《通玄真經(一)》Vol. 8

In the Tongxuan Zhenjing, Laozi states: Clarity and emptiness (referring to the state of pure tranquility and non-being) constitute the essence of Heaven, while Wuwei (non-action) is the eternal principle for governing the world. Within emptiness resides spiritual awareness; within darkness hides luminous clarity. Who can truly comprehend this state of unity with the Dao? Only by adhering to the principle of governing through non-action can all things flourish naturally.

One must relinquish excessive displays of benevolence, abandon contrived sage wisdom, discard outward demonstrations of talent, abolish ritualized displays of humaneness and righteousness, dissolve artificial affairs, cast aside clever rhetoric, and prohibit deceitful falsehoods. In this way, whether capable or not, all people may return to the source of the Dao. By eliminating these seven artificial constructs, the worthy cease their self-exaltation, the foolish no longer feel inferior, and all may merge with the Great Dao, returning to their original nature.

Maintaining emptiness and stillness (an inner state of luminous serenity) allows communion with the Dao. When supreme De (Virtue) is attained, no deliberate action is needed—all things find their proper place. The Way of emptiness and stillness enables Heaven and Earth to endure eternally, while the divine and numinous (Shenming) subtly circulate through all things without dominating them. Just as the twelve months cycle endlessly, the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) generate and restrain one another, and cold and heat alternate—these are the patterns of natural law.

Extreme cold harms life, yet without cold nothing thrives; intense heat damages creatures, yet without warmth nothing endures. Thus seemingly contradictory phenomena are all necessary. The Great Dao embraces all possibilities—what matters is alignment with celestial principle. When encountering what can be done, act; when facing what cannot be done, desist. The alternation of cold and heat follows Heaven-Earth's law; ritual teachings and punishments are the sage's institutions modeled after nature. Though harsh, cold and heat are indispensable; though severe, punishments cannot be abolished—when properly timed, they cause no harm.

The root of all things originates from the "One" (the source of Dao), with time as its governing thread. From antiquity to the present, this truth remains unchanged—this is celestial principle. The "One" manifests the Dao and serves as the ruler's fundamental governance principle. Though eras change, its essence endures.

This passage expounds on the formless grandeur of the Dao and the governing principle of Wuwei (non-action), while exploring the relationship between essence and external tools.

The greatest phenomena often lack fixed forms. The Dao (the fundamental principle of the cosmos) represents the ultimate existence that transcends conventional measurement. Though heaven appears round and earth square, they defy compass and ruler. What we call "cosmic time" spans past and present, while "cosmic space" encompasses all directions—yet the Dao permeates these dimensions without revealing its precise location. Just as those with poor eyesight cannot discuss grand vistas, those with limited understanding struggle to comprehend supreme truths. Only those truly attuned to the Dao can grasp the interconnected nature of all things.

In governance, while the legal systems of the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors (legendary sage rulers of antiquity) differed, their shared essence lay in winning the people's hearts. Like compasses and squares being tools for crafting exquisite objects, the tools themselves don't constitute excellence. Without strings, even the finest musician cannot play; strings alone cannot produce mournful tones. True refinement lies in human application—one can draw straight lines without ink markers, express grief without musical strings. The highest mastery occurs when spirit and skill unite, flowing naturally through one's hands.

Heaven and earth operate like an axle turning wheels, with inner forces driving outer movements in endless cycles. Rulers should emulate the Dao's way: grasping fundamental principles above while manifesting their radiance below. The Dao generates all things, shaping the seasons through Yin-Yang transformations and differentiating them through the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), each finding its proper place. Governance must accord with temporal rhythms while maintaining consistent standards—aligning with heavenly principles above and uniting ministers below. The Dao of heaven and earth appears non-acting yet lacks nothing, attaining without seeking, proving how Wuwei ultimately benefits all. Just as celestial patterns illuminate the four directions, rulers establish laws to order the world, reviving all beings and benefiting the people through balanced Yin-Yang. When Emperor Yao governed the world, he achieved Wuwei governance through self-cultivation.

