《通玄真經纘義》Vol. 1

This passage elucidates the essence of the Dao (the Way) and its function within heaven, earth, and all things, along with how ancient sages comprehended and practiced it.

The text begins by describing an undifferentiated, formless existence that predates the creation of heaven and earth. It has no concrete shape—profound, obscure, silent, and soundless. Laozi reluctantly named it "Dao." This Dao is boundless in height and unfathomable in depth, encompassing heaven and earth while nurturing the formless. It flows endlessly yet never overflows; when turbid, it gradually clarifies in stillness. It ceaselessly bestows upon all things, day and night. Though it seems too meager to fill a handful, it can expand infinitely; though it appears dim, it radiates light; though it seems soft, it possesses strength. It contains Yin-Yang and manifests the brilliance of the sun, moon, and stars.

A series of metaphors then illustrate the Dao’s workings: mountains rise high because of it, abysses plunge deep because of it, beasts run because of it, birds soar because of it, fish swim because of it, the phoenix flies because of it, and stars move because of it. The Dao obtains "being" through "non-being," gains nobility through humility, and achieves precedence through yielding.

The Dao originates from heaven, and all things flourish because of it. Laozi remarks that even the name "Dao" is only a forced designation. Thus, what creates heaven and earth, nourishes all things, and transforms endlessly is the Dao; what stabilizes the world, nurtures the people, and remains unswerving through rise and fall is the sage. Only by understanding the Dao’s truth can one appear to perish yet endure eternally, seem lowly yet be noble, yield yet ultimately lead.

The ancient Three Sovereigns (Fuxi, Shennong, and the Yellow Emperor) grasped the Dao’s root, standing at the center of heaven and earth, their spirits in harmony with creation, thus pacifying all directions. Hence, heaven and earth revolve like an unceasing wheel, rivers flow without pause, and all things are born and perish together. Winds and clouds shift, thunder and rain descend—all follow natural law. Though refined, they return to simplicity; seemingly Wuwei (non-action), they align with the principles of life and death. Without words, they comprehend virtue; serene and joyful yet free from pride, they achieve harmony. Though all things differ, each finds its proper place—balancing Yin-Yang, regulating the seasons, harmonizing the Five Phases (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), nourishing plants, permeating metal and stone, making beasts robust, birds’ eggs unspoiled, and animal fetuses unbroken. Fathers need not grieve lost sons, elder brothers need not mourn lost siblings.

This scripture primarily expounds on the "Dao of Great Constancy" (the eternal and unchanging natural law) and its application in the sage's governance.

The text describes how ancient rulers emulated the Dao of Heaven to govern the world, moving in harmony with the transformations of nature. When Virtue (De) was pure and abundant, the people lived in peace, resources flourished, and all beings grew according to their innate nature. The true Dao nurtures all things without claiming possession, transforms all things without asserting control. All beings depend on it for life yet feel no gratitude, and perish by it yet bear no resentment. It is like an inexhaustible, formless treasure; like a profound and unfathomable force that responds effortlessly to all changes; like a ceaseless movement that flows unimpeded, harmonizing firmness and softness, dancing with Yin and Yang.

The sage governs the world by embodying this "Dao of Great Constancy," caring for the people as a parent does for their children. Laozi said that the great man (one who has attained the Dao) dwells in serene tranquility, using Heaven as his canopy, Earth as his chariot, the four seasons as his steeds, and Yin-Yang as his reins—thus he travels everywhere without exhaustion. They grasp the essence of the Dao, observe the endless transformations, follow nature without forcing change, and cultivate their inner foundation without chasing external embellishments. This is the true meaning of "governing through non-action (Wuwei)"—not acting rashly ahead of time, not altering natural laws, but guiding all things in accordance with their innate nature.

Finally, the text points out that the Dao resides within us, united with Heaven. Just as Heaven is supported by the multitude of stars, a nation requires virtuous ministers to assist in governance. The true art of ruling lies in cultivating inner Virtue (De), aligning outwardly with nature, and attaining the state of "doing nothing yet leaving nothing undone."

