lessen malice and cherish the people, and you will be unmatched under heaven. (Embody all four, and you may become a sovereign; achieve even one, and you may become a hegemon or a minister of state.)

Laozi observed that humans meet with three kinds of untimely death: (So-called untimely deaths are all self-inflicted.) reckless indulgence in food and drink, ruining the body—illness will claim your life; insatiable greed and endless demands—punishment will execute you; opposing the many with few, bullying the strong with weakness—war will take your life. (Thus, life and death rest in your own hands; fortune and misfortune are not decreed by heaven—both arise from human action.)

Laozi cautioned: Give generously, and the return will be abundant; accumulate deep enmity, and calamity will surely be profound. To give little yet expect much in return, or to store up resentment yet hope to avoid disaster—this is impossible. Observe a person's actions, and you can foresee their future fate. (Great merit brings abundant reward; deep enmity invites great harm—the weight of gratitude or grievance determines future fortune or misfortune.)

Laozi (founder of Daoism) said: To investigate the origin of life, nurture one's heart-mind, harmonize emotions of love and aversion, and achieve balanced temperament—this constitutes the foundation of cultivating the Dao (the Way). Understanding life's essence prevents confusion between fortune and misfortune; regulating the heart-mind prevents capricious joy and anger; harmonizing love and aversion prevents coveting useless things; moderating desires prevents excessive indulgence.

When unswayed by fortune or misfortune, words and actions align with heavenly principle; when free from erratic emotions, rewards and punishments remain impartial; when free from greed for the useless, desires no longer harm one's innate nature; when desires are restrained, contentment nourishes life. These four cultivations require no external seeking nor reliance on others—they are attained through introspection alone. (Understanding these four constitutes great enlightenment, with self-reflection as the key.)

Laozi further stated: Do not act in ways that invite criticism, nor resent others' reproach (if one commits no deceit, how could others criticize? With benevolent compassion, one naturally refrains from blaming others). Cultivate praiseworthy virtue without deliberately seeking praise (perfect one's own moral character without craving empty fame). Humans cannot avoid all misfortunes, but they can trust that misfortune will not come unless provoked; nor can blessings be forcibly obtained—accept them with equanimity when they arrive.

When misfortune strikes through no fault of one's own, there is no need for distress in hardship; when blessings come unforced, there is no room for pride in good fortune (if misfortune isn't my doing, why worry? If blessings aren't my demand, why be complacent?). Thus, contentment with simplicity brings innate joy, and wuwei (non-action) as an approach to life brings universal peace (maintain a serene and detached state of mind).

Laozi pointed out: Those cultivating the Dao must preserve their inherent authenticity, not forcibly pursue external things yet unattained. Chasing the unattained risks losing one's precious innate nature; by abiding in one's original heart, what is sought will naturally come (humanity's existing treasures are the jing (essence), qi (vital energy), and shen (spirit); the unattained consists of various external techniques. To discard inherent jing-qi-shen in pursuit of unmastered methods often results in losing both).

Governing a state without preventing problems beforehand makes crisis management perilous; acting without ensuring faultlessness while rushing for fame invites certain setbacks (stability comes from solid foundations; integrity prevents disgrace). Therefore, the greatest fortune is the absence of misfortune; the greatest gain is the absence of loss (no misfortune is supreme blessing).

This passage expounds the Daoist wisdom of Wuwei (non-action). The greatest benefit lies in transcending gain and loss (the advantage of no loss), for worldly matters often appear beneficial yet prove harmful, or seem detrimental yet bring advantage. Only by rising above conventional notions of fortune and misfortune can one truly avoid the troubles of gain and loss.

The Great Dao (referring to the fundamental laws of the universe) cannot be pursued through worldly temptations of profit, yet it brings mental tranquility and protection from calamities. Genuine Dao cultivators remain unmoved by material gains; without covetous desires, they encounter no disasters, thus maintaining natural mental stability wherein the Dao spontaneously manifests. Therefore, practitioners consistently maintain a state free from misfortune without actively seeking blessings, and preserve faultlessness without striving for merit. This realm of neither fortune nor misfortune, neither fault nor achievement, represents true spiritual attainment.

The scripture quotes the "Lord of the Dao" (a revered Daoist deity): The profound Dao is unfathomable—one must align with heaven's majesty and breathe in unison with the cosmos. Practitioners should maintain a mind empty like the void, neither forcing contemplation nor premeditating plans. Neither deliberately welcoming what comes nor forcibly retaining what departs. Though the body engages with worldly affairs, the spirit remains anchored like an unmoving center.