This passage expounds the core Daoist concept of "teaching without words" (不言之教). The art of playing the zither cannot be directly transmitted from father to son, nor can the son fully inherit it from his father, because its true subtlety lies beyond verbal instruction (just as when Master Wen played, the delicate finger movements and spiritual resonance had to be personally experienced—even the closest father-son relationship cannot convey such profundity). This resembles the Dao itself, which cannot be acquired through simple transmission.

Silence governs physical form, while stillness is the root of sound (tranquility reveals form, making silence the governor; the principles of music reside in stillness, making quietude the foundation).

Laozi said: The operations of heaven and earth are governed by De (Virtue/Power), while Dao gives life to all things. The most subtle principles exist internally, requiring no deliberate pursuit of external fame (Dao grants life, De nurtures creation. When humans harmonize their internal Qi (vital energy), preserve their Jing (essence), and discard external distractions, they naturally need neither status to display nobility nor force to subdue others). True Dao exists spontaneously without deliberate teaching, like a mirror reflecting objects without conscious observation (Dao's natural existence eliminates the need for forced instruction; a mirror's natural reflection requires no active looking—only thus can one focus on essentials without distraction).

Forcibly propagating Dao through indoctrination violates natural De and damages inherent nature. Consider how Yin-Yang, the four seasons, and the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water) all belong to the great Dao yet possess distinct characteristics—all things share the same essence but manifest differently. The wise need not teach each other, the capable need not instruct one another. Therefore, sages establish guidelines merely to guide people's hearts, allowing all things to find their proper place (forced education violates natural Virtue, just as the Five Phases have unique properties and all things differ in form. Sages create standards only to enlighten the confused, letting the wise comprehend naturally and the skilled fulfill their capacities, ultimately returning to spontaneity. They neither flaunt virtue in life nor resent fate in death).

Heaven and earth show no partiality, treating all things like straw dogs (sacrificial objects); sages likewise show no favoritism, regarding common people as straw dogs (heaven-earth nurtures creation, sages educate the masses—how could they favor particular things? From Dao's perspective, all things are equal). Excessive emphasis on compassion... (original text fragmentary here)

The path of benevolence and righteousness is ultimately a narrow one. Those who tread such constrained roads become lost when entering vast realms; those who choose shortcuts grow perplexed on long journeys. The Dao methods of sages allow them to enter expansive spaces without losing their way and travel great distances without confusion. By consistently maintaining a state of empty stillness (a Daoist meditative state) and self-containment, one may reach the highest spiritual realms—this constitutes the Virtue (De) of Heaven.

Laozi tells us that sages embody the heavens' canopy and the earth's support, shining like sun and moon while harmonizing Yin-Yang and ordering the four seasons to nurture all things. They regard all beings without distinctions of old or new, intimate or distant (this constitutes the sage's Virtue). Therefore, those who emulate the Dao of Heaven understand: the sky doesn't produce just one kind of weather, the earth doesn't yield just one material, and humans shouldn't confine themselves to single pursuits. Thus their endeavors may develop in multiple directions, their actions manifest through diverse methods.

The Dao of military strategy follows the same principle: some troops move lightly for swift strikes, others stand firm in heavy defense; some commanders crave achievement through bold advances, others maintain disciplined restraint. These four contrasting styles complement each other—none should be forcibly standardized. Light troops excel at rapid maneuvers but lack staying power; heavy defenses hold positions well but struggle in offense; ambitious commanders conquer territories effectively but shouldn't handle resource distribution; disciplined leaders maintain integrity well but lack initiative; trustworthy officers keep agreements faithfully but adapt poorly. The sage employs each according to their strengths.

Heaven and earth never produce just one kind of thing; Yin-Yang never generate just one form of life. Thus the ocean achieves its immensity by refusing no stream, and the mountain attains its majesty by spurning no tree.