This passage expounds the great principles of governing the state and cultivating the self. The wise should assist enlightened rulers in guiding the people's destiny. One must observe celestial changes, comprehend the patterns of things, follow natural laws, and implement governance through Wuwei (non-action). This approach nurtures both personal cultivation and effective administration.

Laozi teaches that those who govern people through the Dao respond to events as they arise and follow transformations as they occur. They can adapt to all changes in the myriad things and harmonize with every shift in human affairs. The characteristics of Dao manifest in five aspects: emptiness (void and unattached), simplicity (natural ease), tranquility (clear stillness), softness (pliant non-contention), and purity (unadorned genuineness). These five qualities represent the manifestations of Dao.

Emptiness is Dao's dwelling place, simplicity its essence, tranquility its mirror, and softness its function. The reversal of opposites is Dao's constant pattern—where softness overcomes hardness shows Dao's strength, and weakness conquers power demonstrates Dao's might. Purity constitutes Dao's fundamental nature.

The great Dao has no fixed form, nor does a peaceful age have specific appearances. These characteristics—emptiness, simplicity, tranquility, softness, and purity—are not concrete images. Only by not clinging to particular forms can one comprehend Dao's mysterious workings and truly understand the essence of governance.

An utterly void mind reaches the ultimate of "emptiness," a thought-free mind achieves the pinnacle of "simplicity," unwavering focus embodies the height of "tranquility," unmingled with external things represents the zenith of "purity," and freedom from emotional fluctuations constitutes the supreme state of De (Virtue).

When the human mind is empty and still, the Shen (spirit) naturally dwells within. When filled with desires, preferences arise and the Shen departs. With the Shen gone, Dao is lost—how can the physical form avoid destruction? Only those of highest virtue remain unmingled with externals, maintaining unwavering focus, inner stillness, and freedom from joy or sorrow.

The true Daoist's method of governance involves: abandoning cleverness and artifice, discarding ornamentation, following Dao while relinquishing cunning, and uniting heart and mind with the people. Reduce selfish desires, eliminate temptations, and moderate thoughts. By grasping the inner root, external affairs naturally fall into place. With internal cultivation perfected, the five viscera find peace, thoughts become calm, sinews and bones grow strong, and ears and eyes turn keen. In truth, the great Dao lies close at hand—those who seek it afar will eventually turn back.

The passage discusses how Daoist practitioners (zhenren 真人, zhiren 至人, shengren 圣人) achieve unity with the Dao through inner cultivation.

True adepts care not for external fame or formality, but focus solely on inner refinement. They govern the world not through external means, but by maintaining inner emptiness and wuwei (non-action). Returning to one's original heart to seek the great Dao reveals that the Way is never distant.

Laozi said the sage cares not for ruling others but emphasizes self-governance; values not power or status but pursues inner awakening. Once inner awakening is attained, the world naturally becomes one with the self. True joy lies not in wealth or rank, but in harmony with the Dao. Those who can disregard the world while valuing self-cultivation approach the Dao. Therefore, one must reach the ultimate state of emptiness and stillness, observing how all things return to their source amid constant transformation.

Practitioners progress through stages: the sage disregards fame but still remembers achievements; the divine person disregards achievements but retains self-awareness; the perfected person transcends even self-awareness (not by abandoning the body, but by seeing the world as small and the self as vast). Only by understanding this principle can one become a true sage.

The Dao is the source of all creation—formless yet omnipresent, vast yet subtle. Zhenren (perfected persons) unite with the Dao through cultivation methods of emptiness, tranquility, and softness. Unperturbed by external things, they maintain pure original nature, thus comprehending the Way of heaven and earth.

Zhenren value self-cultivation over worldly matters, preserving harmony undisturbed by external objects and clarity unclouded by desires. They conceal their names, reclusing when the Dao prevails and emerging when it declines. Their actions follow natural spontaneity—appearing wuwei (non-acting) yet accomplishing all. They breathe with yin-yang, move with hardness and softness, merge completely with the great Dao, transcending emotional fluctuations of joy or anger.