Amid life's complexities, the cultivator preserves uprightness; while moving with all things, never departing from the root. Neither performing good deeds ostentatiously nor avoiding ugliness artificially—simply following Dao's principles. Neither initiating forcefully nor clinging stubbornly—yielding to nature's flow. Neither planning prematurely nor missing opportunities—moving in cosmic rhythm. Neither coveting gains nor rejecting blessings—comply with natural law. Heaven's Dao, though heartless, nurtures all things; if humans practice non-action, all matters resolve spontaneously.

Those attaining this state harbor no special blessings within and encounter no unexpected disasters without—the very concepts of fortune and misfortune cease arising. Who could possibly harm such a person? The highest virtue resembles sharing a carriage—partaking blessings collectively. When superiors and inferiors unite in purpose, no divergent paths exist. Partial viewpoints must be cleared away; guide people with upright teachings, and they'll naturally follow the proper way.

In the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), Laozi expounds several essential principles regarding the Dao (the Way). On the topic of virtuous conduct and observing others, he states that encouraging good deeds is commendable, yet constantly scrutinizing others' faults to reprimand them will only invite misfortune. The truly wise approach is daily self-reflection and rectification rather than harshly judging others.

Concerning the pursuit of the Dao versus fame and profit, Laozi points out that the Dao cannot be attained through chasing worldly gains. True sages do not deliberately act to win reputation, nor do they rely on intellect to seek praise. They cultivate themselves by aligning with the natural order, without striving for external validation. Forced efforts often lead to failure, while the Dao, though wuwei (non-action), permeates all things. The truly wise appear as if without wisdom; the truly capable seem as if without capability—this state of inner fullness and outer humility is the mark of one who has realized the Dao.

Laozi particularly emphasizes the difficulty of reconciling human pursuits with the Dao: those who cling to fame will struggle to comprehend the great Dao. When the Dao manifests, personal reputation fades. If fame flourishes while the Dao remains hidden, danger arises.

Regarding the distribution of wealth, Laozi argues that rather than entrusting it to the most honest person, a method like drawing lots—free from conscious bias—ensures greater fairness, as even the most impartial individuals harbor some partiality. Similarly, relying on the most upright to guard possessions is less reliable than simply locking them away, for all humans have desires.

Finally, Laozi observes that when others point out our flaws, resentment often arises. Yet true perfection lies in correcting oneself upon seeing imperfections, as if looking in a mirror. In interactions, prioritizing others before oneself prevents many troubles.

In the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), Laozi states: In human interactions, one should not rely on extravagant gifts, but rather on humble speech. No amount of material offerings can satisfy another's greed (those with true De [Virtue/Power] do not value material gifts), while maintaining a respectful attitude is what sustains lasting relationships (treating others with humility and courtesy ensures enduring connections without weariness).

Making oaths only to break them first (the noble person needs no external constraints—a single promise lasts a lifetime; the petty person swears oaths but betrays them within days). Thus, the true gentleman does not outwardly display benevolence and righteousness but cultivates De [Virtue/Power] inwardly (preserving inner purity without external artifice). To govern a state, one must manage internal affairs well, harness local potential, and teach the people to uphold integrity.

Strengthen city defenses and unite all levels of society to protect the nation. As a ruler, one should not attack the innocent for personal gain or covet unattainable profits—this is the fundamental method of preserving a state (sharing benefits with the people makes them willing to sacrifice; aligning with their will ensures collective defense). Those who seek fame do not overreach, and those who pursue profit do not exceed their bounds—this is the way of the sage kings (only thus can the state be safeguarded and borders secured).

Laozi observes: Sages are not swayed by selfishness, whereas ordinary people struggle to restrain desires (a tranquil mind perfects the Dao, while unchecked desires endanger wisdom). The noble embody upright Qi [vital energy], while the petty radiate corrupt Qi—aligning inwardly with one's nature and outwardly with the Dao, acting in accordance with heavenly principles without being bound by external things, this is upright Qi; indulging in delicacies, drowning in sensual pleasures, being capricious in emotions, and disregarding consequences—this is corrupt Qi. Corrupt and upright Qi clash; desires and innate nature harm each other—they cannot coexist (as one wanes, the other waxes). Thus, sages always restrain desires to accord with their nature.