(Note: This scripture contrasts Confucian virtues with the Dao of Heaven, expounding the Daoist governing wisdom of "employing each according to their nature" and "embracing all inclusively." The terms "empty stillness" refer to a meditative state of mental clarity, while "Virtue of Heaven" denotes ethical conduct aligned with natural law—both central to Daoist cultivation.)

The Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery) expounds on the sage's way of governance and the principles of nature. A wise ruler never rejects advice from ordinary people, for this is how one expands their influence. Those who cling stubbornly to a single corner while neglecting the whole picture, or grasp one thing while discarding all others, will gain little and govern within narrow limits.

If the great Dao (the Way) is not vast, it cannot encompass all things; if the virtue (De) of a sage is not profound, they cannot heed subtle counsel. Therefore, one must not rely solely on a single skill or cling obstinately to one method, for such rigidity only constricts one's vision.

Laozi said: Heaven covers all things, Earth carries everything, and the sun and moon shine universally. Though the forms and natures of all beings differ, each finds its own way to thrive. What people consider joyful may be the root of sorrow; what seems safe may conceal danger.

The sage's method of governing people is to let each follow their inherent nature, dwell in suitable places, practice their strengths, and fulfill their potential. Thus, all things coexist harmoniously without mutual interference. Inherently, nothing in the world is noble or base—such distinctions arise from human perspectives. Hence, the sage does not exalt the worthy any more than they would place fish in trees or drown birds in water, but allows all beings to find their proper place.

In ancient times, when Yao ruled the world, Shun served as Minister of Education (Sikou), Xie as Minister of War (Sima), Yu as Minister of Works (Sikong), Houji taught farming, and Xizhong oversaw craftsmanship. By employing the worthy thus, the sages extended their achievements throughout Heaven and Earth, filling the four seas with their virtue (De). Their way of guiding the people was this: those by water fished, those in forests gathered, those in valleys herded, those on highlands farmed—adapting to local conditions and making full use of resources. Thus, the people each found their proper place.

This scripture expounds wisdom on governance and personal conduct. The essential teaching is that those skilled in rulership follow natural laws and human nature rather than forcing changes.

Governing a state should be as natural as wind passing through panpipes, allowing each person to find their proper place. A wise ruler utilizes people's strengths (their "craft") while compensating for their weaknesses (their "clumsiness"), thus attracting more followers than dissenters. Just as different holes in panpipes naturally produce distinct tones when wind passes through, all beings instinctively pursue benefit and avoid harm. The ideal condition resembles neighboring states where people can see each other's cooking smoke and hear each other's roosters crow, yet the populace remains content without unnecessary travel.

The text then contrasts four states of governance: what appears prosperous may conceal disorder, while apparent emptiness may indicate skillful rule; seeming insufficiency might portend collapse, whereas apparent abundance could signal stability. The key lies not in population size or wealth, but in proper role fulfillment and restrained desires. "Emptiness" doesn't mean absence of people, but everyone keeping to their fundamental duties; "prosperity" doesn't mean large numbers, but all pursuing trivial matters.

Ancient sage-kings established laws not arbitrarily, but in accordance with cosmic principles and human sentiment (the "Way of Higher De"). Prohibitions and punishments weren't designed to kill, but served as dikes for prevention. Yet foolish people perish by violating laws, just as those ignoring dikes eventually drown.

The passage concludes with Laozi's teaching: governing with Dao doesn't mean altering human nature, but guiding it according to its tendencies. Like channeling water by following its flow, farming according to land conditions, or waging war in alignment with popular will. Such "guidance according to inherent tendencies" makes one invincible. All things follow natural patterns—human affairs too must conform to these principles for effective governance.