While the body suffers from climatic extremes and the spirit weakens through emotional strains, zhenren nurture both mind and nature so that spirit and form support each other. Thus they dream not in sleep and worry not when awake. Having reached the state where all things unite with the self, they transcend dualistic distinctions of right and wrong.

This scripture primarily discusses how practitioners should handle internal and external relationships while aligning with the natural Dao (the Way).

Outward behavior may appropriately conform to worldly customs (external flexibility), yet the heart must remain upright (internal integrity)—this embodies the principle of harmony between heaven and humanity. Those who truly attain the Dao (zhenren, "true persons") often conceal their names, withdrawing into seclusion when the world follows the Dao and emerging to rectify disorder when it does not. Only by sharing the same heart as heaven and embodying the great Dao can one return to their innate nature, relying on spiritual power (shen) to achieve unwavering constancy.

When Confucius sought teachings from Laozi, the latter advised him: "Straighten your posture and focus your gaze, and natural harmony will descend upon you. Restrain your cleverness and correct your attitude, then the spirit (shen) will come to dwell within you. Virtue (De) will illuminate you, and the Dao will abide with you." One should maintain the purity of a newborn calf, free from desires—with a body like withered wood and a heart like dead ashes. Though comprehending truth, one remains unchanged by worldly sophistication, with an expansive mind devoid of scheming, appearing wise yet preserving a state of innocent unknowing.

The great Dao possesses both substance and function, yet the sage's heart remains unified. When a sage of Confucius' extraordinary endowment sought the Dao from Laozi, he surely grasped meanings beyond words—hence his later exclamation comparing Laozi to an unfathomable dragon.

Laozi further taught: "Handle affairs by adapting to circumstances, for transformation arises from situational awareness. Those who truly understand timing act beyond conventional patterns." The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao; the name that can be named is not the eternal name. Books are products of speech, speech arises from wisdom, yet wisdom cannot comprehend the eternal Dao. Rather than excessive speech leading to perplexity, maintain emptiness and stillness; abandon forced learning to be free from worry, relinquish cleverness to better benefit the people.

Books carry words, words carry the Dao—we value books to honor the Dao. Thus, those who understand timing adapt flexibly, while those who understand books recognize that speech originates from wisdom, which has its limits. Only by not clinging to texts, not fixating on phenomena, and abandoning forced learning and cleverness can one discuss the expedient wisdom of situational adaptation.

Human beings are naturally tranquil—this is their innate nature. Movement arises through external influences—this is desire. When external things arrive and elicit responses, this constitutes the activity of intellect. As intellect interacts with phenomena, preferences form; once preferences solidify, intellect chases outward and cannot return to its origin, extinguishing heavenly principle. Therefore, sages prevent artificial alterations to innate nature, outwardly accommodating worldly changes while inwardly preserving authentic feeling. Thus, those who penetrate the Dao return to clarity and stillness, while those who investigate external phenomena ultimately arrive at wuwei (non-action).

This passage expounds on the principle that cultivators of the Dao should maintain inner purity, undisturbed by external desires or material attachments. Those who have truly attained the Dao (the sages) nurture wisdom through serenity and unite with the divine through emptiness and stillness. They act without forced striving, simply following natural laws. Such individuals walk in harmony with the great Dao, unencumbered by worldly entanglements like ordinary people.

The sage's approach to governing a nation and cultivating the self rests on three essentials: First, not allowing mundane affairs to disrupt natural order; second, not permitting desires to disturb innate nature; and third, achieving perfect appropriateness without deliberate scheming. They gain trust without excessive words and accomplish without calculation. Under such rulers, the people feel no oppression from their authority, nor harm from their leadership. All under heaven willingly follow them, while the wicked fear them—precisely because they contend with nothing, no one can contend with them.