Eyes crave beauty, ears delight in melodies, noses savor fragrances, mouths chase after flavors—these sensory pleasures are tied to gain and loss, manifestations of desire. In truth, the ears, eyes, nose, and mouth do not know what they truly want; it is the heart that governs them (if each remains in its proper place). From this, it is clear that desires can never be fully satisfied (the cravings of the six senses are all regulated by the heart). When the heart is filled with upright Qi, desires do not harm one's nature; when the heart is devious, falsehood obscures true nature. Thus, corruption and uprightness depend on the self; gain and loss stem from the heart. If the heart is upright, how can external things become burdens?

Laozi concludes: Those who cultivate body and spirit must maintain regular routines, eat moderately, harmonize emotions, and balance activity and rest (the key lies in self-mastery).

This scripture expounds the principles of self-cultivation, emphasizing the importance of inner refinement.

External adornments harm one's innate authenticity. Deliberately displaying one's worthiness ultimately constrains one's true nature, while maintaining excessive formality like a guest wearies the body. The truly cultivated remain vigilant even in matters within ten paces, for mishaps often occur in moments of carelessness.

Just as birds with resplendent plumage invite harm through their beauty, and trees with lush foliage damage their roots, it's rare to find perfect harmony in worldly affairs. Kingfishers are hunted for their vibrant colors, spring blossoms plucked for their fragrance—few things can maintain dual excellences simultaneously.

Laozi said: The heavens radiate light, so none need fear darkness among the people; the earth holds abundant wealth, so none should worry about poverty. Those of true De (Virtue) stand immovable as mountains, becoming models for others. They maintain uprightness without consciously bestowing favors, so recipients feel no indebtedness—thus they endure in tranquility.

Heaven and earth give nothing intentionally, so nothing can be taken from them; they confer no favors, thus incurring no resentment. The truly enlightened remain unshaken by power or fame, unharmed by desires. Content in solitude, untethered to external things, they give without expectation and lose without bitterness—thereby achieving lasting stability.

The scripture concludes by warning that those prone to anger inevitably accumulate grievances—a reminder to maintain equanimity.

Laozi said that in dealing with others, those who excel in giving are also adept at receiving. Only by following the natural laws of heaven and earth can one transcend emotions of joy and anger, forget attachments to giving and taking, and preserve the heavenly principle by following the natural course. Thus when praise appears, slander follows; when good deeds manifest, malice trails behind. Benefit often marks the beginning of misfortune, while blessings frequently herald impending disaster. Without seeking gain, one avoids harm; without coveting blessings, one prevents calamity. The body's natural state is wholeness, while wealth and honor are but temporary lodgings. (People naturally enjoy praise and admire virtuous acts, yet excessive display invites slander and resentment. This doesn't mean abandoning good deeds or praise entirely, but rather maintaining humility without arrogance—thus naturally avoiding the cycles of fortune and misfortune while preserving one's virtue. To withdraw unscathed is the natural state, while wealth and honor are merely passing guests.)

Laozi said that sages wear no extraordinary garments nor display peculiar behavior. Their clothing draws no attention, their conduct seeks no novelty. When prosperous, they aren't ostentatious; when impoverished, they feel no fear. In glory they don't boast, in seclusion they feel no shame—different yet not strange. (Poverty or prosperity stems from destiny's arrangement, thus they neither pursue extravagance nor cower in fear; glory or seclusion follows circumstance, thus they neither flaunt nor feel disgraced. Even when differing from ordinary people, what strangeness is there?) Their actions transcend verbal description—this is what we call "Great Penetration." (Following nature's course without obstruction constitutes Great Penetration.)

Laozi said that those cultivating the Dao rectify themselves while awaiting the proper moment. When the time comes, none can stop it; when it departs, none can detain it. Therefore sages neither force advancement nor deliberately retreat. (They correct body and mind, follow the momentum of events, neither actively pursuing nor resisting.) Following circumstances for three years—when the moment leaves, I depart too; waiting for three years—when the moment arrives, I follow behind. Neither aggressively pursuing nor passively withdrawing, they maintain equilibrium in their proper place. (This means being excessively ahead or behind are both inappropriate—only by avoiding extremes can one settle one's life securely.) The Dao of Heaven shows no favoritism, blessing only the virtuous. Blessings arrive unsought—thus no need to boast of merit; misfortunes come uncaused—thus no need for regret over actions. (This has been explained previously.) The heart remains tranquil, unburdened by external things. (Praise cannot make them rejoice, humiliation cannot startle them.) Not even barking dogs frighten them, for they trust their original heart's purity, harboring no improper thoughts. (Knowing oneself blameless, one feels no fear.) Such are those who truly penetrate the Great Dao.