(Note: "Way of Higher De" refers to the highest virtue that emphasizes natural compliance; "guidance according to inherent tendencies" represents a core Daoist governance concept advocating observation of intrinsic qualities before taking appropriate measures)

The ancient sage-kings established laws by aligning regulations with the innate nature of the people. To act contrary to human nature is to lose the means of guiding the masses toward transformation. Though humans possess an inherent inclination toward goodness, without proper conditions, they cannot follow the true path (just as wood cannot produce water, nor metal generate fire). While human nature contains the seeds of benevolence and righteousness, without the standards set by sages, people would struggle to walk the proper way. A ruler must utilize what people naturally dislike to prohibit wickedness—thus even without punishments, their authority will shine with divine majesty. When aligned with nature, the world follows effortlessly; when opposed to nature, no decree, however strict, will gain compliance.

Though virtue (De), morality, benevolence, and righteousness originate in human nature, without sage-kings implementing rewards and punishments through laws—guiding with virtue, regulating with ritual, and deterring with penalties—people cannot return to their natural disposition and walk the true path. Aligning with nature yields results like magic; opposing it renders commands powerless. Virtue is the foundation of achievement, and when the people sincerely submit, success arises spontaneously (without virtue, no merit or fame can be established).

The ancient masters of governance took rivers and oceans as their model: though seemingly inactive, the sea achieves vastness by remaining low, thus eternally serving as the valley of the world. Its abundant virtue allows it to receive all rivers without striving; it gains without grasping and attains without forcing. Therefore, to govern the world, one must follow spontaneity—not exalting oneself yet becoming enriched; not displaying oneself yet becoming illustrious; not boasting yet enduring. Dwelling in the realm of "non-being" (Wu), one becomes sovereign of all under heaven. By not contending, none can contend with them; by never aggrandizing themselves, they achieve true greatness.

The nature of rivers and seas approaches the Dao itself, enabling them to endure alongside heaven and earth. If nobles and rulers cultivate the Dao, accomplishment follows naturally. By not possessing, they become strong and secure—a strength not maintained through force. The deeper one cultivates the Dao, the more profound their virtue grows; with profound virtue, achievement arises of itself. This is the most far-reaching "Mysterious Virtue" (Xuande), which appears contrary to worldly pursuits (while people honor status, I embrace humility; while they contend, I remain free of strife). All things under heaven have their origin, yet few comprehend this principle.

This scripture elucidates the fundamental nature of Dao (the Way) and its relationship with all phenomena. It reveals that sages comprehend the ultimate truth transcending dualities like male/female and life/death. While all things in heaven and earth are composed of Yin-Yang energies, Dao itself is formless and imageless—neither masculine nor feminine, neither round nor square—surpassing all concrete forms and attributes.

Though profoundly mysterious, Dao constitutes the fundamental principle of all existence. It is so subtle as to have no internal structure, yet so vast as to encompass everything. By following Dao's natural patterns, one preserves life and stabilizes bodily form. The text emphasizes abandoning attachments and distinctions, maintaining inner tranquility, and never violating natural laws.

All phenomena originate from Dao initially. Though manifesting diverse forms, they share the same essence. The sun and moon alternate between day and night; Yin and Yang express hardness and softness; things differ in length and brevity. Yet Dao itself transcends these specific attributes—neither bright nor dark, neither existent nor extinct, neither large nor small, neither circular nor rectangular—perpetually flowing and infinitely transforming.

Those who truly understand Dao maintain a state of Wuwei (non-action), harmonizing with natural rhythms to return to primordial simplicity. Heaven and earth began as undifferentiated chaos (concentrated as one), then divided into Yin-Yang energies (separated as two), subsequently evolving into the Five Phases (divided as five). Humans dwelling between heaven and earth should emulate cosmic De (Virtue/Power), focusing on unity, aligning with natural patterns, and returning to the original state.

Ultimately, Dao is most intimate—never to be estranged. Those seeking Dao externally eventually discover the truth resides within themselves. Just as emperors possess titles, their true worth lies in their virtuous conduct.

This passage elucidates the wisdom of governance, fundamentally opposing the excessive use of cunning strategies, punishments, and harsh scrutiny, while advocating a return to the Daoist principle of governing through clarity, stillness, and Wuwei (non-action).