Human nature is originally pure, but becomes disturbed by material desires. Just as water's natural clarity is muddied by sand and stones, human nature's inherent peace is disrupted by cravings and passions. Only sages can transcend material bondage and return to original authenticity. They are neither enslaved by cleverness nor have their inner harmony destroyed by desires. Facing good fortune, they do not become overly joyful; encountering adversity, they do not sink into excessive sorrow. Thus they occupy high positions without peril and maintain stability without collapse.

When ordinary people hear good advice, even fools may agree; when observing a sage's noble virtue, even the unworthy may admire. Yet the problem lies in this: many speak but few act; many admire but few practice. The root cause always traces back to material entanglements and worldly attachments. Therefore Laozi said: "When rulers govern through non-action (Wuwei), the people naturally transform; without unnecessary interference, they naturally prosper; through maintaining tranquility, they naturally become upright; without greed, they naturally return to simplicity."

Only a pure mind can achieve clarity, just as water must be still to become transparent. If one's path of learning deviates from the right way, long-formed habits will alter innate nature, turning originally pure minds restless and bright wisdom dim. Only through encountering an enlightened teacher and awakening to true teachings can one recover original nature and unite with the great Dao. Applying this principle to self-cultivation perfects the individual; applying it to governance brings peace to the world. Thus the sage's way of governing is this: When those above practice non-action, the people naturally transform; when those above refrain from interference, the people naturally prosper; when those above maintain stillness, the people naturally become upright; when those above are free from desire, the people naturally return to simplicity.

This passage elucidates the core Daoist philosophy of "tranquility and non-action (Wuwei)." Tranquility represents the highest state of De (Virtue/Power), gentleness manifests the application of the Dao, while emptiness and serenity form the origin of all things. When these three states merge, they return to formlessness—this formlessness is the "One" (the fundamental manifestation of the Dao). The "One" harmonizes with heaven, earth, and nature: it bestows blessings without ostentation, operates limitlessly without exhaustion, and though invisible and intangible, gives birth to all tangible phenomena.

Though sounds, flavors, and colors originate from just five basic elements (five tones, five tastes, five hues), their combinations produce infinite variations. Just as the gong note establishes the five tones, sweetness defines the five tastes, and whiteness completes the five colors, when the Dao's "One" is established, all things come into being. This principle of the "One" permeates the four seas, its workings evident throughout heaven and earth. In its wholeness, it resembles uncarved wood; dispersed, it resembles turbid water that gradually clarifies as it settles. In emptiness and stillness it fills gradually, serene as the ocean, ethereal as floating clouds—seemingly nonexistent yet profoundly real.

The great Dao has no form yet generates all forms, without beginning or end. The primordial Qi (vital energy) originates from the Great Beginning (Taishi, the primal state of the cosmos), which serves as the progenitor of all things. From the "One" emerge the two energies of Yin-Yang, and through the distribution of the Five Phases' Qi (Wood, Fire, Earth, Metal, Water), the transformations of all phenomena arise. The sage's mind aligns with the Great Beginning, maintaining a state of tranquil emptiness—their De extends across the four seas, all things return to them yet they claim no lordship. Vast and formless, the great Dao unites with heaven. As for hearing sounds, seeing colors, or tasting flavors—in these the sage differs not from ordinary people, so why would they cling to such things?

Laozi teaches that all things arise from the same root, all affairs spring from the same source. Thus the sage holds fast to fundamental principles, follows natural patterns, and alters no inherent laws. Joy and anger injure the Dao; sorrow depletes De; preferences and aversions are faults of the heart; cravings burden life. Great rage damages Yin energy, wild joy dissipates Yang energy; weakened Qi causes loss of voice, terror induces madness, while grief and anxiety accumulate as illness. By removing these five emotional disturbances, one aligns with the Dao of nature.