This passage expounds Daoist insights on self-cultivation and worldly wisdom. It first observes that those who truly comprehend Heaven's mandate remain untroubled, just as ancient emperors were buried in wilderness yet worshipped in the Mingtang (imperial ceremonial hall), illustrating how spirit (shen) surpasses physical form. When spirit governs the body, one lives freely; when bodily desires overwhelm the spirit, one falls into distress. While intelligence should be properly employed, ultimate fulfillment lies in spiritual refinement—this constitutes true understanding.

The ancients adept at self-preservation cherished virtue (de) above material lack, making fame powerless to shake their resolve; they delighted in cultivating the Dao (dao), rendering wealth incapable of beguiling their hearts. Though humble, they found joy in tranquil serenity. The text employs vivid analogies: worrying about societal chaos while calculating one's lifespan resembles attempting to replenish the Yellow River with tears—equally futile. Thus, only those who focus on self-cultivation rather than worldly turmoil are qualified to discuss the Great Dao.

Laozi identifies three common sources of resentment: high rank invites envy, prominent office arouses imperial suspicion, and generous stipends provoke resentment. The antidote lies in: greater humility with elevated status, increased caution with expanded authority, and broader generosity with amplified wealth. Nobility must root itself in humility, just as height depends on its foundation.

Finally, it emphasizes communication's essence: speech conveys understanding, while listening fosters mutual comprehension. Just as the deaf-blind cannot interact normally, mental obstructions parallel physical impairments—eyes failing to see Mount Tai or ears missing thunderclaps represent bodily blindness-deafness, while fundamental misjudgments like mistaking deer for horses constitute spiritual blindness-deafness.

This passage illustrates the fundamental difference between ordinary people and those who have realized the Dao (the Way). Like confused individuals who cannot distinguish beans from wheat, some fail to comprehend even the simplest matters before their eyes, let alone grasp the profound Dao. The Dao is the root of all things—every material form depends on it for growth, just as one relies on their closest family. It nourishes all beings like a benevolent ruler, enabling those who consume the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) and breathe Qi (vital energy) to attain longevity. It is also the wisest teacher for the enlightened.

A common mistake people make is squandering time on trivial pursuits while neglecting what truly matters. Consider someone obsessed with chess all day—if they directed that same focus toward seeking the Dao, they would have long attained profound realization. Those who neither study nor seek guidance are no different from the deaf and blind.

Laozi said: What truly convinces the human heart is De (Virtue/Power), not force. Genuine De lies in giving without expectation of return. Thus, the sage who wishes to be respected first respects others; to lead others, they first govern themselves; to surpass others, they first overcome their own flaws. The ancient sage-kings earned the people's devotion precisely because of their humility and willingness to yield—paradoxically gaining more by doing less. This embodies the wisdom of "giving leads to receiving, retreating leads to advancing." Such a state arises from aligning with the Dao, allowing De to naturally accumulate within them. As a result, the people support them without weariness and uphold them without burden.

Laozi said: Those with shallow virtue (De) who receive excessive favor will invite criticism, while those with meager talent occupying high positions court danger. Those who enjoy generous emoluments without having rendered significant service will inevitably decline. Worldly matters often appear beneficial yet conceal harm, or seem detrimental yet bring advantage (when ability and position are mismatched, calamity inevitably follows—gain and loss, fortune and misfortune perpetually transform). Ordinary people recognize the advantages of pursuing profit, yet fail to understand that coveting gain is itself a calamity. Only sages comprehend that greed is a sickness, and that non-attachment to profit constitutes true blessing (commoners see only the benefits of profit, while sages perceive greed as the root malady). Just as trees bearing excessive fruit injure their roots, and households hoarding treasures inevitably bring misfortune upon their descendants. Overreaching for profit instead invites disaster—this is the natural law (a tree bearing fruit twice will surely harm its roots; a house storing treasures will curse its heirs; unearned wealth often brings temporary gain followed by suffering—such is the Dao's immutable principle).