A ruler who honors the Dao and righteousness aligns with heavenly principles (virtuous governance nourishes all beings like sunlight, righteous acts rescue the distressed, and administration follows the timeliness of circumstances). The sage's way of governing does not forcibly interfere with the myriad things. Only when De (Virtue) declines does one resort to clever schemes; only when virtuous governance weakens does one employ punishments; only when discernment falters does one implement supervision. Yet excessive cunning leads to confusion among the people, abuse of punishments breeds resentment between rulers and subjects, and harsh scrutiny compels subordinates to embellish achievements to please superiors.

The sage emulates the natural patterns of heaven and earth, governing with the same all-encompassing embrace. Nourishing the people in accordance with the seasons, when the people prosper, peace naturally prevails. At such times, even the most sagely governance requires no alteration. One should discard crafty intellect, reduce punishments, and return to clarity and Wuwei, whereby all things naturally return to the proper path.

A true ruler should maintain the solemn stillness of a ritual effigy (the "corpse" representing deities in ancient sacrifices), whereby the world naturally receives blessings. Whether benefiting one person or ten thousand, there should be no partiality. Deliberate displays of either benevolence or cruelty violate the Great Dao. Bestowing favors must be appropriate (the sage, recognizing the harm of cunning and deceit, rectifies through De, returning to stillness so all things naturally align, maintaining silence so folkways return to simplicity). Punishments must not be abused, thus preventing violent uprisings.

When rewards are lavished without merit or titles granted without labor, officials grow negligent and opportunists scheme. Tyrants who indiscriminately execute the innocent—even punishing Dao cultivators—cause the people to abandon self-cultivation and virtue, instead becoming prone to rebellion. Excessive generosity breeds wickedness; reckless violence incites chaos—both are omens of a doomed state (punishments must not befall those who follow the Dao; titles must not be granted to the meritless, lest officials slacken and the people's hearts turn away).

Therefore, when the state administers punishments, the ruler should not act in anger; when the court bestows rewards, the ruler need not claim credit. The punished bear no resentment, for the penalty is just; the rewarded feel no gratitude, for the honor is duly earned. This constitutes the essence of governing through the Dao.

This passage elucidates the fundamental principles of governing a state. It conveys that when the common people understand rewards and punishments are based on their own conduct, they will strive to achieve merit through their deeds rather than relying on others' favor. Thus, the court remains simple yet orderly, and farmlands stay cultivated without falling into neglect.

Rewards should sufficiently encourage virtuous conduct, while punishments must adequately deter wickedness. Those who receive rewards will not grow arrogant, and those who face penalties will harbor no resentment. In this way, those nearby benefit from the ruler's grace, while distant peoples submit willingly. When each person attends to their proper duties and contributes their full effort, the court remains free of disputes, and the fields yield abundant harvests.

The sagely rulers of antiquity (the "Supreme" [Taishang] refers to the most enlightened sovereigns) comprehended this principle, and later monarchs followed their example. The true Kingly Way (the ideal art of governance) lies in this: The ruler appears to practice non-action (Wuwei), yet educates the people through wordless teaching; maintains stillness without reckless movement, unifies laws without frequent changes; follows natural patterns, allowing ministers to fulfill their roles without excessive interference.

Such governance ensures: plans encounter no miscalculations, and actions contain no errors; speech requires no ornate rhetoric, and conduct needs no forced display; advancement and withdrawal accord with timeliness, movement and stillness follow heavenly principles; neither preference nor aversion colors judgments of beauty and ugliness, nor personal bias taints rewards and punishments. All things find their proper place, and all affairs develop according to their nature without imposition of human will. For deliberate interference would only produce contrary results.

This passage expounds the core Daoist principles of governing the state and cultivating the self. It first observes that excessive embellishment damages essence, just as rulers lacking broad-minded tolerance and the Wuwei (non-action) mentality of serene detachment cannot govern effectively. True statecraft lies in preserving original simplicity, eliminating personal preferences, whereby all things naturally align.