This scripture expounds the wondrous workings of the Dao (the Way) and the supreme state of water's De (Virtue/Power), which can be understood through three dimensions:

First, it describes the inner cultivation state of Dao practitioners. When human Shen (spirit) merges with the divine (referring to the highest realm of the Dao), the five viscera find peace, thoughts become tranquil, hearing and vision sharpen, muscles and bones strengthen, and bodily functions harmonize smoothly—neither excessively depleted nor insufficient. This Dao encompasses all mysteries and governs all things, capable of manifesting subtle principles while being omnipresent. All things flourish by attaining the Dao, people thrive by following it, and rulers who embody the Dao can govern by emulating the principles of heaven and earth.

Next, water's nature serves as a metaphor for supreme De. Though the softest substance under heaven, water possesses boundless qualities: transforming into rain and dew in the skies, becoming nourishment on earth, sustaining all beings without seeking reward, enriching the world without claiming merit. It penetrates metal and stone, permeates all under heaven, distributes itself naturally regardless of quantity, and treats all things impartially. This ability of softness to overcome hardness, formlessness to permeate all existence, embodies the highest De. Yu the Great's achievement in flood control lay precisely in following water's intrinsic nature.

Finally, it reveals the formless Dao as the origin of all things. True adepts (zhenren) whose hearts commune with creation, holding profound De within, naturally manifest miraculous transformations. The highest form of teaching requires no deliberate commands—it transforms customs effortlessly through the cultivation of heart-nature. All things grow and operate according to this invisible natural law.

Through these three dimensions—physical cultivation, water's virtuous analogy, and ontological discourse—the text illuminates core Daoist principles of "softness overcoming hardness" and "governing through Wuwei (non-action)," emphasizing the importance of aligning with natural patterns.

This passage expounds the core Daoist principle that "the soft and weak overcome the hard and strong." Those who truly attain the Dao (the Way) may appear gentle externally, yet harbor immense power within. Maintaining a mind of emptiness and stillness, they act in accordance with natural laws—seemingly practicing wuwei (non-action) yet always seizing the perfect moment.

Vivid metaphors illustrate this wisdom: Though teeth are harder than tongues, they fall out first; sturdy trees snap easily in strong winds; rigid leather cracks under strain. Conversely, water—the softest substance—can bear mighty ships, just as ordinary people, though seemingly weak, form formidable power when united behind their ruler.

The truly wise never act hastily. Like the sun and moon following their celestial courses, they observe changing circumstances and strike at the opportune moment. Sages value not precious jade discs, but fleeting opportunities. Abiding in serene wuwei, they follow the "feminine principle" (yielding conduct) and accomplish deeds according to actual conditions.

The crux lies here: Accumulated softness ultimately transforms into strength; true power must be rooted in pliancy. This seemingly paradoxical yet profoundly unified wisdom perfectly embodies the Daoist teaching that "reversal is the movement of the Dao."

This scripture expounds the wisdom of conforming to nature and seizing opportune moments in life. At its core, it teaches that truly wise individuals maintain a state of gentle quietude, never rushing to take the lead, but responding with ease only after events unfold. Paradoxically, this approach enables great achievements that even the most solid things cannot withstand.

The key to handling affairs lies in maintaining moderation—going too far or falling short both lead to failure. Only by mastering proper timing and sequence can one align with the Middle Way (Zhongdao) and ensure success. Thus, sages act with precise timing, knowing when to advance or retreat. If one remains ungoverned by others, others cannot control them.

The text employs the metaphor of the "mechanical mind" (calculating heart): when harboring schemes within, even surface purity becomes impure, and spiritual cultivation remains incomplete. Such individuals fail to perceive distant dangers; those with harmful intentions would dare stroke a starving tiger's tail—let alone harm others. Those who comprehend the Dao (the Way) dwell in tranquility, while the cunning exhaust themselves in toil.

Harsh laws and severe punishments are not the tools of true rulers, just as frequent whipping cannot sustain a long journey. Excessive likes and dislikes invite calamity. The ancient sage-kings' laws were not deliberately created but conformed to nature; prohibitions against killing weren't for punishment but protection. Thus, conformity achieves greatness, while forced action leads to failure.