Laozi said: Petty men act only for immediate gain, while noble persons conduct themselves according to righteousness (Dao). Those who truly practice goodness don't seek fame, yet reputation naturally follows them; fame isn't inherently tied to profit, yet benefit naturally accrues (petty men scheme for advantage only to suffer consequences, while noble persons uphold the Dao without seeking gain yet attain honor—though both may appear to profit, their outcomes differ completely). Therefore, those whose behavior defies reason and whose words contradict themselves are petty men (virtue ungrounded ultimately brings shame). Those mastering specific skills or expertise are merely competent (limited in vision, confined to narrow domains). But those who comprehend the whole, synthesize broadly, and skillfully employ diverse talents—these are sages (dismissing the corrupt while appointing the worthy—this constitutes the sage's work).

Laozi said: Life is but temporary lodging; death the ultimate home. Thus in times of peace, preserve yourself through righteousness (Dao); when chaos comes, defend righteousness with your life—death's day becomes righteousness fulfilled (in orderly times protect yourself through Dao, in chaotic eras safeguard Dao with your life; the noble person benefits others even at the cost of life, facing death as homecoming to the source). Therefore the noble person guards the great Dao and carries it through to completion (actions aligned with the true path never stray). Life is heaven's gift; circumstance depends on temporal currents. Unrealized talent stems from fate's decree; pursuit must follow the proper path, while fulfillment rests with heaven's mandate (the crucial matter lies in seizing the moment).

This passage from the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) primarily discusses principles for human conduct and the importance of mental cultivation.

Those who have attained the Dao (the Way) view gains and losses with detachment—they neither rejoice excessively when obtaining something nor resent when losing it. A noble person persists in doing good without demanding blessings in return; they restrain themselves from evil yet cannot always avoid misfortune. True gentlemen never abandon righteousness to seek fortune, nor do they alter their upright character for fear of calamity, because their hearts remain pure and untainted.

When favorable circumstances arise, a noble person advances in accordance with the times, achieving success through righteousness; when fortune wanes, they retreat while upholding propriety. Whether in poverty or wealth, high or low status, they maintain inner peace, valuing righteousness over external conditions. Those with well-cultivated hearts have smooth-flowing Qi (vital energy), while those with chaotic minds suffer from turbulent Qi. The key to mental cultivation lies in whether one follows the Dao: those who attain it remain calm and harmonious, while those who lose it become agitated and confused. A tranquil heart naturally leads to humility and virtue, whereas a disturbed mind inevitably breeds conflict and malice. When Qi flows smoothly, one willingly sacrifices for others; when it becomes disordered, one harms others for personal gain. Both states can be regulated through cultivation of the Dao.

The Way of Heaven is as impartial as an echo responding to sound: accumulating De (Virtue/Power) invites blessings, while accumulating wickedness invites misfortune. Officials often fall because they stray from the right path, filial piety weakens when one becomes overly attached to spouse and children, distress arises from negligence, and illness often recurs when it seems cured. Therefore, one must remain consistently cautious in all matters to avoid failure.

(Note: Here, "Dao" refers to the laws of nature and moral principles, while "Qi" denotes a person’s life energy and mental state. This passage emphasizes the relationship between inner cultivation and external circumstances, embodying the Daoist ideal of "inner sagehood and outer kingship" in self-cultivation.)

Laozi said: How can one succeed by appointing those of unvirtuous character to govern the upright? Conversely, when upright individuals are appointed to manage the unprincipled, cooperation becomes impossible. This is akin to everyone wallowing in muddy water while deluding themselves about remaining unsoiled (meaning: truly knowing a person is difficult, and appointments must be made with discernment. Nowadays, when the treacherous are mistaken for the upright and fools for sages, how can one hope to remain unsullied while dwelling in filth?)

Laozi further expounds: Both sages and fools may agree that "life and death are the same," yet their understanding differs fundamentally. Sages penetrate the nature of life and death, comprehending the Dao's operation in all things; fools merely follow trends blindly, ignorant of the deeper implications (the sage transcends the duality of life and death, unattached to gain or loss, thus undisturbed by either; the fool fixates on their distinction, anxious over outcomes, forever trapped by their concerns).

The Dao moves through the heavens, the ten thousand things grow upon the earth, yet the state of harmony (he) depends on humanity. If a ruler fails to balance these forces, calamity follows: celestial Qi (vital energy) ceases to descend, terrestrial Qi refuses to rise, Yin-Yang falls into discord, winds and rains defy their seasons, and the people suffer disease, famine, and hardship (for the Dao relies on heaven, all beings rely on earth, and humans—as the essence of heaven and earth—must understand harmonious governance).