It then explains the relationship between human beings and heaven-earth: the hun (yang spirit) originates from celestial Qi (vital energy), while the po (yin corporeal form) derives from terrestrial Qi. These two mysterious forces, when properly settled in their respective positions, sustain life. By maintaining the integrity of hun and po without dissipation, one connects with the supreme "Taiyi" (the highest Daoist deity, Supreme Lord of the Dao). The Dao's movement is silent and boundless, vast yet unfathomable, revolving like a wheel with divine transformations, always following nature without striving to lead.

The cultivation method involves maintaining a state of silent emptiness without deliberate action. Like enlightened rulers governing with clear, unprejudiced awareness, this allows both capable and ordinary ministers to fulfill their roles. When ruler and subjects each find their proper place, the state naturally achieves good governance. This resembles how a polished mirror reflects pure essence—when the ruler cultivates himself accordingly, the people rally; when applied to governance, ministers give support.

The emphasized concepts of "emptiness-quietness" and Wuwei (non-action) represent fundamental Daoist philosophy, referring to aligning with natural patterns by eliminating subjective interference. This principle applies equally to personal cultivation and state governance, proposing that optimal rule allows all things to develop according to their inherent nature.

In the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), Laozi states: The truly wise maintain humility in seeking knowledge, while the courageous surpass others by being adept at inquiry. Those who can gather collective wisdom find no task impossible; those skilled in harnessing communal strength face no insurmountable challenge. When relying on the power of the multitude, even the legendary strength of Wu Huo (a figure of Herculean might) becomes insignificant; when utilizing the momentum of the masses, the combined force of the world seems insufficient.

Those who skillfully employ collective strength can move the highest mountains; when pooling communal wisdom, even the hidden mysteries of spirits and deities become transparent. Without understanding situational adaptability or following objective principles, even sages cannot achieve success. Just as an ordinary person can shoot a ten-thousand-jun arrow when a powerful crossbow is drawn, but against natural principles, even a sage cannot make a child speak against their will. Therefore, sages always act by aligning resources with circumstances: assigning positions according to merit and matching tasks to abilities. When capability corresponds to responsibility, work feels effortless; when talent fits the mission, tasks become unburdensome. Sages excel in coordinating diverse talents, ensuring both people and resources fulfill their utmost potential.

The "Wuwei" (non-action) mentioned here does not imply passive inaction (like being immovable, unresponsive, or rigidly unchanging), but rather acting without selfish motives or allowing personal desires to obstruct the true Dao. It means accomplishing deeds by following natural laws, leveraging existing conditions, adhering to inherent developmental trends, and avoiding petty cleverness. Success is claimed without boasting; achievements are made without coveting fame. Like using boats on water, sleds on sand, sled-carts on mud, and litters in mountains—dredging waterways in summer and building reservoirs in winter, piling earth into hills and excavating lowlands into ponds—all these follow nature's characteristics rather than forced contrivance.

Sages feel no shame in humble status, worrying only about the Dao's failure to prevail; they do not fret over personal mortality, but grieve over the people's hardships. Thus they eternally maintain a mindset of serene Wuwei, preserving their simple essence undisturbed by external matters (abiding constantly with the Dao, unswayed by worldly distractions).

In the Tongxuan Zhenjing (Scripture of Pervading Mystery), Laozi explains: The ancient establishment of emperors and kings was not for satisfying personal desires; when sages ascended the throne, it was not for seeking comfort and pleasure. They took these positions because the world suffered from the strong bullying the weak, the many oppressing the few—the cunning deceiving the honest, the bold intimidating the timid. Moreover, people hoarded knowledge unwilling to teach one another and accumulated wealth reluctant to share. Thus, it became necessary to establish the Son of Heaven (Tianzi) to govern with unified authority.