Like chasing a starving tiger with traps—one nearly guarantees disaster. Yet without scheming intentions, even tigers cause no harm. Hence, Dao-realized individuals move lightly, while the clever labor heavily. The principles of heaven and earth are evident: simplicity brings clarity, conciseness invites compliance. Lenient laws govern easily; carriages travel far without constant whipping.

Those relying solely on ears and eyes exhaust their spirit; those manipulating affairs through cunning toil without merit. A single person's talent cannot govern the world, just as one cannot properly tend three acres of land alone. Following natural patterns and harmonizing with heaven and earth's rhythms make governing effortless. Ears confused by praise and blame, eyes dazzled by beauty—no ritual can restrain selfishness, only sincerity moves distant hearts.

The sharpest weapon isn't the legendary Moye sword, but human will; the greatest enemy isn't battlefield drums, but internal imbalances of Yin-Yang. True catastrophes arrive silently, while middling misfortunes stir clamor.

This scripture primarily discusses the art of governance and the philosophical relationship between "the formed" and "the formless." It first observes that when the people become overly clever and crafty, it breeds all manner of extravagant skills and techniques, leading to increasingly complex laws and regulations—yet paradoxically resulting in more thieves and bandits. Governing through cunning intelligence ultimately harms the state, whereas governing without such cleverness brings true blessings to the nation. This mirrors how excessive mental exertion clouds one's clarity of mind, and overthinking hinders the proper handling of affairs.

The text then expounds on the relationship between "the formed" (youxing) and "the formless" (wuxing): formless things (such as the Dao) may be invisible, yet their power is immense; formed things may be concrete, yet their strength is comparatively weak. The formless is the origin of all things, while the formed is the completion of concrete manifestations. Just as fame (youming) arises from namelessness (wuming), namelessness is the root of fame. Wealth, nobility, and dominance all bear names, whereas poverty, humility, and receptiveness often remain unnamed.

Finally, it points out that Dao and De (Virtue/Power), as well as achievement and fame, are mutually generative. The sage masters the subtle tranquility of the Dao, thereby cultivating De; with De comes accomplishment, and with accomplishment comes fame. Yet fame must ultimately return to the Dao. Those who understand whether fame or life is more important, and whether wealth or the body is more precious, will not excessively pursue reputation and profit. The sage follows this principle—achieving success but withdrawing from prominence—and thus ensures that their name endures through the ages.

This passage expounds on the way ancient sages conducted themselves in the world. The essential meaning is:

While nobles and rulers pursued fame and achievement, true sages who attained the Dao humbly referred to themselves as "solitary" or "deficient" (terms ancient monarchs used as self-deprecations). They understood that after achieving merit, one should not become arrogant. True wisdom lies in accomplishing without claiming possession, using "non-being" (Wu) as function.

The scripture depicts the simple life of antiquity: people lived in childlike innocence, unaware of east and west distinctions; their speech was plain and unadorned, their actions natural and unforced; clothing served only for warmth without extravagance, weapons remained blunt rather than sharp; their gait was steady and composed, their gaze tranquil and peaceful. They drank from wells they dug themselves, ate from fields they cultivated, neither deliberately giving charity nor expecting returns. Society knew no hierarchy of noble and base, no mutual comparisons - an atmosphere of pure harmony where all acted within their natural capacity.

True sages never confuse people with false behavior nor attract crowds with strange actions. Though rulers might call themselves "solitary and deficient," those possessing the Dao would never sacrifice life for reputation, harm people with harsh governance, covet wealth to their descendants' detriment, mislead posterity with biased doctrines, or bind their hearts with fame and profit. How could such people possibly engage in deceptive conduct to bewilder the masses?

Through contrasting ancient simplicity with later generations' pursuit of fame and gain, this text elucidates the Daoist philosophical tenets of "non-action" (Wuwei) and "returning to original purity."