A single person's wisdom cannot illuminate the entire world, hence the establishment of the Three Dukes (Grand Preceptor, Grand Mentor, Grand Guardian) and Nine Ministers (high-ranking central officials) to assist. Remote regions with different customs were hard to influence, so feudal lords were enfeoffed to educate them. Only then could the movements of heaven and earth and the cycles of the four seasons proceed harmoniously, with no hidden affairs among officials and no neglected benefits for the state. This ensured clothing for the cold, food for the hungry, care for the elderly, weak, and sick, and rest for the toiling masses.

From Shennong's haggard face, Emperor Yao's emaciated form, and Emperor Shun's sun-darkened skin, to Yu the Great's calloused hands and feet; from Yi Yin carrying his cauldron to seek an audience with Tang of Shang, Jiang Ziya wielding his blade to enter the Zhou court, to Baili Xi being sold repeatedly and Guan Zhong bound in ropes—even Confucius, whose chimney never accumulated soot (symbolizing constant travel), and Mozi, who never warmed his seat—these sages did not act for the sake of salary or status, but to secure benefits for all under heaven and eliminate the people's calamities.

Laozi further elaborates: The so-called Son of Heaven (Tianzi) is one who upholds the Dao (the Way) to govern the world. The fundamental method of governance lies in holding fast to the root—the Dao—returning to the natural state of Wuwei (non-action), and maintaining a mind empty, still, and clear. The great Dao has no form or appearance; it cannot be seen or touched, having neither boundaries nor end. This is the most fundamental cosmic principle.

(Note: The "One" in "holding fast to the One" refers to the Dao, the core concept in Daoism denoting the origin and law of the universe; "Wuwei" emphasizes an attitude of following nature without forced interference.)

Laozi describes the essence of the Dao (the cosmic origin and principle) thus: Its substance is as round as the celestial vault, yet its operation follows the squareness of earth; it carries yin energy on its back while embracing yang energy in its bosom; it manifests softness on the left and strength on the right; it walks in darkness yet is crowned with light. Though infinitely transforming, it always maintains the fundamental "One" (the origin of Dao), thus capable of responding to all changes—this is what we call the divine state.

The human body mirrors heaven and earth: the round head symbolizes heaven while square feet represent earth; the back corresponds to yin and the face to yang; the left hand holds softness while the right grasps strength; the feet tread the Nine Abysses (the deepest underworld) while the head receives the radiance of sun, moon, and stars. This ceaseless circulation, illuminating all directions while maintaining unchanging purity yet revolving endlessly, is called "Shen" (spirit). Those who realize this state will surely prosper.

The celestial vault is round without boundaries, making its entirety invisible; the earth is square without limits, making its gates unfindable. The transformations of heaven and earth are formless: heaven's changes have no fixed shape, earth's growth cannot be measured. All things have moments of being subdued, yet the Dao remains unsubdued eternally—being formless, it operates ceaselessly like the sun and moon, cycling endlessly like the four seasons. The alternation of sun and moon creates light and darkness, completing cycles only to begin anew. The Dao creates all things without revealing form, thus accomplishing its work; it generates all beings without being bound by them, thus remaining forever undefeated.

To govern a state with Dao is like strategizing in ancestral temples (referring to the wisdom of winning without fighting)—such rulers become emperors; to command armies with divine transformations makes one a true king. The former emulates celestial principles, the latter comprehends seasonal patterns. Cultivating virtue within one's borders naturally attracts distant peoples; mastering victory before battle ensures the submission of feudal lords. Yet warfare should always be a last resort.

The ancient Dao-realized beings: in stillness they modeled themselves after heaven and earth, in movement they followed the sun and moon; their joys and angers harmonized with seasonal changes, their commands resounded like thunder; their voices and breath did not disturb the Eight Winds (winds from eight directions), their movements never violated the measures of the Five Phases. They followed the people's will, harnessing their collective strength to eliminate calamities. Those sharing benefits would sacrifice for one another, those sharing affections would support each other, those sharing goals would assist one another. By acting according to the Dao's principles, all under heaven would serve willingly.